“It’s our first attempt, so it’s a very basic, one-time-use login. You’ll be able to move through Unison, but you won’t have a Profile or Thoughtstream. It won’t respond to your presence. You can’t make Friends. Press your palms against your temples when you’re ready to shimmer out. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“You mean you don’t know?” The capsule bounced and rattled in her hand. She almost dropped it.

“It’s never been tested.”

“And you’re gonna drill this thing into my hand?”

“No, nothing like that,” Deirdre assured her. “You just eat it.”

12. Launch Party

12

LAUNCH PARTY

AMBROSE SCREAMED his way down the chute, which descended through the walls of the UniCorp building at unpredictable angles. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but the sharp changes in direction, plus his dangerous velocity through complete darkness, seemed to pull the terrified yelps from his lungs. And yet, despite the stomach-turning intensity of the ride, he maintained one clear thought: Len had managed to operate a rogue security force and undermine his own father’s plans, all while maintaining his cover as the Perfect Bureaucrat. And he had risked—and lost—everything to do it for Ambrose.

The chute gave way to empty space. He stopped sliding and started falling.

His scream hung in the air all around him, then trailed up the chute. He exhaled a sharp hrrrmmpphhhh as he landed butt-first against something soft, but not that soft.

Temperfoam. He sank into its folds as they formed a soft shell around him. Then the foam gave way, depositing him into a pile of sheets and pillows on the floor of a closet-sized room lit by a single lamp. Ambrose stood up and took a few deep breaths to slow his racing heart. He calculated the rate of his fall and the approximate height of the building and determined that he was slightly below ground, at about the same level as Len’s private entrance.

In front of him was a narrow opening in the wall. Another short trip through a mercifully horizontal tunnel, and he found himself in a cramped, rough-hewn space containing a black UniCorp security car. He took a moment to run his hand along the smooth, rounded top that curved back to meet the undercarriage in a single gleaming point. He slid the door open.

“Thanks, big brother.”

As soon as he sat down, the ceiling of the makeshift garage opened to expose a clear, pink dawn breaking over Eastern Seaboard City. The car door closed. The console blinked to life. His brother had programmed autopilot for a preplanned route.