“What’s going on?” the other soldier shouted. “There’s nothing you can do in there! Unlock it, right now! This isn’t some game, kid.”

Michael was busy with the code. He needed to get his message to Kaine. Let them break the door down, beat him up, lock him in a dungeon. He only needed another few seconds. Furiously, he worked at the symbols flashing on the screen, trying to find a conduit, any link to a messaging system, no matter how archaic.

The guards pounded on the door; it sounded like they were using their shoulders now. The metal slab quivered violently, but the lock held.

“Open the door!” one of them yelled.

Michael ignored them, his fingers moving faster than ever. He was almost there.

A gunshot rattled the room. Michael yelped and instinctively raised his arms to protect his face, as if that would do any good. A quick look at the handle and lock showed that it’d been damaged, but not broken yet. Even as he watched, the gun fired again, battering the lock so much it was pushed halfway out of its place.

Michael jumped back to the code. Frantically working.

There. A service line, meant to automatically alert workers when there were malfunctions in the lighting system. Michael easily expanded it to reach the outer realms of the VirtNet and tagged it to Kaine. Then he typed a quick message, even as another gunshot exploded the lock into oblivion, tiny pieces of shrapnel raining against the mirror above the sink.

PINPOINT MY LOCATION

The door slammed inward, almost breaking off of its hinges.

WEBER HAS COFFINS HERE, BRING TANGENTS

The first soldier entered, gun raised, swept the room with his eyes.

COME SAVE ME NOW

“Stop!” the guard yelled, pointing the gun at Michael. The other one ran forward, reaching for Michael with both hands.

Michael swiped the message into the VirtNet, then yanked out the connection fibers just as hands roughly grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him, then slammed his body onto the tiled floor.

An ugly face hovered just above his. “What did you do? What did you do?”

The wind had been knocked right out of Michael’s chest. He gasped for air but couldn’t talk. The tip of a gun touched his forehead, cold and hard.

“What,” the man repeated, enunciating each word. “Did. You. Do.”

Michael coughed, trying to get the words out. “Nothing…I…was just…I tried…but…nothing.” He scrunched up his face as if he was about to cry. “Why can’t…you just let…me go? Please.”

“Get him out of here,” the guard with the gun said. “I’ll see if I can figure out what he did.”

His partner dragged Michael away by the feet.

4