The Game of Lives (13 page)

Then, far below, Agent Weber appeared from the shadows. She reached the dais, took the stairs, and calmly crossed the stage. Guards parted for her, their confusion obvious to Michael even from a distance. But a dozen or so feet from her, a man suddenly raised his weapon, aiming it straight at her. Before he could pull the trigger, he collapsed to the ground, rolled down a couple of stairs, and came to rest in a twisted bundle of arms and legs. His weapon clanked against the floor.

Agent Weber never even paused.

Michael's heart felt as if it had forgotten how to pump blood, his breathing at a standstill.

Weber looked down at the body of the guard who'd claimed to be Kaine, stepped over him, and moved to the podium proper. The microphone stood before her. She appeared comfortable, serene, as if she'd waited her whole life for this moment. The hologram now showed her to the masses within the chamber, the NewsBops surely projecting her image to the entire world.

She took a moment, allowing the shock of events to dissipate before she spoke. Michael forced himself to breathe now, trying to do it as calmly and as deeply as he could.

Agent Weber leaned forward an inch or two and spoke directly into the microphone.

“I can't imagine the confusion and horror that all of you must feel right now,” she said. “Not just those of you in this
once-beautiful audience chamber, but those watching around the world. What we've witnessed here today is a tragedy—there's no debating that. But it's also a moment of hope for us all. Our time to speak was meant for later, but under the circumstances, I felt it appropriate to come up here now and show you what we've prepared.”

She paused, flashing the smallest hint of a smile. Then she said something that gave Michael chills.

“Be at peace, all of you.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “The VNS is going to save the world from its demons.”

1

Conversation moved across the chamber in a wave of hushed whispers. Michael's group was just as eager to discuss what had just happened. Bryson and Helga turned to Michael, but Michael held up his hand. He didn't want to miss something vital.

Information. He needed to know everything possible. And then he planned to do something about it.

“I ask for your patience right now,” Agent Weber said, her words booming from the speakers. “If you will give me but a little slice of your time, everything will be explained. I come today as a representative of the VNS, an entity that exists to protect one of mankind's most valuable resources, the VirtNet. As you know, we've recently suffered a devastating loss to our internal structure, setting us back considerably.”

She sighed and frowned, a little too dramatically, playing up how difficult the situation was. Michael wanted to scream.
She was the one responsible for the damage! She'd
given
them the Lance device!

Weber continued. “Because of that setback, the Tangent known as Kaine has been able to apply his Mortality Doctrine program without restriction. As a result, programs have been inserted into the bodies of humans the world over. Sadly, the results of Kaine's actions culminated in the bloody savagery you saw here today. I am happy to say that we came here with good news, and now it has only been amplified by what's happened.”

She nodded at someone and the hologram of her was replaced by a 3D image of a large room full of people, each working at a small station of glowing screens and blinking machines. It was such an unexpected image that Michael's anger was replaced by genuine curiosity.

“The VNS has put their hardest-working, most effective programmers on the task of diving into the deepest, darkest realms of the VirtNet in an attempt to unravel the mysteries of this Mortality Doctrine. After much work, and with the help of many brilliant minds, we've finally been able to reverse-engineer the program, effectively terminating the connection that allows its continuity. The Tangent program thus ceases to exist.”

The vast hologram at the front of the room changed once again, from a view of Weber's room of workers to that of a street, where a man stumbled along the sidewalk, holding another man in the crook of his arm in a choke hold. The aggressor was waving a gun wildly as he struggled to hold on to the second man. Even without audio, it was clear that the
man with the gun was yelling at everyone around him. Then the image froze.

“This was our first test of the process,” Agent Weber said, “initiated just yesterday. This man was a politician in the city of Berlin. One moment he was a popular moderate, running for prime minister, and this very morning he was claiming to be a piece of VirtNet programming. When the politician in question abducted this senior staff member, he began yelling to anyone who'd listen that Kaine, the…how did he say it…the ‘Lord of the Tangents,' had ordered him to kill every person in the entire city, one by one, as a sign of what was to come. We saw this moment as the perfect chance to test our process. Watch what happens next.”

Michael watched Weber carefully, wondering if everyone else realized just how horrific her plan—the VNS's plan—was. But she had a card up her sleeve. The general population didn't know about the Hive—didn't know that these people still had a chance at life. Yes, maybe the VNS had figured out a way to wipe out the invading Tangents by severing the Mortality Doctrine link.

But the humans would die, too.

Michael would die. And then Jackson Porter.

2

He turned his attention to the holographic image of the German street. The video had shifted back into motion. The struggle continued until the strange man stopped, then
abruptly collapsed. The gun tumbled out of his hand, and his hold on the victim loosened until the hostage could scramble away. It was as if someone had snapped the politician's spinal cord. He lay lifeless as a crowd gathered around him, staring down in awe. The image froze again, then vanished, and once more Agent Weber's larger-than-life visage appeared above them.

“To our relief and delight,” she said, “the process we triggered worked to permanently sever the connection between the politician's body and the Tangent's consciousness by destroying the Tangent program in the VirtNet. As you could clearly see from the images shown just now, at least one human life was saved, and probably many more.”

Weber looked around the enormous chamber, her eyes flashing across Michael for just an instant, making a chill run down his back. He waited for her inevitable justification of the consequences.

“We came today to present these important findings. The VNS had planned to do further extensive testing of the process before implementing it on a grand scale. But today's events have expedited our plans. We've decided it's time to take action. We could have never expected our most wanted criminal to give himself over to us.”

She held up a fist as if to salute, though Michael wasn't sure whom. Maybe herself. “Kaine—the one who started it all—is dead. And by his own carelessness, we were able to pinpoint his signal and terminate his connection, ending him forever. We are sure that others will come forward and claim to be this powerful Tangent, but rest assured, he has
ceased to exist. Before our plan to reverse the Tangent takeover has even officially begun, we've had our greatest victory.”

She slammed her fist on the podium. “Kaine is dead!”

The audience erupted into applause. There were shouts and whistles, stomping of feet, all of it a thunderous roar of approval. Michael didn't move a muscle of his Aura. He looked at Bryson and Helga, who appeared equally disbelieving.

“That wasn't Kaine,” Michael said, though he doubted Bryson could hear him over the noise. Everything about this stank to high heaven. What was Weber's game here? What was the VNS up to?

As for Weber, she seemed to relish the moment. When she finally raised her arms, motioning the chamber to silence, she appeared reluctant to step away from her place in the spotlight.

“Please,” she said, repeating it several times until the crowd quieted down and took their seats. “Thank you. I appreciate your show of support—we all do—but the time to truly celebrate is yet to come. A massive struggle awaits. Identifying and triggering the Anti–Mortality Doctrine against all known Tangents will take a considerable effort. Even in this room, as we speak, there are those who know they're guilty. And yet they are quiet, hoping to avoid discovery. I assure you all, they will not. My people are working feverishly to make sure of that. As you can see.”

She held up a hand and snapped her fingers—actually snapped her fingers, as if her childhood dreams of magical
hocus-pocus were making it happen—and several more guards fell to the ground around the stage. The remaining guards backed away, as if scared of their own sudden deaths.

Weber looked pleased at the murders she'd just committed. She lowered her arm and continued.

“Our system of identifying Tangent invaders is far from perfect, but you've just seen it demonstrated. In the time that Kaine stepped up here and identified himself and gave his speech, my people in our war room were able to lock on his connection to the VirtNet and sever it. They immediately began work on the guards and achieved what you just witnessed. In time—soon, we hope—we'll be able to sweep the world. This should discourage any Tangent from ever initiating the Mortality Doctrine again. It will mean certain death. It will mean true death.”

Michael winced at the words. The phrase made him think of Sarah, whom he'd lost because of this woman. He could barely keep still in his seat.

“The VNS can save humanity from this plague. All we ask is for your support, unilateral authority to do what needs to be done. And resources—we need both funding and manpower.”

She swept the chamber with her hard, confident gaze. “Our world has been invaded by demons, my friends. And we are the exorcists. Thank you.”

Once again, the auditorium erupted into applause. Everyone was on their feet, except for Michael's small group. No one had noticed the most pressing issue: the VNS was going to kill every last Tangent in the world—and the humans
right along with them. Michael couldn't take it one more second. He got up, pushed his way down the row of seats and into the aisle, then ran for the exit, to the Portal outside Latvia's antechamber.

He had to get out of the Sleep.

3

Michael thought he'd be hassled trying to leave the Latvian embassy after everything that had happened, but the guards just offered curt nods as he passed them on his way out into the streets of Washington, D.C.

Fog had crept back into the air. It cascaded over signs and buildings and cars, almost like a ghostly living thing. Michael's shirt was damp, his hair as well, and by the time he'd walked through three or four intersections, he was feeling a bit dazed. People appeared like magic from the mist, passing him on the sidewalk, then vanishing once again behind him. Not many people were out—Michael figured that most were probably glued to the NewsBops, watching Weber's grand performance over and over.

He kept walking. He would stop for a light, look for cars, and continue. From time to time he'd peek into store windows, as if his world hadn't crumbled around his feet. He had absolutely no idea where he was going or what he was going to do, but he couldn't go back. He couldn't.

Bryson would be mad. Helga would be downright livid. And he didn't care. He loved both of them, but he didn't
care. They'd find him later, or he'd find them. So he wandered, the beginnings of a terrible idea brewing in his mind. He wasn't ready to pour it out, accept its awfulness. But he was heading straight for it, one way or another. And he had to do it by himself.

He walked on, swallowed by the mist.

4

The streets grew emptier the farther he went, even though the buildings got taller and wider and more modern. There was a river nearby, but he could only tell because of a giant bridge that loomed before him as he neared. It got to the point that he hardly saw a person every five minutes, and day began to fade into night, darkness seeping through the fog, sinister, deadly.

A woman came out of a store, staring at Michael a little too intently for his liking. She stopped midstride, her eyes following him. Alarms went off in his head. It was a Tangent—it had to be. He picked up his pace and took a few quick turns to make sure she wasn't following him. It was hard to tell with the blanket of mist hovering around him. He kept moving.

At some point, he found himself in front of a massive hotel. What stopped him was the sign out front, blazing with flashing lights.

NERVEBOX SERVICE AVAILABLE WITH ROOMS

He stood there and stared at the words. They disappeared, replaced by other advertisements and announcements and special offers, cycling through its program. Then the words he cared about flashed on again.

Coffins. At this very hotel, he could get a room and a Coffin. He knew what he had to do. He walked forward, opened the door, and stepped up to the registration desk. A friendly man with a perfect haircut greeted him, though he couldn't hide the anxiety in his eyes. He'd been watching the NewsBops, no doubt.

“May I help you?” the man asked.

Michael took a breath and went for it. “I'd like your nicest room, with your nicest Coffin. Um, I mean NerveBox. And I need to check in right now.”

5

Michael lay on the bed in his room, staring at the ceiling. Things seemed to be working out for him today. Well, if you didn't count the whole murderous rampage incident. He'd made it out of the World Summit and the Latvian embassy, made it through the streets of D.C., found a hotel with Coffin service, and then, the topper, been able to get himself a room with the fake identity he'd created so long ago. Using the money he'd stolen from Jackson Porter's parents.

Someone might've figured it out. Maybe he was being traced. Flags might've been raised. But the world had much bigger problems to deal with right then. In any case, he
hoped to be done, one way or another, by the time anyone could get to him.

There was a tap at the door.

For just a split second, fear spiked in his chest. But then a voice said, “Room service.” He'd ordered almost everything on the menu. He hadn't eaten much since waking up that morning, and now it had caught up with him.

He needed to build up his strength. So he tipped the lady after she brought in the rolling cart of steaming food, then closed the door, locked it, and triggered the dead bolt. Then he dug in, starting with the bleu chips. He thought of Sarah with every bite.

6

A half hour later, he had stripped down and was standing above the open Coffin. He'd eaten so much that his stomach stuck out in a satisfying bulge. He rubbed it for good luck, then stepped into the pod, lowering himself until he lay flat on his back. He took several deep breaths to ease his nerves, more scared than he wanted to admit.

Bryson and Helga, along with her Tangent Alliance, were searching the streets for him at that very moment. He was sure of it. He was also sure that they were frantic and angry. He felt bad—he shouldn't have left them like that—but he needed to do this alone. He'd ask their forgiveness once he got back.

If
he got back.

No,
when
he got back.

Nah.
If
. No point being dishonest.

He finished off the programming he'd already started on the outside console. Then he reached up to his ear and clicked on his NetScreen. He sent the message he'd typed earlier, encrypting it with five layers of hidden codes, to the onetime connection link provided by the Tangent himself. If he was out there, he'd get the message. Michael pressed the final button, then closed his eyes, waiting for the mechanisms to take over his body and Sink him into the Sleep.