The Rule of Thoughts

by James Dashner

  “Please escort our guests out of the building,” Agent Weber said to him. “I’ve never seen these people before in my life.”

  The WallScreen went dark.

  “You’re sure that’s her?” Sarah asked Michael after the cabbie had driven off from the VNS building. They were packed in the backseat like kindergartners on a bus, Bryson in the middle.

  “Yes,” Michael answered. He tried to tamp down his anger—it wasn’t Sarah’s fault. “Her Aura in Lifeblood Deep looks almost exactly the same. It’s definitely her. Same name, same appearance. Plus, I saw her at Jackson Porter’s apartment. I know it’s her, and it’s a joke that she’s pretending we’ve never met.”

  “Maybe she’s trying to cover her butt,” Bryson offered. “If she’s been in charge of finding Kaine and stopping the Mortality Doctrine, she’s done the crap job of the century. She may act like God’s gift to mankind, but you know she has bosses, and those bosses might kick her to the curb if she acts like old friends with her biggest failure. You.” He pointed at Michael. “No offense, of course.”

  “Oh, of course,” Michael responded with an eye roll. “None taken.”

  Sarah wasn’t convinced. “It’s gotta be more than that. There’s no way she could just pretend she doesn’t know us and get away with it. Something weird’s going on.”

  Michael agreed one hundred percent.

  The cabbie suddenly swore and slowed down, pulling over to the side of the road. Then he slapped his steering wheel with both hands.

  “What’s going on?” Bryson asked.

  The cabbie turned to face them. “Damn hovercop.” He pointed upward as if they could see through his roof. “Flagged me down. It’s probably some bored doughnut chomper tryin’ to hit his quota.”

  A bad seed sprouted in Michael’s stomach. What if the cop asked about the passengers, wanted to see their IDs? Calm down, he told himself. They’d checked and rechecked their fake accounts. They could fool some cop just trying to get through his day.

  “Your face,” Sarah whispered to him. It seemed an odd thing to say.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s been plastered all over the NewsBops. What if the cop recognizes you?”

  Before he could answer, the police hovercar descended in front of them and turned, the heat from its boosters shimmering in the air. The silvery machine landed on the asphalt with a soft thump and shut down with a fading whine of engines. Then it just sat there for several long, long moments.

  “I swear they do this on purpose,” the cabbie grumbled from the front seat. “Those ratfaces just like to make you sweat. He’s probably in there sippin’ his coffee and talkin’ to a buddy on the Net. Sorry son of a …”

  Michael tuned the guy out. That seed in his gut had blossomed into full-fledged panic, slicking the palms of his hands with sweat and making his throat feel stuffed with cotton. The waiting was going to drive him crazy.

  Finally, the door of the cop car popped open and swiveled upward on its hinges. An armored man stepped out of the vehicle, his suit the standard bulky black of the police, the visor on his helmet pulled down to cover his face. Michael understood why cops in this part of the city wanted to protect themselves, but it still made him nervous. He had visions of this guy pulling him out of the car and beating him with those black gloves until he bled head to toe—the man looked more like a robotic monster than a human.

  The cop walked around to the driver’s side of the cab and rapped on the window. The cabbie waited a beat before he rolled it down—probably just to prove that he could.

  “What’s the problem, Officer?” he asked, his tone neutral, like he’d done this a thousand times. “There’s no way I was speeding, and I’ve got all my permits.”

  The visor muffled the cop’s voice a bit, but it still had a menacing ring. “I need you to sit there and keep your mouth shut, sir. Think you can do that? Do you think you can do that for me? Sir?”

  Michael could only see the back of the cabbie’s head, but the muscles along his neck tensed and he didn’t respond. At least, not vocally. Just a short, stiff nod.

  “That’s better,” the cop replied. “Now I’m going to need your nice law-abiding passengers to step out of the car. And make it snappy.”

  He had them line up against the cold brick wall of an old building. Michael felt the rough edges of the poorly done mortar job poking through his shirt. The cop refused to lift his visor, making him seem even more like a robot to Michael. He remembered the robot in the Sleep, the one who’d programmed out his Core—ripped it out even though as a Tangent he hadn’t really needed one—which made him think of Kaine. What if he was somehow behind this supposed traffic stop?

  Please, no, Michael begged the universe. How could Kaine be that powerful? He refused to allow himself to believe it. But even so, he looked at the cop and wondered if he was a Tangent come to life.

  “What are your names?” the man asked, just as a section of his visor lit up. Michael could see symbols and pictures running across the inside. “And before you answer, I’m only going to say this once: Do. Not. Lie. Do not. You have one chance to tell me the truth. Now, what are your names?”

  Sarah went first, then Bryson, then Michael. They’d all been busted more times than Michael could count within the VirtNet. And they’d always gotten away, just a few lines of code combined with the calm and cool … massaging of the truth. It was a little different in the real world, but the principles were the same. One by one, they gave their fake names as smoothly as if they’d used them their whole lives.

  The cop grunted some odd sound that perhaps meant he was listening and recording. But it came across more like he was a monkey with stomach issues.

  “We had some reports of a sighting,” the cop said, walking slowly down the line of his captors. He stopped directly in front of Michael and stared at him—it seemed so, anyway—through his dark visor. “Of one Jackson Porter, missing for close to two weeks. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? What was your name again? Ah, yes. Michael. What do you have to say, boy? Seen anybody that looks like a cyber-terrorist?”

  Every part of Michael wanted to close his eyes and access the code. Hack himself out of the situation. He suddenly wished for his old life as a Tangent, oblivious and happy. Lying to this cop seemed like a terrible idea, especially since the man had probably recognized his face, but he just didn’t know what else to do.

  “No, sir,” he said. “I’ve seen the NewsBops, heard about this Jackson guy. But I haven’t seen him. Have you guys seen him?” He looked at his friends for their response, knowing he’d already made a mistake, that he’d come across as a smart aleck to the policeman. Bryson and Sarah shyly shook their heads, but he could see in their eyes that they knew Michael had screwed up. Maybe they should’ve just told the truth and relied on the authorities to keep them safe.

  The cop finally lifted his visor, revealing the face of a guy who was born to be a man of the law. Stone-hard angles, eyes that were pools of unreadable darkness. He didn’t seem too happy.

  “Get in the hovercar,” he said tightly. “All three of you. One wrong move and I’ll LaserCuff you. I’m not in the greatest of moods today.”

  The cabbie yelled over at them from his car. “Hey! Officer! Can I leave? Please?”

  “Get lost!” the cop yelled back at him.

  Obviously happy to oblige, the cabbie squealed away down the street. Michael watched the cab disappear, along with all his hopes.

  Sarah and Bryson got in first. The cop was holding Michael by the arm far more tightly than he needed to. Michael was feeling desperate, and not just for the obvious reasons. Surely the entire police force didn’t work for Kaine already—although he guessed there was a possibility that the one who’d caught them could be a Tangent. There was also the weirdness with Agent Weber, though this could be totally unrelated. Jackson Porter was missing, wanted for serious crimes, and the boy’s face had been plastered all over the NewsBops. It wasn�
�t strange at all that Michael had been reported.

  Either way, too much was at risk if they brought Michael in. What if no one else realized what Kaine was up to and he couldn’t convince them? He wanted to scream at Agent Weber. They needed the VNS.

  “Your turn,” the cop said when Sarah slid over to sit in the middle.

  Michael’s desperation burst to the surface in that moment. “Listen, sir … can I talk to you? In private?”

  The man’s visor was still raised, and his expression did not change in the slightest—if Michael’s request surprised him, he didn’t show it. “You want to talk to me. In private.” He stated it more than asked.

  Michael nodded. “Please.”

  The cop gripped him by the arm even harder and escorted him several feet away from the hovercar. “Go ahead, boy. Talk.”

  “We both know who I am,” Michael said.

  “Thank you for acknowledging that I’m not the stupidest cop to ever live. That’s why I’m taking you in.”

  Michael pointed at the car. “Those two people had nothing to do with me running. They’re just friends I picked up along the way. And … there’s a reason I did run. You think it’s because I’m a criminal, but this goes up the ladder big-time, way higher than whoever you work for.”

  “Son, what in the hell are you talking about?”

  “You can’t arrest me. You can’t. We have information on a real cyber-terrorist and … we need … to find out more.”

  The cop was shaking his head long before Michael finished the sentence. “I don’t like my time to be wasted, boy.

  Stop talking in riddles. You want me to know something, then spit it out.”

  Michael’s blood hissed through his veins. He’d painted himself into a corner. “It’s … complicated. Listen, what can I do to make you let us go? Money? I can get you a lot of money. My … parents are rich. I didn’t run away empty-handed.”

  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 T
angents, 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.