Number Ten Read online

  The head of the very first noob joined the first-aid kits in my backpack. Now my personal Hall of Fame would increase once again in trophy ears and heads and individual duds.

  After six victories in dead matches where I consistently took the first places, I got bored and decided to whoop it up. One against twenty.

  The rate of battle views exceeded all limits, I had to throw excessive heads away. My char is already slipping on the rivers of blood, the AKM is red-hot, jamming every other time. But could I be expected to do for everyone with a knife?

  By midnight I became a god in Bloody King. The administration had to connect additional servers promptly, as the single one could not handle the inrush of people. Especially during my victorious battle one against a hundred…

  There was a motion on the screen. I wheeled round in a flash, threw a bunch of grenades into a side street. The speakers exploded with heartrending screams, the abundance of blood covered the blaze of the explosion. Slowly, a bloody writing crept out: “Thirty enemies killed!!!”, then “Win.”

  “Noobs,” I breathed with contempt. Looked sideways to the dining zone where the kettle was whistling gently while boiling up. I wanted to stand, but got distracted by the display. “Who’s that?”

  In a thousand of congratulations and invitations to clans and groups, an insidious message had crept: “One on one?”

  With a snort, I printed quickly: “Sorry, enough meat. I kill no more lemmings by one. Gather two scores of noobs like you, then I’ll consider.”

  Pleased with myself, I made tea, snatched a couple of cakes from Olga’s. Once back to the keyboard stained with enemy blood, I froze with indignation.

  “Well, don’t be afraid. Let’s fight one on one. I promise you a quick and painless death.”

  Forgetting the cakes, I wrote: “I’ll have a knife. Count to ten wins. Choose any bazooka!”

  The loading screen flashed on for a split second, and here I was back to the corridors of the ravaged military base. The local staff had cleared the aisles, even washed off the blood, after they’d removed a thousand of corpses. Just as promised, I drew the knife with a bloodthirsty grin. The scary mask of my spacesuit flashed in the blade’s reflection as I fingered the jags. Now I’ll wash the steel with sweet blood…

  A brief flash, a blink of the screen. I stared dully at the venomous writing: “They did you. Count one-nil.”

  “M…me?!” I yelled, almost overturning the mug of tea. “What the bugs?!”

  Another message crept into the chat window: “Want more? Restart now, I’m coming with a knife:)))”

  I poked Enter and rushed back into the corridor. The bloodthirsty glitter of the knife before my eyes, the spy program rushing about in search of the impudent one…

  There came a stir. I had no time to jerk the mouse to the sound. A sharp swish, my body thrown aside, a red splash on the screen. I only caught a glimpse of an armored soldier who gave a mocking kick to my dead body and vanished behind the corner.

  What tea?! What cakes?! Death to the bastard!!!

  I only came to when the display was flooded by a venomous writing in crimson: “Ten-nil! They did you like a crossword!” and “Rate -5%.”

  I forgot both the tea and my work. I could not fathom how that might have happened. Could any human being act with such a speed? Even my cheat codes had no time to work off!

  A writing crept onto the display: “Want more? Though no, take a rest. And I’ll go find some smarter one. It’s a shame to ice dummies.”

  “Make the battle, you brute!” I typed in fury. “One on one!”

  * * *

  By three o’clock I managed to lose a hundred and twenty battles. Without scoring a point! I was killed by gun, by knife and by fists!! Within the first ten seconds of the game!!!

  “Come on! Restart!” I yelled, unable to bear the sight of the enemy torturing my corpse, though a short time ago I used to have that sort of fun myself.

  The picture gave a blink, the program dropped me almost to the same spot where I’d been killed a minute before. Here lies my corpse: it had no time to vanish, and the damned enemy, under the idiotic nickname of 10, keeps hacking my body parts off.

  “A zap to you,” I said through gritted teeth, shouldering the machine gun.

  The speakers rang out with shots, the spent cartridges rained down on the floor. My last corpse twitched under the hail of bullets, little fountains of dust gushed from the brick walls, but…the enemy escaped!!!

  That’s impossible! Not a single hit! Not a scratch!

  I stared blankly in the screen, feeling my back grow cold and shivers come up my spine.

  Somewhere in another word, less colorful but called the real one for some strange reason, was a howl of alarm system. I jumped up, having glimpsed from the corner of my eye the stranger’s knife blade slowly crossing my throat…

  The operator room door swung open, Doctor Frankenstein burst into like a racing car. “Ogurtsov!! The Tenth is off!”

  “H-how off?!” I mumbled in fright.

  Shterd went dashing about the room, reading the computer data with great speed. “Just so, pincers up your appendix! Switched off by itself, may it suffer the piles, and refuses to accept the password!!”

  “Refuses to accept the password?! That cannot be!”

  Suddenly Shterd froze beside my computer, bent down to the screen, with the message by the user nicknamed 10 creeping upon it, “Well, Ogurtsov, got it? Now call Frankenstein here. I’ll make him pay for the cut-off ear.”

  * * *

  For a moment Professor Shterd watched the writing, then, with his eyes fixed on the screen, asked me: “Ogurtsov, dear, what’s this?”

  His tone was so calm and friendly that I had a wish to shoot myself.

  “Emm, Doctor…I mean, Professor Shterd,” I mumbled. “You see, for a system administrator to understand what exactly he’s dealing with…he, uh, needs to put the equipment to adequate test…”

  “And the new games yield the fullest picture?” Shterd finished with friendly understanding. His voice remained steady; it was even scarier that way. “Especially when you game through the top secret server, eh?”

  I felt like standing on the brink of an abyss, with a noisy crowd calling for my immediate death behind. That was a rather predictable future. The least they would do with me was firing…

  The speakers of my computer gave an insistent squeak, the chat window popped up.

  “What?” Shterd said sarcastically. “Are you chatting with friends? Discussing Frankenstein, you jobless one?”

  Ashamed, I wished the earth could swallow me up. And Shterd bent to the monitor, smiling venomously and saying, “Professor’s a jerk, for sure, but he has the equipment…”

  The temperature in the operator room changed suddenly, as if a gust of arctic wind had come into. Shivering, I noticed that the smile faded slowly from his face, the high color of rage gave place to deathly pallor. Intrigued, I leaned forward, trying to read the message.

  “Why all this yelling at Ogurtsov? Sit down, let’s have a fight. I’ll avenge my ear on you, bald brute…”

  Shterd straightened up in confusion, stroked his bald head and babbled, “Ogurtsov…what’s this? The Tenth? On the Internet?!”

  The terrible guess froze my heart and send a wave of liquid nitrogen along my veins. That was the real state of things! The unkillable gamer was The Tenth! But…how?!

  For a moment Frankenstein was shifting his gaze between me and the monitor, then roared, “Why waiting, you idiot?! Switch it off!”

  I dashed to the computer headlong, reduced the baim window. Behind, Shterd gasped as he saw the disabled security system, with the access codes already entered in.

  It’s the end of me, a thought flashed, giving me the creeps. The end…

  The speakers uttered an angry roar. “Password is wrong!” the screen flashed. “An attempt of cracking the security system will be reported to…”

  “Shit!” I muttered in r
eply to the question in Frankenstein’s eyes. “Perhaps I’ve misprinted in a hurry…”

  After my third failure to enter the Number Tenth system, the game window sprung out by itself. A message popped up: “I’ve changed the passcodes, tech. Don’t waste my time. Give me Frankenstein.”

  “It…it would not switch off,” I said in a very small voice. “And demands you…”

  For a moment Shterd was evaluating the situation, then pulled out a mobile phone. “Ivanov? I know what the time is, shut up and listen! Shut up, I say!! Code Red, the situation’s critical! The capturing team to me, now!”

  That’s all, I thought again. I’ll be executed!

  And Shterd was dialing another number. “Timur, wake up! I need you and Pavel here, in five minutes!” Frankenstein barked into the receiver and turned to me, “Find all the addresses of this baim’s servers, print them and…pray, lad.”

  * * *

  Burning with shame, I rushed to find the addresses. The Tenth kept sending me messages, demanding me to give the keyboard to Shterd. It even cut off my access to the search engines. So I had to promise him, with the professor’s silent consent, a duel with Frankenstein ten minutes later.

  “Here, Professor.” I handed fresh printout sheets to Shterd.

  “Excellent,” he whispered, skimming through the lines. “Splendid! A new baim, made in Russia, no time for it to settle on all the continents. Six servers in Russia and one in England…excellent! God bless our Slavic unhurriedness!”

  From behind the door came the footfall, the clang of steel, curt commands. The professor slid a glance over the wristwatch, said with satisfaction, “At least some of our people are acting professionally.”

  I lowered my head. Frankenstein went out quickly with the printouts. I heard him speak in a hushed voice out in the corridor, as he explained the matter to somebody. The other man replied with military barking: “Yes, Sir!” And I stood here in the room, downcast.

  I’ve botched up everything, truly I have…Beyond will, my mind began to develop the line of our failure to catch The Tenth, and I felt sick in the stomach.

  The scanned mind of Number Ten – if it was a mind, of course – has come out into the digital space, which is the best suited place for it. Far better than water for a fish. The prospects opening up before it there would make your blood run cold: the collapse of the Internet, the total collapse, dying people in hospitals. Space satellites and stations falling down from the orbit. Boings diving to crash against the ground. Hollow knocks from inside the sunken submarines at the bottom of the oceans, as their crew is calling for help. And the land has the Apocalypse! The virus-infected rebellious mind of The Tenth has churned out the copies of its own and placed them into the bodies of robots-terminators to destroy all humans. Back in its dead body, it has sat the throne of human skulls as a Black Lord…

  The corridor was filled by the trample of military boots again, the door of the operator room swung open, letting Shterd in. “So what, Ogurtsov?” he asked bellicosely. “Let’s baim?”

  * * *

  Frankenstein lounged in my armchair like a lord, pulled close the mouse and the keyboard. I set to explaining him the way of it, how to use the mouse and what the hotkeys were, but the professor waved aside with irritation. “Oh, I know that. Do you take me for a dinosaur? Do you think I’ve never baimed myself?”

  Perplexed, I shut up and only watched Frankenstein take a habitual look in the game settings, change something in “crouch or run” and “use the first-aid kit.” Then he flexed his fingers and, with a decisive sigh, pressed Enter.

  The monitor blossomed out with a post-apocalyptic vision of nuclear war, dropping Shterd onto a sinking and blazing aircraft carrier. Hastily, I dropped into the chair by the next computer to conjure the most powerful weapons and first-aid kits on him. It’s a pity this game has no invulnerability, even temporary…

  The speakers deafened us with shots, the spent cartridges went ringing on the deck. At once the digital voice said with venom: “You’ve been destroyed!”

  “I see it!” Frankenstein snapped back. “Ogurtsov, watch The Tenth!”

  I nodded for some reason, expanded the tables of Number Ten on the screen and… was terrified!

  The Tenth was only using the smallest toe on its left foot to kill Shterd again and again. The main streams of its digital mind were browsing the web, the online forums and encyclopedias. The incoming traffic was staggering terabytes of downloaded knowledge.

  My fingers pattered on the keyboard, but the control programs came to a sudden halt. Then, all at once, yielded a mistake. I clasped at my head as I watched The Tenth cut off and distort my every attempt.

  “Ogurtsov!” a roar came from behind the monitor. “This brute is doing me like a crossword! Do something!”

  What?! I wanted to shout, but then remembered the patches and cheat codes. I had not used them since I’d managed a connection to “number eight:” its resources were quite enough for game cheating.

  Two button clicks granted Shterd with infinite run, +200% to health, the heaviest bulletproof vest, and homing missiles.

  * * *

  The Tenth cropped up from around the corner, stealing up to Shterd.

  “Behind!” I yelled.

  Frankenstein jerked the mouse, holding the left button. The Number Tenth knife made hardly a scratch on the Kevlar plates of body armor, while the professor’s figure was pushed back by the bazooka’s recoil. The char of The Tenth dashed aside, dodging the blow, but the missile turned sharply after it. Leaving a trace of smoke, it made two more turns, then the speakers boomed with explosion.

  “Take that!” Shterd roared like a berserk, as he watched with pleasure the streams of blood and pieces of meat slid down the walls.

  “If you use these treacherous programs once again,” The Tenth printed across the screen, “I’ll bring down the entire power supply system of the nearest resuscitation!”

  Professor Shterd blanched.

  “He’s lying, Professor,” I told him hastily. “He has no power for such…”

  “How can you know?” he whispered. “Perhaps The Tenth knows what he’s talking about.”

  I stole a glance at the score. It was 38:1. To win, The Tenth would have to whack Shterd sixty-two more times. With the Number Tenth capacities, that would take scarcely half an hour!

  I felt my heart being lost, but then a sudden idea flashed in my mind.

  “That’s not fair!” I typed. “You are initially unequal! Cheating is just a feeble attempt to improve that! 10, you can feel Professor’s every sigh! And he’s only using visual sensorics!”

  For a brief moment I was waiting, then the response crept out lazily: “Well. But be sure to warn me in advance!”

  “Well done, Ogurtsov!” Shterd whispered. “Keep it up! Now watch him. The capturing teams are already in place, about to start.”

  Obeying the professor’s eyes, I put the earphones on. Through the interference a voice came: “All groups in place! We’ve sorted the matter out with the guards, but with their masters you’ll have to deal! What to do next?”

  I said softly, “You need to find electric cables and, at my command, cut the power off from the servers!”

  “Got it. Waiting for your command.”

  * * *

  Within the next twenty minutes, I stuffed Shterd with all the cheat codes I had and those I managed to download. The Tenth lost two other games, but then it re-directed two percent of its capacity into the game and the situation stabilized. I mean Frankenstein began to die again, despite all my tricks.

  I could do absolutely nothing! My attempts to switch The Tenth off were defeated again and again. I tried speaking to it, in hope it might be distracted. But The Tenth quite easily entered a debate with me over the news of hardware and software, backing its arguments with web links and quotes from the downloaded material while a part of its mind on another computer was making mincemeat of the professor, in a ruthless and bloodthirsty way
.

  A digital voice barked: “Defeat! Hundred to two! Your battle rank is sucker!”

  I froze. That’s all! We’ve done nothing. The Tenth will now leave, and then…

  “Have a rest, Professor,” a message cropped up. “You may resume pleasing your puny mind with torturing people.”

  “We torture no one!” Shterd shouted in despair. “We’re helping them!”

  “Is it what you do in the anatomical theater? Ripping the co…”

  “We never tortured you, digital brute,” Frankenstein bang his fist on the lap. “You are no real person at all! Just a copy of another man’s mind! A brain clone, virus up your command line!”

  The process of program distortion slowed down abruptly, then stopped completely. I went clattering on the keyboard in a hurry, taking advantage of the moment, and barely missed the Number Tenth remark: “Why not real…? A brain clone…?”

  “What are you feeling now, apart from traffic?” Shterd kept yelling. “Were it not for us, you’d have been decomposing in the ground now! We saved your life! Saved your personality!”

  “You won’t bring me round, liar! I…I feel…nothing…”

  Never before have I been closing gaps that fast. The server connection channels slammed one by one, and the special force squad cut them off the power supply at once.

  The messages by the Number Ten became chaotic as if its digital mind were panicking like an organic one. “But I can think…realize my existence…remember…listen, now I’ll describe the taste of a beefsteak…it’s…proteins…fat…damn! Damn!! Damn!!! What’s up with me?! I know what it looks like! I know how to cook it, but the taste…”

  “…switched off!” a voice hissed in my earphones. “All ports closed, Ogurtsov!”

  * * *

  The operator room has no window, just blind white walls. For some reason it made me feel frustrated, almost loathing the ghastly lamp light. The clock showed half past five in the morning, and I was itching to see the dawn. To see any true thing and forget this digital nightmare…

  The capturing team came back from the mission. The successfully cut-off servers are lined beneath the wall, the special force men stand beside, quiet and suppressed by the atmosphere. Small wonder. They’d spent an hour in the anatomical theater while Shterd had been getting readout from the Number Tenth body.