by James Luceno
What made this Peerless domain different was precisely the sense of reality. In some way he couldn't explain, Tech accepted that even the act of lifting his visor would not be enough to transport him out of the place. It was like an unpleasant dream he wanted to awaken from but couldn't. One of those running in the sand and getting nowhere scenarios that could turn terrifying in an instant.
“Marz, can you locate us?” Harwood asked.
“Locate you how?” Marz said in agitation. “The monitor screen's showing that you haven't moved from the hatch!”
“Oh, but we have, my young friend. We're in some sort of new platform or domain with a completely alien architecture. You won't find this anywhere on the grid. We've found our way into a hidden level constructed by Peerless—though I can't imagine how they created this. This has to be what Cyrus wanted me to investigate.”
“But how can you be off the grid?” Marz asked incredulously.
Harwood didn't respond to the question. Instead he led Tech cautiously down, toward the nearest of the completed constructs, which pulsed with sallow light.
Reconfigured as an outsize guitar pick, Harwood's craft advanced slowly on the construct. Tech followed at a discreet distance.
“These look like gigantic storage constructs,” Harwood said after a long moment. “But that's only a guess.”
Tech felt the hairs on the back his neck stand up. “They're huge! Why would Peerless have need for so much storage?”
“More important, what sort of data is Peerless storing? And why would Peerless be secretly re leasing software that's capable of accessing this domain? Unless, for some reason, they want hackers to find their way here.” He paused, then said, “Is our artillery up and running, Marz?”
“You bet.”
“Set power level at deletion.”
“That's a go.”
Harwood's craft continued its tedious advance on a ridge of crags that punched through the haze like petrified, otherworldly castles.
“Steady, Tech,” Harwood said.
Tech wrapped his right hand around the joystick's hair trigger and took a stuttering breath.
A black substance thick as octopus ink spilled from the crags and began to diffuse, as if underwater. Even with the audio all but muted, Tech could hear a kind of hideous squeal accompany the outpouring. As he watched, the blackness began to coalesce into the shapes of living things of gruesome aspect.
Tech, who had seen more horror films than anyone he knew, considered himself immune to visual depictions of evil—to the glowing eyes, gory masks, fang-filled mouths, and other clichés. But whatever this thing was, it was of a different order of evil, as much inside his mind as illuminating the inner face of the headset visor. There was no shutting his eyes to it; no telling himself that the special effects had been faked.
“It's the thing that attacked me in the EPA!” he said. “Scaum!”
Harwood threw his craft into a sudden bank and opened fire on the still coalescing shapes. Disabling code, bundled into hyphens and disks, streaked forward. Struck full force, some of the shapes blew apart and disappeared, while others drifted down into the haze, as if stunned.
The capabilities of Harwood's artillery awed Tech, but he had little time to dwell on it. Spider-like monstrosities were beginning to ooze from the ragged projections of other constructs. Tech dispatched a storm of crippling code, shocking the closest of them into hibernation. But just as many evaded the disabling code and attacked.
“We're outnumbered,” Harwood said. “We need speed. Marz, enable Turbo seven point five. Get us moving!”
The words had scarcely left Harwood's mouth when Tech's cycle reared up and rocketed forward with an incredible burst of power.
“Wow!” Marz said through the headphones. “Every soft in the system is juiced!”
Tech could feel it. Invincible, he wove a slaloming path through his attackers then powered the cybercycle through a loop and fell in behind Harwood's craft, once more a guitar. Grave forces tugged at them, trying to corrupt the nitro boost Turbo had provided, but to no avail. Deploying chaff clouds and logic bombs for good measure, Harwood and Tech raced for the conduit that had deposited them in that alien realm, slashing directly through barriers and hastily strung capture nets as if they weren't there.
Disappearing into the conduit, they poured on the speed, ultimately barrelling through the hatch Harwood had discovered. With their short-lived invulnerability already beginning to fade, they reemerged in the dungeon of Peerless Engineering's castle.
Metamorphosed into something serpentine and venomous, Scaum was waiting for them.
Tech's veins filled with ice, and cold sweat prickled his palms.
Normally, he had no phobias about snakes, spiders, heights, flight, night, or enclosed places. But somehow Scaum seemed capable of exciting those centers of the brain responsible for irrational fears, and Tech suddenly felt at the mercy of all of them.
He kept hoping that Marz would realize what was happening and bring them out, even if it meant executing graceless exits. But in place of Marz's voice, all Tech heard was Scaum's terrifying howl.
Then Harwood spoke.
“Tech, fly straight out of the castle. No matter what I do, fly straight out. Whatever Scaum is, it's too powerful to confront head on. But I suspect that it can be outwitted, and I know you're clever enough to do just that.”
“Outwit it how?” Tech asked in rising dread.
But Harwood didn't answer the question. Instead, he said, “Tell Marz to search Armor. I left a gift for you both. Using it will require that you draw on all the skills you've developed, Tech—the sum of who you are—and all your faith that nothing lies beyond your reach.”
Tech saw Harwood's Flying-V guitar spiral through an abrupt loop and streak directly at their pursuer, discharging all of its remaining code dazzlers and logic bombs. Scaum heaved up, reached for him and missed, then sent out a pointed tentacle that speared Harwood's craft and held it fast.
Through the grotesque squeals and howls, Tech thought he heard an anguished, bloodcurdling scream. He wanted desperately to fly to Harwood's aid, but his hands were frozen on the joystick and his legs were fully extended, as if to send the acceleration and guidance pedals through the floor. He couldn't sense his limbs, let alone move them.
“Tech!” Marz's voice startled Tech into movement. “Get out of there! Now!”
“Marz! I can't move!”
“Hold on, bro.”
In an instant, the MX motocross transformed into a Ducati Ninja 900. The flaming-red cybercycle roared forward, seemingly out of control. Scarcely aware of his actions, Tech threaded his way back through the labyrinth using Harwood's concealed musical-note markers to guide him to Peerless's receiving area. His fleet passage through security booths threw the receiving area into full alert. He tore a path through faxes, e-mails, and shipping manifests, shredding hundreds in his passing. Catapults flanking the security booths launched anti-intrusion programs shaped like javelins, but none were swift enough to catch him.
The Ninja burst from one of the access ports that hollowed the castle's western ramparts and launched for the foot of the Ribbon. Leaning the rocket cycle into the broad curve, Tech was nearly horizontal. In front of him, just where the Ribbon divided, the syscops had erected a barrier that stretched in all directions.
“You are under arrest,” a loud voice boomed in his ears. “Give yourself up. You cannot escape.”
With sirens skirling in the distance, Tech lifted the cycle up onto its rear wheel and burned his way to the top of a long ramp. Through a blaze of data bombs, he leapt from the Ribbon, hoping to soar to a higher level of the grid. He was in midflight when a brilliant light appeared above him, and the spirited voice of the gremlin filled the headphones.
“Slow down. Control yourself. Simply do as we did last time.”
Tech fought hard to do just that, but this wasn't like last time. This was last time times ten.
“I can help,
” the gremlin added, “if you'll let me navigate.”
When the spots before his eyes began to fade, Tech looked up to see the blue, pointed-eared cybercreature perched like a hood ornament on the nose of a gigantic wedge-shaped spacecraft, its rear door open to swallow Tech's skyrocketing cycle.
He took a breath and blew it out. No sooner had he eased back on the joystick and lightened the pressure on the control pedals than he felt the cycle being drawn upward into the hovering craft, as if by tractor beam.
A data window popped open in Tech visor, showing him that the gremlin was propelling him far away from Peerless, clear across the grid to its far-flung fringe, where, nested deep in the Wilds, sat a large though unassuming octagon.
“I'm going to take you inside,” the gremlin said through the headphones. “As soon as we enter, you will see a way to exit gracefully. Do so when I tell you.”
The spaceship pierced the octagon and vanished from the grid.
For a fleeting instant, Tech felt terabytes of information flood into his brain, cramming his mind to overflowing. He felt as if he had taken a brain boost, elevating his IQ to stratospheric levels. In less than the blinking of an eye, he had the answer to questions that had puzzled humankind since the dawn of time.
And just as quickly he lost it all.
“Exit now!” the gremlin ordered.
Tech saw the exit loom in front of him and hammered the bike through, back into the real world.
“Tech,” Marz was shouting. “Tech!”
The visor went transparent, and the disaster that was Felix's office filled Tech's view. Smoke stung his nostrils, awakening him further. His heart thudded in his chest.
“It's all right,” Tech managed to say.
Wide-eyed, Marz shook his head back and forth. “It's not all right, Tech. It's not all right at all!”
Tech ripped the headset away and turned to the dentist's chair. Harwood's head was slumped forward, his chin resting on his breastbone. His arms and legs were splayed lifelessly. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
“I can't wake him, Tech,” Marz said in panic. “He's gone!”
Chapter 11
It was almost midnight by the time Felix arrived at the hospital. A woman at the admitting desk directed him to follow the floor's pale-green routing line to the intensive-care unit.
Tech and Marz were standing outside the ICU, both of them looking forlorn and dead tired. Felix's heart sank when he caught a glimpse of Tech. The poor kid couldn't have been any paler if he had whitewashed his face.
Felix joined them at a large window that looked into the unit and draped his arms around their sagging shoulders. He followed their gaze to the unit's only occupied bed, which was barely long enough to contain its occupant, a thin, elderly man with long gray hair and a full beard. A plastic tube delivered oxygen into the man's nostrils, and another fed nutrients into his veins. Electrodes adhering to places on his chest and forehead transmitted remote signals to a bank of monitors, which displayed his heart and respiration rates and neural activity as a series of pulsing, zigzagging lines.
“That's him?” Felix said to Tech.
Tech nodded grimly without taking his eyes from the bed.
“Is he going to be all right?”
“The doctors won't tell us anything.” Tech finally looked at him. “They were waiting for you to show up.”
“Well, I'm here now.” He squeezed Tech's shoulder.
Tech didn't reply.
“Jess, I don't understand any of this,” Felix said a long moment later. “On the phone you said this guy's name is Strange—”
“Harwood Strange,” Marz interjected.
“—and that the two of you were flying from the office deck.”
Tech nodded.
Felix lifted his hand from Tech's shoulder and ran it through his own hair. “What possessed you guys to bring a perfect stranger up to the office?”
“He's not a stranger,” Marz answered. “We spent the whole day with him.”
Felix swung the boys away from the window so he could regard them. “You spent the day with him—fine. But where'd you meet him to begin with?”
“We took the monorail to his house on Long Island,” Marz said.
Felix stared at them in befuddlement. “Am I missing something here?”
“We got Harwood's address from the Network, and we went to see him,” Marz explained.
“Why was that?”
“Because the gremlin from the EPA run told us to find Mystery Notes, and Harwood used to go by the name Mystery Notes when he was a musician.”
“The gremlin told you,” Felix said flatly.
Tech shot him a peeved look. “The program gremlin I tried to tell you about—the one I rescued. It inserted a message in the download Marz made of the EPA run. The message was that Mystery Notes would know what to do.”
“About what?”
“The fact that Cyrus had been kidnapped.”
“Cyrus,” Felix said.
Marz nodded. “Cyrus Bulkroad.”
Felix scowled. “Not the Bulkroad kidnapping case. I thought we were through with Network legends.”
“The doctor's coming out,” Marz interrupted, motioning to the ICU.
A slight man, the doctor was wearing a green surgical gown and a matching skullcap. As he neared the door of the ICU, he fell into step with a stocky man dressed in a gray suit. As they exited the unit, Felix got a closer look at the civilian and groaned.
“Well, lookie who we have here,” Lieutenant Caster of Network Security said as he approached. “If it isn't the happy little Cyber family.”
“Great to see you again, too, Lieutenant,” Felix said falsely.
Caster glanced at Tech and Marz, then turned to the doctor. “These are the kids who phoned in the 911?”
The doctor nodded. “They were apparently with Mr. Strange when he … faded.” He turned to Felix. “I'm Dr. Franklin. Obviously there's no need to introduce Lieutenant Caster of Network Security.”
Felix introduced himself to Franklin in as even a voice as he could muster.
Franklin appeared perplexed. He scanned what Felix assumed was Harwood Strange's medical chart. “Your name doesn't match the family name of the brothers. Are you family or not?”
“You two are brothers?” Caster interjected.
“We were designed to be different,” Marz mumbled.
“Our parents are dead,” Tech said bluntly.
“Jess and Marshall reside in the Safehaven group home,” Felix explained.
The doctor frowned. “Are they wards of the state?”
Felix shook his head. “Not entirely.”
“They have no family?” Franklin asked.
“A great-aunt, who lives upstate. But she's out of the country just now.”
Franklin made his lips a thin line. “This is highly irregular. Exactly what is your relationship to the boys, Mr. McTurk?”
“Look, Doc,” Felix said, “right now I'm probably the closest thing they're got to family, so if there's something you need to say, you might as well say it to me.”
Franklin considered it. “Can we speak in private?”
Felix shook his head. “If it's all the same to you, I'd like the boys to hear it.”
Caster gave Felix an appraising look, then turned to Tech. “What's your relationship to Mr. Strange?”
“He's a friend,” Tech said.
“How long have you known him?”
“Since yesterday.”
Caster scribbled a note on the screen of his e-pad. “Do you know if he has any close family?”
“No, I don't.”
“Mr. Strange is something of an enigma,” Franklin said. “His phone number is unlisted. We couldn't find any records of his employment or medical histories. And he appears not to have a Social Security number, a passport, even a driver's license.”
Tech and Marz swapped glances.
“He likes to fly under the radar,” Marz said.
Franklin continued to scan the chart. “Did he mention to either of you that he had any preexisting medical conditions?”
The boys shook their heads.
“Was it a stroke?” Felix asked, motioning with his chin to Strange. “Heart attack?”
“Neither,” Franklin said.
“Flyer's coma,” Felix assumed.
“Yes and no.” Franklin noted Felix's confusion. “Without getting technical about it, all I can say at present is that Mr. Strange's condition is not the re sult of drugs or Network overdose. While his condition bears some resemblance to the coma state seen in cyberflyers who have sustained ASRI—amplified signal–response injury—much of his brain activity suggests otherwise. In fact, his neural readings are closer to those we would expect to see in someone who is profoundly immersed in the Virtual Network. In the jargon, I believe it is called ‘deep magic.’ “
Felix blinked. “You're saying that he's still flying—even though he's not wearing a visor?”
“No,” Franklin said. “I'm simply saying that his neural waves demonstrate a marked similarity to that state.”
“How do you explain that?” Felix asked.
Franklin shook his head. “I can't. But those of us who specialize in ASRI have a saying: ‘The eyes are the final unprotected portal’—the Achilles’ heel of cyberflyers, you might say.” He nodded his chin to Lieutenant Caster. “It's through the eyes that Network Security put so many Network flyers in the hospital.”
Caster glowered. “If flyers stayed on the Ribbon where they belong, we wouldn't have to dole out punishment.”
“Someone has to take care of Harwood's cats,” Marz said in sudden distress.
“We'll find someone,” Felix assured him.
Caster fixed his gaze on Tech once more. “The statements you provided the paramedics indicate that you and Strange were flying together.”