The Game of Lives (11 page)

1

Not much happened the rest of that afternoon and evening, which allowed Michael to nap on one of the beds in the adjoining hotel rooms they checked into. Bryson sat on the bed next to him, mostly staring absently into space. Michael knew his friend felt just as much pain at losing Sarah as he did, and probably the same guilt at not being able to make the other feel better. But at least they were together.

The most important thing I do now is put an end to this Tangent craziness
, Michael told himself.
The Hallowed Ravine. Somehow it all goes back to the Hallowed Ravine
.

Helga and the others were busy, doing what, Michael didn't know. He couldn't bring himself to ask. Tomorrow, he kept telling himself. He'd be rested and rejuvenated, ready to kick some butt.

At some point that night, between fitful dozes, he realized he couldn't stand the silence anymore and spoke to Bryson.

“You awake?” Michael turned and looked at his friend, lying on top of the covers of the other bed.

“Yep.”

“How's it hangin'?” Michael asked him, the words coming out a bit croaky. “Besides the obvious.”

Bryson answered after a heavy sigh. “Besides the obvious, I'm doing downright swell. Quite lovely, old chap.” He mocked a British accent again there at the end, doing a crap-poor job of it.

“I think that's more, like, Australian,” Michael said. “Maybe drunk Australian.”

Bryson sat up and yawned. “I was going more for Madagascarian.”

“I'm sure that's a thing.”

“It's a thing.”

They stared at each other, then burst into one of those hysterical late-night laughing fits that couldn't possibly happen during the light of day. It was a start.

“I keep picturing her parents,” Bryson said several minutes later, after they'd sobered up. “I almost feel worse for them than I do for Sarah herself. I mean, can you imagine telling them? I gotta be honest, I hope I never see them again. I can't do it. It's gonna kill 'em.”

Michael knew that was totally selfish. And yet he felt exactly the same way.

“They'll blame us,” he said. “And they'll be right.”

Bryson shook his head. “Nah, man. Come on, we've got plenty to beat ourselves up about. And plenty to cry about. Now we need to focus on moving forward. We're the good
guys, and we could've given up a long time ago. Anyone who thinks differently can kiss my big white butt.”

“Amen,” Michael said. “And that'll be punishment enough. Where's Gabby?”

“She's in another room, sleeping, I'd guess. She's really feeling stupid about the whole thing. I had a talk with her, though. Honestly, man, I think she's okay. She didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter. They made all kinds of threats.”

Michael shrugged. “Yeah, I figured. I'll talk to her tomorrow. I'm just glad she's alive.”

Bryson didn't answer, and the silence felt heavy.

Michael finally changed the subject. “I'm so thirsty I can feel my tongue cracking into dust. I'm going to get a drink out of the vending machine.” He got up from the bed and rubbed his eyes, let out a big yawn. “You want something?”

“Whiskey?”

Michael just stared at him. “How about a nice cold cola?”

“That'll do.”

As Michael opened the door to the hallway, he could see Helga, Walter, Amy, and a few others huddled over a NetScreen in the adjoining room. They evidently had no interest in sleep. He thought about speaking to them, but he just wasn't in the mood for that yet. He slipped out and quietly closed the door behind him.

2

There was a snack nook about halfway down the hallway, and he stopped there, glad that no one else was around. He'd had enough of other people. Every time he ran into someone new, his mind jumped to the same conclusion—
Tangent, Tangent, Tangent
. Only he couldn't tell whether they worshipped him or wanted him dead.

His credit chip worked fine on the vending machines, producing the same drink he'd created at the streetside shop earlier. He also bought some regular old potato chips and a couple of water tubes. Then he got a cola for Bryson. He was just taking that last item out of the dispenser when he heard the creak of hinges: a door was opening out in the hallway. He waited for the inevitable clunk of the door closing again, but it never came. The hall was silent.

Gathering his things in the crook of his arm, Michael left the snack nook and immediately saw the door he'd heard open a few moments earlier. It was still ajar, and an older woman was standing there, staring right at him. She didn't look angry, but she didn't look particularly happy to see him, either.

“Hi,” Michael said, feeling as if he were swimming in a pool of awkward. “Cannnnnn I help you? Want something to eat?”

“No. Thank you.” She spoke in a sweet old-lady voice, then closed the door, the hard thump echoing down the hallway.

Michael stood and watched the door for a minute, wondering
if she'd open it again. There were billions of people in the world. Surely the Tangents couldn't follow him along each phase of his journey.

Yeah, right
, he thought. Like anything would ever surprise him again.

He sighed and started walking back to his room, passing the lady's room on his way. He slowed and tried to look in the peephole as he passed—it seemed much darker than the others. He imagined her aging eye on the other side, watching his every step through her cataract. He told himself that all old ladies did that sort of thing. They assumed every teenage kid they ever saw was one candy-rush away from murdering every senior citizen in sight.

It could be a coincidence, he thought. All these people watching him. It could be his imagination, or just paranoia from all he'd gone through. People had an instinct to observe those around them. Didn't they? A pair of eyes on him didn't mean a Tangent spy for Kaine every single time. They might just be normal people wondering if they'd seen him before, somewhere on the NewsBops.

Making light of things, he realized, was an excellent way to get himself killed. He picked up his pace and hurried for his room.

3

“We've got to get out of here,” he said to Bryson after they'd both taken long gulps from their drink tubes. “I feel like
every person I come across is watching me, then messaging Kaine or Weber or the cops as soon I move on. It's really giving me the creeps.”

Bryson took another lengthy swallow. “Come on, dude. What good does running do? If he can follow us everywhere, then what's the point of changing places?” Another glug. “Just chill and let's do what Helga and her posse tell us.”

“That's what we've done from the very beginning,” Michael said, halfheartedly fighting back. He mostly agreed with his friend. “It's like we're mice in a maze—loosed by Weber, manipulated by Kaine. I'm sick of it. There's no reason the two of us couldn't hack into the Hallowed Ravine all by our lonesome.”

“Well, yeah,” Bryson responded. “But it'd be awfully tough without Helga's help and protection. At least you trust her, right?”

Michael thought about that. He did. He really did. “Yeah,” he finally answered. “But there's still a tiny little bit of doubt hidden in there. Who knows, man. Maybe Kaine created her years before he captured me, had it planned out all along. I trust her, but I'm done ever trusting anyone one hundred percent again.”

“Even me?” Bryson asked.

Michael lay back on his pillows. “No. You're different. You, I trust. Now go to sleep.”

“Helga might want us soon.”

“I'm sure we won't start until morning. It's still dark out.”

Michael closed his eyes, tried to relax. He saw that old
lady peering at him from her hotel door. The whole world had gone nuts. Including him.

He fell asleep. Sarah smiled at him in his dreams.

4

Bryson woke him up early with a nudge. “Hey, considering the way you snored all night, I think you're ready to get your lazy butt out of bed. Man, you sounded like an old-school lawn mower. I kept having Griever nightmares.”

Michael felt like death awakened from the deepest, darkest crypt of hell. He let out a long groan that didn't do a thing to make him feel better. “Griever? Seriously? I thought your parents banned you from that game.”

Bryson stared at him until they both burst out laughing. Maybe life would go on after all.

“Come on,” Bryson said. “Helga and her alliance of superheroes are waiting for us in the next room. She called it a briefing. That's right. A briefing.”

“Sounds serious.”

Bryson pulled out his horrific British accent again. “Quite extraordinary, my dear chap. Perhaps she'll serve some biscuits and tea.”

“What's up with this accent all of a sudden? You sound like an old lady from Monty Python.” The comedy group had been dead for decades, but were probably more popular than ever in the Sleep nostalgia cinemas.

“I'll take that as a compliment. The summit's in London,
remember? London's in England? They have British accents there? Try to keep up. Now come on, let's go.”

Michael slowly got to his feet. Something smelled terrible. It didn't take long to figure out what it was. Himself.

“Tell her I'll be there in ten minutes—I swear I haven't showered in a week. I gotta wash off this stink.”

Bryson looked awfully grateful.

5

They crowded into one room, about fourteen people in all. Most of them hadn't been introduced to Michael yet, though their faces had become familiar enough. Helga stood in front of the window, where early-morning sunlight showed that the mist and fog had finally burned away. Walter, as always, was right by her side, actually looking as if he didn't want to kill someone today. Gabby was there, and she awkwardly met Michael's eyes when he entered. He gave her his best smile, trying to show that he didn't hold anything against her.

Trust no one
, he thought, almost as if Jackson Porter were sneaking back into his mind and trying to send him a message.
Trust no one ever again
.

What a way to live.

“Michael,” Helga began, summoning his attention and embarrassing him. “Bryson. Gabby. We're all glad you're here, safe for the moment. There's no possible way we could find the words to express our condolences on the loss of Sarah. I'm truly sorry. But like I've said—”

Michael finished for her. “There's always hope.” At that moment, he actually felt it a little.

Helga responded with the sincerest of nods. She was
his
Helga, he had no doubt, no matter what secondary voices might argue in his mind. The thought made him feel a little better.

“Truer words were never spoken,” his nanny said. “There's always hope. Always. You just never know what life—or death—might bring. I think we've all seen that the world is a little more complicated than we ever could have imagined.”

Helga paused, as if for a moment of silence, then started talking again.

“The World Summit is tonight, held in the new Union of Earth audience chamber. A lot of the world leaders have physically gone to London, but obviously not everyone could make it. So there'll be quite a few connected through the VirtNet, as holograms. I want a chance to plead our case right there on the chamber floor, and since it's far too dangerous to travel to London”—she gave Michael a flat stare, then Bryson, then Gabby—“we'll use the Sleep to get there. Somehow, some way, we
will
be heard.”

“You really think we can hack into the most highly secured meeting…maybe ever?” Michael asked. He already loved the idea.

“Absolutely,” Helga replied. “We inserted Alliance Tangents strategically, some of whom have taken over an embassy here in Washington. I thought it best to pick a country big enough to be invited to the summit but small enough to stay under most anyone's radar. We have to be smart about this.”

Michael nodded. Things were sounding more and more fun.

“One of our Tangents,” Helga continued, “is now the chief of staff for the prime minister of Latvia. He's been on the job—well, his likeness, I should say—has been on the job for over twenty years. Before we sent our man into his mind—a Tangent known by the name of Levi—we did an exhaustive, hyperspeed analysis of the staff chief's life, history, mannerisms, personality, everything. We knew that a big part of our plan could hinge on Levi's ability to blend in.”

“And?” Bryson asked. “How's he done so far?”

“So far, perfect,” answered Helga. “By all accounts, he's fooled them all. He helped us place others in the Latvian embassy in the U.S., including their very own ambassador. That man is named Guntis, and he'll be the one who gets us inside the embassy itself. We'll use their state-of-the-art NerveBoxes to enter the summit virtually, pretending to be members of Guntis's staff. The credentials are all laid out.”

It troubled Michael, as usual. They all seemed proud of what they'd done, placing one of their own in such an important political position, no matter the size of the country represented. But again, they'd stolen a life. It was impossible for him to get past that little—no, huge—part of the puzzle.

“Michael, you look upset,” Helga said. “And we haven't even started yet.”

“You know why” was the best response he could manage.

Helga folded her arms and leaned against the window. “This…this is why I went through all that trouble to take you to the Hive. You've been there, you've seen it yourself. These people…they're still alive in every sense of what
makes a human a human. And I'd bet my own life that when all is said and done and we've helped stop the madness that Kaine has begun, they'll thank us. And they'll get their bodies back. We all swore to it, Michael. We're not here to stay.”