The Game of Lives (18 page)

Michael had eliminated twelve of the Tangents, had seen the burst of flames—and the nothingness that followed—of the latest victim, and was turning back to his work within the goop of the Code Pool when something slammed against
the protective Bubble that Kaine had programmed around him. It was like a giant bird hitting a window, making a loud enough thump that Michael recoiled and sucked in a gasp of air. A black mass lay splattered against the invisible surface, an amoeba of darkness.

Then a mouth appeared, rimmed with teeth. It reminded Michael of the algae-eaters that suck the walls of an aquarium. That curtain of black around it left no doubt what had come for him.

A KillSim. One of those new daggers-for-teeth KillSims.

He'd barely had the thought when another hit the Bubble next to the first one, flattening out like a pancake of tar. Its mouth appeared instantly. The teeth shone and scraped against the surface. Another one landed right after that.

Three of them.

Hold
, Michael begged the Bubble.
You better hold
. He returned to his work.

It was odd, his current environment. Unlike most of the VirtNet, the Code Pool didn't obey normal physics. It existed in different formats and different locations at once. When Michael immersed himself in it, everything else disappeared, and he saw only that core substance of the programming language in which he floated. But every time he turned his head to look back—he saw it all. The Bubble of protection, the leeching KillSims, Kaine's battle behind that, raging like an alien war in space.

He resumed his deadly work, ending Tangent lives one by one. It made him feel better to know that he was also giving life back to those who'd had their bodies stolen. Or so he
hoped. What a changed world it would be if he trusted Kaine completely.

A horrific screeching sound broke his concentration just as he was about to snap another Tangent life away. He couldn't help but look, almost losing his grip on that tiny stick as he did so. Behind him, one of the KillSims had pierced the shield of the Bubble with a single tooth, letting that awful noise in as it twisted and tore at the invisible material. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard. Michael fought the urge to put his virtual hands to his virtual ears, turned back to his deed, and snapped another line of code. Yet another string of lights winked out.

Michael faced the KillSim again. It had torn a three-inch gash in the Bubble now, grinding away. One of its companions had formed some kind of spike out of its black mass, a dark pick that it used to hammer at the shield. A low thump sounded every time it hit. Soon it was accompanied by a crackle, like a large sheet of ice beginning to break.

Time was running out. There had to be almost a hundred rogue Tangents left in the list Kaine had sent. Michael went into overdrive, taking leaps in his coding that weren't exactly safe or foolproof. He decided the time for careful treading was over. If that protective barrier burst, there'd be no way he could fight off those KillSims before they sucked the essence from his body back home—especially with his strength drained as it was. He'd be a vegetable in no time.

He swept through the files of the Hive, finding connections to over a dozen Tangents and latching on to all of them. Working one by one was no longer an option. Scrapes and
cracks and screeching continued behind him, like a glacier coming apart all at once. That Bubble was about to burst like a lightbulb under a boot. Feverishly, Michael gathered data, pooled it, swept it, manipulated, massaged it. He layered the codes, counting on pure instinct to keep everything in order, working too fast for his mind to make sense of it all.

Before long he held a bundle of fragile sticks in his hand as if he were about to draw straws. Each one represented a life—no matter how programmed or artificial, it was a life. How could he say any different? He'd been one of them. But they were different, he told himself as the KillSims pounded his thin membrane of protection. They'd been created to do harm. Created to wreak havoc on the real world.

But hadn't he been created to do the same? In a way? He was the First, after all.

Michael!

The booming sound of Kaine's voice came from everywhere at once. Michael tore himself from his thoughts and doubts, looked down at the bundle of sticks in his hand. The artificial lives, the threads to their intelligence and being, their lifelines.

He grabbed the two ends with both fists and snapped them all into two pieces. The air lit up with the explosions behind him. He turned to face it and watched fiery clouds of red and orange erupt across the empty space beyond the Hive. Then, as if opened to another dimension, they disappeared, lightning fast, darkness settling on the world once again.

So many dead.

So many saved.

He had to remember that. Kaine said that the original inhabitants of those bodies would automatically get reinserted into the VirtNet, resume their lives. What a wake-up that would be.

There were more. He hadn't gotten all of them. But Kaine and the Tangents on his side outnumbered those who'd come to attack, and it was plain to see that the tide of the battle had turned drastically in Kaine's favor. Michael had done enough.

The KillSims kept coming. The one had opened its dark maw over a foot wide, and even as Michael looked at it, a sharp blade of darkness came swiping at his head. He ducked, letting it skim over him. Just.

The creature with the black spike hadn't stopped hammering; cracks spiderwebbed away from its point of attack, thick and white and expanding. Michael pushed himself as far away as he could, but the Code Pool resisted. It was as if it didn't want him sinking into its goop of code unless he was willing to work it. The dark blade swiped at him again, sliced some threads on his shirt.

“Kaine!” he yelled, not knowing if the Tangent would hear him. “You need to get me out of here!”

Michael saw him, just a glimpse through the white cracks and the bodies of the KillSims that had swarmed his protective Bubble. The Tangent had turned his head toward him, and their eyes met for a brief second, but then he disappeared from view. Hopefully coming to save him. Surely Kaine's friends were enough to—

Michael's vision bounced, then went blurry. It bounced again, as if he were on some amusement park ride that jolted his body. Colors smeared together, getting blurrier and distorted. Stretched, darkening, covered in mist, now brightening, everything turning white. He tried to call for Kaine again, but he couldn't get the words out. Then he was moving, picking up speed, catapulting into a brilliant light, unable to feel anything. There was a terrible rush of noise.

What…?
His mind couldn't form the thought, much less speak it.

The atmosphere popped, and his eardrums felt as if they'd erupted. He screamed—the sound of it was close and contained and dulled, as if he were inside…

A Coffin.

Something hissed loudly; then a bright line of light appeared above him. NerveWires snaked out of his skin and back to their cubbyholes. His body was soaked from head to toe, and every part of him ached.

How had he Lifted? Kaine had been coming for him. Maybe he'd—

Agent Weber's head appeared above him as the Coffin door swung open.

Her.

Again.

“How'd you find me?” he asked, though the words came out slurred and wet-sounding.

“It wasn't that hard,” she said, tilting her head so that her face lined up with his. “I did program you and Kaine, after all. Might as well ask me how I find my own nose.”

Michael tried to sit up, the pronouncement like a charge of electricity through his joints. He flailed his arms and slipped and smacked his head.

“Get out, get showered, get dressed,” Weber said, looking away. “You have ten minutes.”

1

She was waiting for him at the little table in the hotel room's kitchenette, her hands folded in front of her, resting on the wooden surface. She was dressed in the same clothes she'd worn at the World Summit, or something similar. Blazer, skirt, blouse, heels—she looked like a businesswoman. She
always
did. She nodded toward a chair directly across from her. No one else was in the room.

“You should've brought some security,” Michael said, trembling with anger. “I should choke you to death right now. With the hands you made me steal from Jackson Porter.”

She gestured to the chair, then placed her hands on the table again. “You'd never do that to me, and we both know it. Now please sit down. I'm sure you're curious to hear what I've come to say—I flew here all the way from London, despite the million things I need to get done. I'm sure you're curious why I've used my power to Lift you out of the
VirtNet without following protocols. I'm sure you're even wondering why I didn't just come in here and end your life while you lay there, helpless in the Coffin.”

“Or send that weasel Agent Scott to do it,” he replied.

She only nodded, as if the idea had occurred to her.

Michael had to admit, he was curious. As he always was. He stepped over to the chair, pulled it out, then walked around the table and placed the chair close to her. He sat down, his knees almost touching hers. A small act of defiance, not sitting where she wanted him to. Pathetic, but it was all he had.

“Power?” he asked. “Your power? Sounds to me like you're enjoying this ego trip. Your head does look a little bigger, now that I think about it.”

Weber turned to face him. “How many times have we met like this? How many times have you looked at me and thrown accusations like a child? It's time for you to grow up, Michael.”

The laugh that burst from his chest was genuine. “And how many times have I been exactly right? It doesn't matter what you say or do or show me. I'll never trust you again.”

She appeared troubled and shifted in her seat, straightening her skirt. “Fair enough,” she said. His words had obviously struck a nerve, but she quickly recovered her composure. “I didn't come here to ask for your trust. Or even your cooperation. We don't…need you, Michael. I believe you're the one with the ego, not me. How quickly you assume that we can't accomplish a damn thing without your help.”

Michael shook his head and dropped his eyes to the floor.
“Whatever, Agent Weber. Just…I'm not the one who made me sit at this table and listen to you.”

“You're right. That was me. And as you said yourself, I didn't have to do that, did I? I could've had Agent Scott walk in here, open up your Coffin, and end it. But I didn't.” She suddenly leaned toward him. Michael looked up—her face was only a few inches from his. “Despite what you may think, you mean a lot to me, Michael. I don't want you dead. That's ridiculous. A lot of trouble could've been avoided if you'd just done as you were asked and worked with me from the very beginning.”

Michael's flash of anger turned his face hot. He fumbled for the right words to throw back at her and she held up a hand to stop him.

“No, don't,” she said. “You don't have to respond. That was an unfair thing for me to say. We've cajoled you and manipulated you and confused you. I know that. You've had to unbury yourself from layer after layer of deceit, and go through things that no person should. I…”

She faltered, with a sudden tremble in her lips, then sat back in her chair, looking more flustered than Michael had ever seen her.

“What,”
Michael said, emphasizing every word, “
is…wrong…with…you?
It's like you have multiple personalities or something. I think you need help.” Part of him was being cruel, but he also actually believed it. Something was so…
off
about this woman.

Agent Weber stood up hesitantly, as if she were surprised to find herself in the hotel room with Michael. She looked at
him, her face somewhere between confused and distraught, then walked away from the table, circling the kitchenette several times. The most obvious explanation seemed too…obvious.

“Are you a Tangent, Weber?” he asked.

She glanced sharply at him. A long moment passed. Then she shook her head.

“No.” She paced back and forth. “Though I can see why you'd think that. I know that I've been…erratic of late. Well, really, it's when I'm around you. I just don't know how to cope sometimes. I can't believe I'm even saying this in front of you.”

Was it an act? Michael observed her, tried to read something in her face. But she genuinely looked torn up inside.

“Whatever,” he finally said. He considered bolting, but he figured guards were waiting outside.

Weber came back to the table and dragged her chair a little farther away from Michael. The sound of it scraping across the floor put his nerves on edge. She sat down, avoiding his gaze now.

“Michael, I…,” she began, appearing to struggle for the right words. “I need you to know that you're coming with me today. One way or another, I'm taking you from here. Do you understand?”

Michael was thoroughly confused. That wasn't what he'd expected at all.

Weber kept talking. “But I want to talk to you first. I'm so conflicted when it comes to you. I meant what I said earlier. I
did
program you.” Her eyes finally came up to meet his once again. “Do you believe me?”

He didn't answer at first. He wanted to deny it, couldn't believe he was sitting here, listening to her, allowing her to poison his mind with an all-new batch of lies and manipulations. But…he
did
believe her. Maybe some deep part of him could recognize its maker.

Sickened, he nodded, just once.

“Most of your memories are real,” she said. “I want you to know that. I created you over ten years ago, as part of my training with the VNS. We wanted you as lifelike as possible. More importantly, we wanted you to
believe
you were real. We did create the first few years of your life within
Lifeblood Deep
to give you a foundation, but from that moment on, from when you were about five or six, your memories—every one of them—actually happened. We fabricated nothing.”

Michael tried to grasp some meaning out of all she said. “How can you say nothing was fabricated? I'm a computer program!”

“Yes, that's true. But within the world of the Deep, you actually had each and every one of those memories from the last decade of your life. With your parents. With Helga. With your friends.”

“And then you took it all away from me.” Michael was drained of any fight. He hated this woman, and he was so exhausted.

Weber stared at a spot on the table. “I take it he's told you the truth?”

And with that simple sentence, she proved that everything Kaine had said was true. Michael stumbled out of his chair, barely made it to the couch, collapsed onto it. He
buried his head in his arms and swore he'd never get up again.

There was the sound of a chair moving and a few steps; then Weber was standing right above him. He could almost feel her shadow across his shoulders like a blanket. The door opened. Heavy footsteps. The rustle of clothing. Michael knew it was her people, but refused to give them the satisfaction of looking.

Weber crouched over him, put a hand on his back as she leaned down to whisper into his ear. “I've gone too far to turn back now. Way too far. I need to keep going for the sake of the world.”

Michael flinched as if she'd hurt him.

Agent Weber of VirtNet Security stood up. “Do it.”

Rough hands grabbed Michael by the arms.

2

He didn't fight them, the two men dressed in fatigues. He realized that Weber had gotten her wish—she now had armies at her disposal, by the looks of it. And who knew what else? Or how many people she'd taken over with Tangents to get what she wanted? Michael went with them quietly—down the hall, into the elevator, through the lobby, out the doors of the hotel, into the back of a car—but his mind was a tornado of noise, sorting out all that he knew and trying to figure out what in the world he could do about it. Before long, they were on a plane and in the air.

He refused to talk, refused to be intimidated by the guards. And they let him be, although they made it very clear he wasn't to touch his EarCuff.

Hours passed.

The plane landed and the soldiers dragged him to a car—a fancy hovercraft reserved for big government types. One of the soldiers drove; the other one sat next to Michael in the back, sure to flash the barrel of his gun as he took his seat. Weber situated herself on Michael's other side.

“I lied when I said I don't need you,” Weber said. It was the first time he'd heard her voice in hours.

Michael sighed. “And what's that supposed to mean?” he asked wearily.

“There's a connection between you and the Mortality Doctrine program.” She faced the window, seemingly engrossed in watching the buildings flashing by. “It's a very complex program that was created using quantum computing. Essentially, it requires so much data knowledge that the human brain can't handle it. Only artificial intelligence can manipulate it, and you're part of the ethereal connection holding it all together. Like a battery in an old gas engine. Or more like the gas itself.”

Michael listened, but said nothing. He knew plenty about quantum computing and wasn't surprised at all to know that the Mortality Doctrine program used it. That was the only way to explain how they'd figured out how to utilize the human brain itself as a computer. But how it all had to stay connected through him? That he didn't get. Though he sure wasn't going to admit that to Weber.

She finally turned to look at him again. “So we do need you, Michael. We just don't need your help. Do you understand the difference?”

“I'm not an idiot,” he spat out.

“No, you're not. We know that all too well.”

“Where are we going?” he asked. “Why did you pull me out of the Sleep, but leave Kaine and the rest of those Tangents behind?” He wished he could pretend he didn't care, but he couldn't hold back.

“Because he's doing exactly what we need, whether he knows it or not.” Weber returned her gaze to the window as the car dipped and slowed, then lowered itself to the road again. A garage was opening up in the face of a really tall skyscraper. “That group of Tangents breaking away from Kaine created yet another enemy that we didn't need. And seeing their overall numbers dwindle in all this fighting—that's just a bonus. They will all be insignificant soon enough.”

The car rolled forward into the garage, drove through the dark for a bit, then pulled to a stop.

Weber reached for the door handle but paused. “There've been times when I've doubted my actions,” she said, her voice solemn. “It was a plan ten years in the making, programming you and other test Tangents, creating Kaine, laying the foundation—it took a lot of work. And when it all came together, and I saw the effects…on you, on others, on the world…I wanted to stop. That's the honest truth. But like I said, we'd gone too far. If we stop now, the world will descend into chaos. I can't let things get even worse. So we move on. It's almost complete. Will be by tomorrow night, is my guess.”

She opened the door and stepped out, then leaned in to continue speaking to him. “I give you my word, Michael: when our task is done and we have control over the globe and its governments, things will be better. And safer. And then the VirtNet can truly take its place as the centerpiece of life for the human race. You'll see.”

She stepped away before he could respond. The soldier next to him gave him a little nudge with his elbow.

“Come on, kid,” he said, his voice as rough as his weathered face. “Things aren't so bad. You get to see all of this firsthand. The biggest revolution the world has ever known. Now, are you going to cooperate or do I need to cuff you?”

Michael was too stunned to speak. He just shook his head and lowered his gaze as humbly as he could. Then he got out of the car and followed Agent Weber.

3

They led him to a giant room filled with Coffins.

The place was so massive that he found it hard to believe he was in the real world and not in the VirtNet somewhere. It was as long as a football field. Iron-railed balconies lined both walls and stretched to the ceiling hundreds of feet over their heads. Faint lights shone somewhere up there, lost in what seemed like a mist or bank of clouds. Surely his vision was just blurry from the rush of information that had dazed him.

The floor in front of him, and each balcony—as far as he could see from where he stood—was full of Coffins.
Hundreds of them, their soft lights blinking and glowing. They lined the walls, one after another, like the world's largest crypt. And most of them appeared to be in operation. The air was cool and smelled of well-oiled machinery and the metallic tinge of electricity.

“We've been building all of this to lead up to this day,” Weber said, proudly throwing her arms up to indicate the giant space. “This is our command center, each NerveBox occupied by my most faithful colleagues. We've been careful. We knew that if we moved too quickly, people would lose faith in us before we could make them have faith
only
in us. You understand?”

Michael tried to keep emotion off his face. “Why are you telling me this?”

Weber shrugged. “You're the closest thing to a son I'll ever have. And you're a part of this. Great things are going to happen today. I want to share them with you.”

Her comments should've sent him flying into a rage. Comparing herself to his mother—it should've been the last straw. He wanted to scream, but he knew he couldn't.