The Rule of Thoughts

by James Dashner

  She’d Lifted them out of the Sleep. Across his body the NerveWires prickled as they receded from his skin, slithering into their hidey-holes.

  He was back.

  Michael was soaking wet—partly from the LiquiGels, but also from sweat slicking his every inch of skin. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, feeling like he could never get enough to satisfy his lungs. Somehow he composed himself enough to find the release, and he sprang it, then waited, impatiently, the hundred years it took for the lid to swing open on its hinges. Warm light spilled in from the room, and he saw Agent Weber herself standing there, looking down at him, her face blurry. His vision hadn’t quite adjusted yet.

  On the edges of his consciousness, he had the thought that he was glad he’d worn shorts for the trip, at least. Usually he went stark naked to experience the full effects of the sensory elements within the Coffin. But lying down in his birthday suit had seemed a bad idea this go-round. He’d been right.

  “Are you okay?” Agent Weber asked.

  Michael blinked a few times and she came into focus. The look of concern on her face seemed genuine enough. And she’d fulfilled her promise to bring them back.

  He sat up, ignoring how wildly his head spun from the movement.

  “Sarah!” he shouted. “Bryson!”

  “They’re fine,” Weber said, kneeling down next to the Coffin. “I was able to get them out a little early—I’m not sure why it was so hard to Lift you. There was … something interfering, as if the system couldn’t quite lock on to your signal. I’m sorry. I really am. Things must’ve gotten bad in there.”

  Michael waved his hand, as if swatting away her concern. He knew very well what had happened, and why it had been such a struggle to Lift him. That creature—that twisted version of the KillSim—had been sucking away his digital essence. He felt such a rush realizing how close he’d come to permanent brain damage that he found it hard to breathe. Fumbling and slipping, he scrambled out of the Coffin, stood up, swayed, sat down, breathed in deep pulls of air. What if he hadn’t yanked the thing’s jaws apart, gotten it off his head? How close had he come to dying?

  Agent Weber was at his side, touching his shoulder.

  “That bad?” she whispered.

  He nodded. He tried not to think of Ronika and what had happened to her. “I’m fine. It was just … I was attacked by one of those … one of Kaine’s creatures. How did he find us? I thought your hider codes were supposed to be super complex.”

  Weber stood up, maneuvering deftly in her heels, then helped Michael get to his feet.

  “It wasn’t you specifically that he found,” she said. “I’ve talked to Bryson and Sarah about it. Kaine noticed the massive amount of programming you three were doing and he sent in his cavalry. But Sarah said she was able to wipe away the code structure before he could see that you’d been backtracking to find his information. Still. I didn’t expect things to go so wrong in just twenty-four hours. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he said. He could hardly blame Weber. They’d been reckless once again. And most importantly, she had brought them back to safety.

  Weber motioned to the door. “Well, you’re all back, and you’re all okay. And from what Sarah said, it sounds like you found some pretty incredible information. Am I right?”

  Michael felt a surge of pride and hoped Weber didn’t see it on his face. “Yeah. We did. And we need to work fast. Before he catches on and moves his home base.”

  Weber walked toward the door, her heels clicking. “I’m already gathering the few people I trust. I’ve called them to the War Room. In the meantime, you need to shower and eat. And this is going to take everything we’ve got—so get some sleep.”

  To Michael, that sounded good. Really good.

  It felt like he’d only shut his eyes for a moment when someone gently nudged him awake. He jerked up to a sitting position, looking right and left. It was as if his body had been waiting for the moment Kaine’s monster would return.

  “Whoa, there, cowboy!”

  It was Bryson, Sarah standing beside him. It was odd to see their real selves again. “No need to get feisty.”

  Michael closed his eyes and, relieved, slumped back onto the bed. It was actually more of a cot, stowed away in a dark, cool room alongside several others. His friends had already been sound asleep and snoring by the time he’d showered and eaten, and he hadn’t had the heart to wake them up. He’d wanted to, wanted to wake them and hug them—well, Sarah, anyway—but instead he’d collapsed and fallen asleep almost instantly.

  Sarah was standing, arms folded, at the foot of his cot, looking down at him with a smile he could tell she was trying to hide. She was happy to see him—it showed in her eyes.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked.

  Michael groaned and sat up again, swinging his legs to the floor, rubbing his eyes. And then told the truth. “Like crap. Groggy. Achy. My muscles feel like a granny’s.” But at least he felt no pain in his head, other than a foggy, dull throbbing from where the Coffin had simulated the struggle with the KillSim. If it had even been a KillSim.

  “How do you know?” Bryson asked.

  “Huh?”

  “How do you know what a granny’s muscles feel like?”

  “I used to play Grannies at Teatime, and don’t say you didn’t.”

  He and Bryson started snickering like middle schoolers in the back of class.

  Sarah threw her hands up. “Are you guys finished? I know more about that game than you think. Now come on, we need to talk about slightly more important things.”

  “Yes, we do,” Bryson said, suddenly serious.

  Sarah sat on the cot next to Michael, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s something Bryson will never get,” she whispered, obviously not caring that their friend had heard.

  “Who said I’d want it?” he countered, though his cheeks turned red.

  Sarah just smiled, not taking her eyes off Michael’s, and he suddenly felt much, much better.

  “All right,” he said. “What’s the plan? Where’s Weber?”

  “She woke us up and said she’d be back for us in a minute,” Sarah answered. “Apparently she has a team of people waiting to meet with us. We’re going to a place she called the War Room to tell them what we know.”

  Michael nodded. “Yeah, she mentioned that to me, too.”

  “What’re we going to say?” Bryson asked. “I barely got through my presentation on amphibians last fall without squeaking.”

  “Squeaking?” Sarah repeated. She gave him a little pat, then turned to Michael. “How about you do all the talking?”

  “Me?” Michael’s voice rose an octave. “Why me? Last fall when Bryson was … squeaking through his amphibians report, I wasn’t even human. I might not know how to use my vocal cords properly.”

  Bryson snorted.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” Sarah said.

  Michael and Bryson exchanged a look: it was clear she’d known all along that she’d be the one. Before Michael could thank her, there was a knock on the door and it swung open. Agent Weber walked in, confident as always.

  “It’s time,” she announced. All that humble sorry-you-were-almost-killed sentiment had vanished. She was back to being all business.

  “We’re not ready,” Bryson said. “We need to plan what we’re going to say.”

  But Sarah was already off the cot and walking toward the door. She stopped when she reached Agent Weber and turned to face her friends.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ll wing it.”

  The War Room.

  Michael found himself not breathing for a few seconds after Agent Weber ushered them inside. He stopped for a moment to take it all in. On one side of the giant room, there were several tiers of seats—almost like a theater or a stadium—the rows roughly half filled with men and women of every race. In front of each glowed a NetScreen, at which most of the people were busily working, oblivious to the newcomers. Michael
wondered why the room was only half full.

  On the other side of the room, one of the largest three-dimensional displays Michael had ever seen hovered in midair. Displays like that were usually reserved for games and movies, but this one was enormous, at least a hundred feet wide and nearly as tall. It was impossible to tell how deep it went; it looked like it continued on forever. There were maps and diagrams and live feeds of places both real and programmed. A massive, detailed globe of the world hung right in the middle, slowly turning, symbols and dots scattered across its glowing surface.

  Michael felt like a high-level spy, ready to take on the world. And then he realized that Agent Weber and his friends were all looking at him.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

  Weber motioned to a podium that sat directly below the flying globe of the Earth, with several chairs lined up right next to it. “Please,” she said. “My people are dealing with a lot of situations that need attention. I don’t want to take any more of their time than necessary.”

  Michael stared at her in disbelief. For her to say such a thing made him wonder if she could possibly understand what was at stake. He was about to say something when Bryson went ahead and did it for him.

  “A lot of situations?” he asked. “Are you kidding me? Do you—”

  Sarah interrupted him. “Let’s just get started. Please?” Michael was surprised that she looked nervous.

  He looked back at their audience and realized that most of the VNS agents had stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the new arrivals. He waved feebly, feeling like the stupidest person who’d ever lived. No one waved back.

  “By all means,” Agent Weber said, once again motioning to the podium. “The floor is yours. I’ll be at the controls—just link with my system if you want anything displayed on the War Board.”

  “War this and War that,” Bryson murmured under his breath to Michael. “Seems kinda weird for people who’re just supposed to be monitoring the VirtNet. This place gives me the willies.”

  “The willies?” Michael repeated.

  “The willies.”

  Sarah had already made her way to the center of the vast room. Agent Weber matched her stride for stride. Michael grabbed Bryson by the shirt and hurried after them. The whole situation seemed a little off, but what could they expect? The entire world was a little off when a computer program tried to take over the human race.

  Weber stepped up to the podium and pulled the microphone closer to her mouth, just as Michael and the other two settled in right behind her. Before she said a word, the room quieted, the murmurs of conversation cutting off instantly.

  “Good afternoon,” Weber began, her voice echoing. “Thank you for gathering today, especially on such short notice. Some of you are here virtually, but I’m glad that as many of you as possible are actually present. I’ve only invited those with whom I’ve built a solid relationship of trust over many years.”

  Curious, Michael scanned the room, and sure enough, he could see what he hadn’t before: about three in ten agents were holographic projections in their seats. It was hardly noticeable except for an odd glow to their faces or an occasional glitch here and there interrupting the feed.

  “As we are all well aware,” Weber continued, “the VirtNet is faced with perhaps its most dangerous situation since our agency was formed nearly fifty years ago. To share a very old quote, ‘We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind.’ And I wanted all of you here today so that …”

  Michael tuned out, looking around the room as she droned on. Something had been bothering him, and his unease was growing. As he studied the faces of all these agents—men and women, dressed in a cornucopia of cultural attire—it suddenly hit him. Hit him hard. Something wasn’t right, and he knew why.

  “Sarah,” he whispered, leaning closer to her.

  She shushed him with an angry look.

  Michael shook his head. He thought back to Agent Weber’s performance on the uplink they’d used in that dingy office they’d found. How she’d denied everything and then explained later, when they broke into the VNS headquarters and confronted her, that she’d had no choice, that she was worried about people within her agency who might have shady intentions.

  So why, then, were they standing here, in front of everyone, being presented like winners at an awards ceremony? And what about all the warrants for their arrest? And the search for the missing Jackson Porter?

  Michael had the sudden urge to grab his friends by the hands and drag them out of the room. To run while they still could. But so many people had seen them. They didn’t have a chance. Not here.

  Sarah was stepping to the podium by the time he returned his attention to her. She cleared her throat and opened her NetScreen, pulling up her notes. Weber came over to stand beside Michael and, as if she’d hacked into his mind, leaned in to whisper to him.

  “I’ve only brought in the ones I can completely, utterly trust. But even they don’t know everything. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  She paused, scanning the room with a thoughtful expression, as if considering everything one last time. Then she spoke in a low voice, “I have a plan.”

  “Well,” Michael said, “don’t you think you should’ve let Sarah in on it before you threw her to the wolves like this?” Weber shook her head ever so slightly. “These people will think their way around an ice cream cone before ever giving it a lick. Once they get far enough with whatever Sarah tells them to actually accomplish anything, the matter will probably be settled anyway. They’re essentially my backup plan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Michael looked at her, not knowing what else to say. He had no idea if he could trust her yet, but all he could do was nod. Weber seemed satisfied, and she walked toward the back of the room, where a large systems console waited. Michael turned his attention to Sarah, who finally began speaking.

  “I’m glad we—” She stopped when the microphone squawked, pushed it away a bit, then tried again. “I’m glad we have the opportunity to speak about what we’ve seen. Because my friends and I”—she turned and gestured toward Michael and Bryson—“have seen a lot. A lot of things we should all be worried about. What we’re about to tell you should be the top priority of this agency, and we need to act quickly.”

  Michael almost groaned. He loved Sarah, he really did, but the faster she got to the facts, the better.

  “I think all of you are far too familiar with the Tangent known as Kaine by now,” Sarah continued. “My friends and I have seen firsthand that he is self-sentient and not exactly out for the good of humankind. The complicated part of this is that unlike traditional Tangents, he seems to be everywhere at once, not just part of one specific program.

  “I’m not sure how much you’ve been briefed on the Mortality Doctrine, but I assume you know what’s happening. Something you may not know, however, is that Michael, here”—she gestured again—“was the first example of the Doctrine’s being successfully implemented. He was once a Tangent, but his consciousness, his intelligence, his memories—everything that makes him who he is—were transferred to a human body. My colleagues and I are ready to share vital information on how we can stop Kaine.”

  This time Michael did groan a little. My colleagues? Bryson just stared out at the audience, his thoughts well hidden.

  Sarah pressed on, picking up steam as she went. “We visited a town within the Slee—within the VirtNet that was almost completely empty of players. And the ones we saw seemed troubled or emotionless. We witnessed a lady who’d been attacked by something we’ve seen before—a program designed to digitally rip her apart. The next thing we knew …”

  Sarah went on and on, her confidence growing as she spoke, as if she’d done this a thousand times. Michael thought that maybe she’d end up being the boss at VNS someday. He had no doubts that she could do it. Piece by piece, she told the agents—most o
f whom seemed rapt with attention—all the details of what she, Michael, and Bryson had seen, what they’d been through. From the destruction of the town to the purple sea to the massive pool of code they’d swum through to build a picture of Kaine and what he’d been doing. Michael listened intently but found his thoughts wandering from time to time. He couldn’t stop thinking about Agent Weber. The woman was an enigma.

  “… were able to trace the code back to see just how many places Kaine had destroyed. Why he’s doing it, we don’t know. Another thing he’s doing is taking over commerce sites, stealing personal ID codes, manipulating financial markets. Why he’d be doing that is obvious: the Tangent is accumulating a good chunk of wealth.”

  Accumulating, Michael thought. She really did sound like a professional. Someone tried to interrupt Sarah to ask a question and she told him—didn’t ask, told him—to wait until she’d finished talking.

  She continued, saving the best for last. “After all the coding we assembled—which I recorded, and I’ve sent a copy to Agent Weber—we know where Kaine is. And I don’t mean where he’s walking around, or where he’s eating his virtual food, or where he’s sitting, scheming what to do next. We found something much more important.” She paused, making sure everyone was listening. “We know where Kaine’s central programming is located.”

  This set off quite the buzz among the agents, and Michael couldn’t help but feel that surge of pride once again. How educated were these people? How experienced? How many hours and days had they spent searching for Kaine, ever since back when they still thought he was an actual gamer, a human, not a Tangent? And yet it ended up being three punk teenagers who’d found him. Michael, Sarah, and Bryson, the Burn-and-Pillage-y Trilogy. He had to fight hard to keep a smile off his face.

  “We know where it is,” Sarah continued. “We found his source code, his intelligence. One would think it’d be part of—or near to, at least—the massive array of code that makes up the VirtNet’s structure itself, so that he could easily be wherever he needed, whenever he wanted, but that’s not the case.”