"Where am I?"
"Like I said, my man: funeral home. That's where they send dead people. It's the law. And you, my friend, are legally dead. Got the paperwork to prove it."
Sebeck looked around for a few moments more, then brought his gaze back to the kid. "Who are you?"
The kid wiped his hand on his lab coat, then extended it. "Laney Price. Body prep. I take out the pacemakers and shit like that. That stuff'll blow up if it goes in the furnace."
Sebeck ignored Price's hand and tried to shake his head clear. He glanced down, then swung his legs over the edge of the table and sat up.
Price rushed to hold him steady, but Sebeck pushed him back. He glanced down at his own body. He was wearing casual slacks and a pullover shirt. Next to him on the table lay his crumpled prison khakis. He picked them up, balling them up in his fists. That's right.He remembered now. He had just been executed for murdering federal officers. He was the most hated man in America.
He dropped the khakis and sat motionless, staring at his own hands. A wave of emotion overcame him, and he started to breathe in fits.
He was alive.
Price clapped a hand around his shoulder. "Hey, Sergeant, you're not dead, man. Relax."
Sebeck threw off Price's arm and grabbed him by the throat. "What the fuck is going on!"
Price extricated himself as Sebeck nearly swooned from the effort. "You tell me.You brought me here."
Sebeck was still trying to clear his head. God, his throat hurt. "What are you talking about?"
"Look…" Price stomped off and tore a newspaper clipping from its place on a nearby bulletin board. He came back to the examining table and pointed at the clipping-a file picture of Sebeck below the headline Sebeck's Macabre Message.
"Message received, compadre."
Sebeck grabbed the article. It was months old. His head started to clear as the adrenaline kicked in. It worked.The Daemon had saved him.
But why?
Before he could ask another question, Price tossed him a plastic water bottle. "Electrolytes. Better drink up."
Sebeck realized just how thirsty he was. He cracked open the water and drank deeply. His throat throbbed.
Price continued. "Ol' One-eye's been asking for ya. He's all up in my grill, an I'm like, yo, back off, Methuselah. That sprite is a screen saver from hell, I swear it, man. He's a fourth-dimensional stain."
Sebeck finished the bottle. "You want to say that again in English?"
"For being in charge, you seem woefully uninformed."
"What do you mean, 'in charge'?"
Price threw up his hands. "See, you gotta talk to One-eye. Hang on a sec." Price headed over to a locked cabinet, pulled out a choked key ring, and started cycling through the keys. He talked while he searched. "You know, it's an honor to finally meet you. You drew a lot of ink. Most of it said you were evil incarnate, but we all know that's horseshit. That Anji Anderson chick is out to get you, but evil or not, that bitch is fuckin' hot. I'd do her. Evil Daemon bitch. Laney likes the bad girls…"
Sebeck was looking around the room again. "You were talking to someone earlier. Something about myths and rhyme."
Price paused. "You heard that?"
"Is someone else here?" Sebeck glanced around cautiously.
Price just snickered to himself. "Yeah, bad habit from working with dead people." He stuck a key in the lock. "They're good listeners, though. Haven't heard a complaint yet."
He rummaged around in the cabinet and came out with a sealed plastic box. Price walked back to the examining table, struggling to open the seal. "Damned things. It's the Asians that do this." He fished around among the scalpels on his worktable, near the body of the old man. "You know, the average Chinese factory worker must think Americans are insane. Picture this: you work at a plant that makes Halloween stuff-you know, like, rubber severed heads. And you're all like: Americans decorate their homes with severed heads? These fuckers are savages, man."
Sebeck slowly leaned forward and tried to stand. He still felt woozy.
"I wouldn't do that yet if I were you."
"You're not me." Sebeck managed to stand, still holding the table to steady himself. "So, you say I created this place?" He glanced around. "By sending that message to the Daemon?"
Price got the box open. "All will become clear, young grasshopper, when you talk to One-eye. Then maybe he'll get off my ass." Price pulled an intricate and expensive-looking pair of sports sunglasses from the box. It was sealed in yet another plastic bag. "Why do they do this shit?" He started biting into the plastic and twisting.
"One- eye?"
Price gave him a look. "Do you have several one-eyed undead freaks stalking you, Sergeant? Should I be more specific?"
Sobol.
Price now pulled the glasses out of the bag. They were stylish, with yellow-tinted lenses and hip frames, but the posts were unusually thick. Price also pulled a thick beltlike device from the box. He glanced at Sebeck and started adjusting a strap. "Just take me a sec. You're a what, size thirty-eight?"
"Thirty- four."
"Damn. I've gotta lose about forty pounds myself. But then again, you were on the"-air quotes here-"Lompoc prison diet."
Sebeck just pointed at the glasses.
"Oh, HUD- heads-up display. It's an interface to the Daemon network. Check this shit out."
"The Daemon network?"
"Can't see the TOP without the HUD."
"Stop with the acronyms."
"I've got acronyms for my acronyms." He held up the belt and clicked a battery into place. "Ready. Here, put this on." He handed it to Sebeck.
Sebeck took it warily. It was like a thick money belt and was made of black, stretchable nylonlike material with a sleek titanium buckle.
Price was fiddling with the glasses. "The belt's a combination satellite phone, GPS, and wearable computer. Methane-oxide fuel cell battery'll last for about three days. Works in conjunction with the glasses. Be careful with it. It's ruggedized and water-resistant, but don't go driving nails with it. The glasses alone cost about fifty thousand dollars."
Sebeck was taken aback. "What, are you joking? Who paid for them?"
"Daemon's got cash, bro. Hell, you ain't seen nothing."
"Why's it giving them to me? I want to destroy the Daemon."
"Because it wants to have a word with you."
Sebeck considered this for a few moments. Then he fastened the belt around his waist. It fit well and felt like a lifting belt.
Price slid the HUD glasses onto Sebeck's face.
Sebeck wrapped the band around his head. "Nice fit."
"Should be a perfect fit. They scanned your head."
"They? Who's they?"
Price shrugged. "Fabricators. Micro-manufacturers. Hell, who knows? The Daemon shipped it to me."
Sebeck noticed the lens flicker momentarily, then return to normal.
"It's got a retinal scanner and a heart pulse sensor. If you're a member of the network and still alive, it knows who you are and what your rights are. It senses the moment you take them off. Put 'em on, you just logged on. Take 'em off, you just logged off."
Price walked briskly over to a cluttered desk nearby. "Wait a sec." He grabbed another pair of glasses sitting there and put them on.
They looked at each other.
Suddenly, Sebeck's lenses blinked, then information appeared at the top and bottom of the "screen." He focused on Price and was surprised to see a name call-out box hovering over Price-just like in the game The Gate.Price's screen name was apparently ChunkyMonkey.