Chapter 39

* * *

"Volodya, more salad?" I shuddered and came back to reality. Vera Vasilyevna, Vitya's mother, pointed her spoon hintingly at the bowl of Russian salad. Nodding, I waited until I was given a refill and then lethargically picked at the treat with my fork. The salad was classic, with boiled sausage and homemade mayonnaise, as the housewife had been used to since childhood. It was tasty. But I had no appetite.

The New Year, as we had arranged in advance, was celebrated at the new dacha of the aspiring dental celebrity. In addition to us, there were Victor's parents, his relatives, friends of his parents, brought to show off their son's achievements, and some strange strangers to me. Vitka did not seem to know them all either.

I arrived late. Vitek hastily introduced me to some of the guests. From then on I moved silently through the space of the two-story big house, playing the ghost until I was caught by the host.

"Vova, you quite weird."

"What's wrong?"

"Usually, you sit somewhere against the wall, but here you do all the time in the middle of the room."

As I turned my head, I realized that I was standing almost exactly in the center of the room. With a chuckle, I admitted:

"It's all virt. For the third month, I've been playing for eight hours a day. It's addictive."

"Uh-huh. If you do something..."

"...then do it well!" I smiled. The first time I said that to Vitya in the army, I made him redo his work. That's when we had our first fight.

"And who do you play there?" Andrew came out from behind me, took my plate away from me, and, in two strokes of his fork, slaughtered the salad.

"Paladin."

Andrew choked and coughed, coughing for a long time, pounding his chest with his fist and trying to regain his breath.

"Hey, did you slip him some poisoned salad?" Vitya watched his friend's torment with curiosity.

"It's not me, it's Vera Vasilyevna."

"Ah, well, then let him eat."

"Pa...ladin? Cough... you?" Andrew bulged teary-eyed and sighed cautiously a few times. "Murderer! You can't do that. I thought you were playing Thief or Mercenary, as usual."

"That "usually" was a long time ago. In fact, I'm a peaceful manager now, with five pink shirts and a dozen speckled ties!"

"Then it would make more sense to play as demons or another incarnation of evil."

"Paladins have a better social package."

"A knight, then? Got a horse, too?" Vitya's father came up from behind.

"Horses? I rode one when I was a kid, I remember. You have to load a carrot into a special intake opening then you are allowed to move through the space in a very uncomfortable way."

"You can also feed an apple."

"You can run around in circles for an apple yourself. There are no horses in COD. There the developers even eliminated the riding animals with disasters."

"Why?"

"That's what I keep thinking. Probably, so cities don't drown in manure. It's a very detailed game."

"Volodya, I'm not being nerdy, but - a game? It's for kids. Aren't you bored there?"

I pondered. Then I summed up the long, five-second reflection:

"Not at all. It's really a very thoughtful world. There's no nonsense there at all: everything that can be explained in some way. Sometimes I forget that these are not players, but computer phantoms."

"Is the Turing test passed?"

"More like circumvented. If you want to be fooled, you will be fooled for sure. And then there are all the conditions. The mirror not only responds but also assents."

The screen was on, and the people had gathered in the living room. The Guarantor of the Constitution spoke from his chair by the fireplace about another year and future prospects, traditionally holding a glass of champagne in his hand.

To the chimes, two ladies were frantically drawing their wishes to be burned, the older generation was loudly counting the beats, and the children were helping. I took a sip and set the glass almost full on the table. I don't like such noisy gatherings, though I understand their necessity. I used to, but not anymore.

Where would I like to be right now?

A year ago, I answered - on the beach or better somewhere in the mountains, at night. Sitting on the warm hood, drinking local soda, and looking up at the sky. Make a fire, warm up a can of stew, and eat it with stale bread. Listen to the sound of the wind and look at the stars again.

I even bought a mod for glasses, with views of the sky around the globe.

And when I finally got a chance to do what I wanted to do, I suddenly stuck to the painted world. So I didn't really need that beach or those mountains.

The children squealed happily. Vera Vasilyevna brought a large cake and, placing it on the table, began to bestow sweets for the little ones.

"Vova, how will you justify yourself this time?"

I turned to Nadia with surprise.

"What is it this time?"

"Why again without a girlfriend? At least for the sake of decorum, you could have invited Svetka!"

"Svetka and I broke up temporarily."

"Why so?"

"She promised me the last time we met that if I let my hands get loose, she would break them."

"And so?"

"And she didn't. How can I build my life with such a deceiver?"

Nadia looked at me reproachfully, and I had to make a puzzled face.

"Wife, don't touch this brave knight! He's grieving for his Fair Maiden! Go and feed your legitimate husband!"

Andrew dragged his beloved to the table, while I waited until the child-free aisle to the cake table, picked up a plate of Napoleon, as classic as the salad, and went through the rooms. Vitka's big house is a real family nest. And the neighborhood is nice. Only something tells me that we will still go to Andrew or me for a barbecue.

"What do you think, Vladimir?"

"What? Sorry, I was thinking."

"As I moved around the house, I found myself next to Vitya's father's company, and they decided to drag me into the conversation."

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Do you fall asleep on the go?"

"From sweets, I guess. What did you ask?"

"In your opinion, has anything changed in the country in recent years?"

"I honestly tried to think about it. Has it changed?"

"Nothing changes. As the drivers did not slow down in front of pedestrian crossings and do not slow down, despite the cameras and the reduction of rights."

The man who asked, a gray-haired, "doctor-like" man, frowned perplexedly: "Pedestrian crossings? Do you think this is an indicator?"

Nodding, I explained: "If a person thinks about the consequences of his actions, he will somehow change. But here..."

"But still: what do crosswalks have to do with it? I brake, and I let pedestrians pass. It's the rules, after all!"

"And I'm slowing down. And in general, most people slow down and let people pass. If they see a pedestrian. And if they don't..."

"What's the point if there isn't one?"

"What if we can't see him?"

"So we have to stop in front of every imaginary pedestrian?"

"I don't know. It's up to everyone. Twenty years ago they didn't. They don't slow down now either. So nothing has changed."

The "doctor" decided to go in from the other side: "Vladimir, you're in the transportation business, aren't you?"

"I nodded and took a bite of cake."

"And how do you think delivery times will increase if you pass non-existent pedestrians?"

"It's increasing. In the city, up to sixty percent, as I recall. And the overhead will go up accordingly. That's why they don't slow down. Even in spite of the instructions."

"So..."

"That's it. You asked I answered. It hasn't changed."

The interlocutor smiled professionally and softly, turning to the indulgent listeners, summed it up: "The new generation says nothing changes."

Then there was a discussion about whether such an argument could be used in an argument like this, and someone suggested making a call, checking the statistics of injuries sustained at crosswalks. Judging by the arguments, the men were already pretty tipsy, but they held on thanks to their experience.

I finished the cake and wandered on. Two older women, I think they were Vitya's aunts, were catching children. The children squealed happily, ran, ducked under tables, and got tangled up in their feet. Vitya's eldest was shooting back at his aunts with a newly donated bubble gun. Bubbles filled with pink smoke flew in all directions and burst, leaving quickly disappearing clouds that smelled like flowers of some kind.

"Vova, don't you want to take a class?"

The million-dollar question. What's that got to do with me? I was drawn back to the company, this time to the wives of my friends, who were clearly plotting yet another scheme, judging by the blond girl who stood as d'Artagnan to the three musketeers. Pretty, gray-eyed, and quite my type.

After reading something on my face, Valya smiled and explained: "The girls decided to get a certificate, but it's boring to go alone. And they say there are very good mentors there!"

Vitya materialized next to his wife, twirled her in a kind of tango, and then declared: "Five years ago, our "paladin" was already sent on courses to increase the motivation."

"And how did it go?"

Victor winked meaningfully.

"Nah. He broke the coach's nose."

"Bully," Valya said it almost with approval. "And the details?"

Remembering, I began to explain: "There was an exercise - we're all drowning, there's no room for one person in the lifeboat, you have to prove you're worthy. And the rest, accordingly, are not. And all this under the commentary of the coach."

"Familiar. But aren't there usually different conditions?"

"Then I found out - the task was standard, the parameters were changing, forcing one to act. I listened to the introductory information and started to let everyone go ahead, agreeing. Then I tapped the last one on the Adam's apple and sat in the last place, while he coughed it up."

"Hmm. Well, that's also a solution. So what's next?"

"The coach decided he had to put me in my place. And I thought he was teaching people bad things, so I hit him. One time. For motivation."

"And then what?"

"And then it turned out that the coach didn't have a license." Mitya threw up his hands.

"And his diploma is fake," Andrew repeated the gesture.

"So he quickly closed the course and left in an undisclosed direction," I now threw up my hands.

"Outlaws." Now the approval was clearly audible.

"We are not like that, life is like that," the seventh-generation intellectual, Andrew, muttered with a characteristic intonation.

Valiusha's blond girlfriend looked at me with interest, and I decided that was enough for today.

Vitya obviously understood my feelings better than I did because he didn't talk me out of it. He only summoned Vera Vasilyevna, who immediately collected some presents for me. Hastily bypassed and said goodbye to those who needed it. I sacrificed a scarf hugged by the old dog snoozing and left.

Four in the morning on New Year's Eve is almost a day. It's bright, people are walking, and firecrackers are going off. A traffic cop waves his wand.

And mumbled an unintelligible greeting.

I shook my head. A policeman, who was my age, looked in the window, looked around, and said distinctly: "Your ID, please."

I held out my ID, the road warrior swiped it with the reader, looked at the monitor with displeasure, then, apparently to clear his conscience, asked:

"Have you been drinking, citizen Polushkin?"

"Yes, I did. Exactly half a glass of champagne."

Apparently, I broke some script of behavior, and all he managed to do was pop the question: "And why?"

"I don't like this activity. It's boring."

Policeman looked thoughtfully through me, then looked again at the monitor and made up his mind: "All is well. Have a good trip!"

"You have a good shift, too."

I was already closing the window when there was a knock on my window: "Yes?"

"Don't go under the overpass. He's angry there, he won't believe it."

The man bent over me smelled a little like alcohol. Moderately.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." I nodded. "Happy New Year!"

"And you!"

He gestured, already turning away, and I finally closed the window and drove off. New Year's Eve, miracles.

It was chilly at home. Yesterday I had spent all day adjusting the scent diffuser, and the rooms smelled like grass... or should I say, a lot like a steppe. So I had to put it on boosted ventilation. Not completely, but the smell is gone. I have to check the parameters again.

I put the treats in the fridge, turned on the computer, and surfed the news site, looking at New Year's parties. It was strange to see how there were places in Norway and Portugal that were no different from Vitya's home.

At last, I gave up.

* * *

"Comp, the launch of the Creators of Destiny!"

The parquet was cold, and I was standing in my slippers. Soft house slippers in the shape of bunnies... I wonder how the game will display it?

Nothing. Still, the same boots with cuffs and metal overlays. Not even the ear-beast pattern. I took the sword off the stand and walked out into the hallway.

A long one. My room wasn't in the middle of the row, closer to the far wall, and I walked past the door, which was supposed to have someone behind it. It's night; it's about to strike midnight here. And it's New Year's Day, too, a new countdown day. Not a holiday like ours but also an event, and it is celebrated. Behind the door, someone is singing a guitar, and they're asleep here... and not quite asleep here. Not sleeping at all. Well, or just swinging on the bed. It's quiet in here. Quiet again. Voice: I think it's a prayer. Silence again. And again, music.

A contingency, of course. In the real world, all these sounds would be heard at the same time, from the comfort of my room, but here - noise-canceling magic, clearly more reliable than the panels I had at work and at home. Sometimes life is so lacking of magic!

The courtyard was a little less crowded than I was used to seeing, but still a little crowded for the time of night. I stood there, wondering why I'd come in the first place, then headed toward the Sanctuary.

The priest, who was standing in his place (does he ever sleep?) gave me a friendly nod.

"Can't sleep, Brother Paladin?"

"I can't sleep," I agreed. "It's like you never get any rest, right?"

"I need very little time to rest. The status condemns many troubles, but it also empowers me to endure them."

I nodded silently. Then I stepped to the altar and knelt down.

"Comp - record!"

The priest remained silent.

"I am Vlad Polushkin, make vows of this year. For the world - to tell people things they didn't already know. For myself, to find work that I have never done before. Stop! Send an entry to the Church of the Human Path parish."

"Is this the ritual of your world?"

So, the NPCs in the COD can correctly interpret even this behavior of the players? I heard the confirmation call from the computer and stood up.

"It's more like a tradition."

"Show them what they didn't already know? And do things you don't know yourself? Is it vague, or am I wrong?"

"You are right, Brother. But so far, I have made specific vows. To build, to help, to teach. And everything seemed to be fulfilled, but it didn't bring joy. Satisfaction, but not joy, you know?"

"I think so." The priest nodded. "Do you want to look for joy in the vows?"

"To begin with, at least just do them. All of them. However, it's a long year. I should be able to do it in time."

"It may be. I think She has heard your vows! Go, Brother Paladin! May Her blessing be with thou!"

I nodded and walked out, trying to figure out: what was unusual here. I couldn't. Maybe the priest's uncertainty in addressing me? It was "you," like to a fellow paladin, or "thou," like to... who?

Outside the gates of the temple, I was greeted by the voice of an unmuted shopping channel. Even that night, someone continued to advertise sharpening, ingredients, offering and looking for help. I walked through the city, looking at the townspeople already leaving the party, occasionally glancing up at the stars. When I reached the city wall, I saw the gates closed and a familiar sergeant.

"Good night, Brother Paladin! Temple business?"

"Good day to you, too! No, just taking a walk."

"That's good. The gate is closed, and filling out paperwork to open the wicket is such a hassle!"

I looked at the sky and made up my mind:

"Look, can we climb up to the observation deck?"

The sergeant looked at me doubtfully; then, apparently thanks to my solid - already under four hundred - reputation, he nodded.

"Try it. But what's there to do?"

I shrugged.

"Just looking at the stars."

The sergeant, thinking he understood everything, gave advice:

"It's better to do it from the mages' towers. There they have a clearer sky thanks to magic, and they have the right tools."

"Nah, I'm better off here. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"It's empty. The guards are in the "nests," and they won't let you in, sorry."

I nodded and, after thanking the guard, went to the ladder.

The tower was massive, tall, and without a roof to shelter the top deck from the rain. I brought a blanket and a pillow from the bedroom sat down on the thick planks, and stared at the sky with my hands behind my head.

I guess it was as good as the beach.

* * *