unlocked grate on the floor. I squeezed through and wormed my way along a vent until I fell into a conference room in the particle accelerator wing. I raced down the hall into a lab and pushed into the air lock.
Then I waited for the far side of the air lock to open. Seconds ticked by. The countdown continued. A screen on the wall flashed information about the BattleArmor development lab and the virtual reality combat simulators.
I read it as I waited for the door to unseal, shifting my weight from my left foot to my right. I’d never heard of the BattleArmor or the combat sim before then and thought they didn’t matter.
Wrong again.
I muttered, “C’mon, open!” as I read, and finally the air lock door unsealed.
Then I trotted along the doughnut-shaped tunnel, counting the manhole covers—made from some shimmering plastic alloy—as I ran: one, two, three, four, five, six …
At the seventh, I knelt and yanked at the cool smooth handles and my vision started to darken. I felt dizzy and lightheaded and
the world
and I fell on my butt, breathing hard.
What was
that?
It felt worse than panic, worse than exhaustion.
I remembered what the Center’s voice had said:
Brain waves compromised
. Were dizzy spells some aftereffect of getting stuck in the Holographic Hub? Just what I needed right then.
Luckily, when I shook my head, my vision cleared. So I finished tugging at the manhole cover, and with a
shhhh
of depressurization, the seal broke.
I slipped through and found myself in a vertical shaft.
ANFSCD
I climbed down the ladder—three stories underground—then stopped at the access hatch. Workshop seven was just around the corner.
Only one problem: the hatch was secured with a complex electronic lock with a card-swipe, retinal scanner, and keypad.
I slumped in defeat, completely baffled.
Then I got the glimmering of an idea. A bad idea, but not worse than letting Roach steal the only copy of the Protocol. Not worse than failing to download another copy that could be used against him. And
definitely
not worse than being locked inside the Center when a nuke exploded.
So I tapped
707
on the keypad. I waited a second, then tapped
7070707
.
Then:
707707707707707707707707707707707707
707707707707707707707707707707707707
707707707707707707707707707707707707
707707707707707707707707707707707707
Because whenever I text,
707
means SOS. And I really, really needed help.
Then I waited. And waited. Yet nobody answered.
Well, unless you count the announcement in the distance: “Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in thirty-four minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in thirty-four minutes.”
Then the keypad beeped twice, and I looked more closely. Three letters flashed at me:
BUG?
I tapped in JJ! (I called Jamie JJ online.)
Jamie: RUIT? (Are you in trouble?)
Well, I didn’t want to say too much, in case Roach was somehow monitoring the conversation. Fortunately, Jamie and I texted enough that we used the same shorthand. And even more fortunately, she was using her newly supercharged laptop, with a direct link to the Holographic Hub, which monitored the entire Center.
I’ll explain about her laptop later—but right then, the important thing was that my desperate call for help had popped onto her screen.
I thought for a second, then entered
EMRTW
. (Evil Monkeys Rule the World. Telling her I was in trouble.)
Jamie: WUN? (What do you need?)
Me: FRED. (Friggin’ Ridiculous Electronic Device.)
Jamie: LB4? (Like before?)
Me: ATSL. (Along the Same Lines.)
Jamie: …
Me (frantically): OPNTHELOKINEDU2OPEN HATCH!
Jamie: UNLOCK?
Me: Y. (Yessssssssssssssssssss!)
Jamie: UNTCO. (You Need to Chill Out.)
Me (hyperventilating): STPPYNOZGTW! (Stop picking your nose, get to work!)
Ten seconds later …
The access hatch:
Shhhhhht
.
Unlocked!
Me: UROCK.
Jamie: LYLAB.
Me: LYLAS.
Love You Like a Brother. Love You Like a Sister.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
Long story
Then I waited for the far side of the air lock to open. Seconds ticked by. The countdown continued. A screen on the wall flashed information about the BattleArmor development lab and the virtual reality combat simulators.
I read it as I waited for the door to unseal, shifting my weight from my left foot to my right. I’d never heard of the BattleArmor or the combat sim before then and thought they didn’t matter.
Wrong again.
I muttered, “C’mon, open!” as I read, and finally the air lock door unsealed.
Then I trotted along the doughnut-shaped tunnel, counting the manhole covers—made from some shimmering plastic alloy—as I ran: one, two, three, four, five, six …
At the seventh, I knelt and yanked at the cool smooth handles and my vision started to darken. I felt dizzy and lightheaded and
the world
and I fell on my butt, breathing hard.
What was
that?
It felt worse than panic, worse than exhaustion.
I remembered what the Center’s voice had said:
Brain waves compromised
. Were dizzy spells some aftereffect of getting stuck in the Holographic Hub? Just what I needed right then.
Luckily, when I shook my head, my vision cleared. So I finished tugging at the manhole cover, and with a
shhhh
of depressurization, the seal broke.
I slipped through and found myself in a vertical shaft.
ANFSCD
I climbed down the ladder—three stories underground—then stopped at the access hatch. Workshop seven was just around the corner.
Only one problem: the hatch was secured with a complex electronic lock with a card-swipe, retinal scanner, and keypad.
I slumped in defeat, completely baffled.
Then I got the glimmering of an idea. A bad idea, but not worse than letting Roach steal the only copy of the Protocol. Not worse than failing to download another copy that could be used against him. And
definitely
not worse than being locked inside the Center when a nuke exploded.
So I tapped
707
on the keypad. I waited a second, then tapped
7070707
.
Then:
707707707707707707707707707707707707
707707707707707707707707707707707707
707707707707707707707707707707707707
707707707707707707707707707707707707
Because whenever I text,
707
means SOS. And I really, really needed help.
Then I waited. And waited. Yet nobody answered.
Well, unless you count the announcement in the distance: “Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in thirty-four minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in thirty-four minutes.”
Then the keypad beeped twice, and I looked more closely. Three letters flashed at me:
BUG?
I tapped in JJ! (I called Jamie JJ online.)
Jamie: RUIT? (Are you in trouble?)
Well, I didn’t want to say too much, in case Roach was somehow monitoring the conversation. Fortunately, Jamie and I texted enough that we used the same shorthand. And even more fortunately, she was using her newly supercharged laptop, with a direct link to the Holographic Hub, which monitored the entire Center.
I’ll explain about her laptop later—but right then, the important thing was that my desperate call for help had popped onto her screen.
I thought for a second, then entered
EMRTW
. (Evil Monkeys Rule the World. Telling her I was in trouble.)
Jamie: WUN? (What do you need?)
Me: FRED. (Friggin’ Ridiculous Electronic Device.)
Jamie: LB4? (Like before?)
Me: ATSL. (Along the Same Lines.)
Jamie: …
Me (frantically): OPNTHELOKINEDU2OPEN HATCH!
Jamie: UNLOCK?
Me: Y. (Yessssssssssssssssssss!)
Jamie: UNTCO. (You Need to Chill Out.)
Me (hyperventilating): STPPYNOZGTW! (Stop picking your nose, get to work!)
Ten seconds later …
The access hatch:
Shhhhhht
.
Unlocked!
Me: UROCK.
Jamie: LYLAB.
Me: LYLAS.
Love You Like a Brother. Love You Like a Sister.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
Long story
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