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return address. If the virus detects the communication hardware on the computer, it attaches the second letter to any of yours: a tiny, invisible one… a postcard. Without any text but with your return address. The letters leave together but later, already from the other computer, the postcard is forwarded directly to Al-Kabar's security department.
    I froze inside.
    – I've killed the virus on the computer…
    – You've killed not the virus itself, but its false 'reflections' created by it especially for distraction. Commonly used programs don't detect the postcard yet, it's still too rare.
    – What should I do?
    – Treat me with beer, – smirked Maniac, – Now you'll receive a special 'cure' from me, the special antivirus. There's no hints in it, you just start the .BAT file and it checks your machine. Note that it'll work for long, this is not a commercial product, just … my personal insurance from my own virus.
    – Thanks.
    – Um-hm.. Lenia, you've nearly got into really big trouble.
    – Too many hackers were bred, – I growled out, – Shit, why haven't you ever tell me about this thing?
    – But how could I know you are so deep in computer burglary? – reasonably objected Maniac, – Next time let me know when you are about to break into cool places. Okay, start your modem.
    In a couple of minutes I launched antivirus.. It was really slow, informing that a postcard is detected every minute. The polymorph have plagued the whole computer.
    It was really close.
    Glancing at the screen, I've built a huge sandwich, poured a hot tea into the cup and came out to the balcony. It was already dark outside and raining slightly, the air was damp and cold.
    It's overconfidence that kills divers. We don't fear the virtual world's dangers and this lulls our vigilance.
    But the most annoying thing is that we are all amateurs. For some reason, no divers shape out of hackers – they percept the virtual world as the real one.
    Though it was me, the so-so computer artist from the small computer games company that went broke three years ago and who got an old computer as a dismissal pay, who DID become a diver. One of the hundred on this planet.
    I was lucky.
    Possibly, I was just lucky.

10
    Not more than five years ago the virtual world was nothing more but the sci-fi writers' creation. Computer networks, virtual helmets and suits already existed, but all this was only profanation. Hundreds of games were created where one could move in the spacious and colorful cyberspace but virtuality even couldn't be mentioned.
    The world created by computers is too primitive, it can't be compared even with cartoons, not to mention movies. Thus, the real world is completely out of question. One could run around in the drawn labyrinths and castles, fight with monsters or with his own friends who sit by the computers as well. But even in the worst feverish ravings it was impossible to confuse reality and illusion.
    Computer networks allowed people all over the world to communicate, but it was nothing more than exchanging character lines on the screen… in the best case – the drawn face of your interlocutor could be on the screen too.
    The real virtuality required too powerful computers, extremely high quality communication lines, titanic work of millions of programmers. It would take several dozens of years to build the city like Deeptown.
    Everything had changed dramatically when Dmitry Dibenko, the former hacker from Moscow (now the wealthy US citizen) invented The Deep: a tiny program influencing human subconsciousness. They say he was crazy about Castaneda's books, liked to meditate and smoked grass. I surely believe in it. His former friends confess that he was cynical and lazy, a sloven and very so-so professional. In this I do believe too.
    But it was him who gave rise to the deep. Ten second clip displayed on the screen is harmless by itself. If shown on TV (I heard it was dared to be done in some countries), the TV watcher won't