The Eye of Minds

“So?” Bryson began. His question was obvious.

“The old-timers,” Sarah answered. “That’s where we start.”

Michael snapped out of his funk and let his adventurous side take over again. “Definitely,” he said as he turned and sat back down. “Those geezers outside the Old Towne shopping district will know something, if anybody does. Throw ’em a few credits to Casino and we won’t be able to shut them up.”

Sarah was nodding, but her eyes were focused on the same window Michael had been gazing through. She never looked at you when she was deep in thought. “I’m trying to remember the barber’s name. He must be a thousand years old.”

“I know that dinosaur,” Bryson said. “We used him when we needed to get the passwords for the Pluto mission. You’d think the guy would buy a breath-mint program. I had to keep sucking air through my mouth, he smelled so bad.”

Michael laughed. “If you had every gamer in town knocking on your door for advice, you wouldn’t do anything to make it easier on them, either. His name’s Cutter, by the way.”

“That’s where we go,” Sarah said. “We’ll just plug our noses.”

2

Old Towne was the most visited place in the VirtNet, the New York City of the simulated world. And the shopping district within it was always packed with people. At first Michael worried about being so much in the open, but once he was there, he realized it would be even easier to blend in and be lost by a searching eye. Especially with their Hider programs doubled up and working at full capacity.

Two malls, each with thousands of stores, arcades, restaurants, upload huts, entertainment bars, and anything else you could think of, bordered a huge plaza that stretched for miles. Along it were amazing fountains and air dancers and roller coasters, and Michael had always been just as much of a sucker for it all as anyone else. The whole place was designed for two things: to provide good times and to drain people’s life savings. Things often cost as much in the Sleep as they did in the Wake; the possibilities were just more vast. Especially if you could code.

Sarah had to yank Bryson away—by the ear—about five times before they made it to the long, narrow alleyway they were looking for. It branched off from the broad plaza and led to a section called Shady Towne, where less mainstream affairs like digital-tattoo parlors and pawnshops lined a cobblestone road that made Michael feel like he’d traveled hundreds of years into the past. He even saw a horse trot by.

“His place is right up here,” Sarah said, pointing.

No one had said much since exiting the plaza, and Michael knew exactly why. There were a lot fewer people, which meant if someone was looking, Michael and his friends would be easier to spot. Michael put his faith in Bryson’s Tracer, trusting that they’d know if Kaine slipped past their Hider programs and got close again. Then they could find a Portal and Lift to the Wake before being dumped into that black abyss.

Cutter’s place was aptly named the Old Man’s Barbershop. It didn’t take a genius to know that in a simulated world a person didn’t need haircuts, but that wasn’t how most people rolled. The more lifelike, the better. And eighty percent of those in the Sleep had themselves programmed to grow hair. If you were skilled at coding and really wanted a ponytail, you could just access the code and quickly program it.

“What do we do?” Bryson asked when they stopped a few feet from the front door. “Just barge in there and start throwing questions at the dude?”

Michael shrugged. “I bet he gambles every chance he gets. We’ll program him a buy-in for the next poker tournament, and just like I said, he won’t shut up till we walk away.”

“And whose head is he shaving?”

Sarah pulled her hair back protectively. “Not mine. I’m thinking he’s not the type to cut girls’ hair, anyway.”

“Make yourself shaggy,” Michael said to Bryson. “We’re wasting time.”

3

It had been at least a year since Michael had last pried information out of Cutter—something about a cheat in a martial arts game—so he’d forgotten how odd-looking the man was. If ever someone had shaped their VirtNet Aura after a storybook troll, there he stood, snipping away at a stranger’s hair. Michael and his friends waited patiently until it was Bryson’s turn for the scissors.

Cutter’s own mane was nothing but a tuft of gray combed over his spotted red scalp. He had more hairs coming out of his ears than he had up top. He was short and squat and ancient, and every word that came out of his mouth made Michael think the man would drop dead at any moment from old age. Surprisingly, the majority of people liked their VirtNet self to mirror their real self, so Michael could only imagine meeting Cutter in the Wake. A real pleasure to live with, he was sure.

“Why are you damn kids standin’ there gawking at us like vultures at a dying rat?” His fingers worked faster than Michael would have thought possible for a man his age, snip-snipping away. Evidently, he wasn’t used to people watching him so closely.

“Because we’re here for more than donating hair to your floor,” Sarah said, her voice as firm as Michael had ever heard it.

“Oh really?” he rasped. Michael guessed the man had more phlegm in his throat than a sinus-infected toddler. “Well, why don’t you enlighten me, young lady.”

Sarah looked at Michael, which was his cue. Leaning close to Cutter, he whispered, “We want information on the gamer named Kaine. Word is that he’s up to something big.” He paused, thinking too late that he should’ve shown a little more respect. “Um, sir. Please.”

“Save your fancy talk for someone else,” Cutter replied. His breath caught Michael this time, and he had to step away before he gagged.

He half expected Cutter to keep talking, start telling what he knew, but the old man didn’t say another word. He hadn’t slowed in the slightest with his clipping, and Bryson was starting to look downright handsome as a result.

Sarah gave it a try. “Come on. We know every rumor in the Sleep slides its way through here at some point. Tell us what you know about Kaine and where he’s hiding his secrets.”

“Or where we can find out,” Bryson added.

Cutter barked a laugh. “If you’re so damn smart, then you know what it takes to get information around here. All I’ve gotten so far is a headache and a handful of virtual hair cluttering up my floor.”

For some reason the guy’s last sentence made something in Michael snap, and he let out a small laugh before he could cut it off.

Cutter glared. “Laugh all ya want. I’m not the one who needs something. Last I remember, that was you.”

Sarah gave Michael her special look of reprimand—the one that only girls seemed to be able to manage. “We’re sorry, sir. Really. We obviously don’t have the slightest clue how to go about this. We’ve never done anything like this before.”

Michael winced at that—the man might’ve been old, but surely he remembered them. Michael jumped in to make up for the lie. “We can give you something for the information. Full buy-in for the Casino poker tournament this weekend.” He just had to hope his parents wouldn’t notice the money missing from their bank account.

Cutter’s eyes locked on his; there was a depth of clarity in the old man’s gaze that Michael had never seen, and he knew they’d won.

“Plus drinks,” the old man said. “Bottomless cup, mind you.”

“Fine,” Michael answered. “Now spill the beans.”

“You may not like what I got, but it’s the best I got. And you’re gonna have to trust me that I’m setting them feet of yours on the right road to findin’ what you’re seekin’.”

“Okay,” Sarah responded. “Let’s hear it.”

Cutter had stopped cutting Bryson’s hair, though Michael couldn’t recall when he’d done so. He wiped the back of the cape his friend was wearing, then took it off him. Bryson said a quick thanks and stood to join his friends, looking as excited as Michael to hear what the barber had to say.

“I’ve heard a lot of gossip come through this joint over the years,” the old man said. “But you’re asking about the scariest information I’ve heard yet in my eight decades.”

This only got Michael more excited. “And?”

“Plenty of news about this Kaine chap goin’ round, that’s for sure. He’s up to no good. Kidnappings, lobotomies … Word is that there’s a place he’s hiding something, too. Don’t know what he’s hiding or where. Just that it’s big.”

“We already know all that,” Sarah pointed out. “How can we find him or this place? Where do we start?”

Cutter’s mouth curled in what might’ve been a smile, but Michael wasn’t sure. It looked more like a grimace. “That poker night better pay off, kids, ’cause I’ve told less people about the place I’m about to reveal to you than I’ve got toes on my right foot. And I lost one of those to a rabid canine in Des Moines.”

“Where do we go?” Michael pressed, impatience straining his every muscle.

Cutter leaned in toward them, the foul stench of his breath wafting out even before he began talking again. “You need to go to the Black and Blue Club. Find Ronika. That old witch is the only one who can tell you how to find … it.”

“Find what?” all three of them replied in unison.

“The thing that’ll lead you to Kaine.” Cutter made that mysterious smile-grimace again, then spoke in a harsh whisper. “The Path.”

Michael frowned. Two simple words—but the way the man said them turned his insides cold.

CHAPTER 6

THROUGH THE FLOOR

1

Michael had heard of the club. Everybody inside the VirtNet had heard of the Black and Blue. But he’d never met anyone who’d actually been there, because it was impossible to get into—unless you were extremely rich, famous, or high up on the criminal chain. Or, of course, a politician, which would make you all of the above.

Michael and his friends were none of those, and to make matters worse, they were teenagers. Their coding skills were advanced enough that they could make themselves look older, and they could conjure up fake ID docs quicker than Helga could make waffles. But everyone tried to fool the Black and Blue, and the club was far too good at seeing through the trickery.

Michael, Bryson, and Sarah stood across the street from the entrance, gawking at the people waiting in line. Michael figured more money had been spent on their jewelry and designer clothing than most people made in a year. Lifeblood was the one place in the VirtNet where not just anyone could look however they wanted. To have fancy things, you had to be rich enough to afford fancy things in the real world or know how to schmooze, flirt, or con your way into getting what you desired. Or be really good at coding and hacking.

“What’s the plan?” Bryson asked. “I can barely sneak my way into Jackie Suede’s Shake-Your-Booty Bar, much less the Black and Blue.”