Brainrush 05 - Everlast 02: Ephemeral (3 page)

It had killed him.

It had been Timmy’s idea to create a semi-permeable housing
for the mini, one that would allow a measured amount of its energy to pass
through. And it had worked. The trickle charge Jake had received each night
while he slept had kept him in balance. But it wasn’t available to him now
and—like an addict going into withdrawal—that reality filled him with despair.
It wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t function at all.

Pete’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Jake, did ye hear
me? Are ye okay?” He and Feng shared curious looks. The three of them were
still in the equipment room.

 “Uh, sorry. Yeah, I’m fine. What did you say?”

“I was saying that with a day of recon, Feng and his boys
should be able to infiltrate the building and narrow down the target location.”

“No way,” Jake said, glancing at his watch. “We go tonight.”

“But—”

“There’s no time to waste.”

M
ARSHALL
WOKE WITH A START
. He sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and the room
seemed to spin around him. He latched on to the edge of the mattress to steady
himself. Blinking through the crust in his eyes, he tried to make sense of his
surroundings.

His body was stiff, his mind was foggy, and panic clutched
at his chest. He was on one of two bunk beds, in a room that reminded him of
his old dorm at UCLA, with a private bathroom, free-standing wardrobes, heavy-metal
wall posters, and clutter surrounding the computer stations on each of four
desks. An acoustic guitar leaned against one corner. The other beds were made
but still ruffled. Though the room was windowless, a large, high-def LED screen
on one of the walls streamed a colorful mountain scene that made the space feel
light and airy.

Where the hell am I?

The last thing he remembered was the angry scowls of the
three men who’d burst into his hotel room in Rome. There’d been a struggle,
until one of them emptied the contents of a hypo into his neck and everything
had gone black. He rubbed the puncture point. It wasn’t as tender as he might
have expected. He traced his hand over his chin. From the light stubble, he
guessed he’d been out for twelve hours or so, though the rumble in his stomach made
him feel like it had been days.

The only door to the room was cracked open and he heard the
hum of casual conversations in the distance. He rose on wobbly legs, steadying
himself against the bed frame. That’s when he noticed the sleek bracelets
wrapped around both wrists. The glimmering bands were about half an inch wide
and double the thickness of a watchband. They were rigid and snug against his
skin. When he rolled his wrists over, he saw that each had a hairline seam on
the underside but no obvious way to unfasten them. He slid his fingers along
the metallic edge of one bracelet, searching for a hidden release, squeezing
and tugging along the way. But it was no use. He howled in frustration and slammed
the band against the frame of the bed so hard that the impact sent a flash of
pain up his forearm.

“Ouch!” a man’s voice said behind him. “That looked like it
hurt.”

He whirled around but there was no one there.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Erickson,” the voice said with a
refined British accent. It was coming through a ceiling speaker. “Did you sleep
well?”

Marshall scanned the room and spotted the mini camera
mounted on a corner of the wall. “Who the hell are you? And where the hell am
I?”

“Oh, dear, there’s no need for anger,” the voice from the
speaker said pleasantly. “We’re friends here, and you’re in a safe place. I’m terribly
sorry about the dramatic manner in which we picked you up, but every second
counted, and it was the only way we could remove you from their crosshairs
before they pulled the trigger.”

The words sent a shot of adrenaline through Marshall. His
mind began to clear and he recalled the emergency text he’d received from
Francesca.

 “You are a target of some very dangerous people, Mr.
Erickson. As is your wife.”

 “Lacey—is she okay?” he said breathlessly. “Is she here?”

“She’s fine. Our team had to wait for the right opportunity
to pick her up. Security around her trailer was very tight. Of course that kept
your enemies at bay as well. We finally picked her up after the shoot. She’ll
arrive tonight.”

Relief swept over him, but it wasn’t enough to stem a growing
sense of apprehension. “I wanna talk to her.”

“That’s quite impossible. She’s cruising at thirty-five
thousand feet somewhere over Ukraine right about now and the crew is under
strict orders to maintain radio silence.”

“Ukraine? What’s she doing over Ukraine? Where am I,
anyway?”

“Why, you’re in Hong Kong, of course.”

“But—”

“Patience, please, Mr. Erickson. Your wife is safe. That’s
what matters. And all your questions will be answered, I promise. I’ll be down
in a few min—”

The man stopped abruptly.

“Hello?” Marshall asked. “Are you there?

 “Something’s come up,” the voice said with an air of
urgency. “We’ll have to postpone our conversation until later.”

“I just need to—” 

“Right now I have other matters that must be attended to. In
the meantime, make yourself at home. There’s a shaving kit and a fresh set of
clothes in the bathroom. The other residents don’t know why you’re here but I’m
quite sure you’ll be heartily welcomed. Some of them are quite anxious to meet
you.”

“Now hold on, dammit.”

“Until later, Mr. Erickson.”

“Wait, wait!” Marshall yelled, holding his wristband toward
the camera. “What the hell are these things?”

“Oh, the bracelets are nothing more than a visitor ID tag.
As you’ll discover, you’re in a secure facility. The bracelets allow the system
to track your location and provide you with appropriate access to various
levels, depending on your clearance. It also allows us to monitor your vitals.
Everyone in the facility has a similar device, although permanent employees
have theirs embedded in a subcutaneous chip. Now, really, I must go.”

 “Wait!” Marshall pleaded. But the voice had disappeared. He
stood frozen for a moment, trying to take it all in.

Drugged and carted halfway around the world? A dorm room
in a secure location? An anonymous voice over a speaker? It was nuts. What’s
next? Professor Xavier from
X-Men
rolling out in his wheelchair?

The craziest aspect of this whole scenario was that when the
man had said “dangerous people” were after him, Marshall hadn’t flinched. Unfortunately,
that’s the one thing that
had
made sense, which was one hell of a
testament to the turn his life had taken ever since Jake caught that spiraling
beer mug back at Sammy’s bar so long ago. He had no regrets about the choice
he’d made to stick by his best friend, especially since it had ultimately led
him to the love of his life, but it sure wasn’t the life he’d planned for
himself back in the high-school counselor’s office. He’d learned a lot since
then, and took pride in the fact that his analytical mind and computer skills
had gotten Jake and the others out of a lot of jams. He’d have to rely on those
same skills to get him and Lacey out of this current mess.

He steeled himself for what lay ahead. He knew a game when
he saw one and sensed he’d been dumped smack in the middle of a grand one. This
was one hell of an elaborate setup, and the man’s failure to mention Jake’s
name was a dead giveaway. This
had
to be about Jake.

Isn’t it always?

He’d play along for now, until he knew for sure Lacey was safe
and out of it. Then he’d find a way to turn the tables. In the meantime, he
needed to get the lay of the land and he knew just where to start. After all, hadn’t
the dude on the speaker said the other residents were anxious to meet him?

Well, guess what, boys and girls? I’m anxious to meet you,
too.

F
IFTEEN
MINUTES LATER
Marshall exited the room wearing khakis, a long-sleeved
shirt, and a pair of black, high-top sneakers. The fact that the shoes were his
favorite style—and the clothes were a perfect fit—wasn’t lost on him. It
reinforced his sense that his adversaries were pros.

He turned a corner and the hallway opened to a common area
that was roughly double the length of a high school gymnasium. The windowless
space was softly illuminated by an assortment of drop-down lighting. It was
subdivided by short walls, furniture groups, and activities, reminding him of
the floor of an upscale convention center. There were several lounge areas, a
dining section, and even an exercise area with cardio and weight machines. The
sounds of idle conversation mixed with the chatter from several televisions,
topped off by the distinctive patter of Ping-Pong balls from the other side of
the room. But he was starving and it was the smell of food that captured his
attention—that and the fact that more and more of the room’s occupants were
looking his way.

They were Asian, ranging in age from late teens to twenties,
and they all wore black bottoms and white tops. Whether it was slacks, skirts,
pullovers, or shirts, the white-over-black color code seemed regimented. Even
those wearing workout clothes in the gym area adhered to it.

Marshall returned their stares with a short wave. He was
rewarded with a score of raised hands, wide smiles, and anxious whispers. He’d
seen crowd reactions like that before whenever Lacey entered a room, but never
for him. It made no sense and only added to his confusion.

One of the younger boys rose from his chair and rushed
toward him. “I can’t believe it’s really you,” the slender kid said. He
appeared to be sixteen or seventeen. He wore thick-framed glasses over eyes
that beamed with eagerness. The small cluster of pimples on his chin reminded
Marshall of his own high school days.

 “My name’s Chen,” the kid said, extending his hand. His
English was Americanized, with only a hint of an accent. “You can call me
Dolphin. That’s my handle...well, actually it’s Dolphin-182, since Dolphins 1
through 181 were already taken.” The boy’s words tumbled out with unfiltered
enthusiasm. “We all use our handles around here. Why Dolphin, you may ask?
Because I move fastest when I’m out of sight, and I can pop up where your least
expect it.”

Marshall shook the boy’s hand, smiling despite the
circumstances. “Nice to meet you... Dolphin,” he said. “I’m Marshall.”

The boy frowned. “Marshall?”

“Yep.”

“Not TurboHacker?”

“Well, sure,” Marshall said, surprised that the boy knew his
handle. “But call me Marshall, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” the boy said hesitantly. “So, can I give you a
tour?”

“Later. Right now I’m starving.”

Dolphin grinned. “Then you’re in for a treat. I swear, the
man that runs our kitchen is one of the best chefs in Kowloon. Follow me.”

The chairs were padded, the table was set with a white
tablecloth, and the aromas from the steaming platters surrounding Marshall made
his mouth water. He started with a variety of dim sum appetizers and some of
the best fried wontons he’d ever tasted. After a cup of shark fin soup, he
moved on to noodles, braised rice, and entrées. Marshall devoured the feast
while they spoke. 

“Do you always eat this much?” Dolphin asked.

“Only when I’m jet-lagged.”
Or drugged.
“So what’s
the deal here?” he said, motioning with his chopsticks to the room in general.

“This is where we hang out when we’re not working or
sleeping. Anything one could want for fun and relaxation is right here.” Dolphin
pointed to several sets of double doors along the far wall. “We’ve even got a
karaoke room, a theater, and a game room that’ll blow your brain.”

Marshall chuckled. “You mean blow my mind?”

Dolphin frowned. “Oh, yeah. Blow your mind. Sorry.”

“Just pulling your chain, kid,” Marshall said between bites.
“You speak English as if you were raised in the States.”

“Dude, I’m stoked to hear you say it,” Dolphin said with a
grin. “My favorite language teacher was a former skateboarder from California.”

“I can tell,
dude
.”

“I’ve been speaking English since I was four years old.”
Dolphin motioned toward the scatter of people around them. “It’s pretty much
the same for all of us. English is the default language online, so it’s the
first thing we learn when we’re enlisted in the program.” 

“The program?”

Dolphin hesitated, fidgeting in his seat, and Marshall got
the sense the kid was struggling with how much he was allowed to talk about. Marshall
tried a different tack. “So, how is it that you were elected to come talk to
me?”

“Are you kidding?” Dolphin said, with relief. “Nobody
elected me. I volunteered.”

“And why’s that?”

“Come on. You know why. You’re famous around here.”

“I see,” Marshall said. But he didn’t see. He didn’t have a
clue what the kid was talking about. He poured himself a second cup of tea and
took a sip. “So, this is where you hang out to eat, play, and relax. What about
work?”

“One floor up,” Dolphin said, pointing to the ceiling. “The twenty-fourth
floor. That’s where most of us work.”

“That’s convenient,” Marshall said, marveling that he hadn’t
realized he was in a high-rise building. He hadn’t spotted any windows so he’d
assumed he was underground.

“Yeah, I guess. Especially now that the game is about to be
released to the general public. We’ve been running in alternating eight-hour
shifts, twenty-four seven.”

The game?

“And your role?”

“Programmer. But I’m also on one of the testing teams for
the beta rollout. Believe it or not, I’ve played against you online. It was
awesome. Not that I stood a chance against you. I can’t wait to watch you play
in person.”

Marshall’s confusion got the better of him. “I’m here for
more than a game,” he mumbled to himself, the words spilling out louder than
intended.

Dolphin frowned. “Really? What else?”

Good question, Marshall thought. Whatever was going on here,
the kid appeared to be an innocent pawn, and—for now—Marshall’s only source of
information. He needed Dolphin to keep talking, so he leaned forward and
lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I tell you, I’ll have to
kill you.”

 Dolphin blinked a couple of times, then grinned. “Top
secret, huh?” he whispered.

“Oh, yeah,” Marshall said, with a flick of his eyebrows. He
dipped a dumpling in sweet chili sauce, bit it in half, and said with a full
mouth, “Mum’s the word.” After taking a sip of tea, he motioned toward a group
of six other teens who hovered nearby. They shifted anxiously when Marshall
glanced their way. “Are those your friends?” he asked.

Dolphin followed his gaze and smiled. “Yes, that’s my beta
team. Do you mind if they join us?”

 “Why not?” Marshall said. He waved them over.

They scurried over faster than fans around a pop star, then
pulled up chairs and squeezed around the table. But instead of attacking with a
barrage of questions, they contained their enthusiasm, waiting politely while
Dolphin made introductions.

“This is BlackFlag...” he said, pointing to the stout boy
seated across from Marshall. The kid bowed his head. The others did the same as
each was introduced. “And Tornado, TomBoy, Whomper, Bambi, and finally,
Shamer.”

“Shamer?” Marshall asked the petite girl, knowing each handle
had a story behind it. She’d made a point of sitting next to Dolphin.

“Play me twice and shame on you,” she blurted out, blushing
as if suddenly realizing who she was speaking to. “I-I mean, usually I end up
on top—uh, I mean, I’ll beat your score in the game once I’ve seen your play
style.  Of course, I don’t mean to suggest that I’d have any chance if I played
against
you
.” BlackFlag chuckled at her backpedaling. She burned a glare
at him.

“You’re all programmers?”

“Sure,” Shamer said. “But we specialize in different
disciplines. Dolphin and I are on the primary programming team.”

BlackFlag punched Tornado on the shoulder. “He and I are on
the design team.”

“And we’re on the art team,” Bambi said, motioning toward
TomBoy and Whomper.

“But we’re all on the testing team,” Dolphin added.

A server cleared Marshall’s plates and a second one brought
a round of soft drinks. Marshall kept the conversation going, easing into it
with questions about their experience and background. Their enthusiasm for
their work was seconded only by the expertise they exhibited in each of their
specialties. As the conversation grew more technical in nature, he was
impressed by their familiarity with leading-edge algorithms and techniques that,
up until now, he’d thought were closely held secrets in the US. As he probed
further, he discovered their knowledge wasn’t limited to the gaming world.
These kids talked code like some of the top programmers on the circuit. And he
ought to know, because he’d climbed the ladder with some of the best hackers in
the world.

He liked these kids, and a part of him envied the supportive
environment they’d been provided. He couldn’t help but wonder what could have
been achieved back home if twenty years earlier, he and a hundred other kids
with his abilities had been pulled together in similar surroundings. Instead,
corporate competition and government hacker hunts had driven them into isolated
groups, each one guarding its secrets. Technological advances had suffered as a
result.

There was something off about this setup, though—the
uniforms, the polite behavior, the subdued energy, as compared to what he’d
experienced in his own school days. It was almost
too
structured,
especially for kids with such brilliant minds. And he couldn’t shake the
feeling that the kids shared an underlying sense of fear.