The Rule of Thoughts (19 page)

The cop held up a hand, and Michael knew it was time to shut up.

“Boy, let me tell you something. I’ve met some brave people in my life. And I’ve met some awfully stupid people. You’re one of the rare ones that are both. Trying to bribe me? Do you realize I’m an eighth-generation cop? My great-great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather rode a horse on his patrols, son. A
horse
. Do you think I’m going to take a few credits from a teenager and throw all that in the crapper?”

Dang
, Michael thought. It was hard to argue with the horse story. He decided to dive into the scary waters of the naked truth.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m really desperate. You can’t take me back. Please. It has to do with Kaine—I know you’ve heard of him—and we have information. We need to go to the VNS headquarters in Atlanta.”

“Well,” the cop replied, “if you know so much, all the more reason to take you in.”

“But—”

The cop had had enough. “Get. In. The car.”

Deflated, Michael did as he was told.

“Maybe this is a good thing,” Sarah said after the hovercar had vaulted into flight. They were moving at breakneck speed through the travel zones designated for such vehicles, almost solely operated by government entities.

“A good thing?” Michael repeated. “I can’t wait to hear why.” He knew the cop could hear him, and he didn’t really care.

“We need to tell
somebody
,” she countered. “You really think we can find my parents and fight Kaine and his army of Tangents by ourselves? I think we’ve done just about all we can do—we tried the VNS, and that didn’t pan out so well. So now we try telling the police, the GBI, Central Intelligence, whoever. Someone will listen to us.”

Bryson nodded, taking Sarah’s side, but Michael shook his head.

“I feel like the VNS are the only ones who’ll take us seriously.” He interrupted Sarah’s protests before she could even begin. “
Yes
, we tried, and I know they brushed us off. But there had to be a reason for that. Maybe Agent Weber was worried about spies, or maybe she was trying to protect us, I don’t know. But somehow we’ve got to get face to face with her.”

“I don’t know, man,” Bryson said. Which depressed Michael, because if anyone was going to be adventurous, it would’ve been Bryson. If he’d given up, resigned to go along with the police, then that was probably what they’d just have to do.

“All right,” Michael said, giving up himself. For the moment.
“Hopefully someone will listen to us eventually.
Really
listen to us.”

“Well,” Bryson responded, “unless you want to kick this guy out the door and fly the car yourself, I don’t think we have much choice, now, do we? This ain’t the Sleep, man. We can’t code ourselves out of this one.”

For one crazy, frantic moment, Michael considered doing it. Jumping into the front seat like an escaped gorilla. How hard could it be to fly a hovercar? But the moment passed, and Michael sat back, folded his arms, and looked out the window.

Below them, the streets flashed by like rows of crops in the
Lifeblood
countryside.

They drove on in silence for a while, Michael’s mind ticking like a bomb. He couldn’t stop thinking about what was going to happen with the police and who they’d be handed over to. Would anyone believe their story? The farther they drove, the more uneasy he became. Things just wouldn’t settle in his mind.

The only person he knew besides Sarah and Bryson was Gabriela. Would she help them? And the fact that she was going to be visiting her dad in Atlanta didn’t escape him. The possibility seemed insane, but he knew absolutely no one else. And they were getting desperate. He could easily find her Net address with just a little time to dig.…

They had reached the central part of the city, and Michael
zoned out as they sped through a canyon of tall skyscrapers, glass and steel reflecting the dying sunlight. Very few hover-cars shared the airways with them, and Michael had to avert his eyes whenever they
did
pass. The cars seemed to be headed straight for them, only to swerve out of the way at the last second. It had Michael on edge.

Leaning forward, he addressed the policeman. “Sir?”

The cop had put his visor back down—Michael could see flashes of information and maps flashing inside its dark screen, though the angle made it hard to decipher much.

“What?” the man replied, clearly uninterested.

The guy might be a jerk, Michael thought, but he was still an officer of the law. Sarah tapped Michael on the shoulder and raised her eyebrows when he looked at her—the biggest
What in the world are you doing?
look she’d ever given him. He tried to reassure her with an expression that said
Relax
, then turned back to the cop.

“You have to believe us on this. It’s a crazy story, but it’s true.”

“What story?”

“Well, I haven’t really told you yet.”

The man threw his arms up in exasperation. The hovercar dipped, making Michael’s stomach vault into his throat, and Bryson let out an embarrassing yelp.

“So now you want me to believe a story you haven’t told me?” the driver asked. “Son, answer me a question. Have you ever been committed to an asylum? Ever been diagnosed with a tumor in your head? Maybe the size of a grapefruit?”

Somehow this made the guy more likable, and Michael
relaxed a bit. “Okay, listen. Do you go into the Slee—the VirtNet very often? Do you game at all?”

The man barked a laugh. “Do I have an enlarged prostate and have to pee every twenty minutes? Of course I do. What could possibly be your point?”

“Well, I know you’ve heard of the gamer named Kaine. Right? He’s been in the news a
lot
the last few months.”

“Yes, son, I’ve heard of Kaine.” He turned the steering wheel to the right and the hovercar banked heavily to swing around a wide building. Sarah’s body pressed against Michael’s, and if he hadn’t been so upset, it would have been nice. “Let me guess. This Kaine is an uncle of yours? Maybe your daddy?”

“No, he’s a Tangent. And he’s stealing people’s bodies and inserting programs, the … intelligence of Tangents, into them, into the humans. He’s turning Tangents into humans. Killing real people to do it.”

Michael winced. Every word made the whole thing seem a little more absurd.

The cop turned to look at Michael. “Son, don’t worry. We have good crazy-doctors at the station. We’ll be there soon.” He faced front again.

Michael sat back in the seat, stiffly. He’d seen something in the cop’s visor when he moved, just for a second, when the angle was right. Michael’s face must’ve paled, because Sarah and Bryson both were looking at him as if they thought the crazy-doctor recommendation had been a good one.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah whispered.

Michael couldn’t answer. He could hardly breathe. He
wanted to believe it had been a trick of the eye, that he hadn’t really seen what he thought he had. But the truth was like a sinking ship.

There’d been a picture of Sarah. And below that, one short sentence.

WANTED IN CONNECTION TO MISSING PERSONS

He’d also caught a glimpse of the names Jackson and Bryson. But one word had stuck out.
Accomplices
.

Now they were
all
fugitives.

Sarah leaned forward and looked back at Michael in a way that only he could see her face. Then she mouthed the words
What is wrong with you?
The hovercar banked to the left, making him lean into her. He wanted to grab her and pull her into a fierce hug. They just seemed to be getting deeper and deeper into trouble. A dreary sorrow tried to melt his chest.

Sarah raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer. Bryson watched them both, too smart to say anything but fidgeting in his seat.

Michael knew they couldn’t keep going with this cop. They couldn’t let him take them to the police station, book them, arrest them, whatever they would do. A runaway cyber-terrorist, a kidnapper—probably suspected of murder. Who knew what they’d tag Bryson for. But it didn’t matter. The police wanted the two boys as accomplices anyway.
Everything was about to fall apart to a point where it could never be put together again.

“I’m going to throw up,” he suddenly yelled toward the front of the car. “My stomach. I’m about to puke, take us down!”

“We’re almost there,” the cop answered, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Hold yourself together a few seconds longer.”

Michael knew he had the pale face to go along with his story. “I’m serious! Please! You’ve gotta let me out of this thing!”

“Wow,” the man said, his voice somewhere between annoyed and amused. “That’s one magical stomach you got there. Just happens to go south right before the terrorist and his murdering friends get booked into jail.”

So much for keeping anything secret.

“I’m not lying,” Michael replied helplessly. Even he could hear the defeat in his voice.

“Just hold tight back there. You can do all the throwing up you desire once you’re settled in a nice comfy cell.”

Sarah had been looking back and forth between them and Bryson like she was watching a tennis match, her face filled with confusion. “Murdering friend? What’re you talking—Michael, what is he talking about?”

Panic was just around the corner, lurking for Michael. “I saw something on his visor display. They’re accusing
you
in your parents’ missing persons case. And saying Bryson and I helped you.”

Sarah’s face drained of color, and Bryson punched the seat in front of him.

“Calm down back there!” the cop yelled. “You want to commit big-boy crimes, then get ready for big-boy punishment. Now shut up, not another word. It’s up here on the right.”

Buildings zoomed by on either side of the hovercar as they approached an old, crumbling brick structure. Its windows were covered with grime, and it looked as welcoming as every other city police station in the world.

“I just might get a bonus for this,” the cop said through a chuckle. “Get those hair plugs I’ve been hoping for.”