Labyrinth of reflections by Sergei Lukyanenko Read Free Book Online Page A

return courtesy, but it doesn't look like Nadya expects it.
    – This deep is a strange thing, – she says sipping her wine, – I'm in Moscow for instance, you are in Samara somewhere, that boy – in Penza…
    'That boy', looking like the cute Mexican from a soap opera notices her look and raises his chin proudly. Yes, one can't deny her power of observation, he's really Russian…
    – There's a crowd of Americoses, – she goes on without a glimpse of respect, – that weirdo is a Japanese obviously… just look at the eyes he drew for himself. Every nation has it's own complexes… And here are we, playing the fool in nonexistent restaurant, having nonexistent drink, hundreds of computers burn up energy, processors heat up in effort, megabytes of senseless data are pumped over the phone lines back and forth…
    – Data is never senseless.
    – Yes, maybe, – Nadya glances at me quickly, – Let's better call it not topical one. And what, is this really a new era of the world's technology?
    – But what did you expect? The file exchange and discussions of processors' quality? We're humans after all.
    Nadya frowns:
    – We're people of the new era. Virtuality can change the world, but we prefer to mask it to fit the old dogmas. Nanotechnology used to imitate a drink is worse than a microscope used as a hammer…
    – You're Alexandrian, – I make a guess.
    – Yes! – she replies with a slight challenge in her voice.
    Alexandrians are the followers of one Petersburg sci-fi writer. They either proclaim the merge of the human with a computer or expect some sort of fantastic blessings from virtuality, I'm not sure.
    – What are you doing in this senseless place then? – I ask.
    – I'm looking for Dibenko. I want to ask him, did he really imagine it like this? Does he think that what's going on is right?
    – I see. But don't you really like this place?
    Nadya shrugs.
    I stretch my hand and touch her face.
    – The warmth of the hand, roughness of wine, coolness of the evening breeze and flowers' scent, splashing of the warm waves and prickly sand under your feet, don't you really like it?
    – There's a real life for all that.
    – But does it coincide in reality often enough? Here it's enough to just open the door, – I point at the small door in the corner of the 'Japanese' part of the hall, – and all that will be there. Or, didn't you ever wish to stand in the forest clearing in the chilly autumn morning, by the steep river bank drinking hot mulled wine from the round goblet… and with nobody around?…
    – The owner of this restaurant must be a romantic person,– says Nadya.
    – Of course.
    – Leonid, all that you've mentioned is right. But the right place for all these pleasures is in reality.
    – Reality is not always affordable.
    – Just as virtuality is, Lenia. I don't know where you get money from that allows you to visit here so often, and it's none of my business anyway, but billions of people never were in the deep.
    – Millions of people never saw a TV set.
    – Virtuality must NOT be an artificial substitution of reality, – says Nadya with conviction.
    – Yes, sure. Let's turn the paupers and miserable ones into information storage, let's become impulses in the electronic network…
    – Leonid, you know the teaching of Alexandrians through hearsay only. – says Nadya with conviction, – Come visit our Church some time.
    I shrug. Possibly I will some time, but there's plenty of interesting places in the deep. The whole lifetime isn't enough to visit all of them.
    – I have to go, – Nadya stands and throws a coin at the bar, – I have half an hour more today and should visit a couple more places.
    – In search of Dibenko? – I nod, – But maybe it's better to… you know, a warm sand, a Hawaiian beach and some Chilean Red [wine]?
    Nadya smiles:
    – This won't be work anymore Lenia. The evening beach and the wine… then I'll want continuation. But virtual sex is funny only if you're