The Rule of Thoughts (36 page)

Michael sat on the toilet lid, fully clothed. He didn’t need to use the bathroom, but he desperately needed to be alone, even if for just a few minutes. Agent Weber had been serious about wanting them to Sink back into the Sleep immediately, and his friends were pretty much ready to go. But not him. He wanted a little time to himself—time to gather his thoughts.

Weber had dropped so much news on them, so many plans at once, that he could feel every single tick of his pulse, throbbing in his head, his neck, even down to the veins in his ankles. They’d done plenty of dangerous stuff, and going back out into the world and risking arrest just wasn’t an option. But he didn’t know if he felt ready for
this
.

The Lance—that ordinary-looking rectangular metal box that was supposed to solve all of their problems. Going back to the Sleep right away, when they’d just risked their lives for
what they thought was the last time. The job of finding that building in
Lifeblood Deep
, getting past its security firewalls, planting the device, triggering it, and getting away. It was so much to accomplish. Not to mention the Squeezing it would take to get them inside the
Deep
in the first place.

Squeezing
.

It seemed like such a simple word for something that was supposed to be utterly terrifying, painful, horrific. Michael had never been through it, of course, but the stories out there were awful, and even if only half of them were true—and those exaggerated—Squeezing was not a pleasant experience.

The process itself was just like it sounded. Your Aura, wrapped tightly in Hider codes, would be jammed through a space the width of one line of programming. Even knowing all he did, he didn’t quite understand how the process worked, but in many ways it was a literal thing. To avoid the massively complex firewalls protecting
Lifeblood Deep
from outsiders, and to avoid detection, you had to squeeze yourself through a virtual crack in the wall. Most people described it as trying to walk through a wall by stretching yourself out so much that you fit between the atoms. It sounded impossible, but in the world of code, you could do just about anything.

As long as you were willing to suffer the consequences.

And evidently, Agent Weber had decided that Michael and his friends were willing.

The bathroom door creaked open, then thumped shut.

“Michael?”

It was Bryson.

“Yeah?” Michael mumbled. Did they really have to go? Now? Couldn’t they get one more night’s sleep? He laid his head in his hands.

“We need to get some more fiber in that diet of yours,” Bryson said, standing right outside Michael’s stall door. “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes, dude. Sometimes it just doesn’t flow, my friend.”

Michael snickered, bursting into a laugh before he knew it.

“At least you’re still alive!” Bryson responded.

Michael stood up, sighed, then walked out of the stall. “Uh, sir?” Bryson asked. “Aren’t you going to flush?”

“No need. I was just sitting there, planning how to add more fiber to my diet.”

Bryson gave him a good, hard look. “Hey, man, you okay? If it helps, I’m more scared than either of you two. I just hide it well by being obnoxious.”

Michael took a deep breath and exhaled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just seems crazy that they’re asking us to do this. With all those fancy agents at their disposal. Sarah’s mom and dad—their lives are on the line, here.”

“But we’ve proven ourselves,” Bryson said with a shrug. “Honestly, would you really trust someone else to do this? It’s us, man. The Burn-and-Pillage-y Trilogy. If anyone can pull this off, it’s me, you, and Sarah. Slip in, do our business, save the world from a psycho, slip out. Weber’s agents find Sarah’s parents. Boom. We can retire.”

Michael had the sudden, embarrassing urge to hug his
friend. He’d needed a pep talk, and he’d gotten it. Bryson punched him in the arm, and Michael guessed that would have to do.

They walked out of the bathroom together, ready to destroy Kaine.

No one spoke much as they prepared for the Coffins. A few bites of protein-rich granola bars, a full-sized bottle of nutrient-saturated liquids, stripping down to their underwear. Handshakes and hugs—Michael hated that part. Without meaning to, they were acting as if this would be the last time they ever saw each other.

If anyone was bothered by Agent Weber’s being in the room while they stood there almost naked, no one showed it.

“I’ll be in my own private NerveBox,” Weber said, “just upstairs in my office. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous spot in fifteen minutes. I’ll give you the Lance device, and you can be on your way.”

That was it. No more explanations, no more time for questions.

Weber left. Michael stepped into his Coffin, closed the lid.

The NerveWires snaked their way across his already moist skin and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he stood in a large white marble room. The veins in the stone pulsed, as if some kind of toxic liquid were pumping through them. Sarah was there; Bryson, too. And Agent Weber—all three of them dressed just like they’d been in the Wake before stripping down.

“So we meet again,” Weber said with a stiff nod. She turned away from them and walked to one of the bright walls, where she reached out and tapped a pattern on its surface. After a moment something hissed and snapped; then a drawer slid open.

“Here we are,” she said as she pulled out a black bag with a strap, handling it carefully. Inside was something boxy, making it obvious what the bag contained.

The Lance.

Weber turned to face them, taking a long look at Michael and his friends, as if assessing whom she trusted most to carry the precious device. The device she’d spent years programming.

“Take this, Michael,” she said finally, handing him the bag.

He accepted it after the slightest hesitation, wondering why she chose him, then slipped the strap over his shoulder. With the bag resting against his hip, he unzipped it and peeked inside, to see exactly what he’d expected: gleaming metal and colorful wires. Weber leaned over, her hair brushing his face. She reached in and pointed to a small keypad on the side of the device, then flipped up its protective case.

“You see that?” she said. “Once you have this open, it’s
eight numbers. I trust you have the password memorized by now.”

“That’s it?” Michael asked, feeling stupid. “Activate this and all our problems are solved?”

Weber stepped back and nodded. “Just like I told you—find the building, break in, find whatever it is that represents his central programming. Insert the Lance device, enter the code. The results will be messy. Get out fast and either find a Portal or I’ll Lift you myself once I know you’re clear. I just wish it were less dangerous.”

“Why do I get the feeling things probably won’t go so smoothly?” Sarah asked, her arms folded as she stared at the bag on Michael’s hip.

“That’s why I’m sending you three,” Weber replied. “I trust you. I’ve seen what you can accomplish. Things are … very complicated among my agents. This needs to be a quiet, small operation.”

“And the Hider codes?” Bryson asked. “Those are still all in place?”

Weber nodded curtly. “Of course. Kaine should have no idea you’re coming. The same applies as before—you won’t be able to see the code like you’re used to, and
Lifeblood Deep
is realistic on a level you absolutely won’t believe until you see it for yourself. Use your NetScreens if you have to.”

She directed a sheepish look Michael’s way. He’d lived most of his life thinking the Deep was the real world. It was a painful reminder of everything he’d lost.

“Now, any questions before I send you off?” Weber looked eager for them to get to work.

Michael and his friends traded looks. And shrugged.

Agent Weber appeared satisfied, almost smiling.

“Good,” she said. “Time to Squeeze you into the
Deep
.”

Michael’s back was pressed against the marble wall between Sarah and Bryson. Weber had told them to hold hands, to not let go no matter how bad things got. Bryson’s hand felt meaty and sweaty, Sarah’s dainty and soft. Michael liked hers a lot better.

Weber faced them, standing a few feet away, a grave look on her face. “I’ll be doing most of the work,” she said. “All you have to do is close your eyes and endure the … intense sensations you’re about to experience.”

“You mean the unbearable pain,” Bryson muttered. “Pain that’s going to make me cry.”

Michael smiled a little, but his heart thumped like the foot of a nervous cartoon rabbit he’d seen on the Vids years and years ago. He wanted to get this part over with.

“Pain, yes,” Weber replied. “But there are also things worse than pain. Just keep hold of each other, try not to panic, and … endure. It won’t last as long as you might think. Once you’re in, get the job done as quickly as possible.” She looked at the bag on Michael’s shoulder—he’d slung it across his chest to make sure it didn’t fall off. “You know what to do, right?”

He nodded stiffly, impatient to get going.

The agent gave them a warm smile, her face creased in what Michael could swear looked like sympathy. It helped, a little, and if Michael had been alone he just might’ve hugged her and said goodbye.

“Okay,” Weber said. “Close your eyes.”

A good minute or two passed before the process began. Michael counted the seconds down for a bit, then abandoned the idea when his anxiety spiked even more. The first thing he noticed was the dimming of the lights. Darkness swept over them, and he had the urge to open his eyes. He didn’t really know if Weber had meant they
needed
to keep them closed, or if that would only help.
Crap
, he thought. He should’ve asked her.

“Do you think—” he started to say, but a loud humming cut him off.

It felt as if the air suddenly had weight, as if it was pressing in on his eardrums with a heavy buzz. His skin tingled, and he shifted on his feet, feeling more and more uncomfortable. All he could do was hold on tightly to Sarah’s and Bryson’s hands and not let go. No matter what. He needed them—he was far more scared than felt natural. Maybe it was the uncertainty that made it so bad.