Free Hacker: The Outlaw Chronicles by Ted Dekker Page B

wait,” I said. “It’s a drug?”
    “A synthesized catalyst.”
    “Austin, you're not going beyond consciousness, you’re getting high.”
    He looked at me as though I’d just insulted his mother. “These are naturally occurring compounds that are in our bodies right now. I’ve simply tweaked the combination. It’s the Kick that initiates the metaexperience The hack.”
    I nodded, but if he kept talking like this he was going to lose me.
    “The system monitors the electrical activity of my brain during the first seconds and delivers laser pulses via the fiber optics to mimic my own neuron activity, thus prolonging the experience.”
    “How long does it last?” I asked.
    “I’ll show you. Once the Kick occurs, the entire experience will last fifteen seconds,” he said and began climbing into the pod.
    “Fifteen seconds? What could possibly happen in fifteen seconds?”
    He smiled and said, “When space and time mean nothing, quite a lot. You can watch from the control panel. Just don’t touch anything.”
    I stepped toward the door and watched as Austin climbed into the tank. He maneuvered himself into a seated position and connected the sensors on his head to a black insulated cord. He pushed a button and the lid began to lower.
    I went to the control panel and focused on the array of displays above it. A green image of Austin’s head filled one screen. He was adjusting the breathing tube, a cannula like the kind used to administer oxygen to hospital patients, in his nostrils. The video feed was from a night-vision camera mounted inside the pod. Altogether, there were six cameras, four inside the tank at various angles, and two outside the tank. Austin recorded everything.
    “Computer,” he said and eased back until he was floating, “initiate alpha protocol.”
    An electronic voice responded: “Alpha protocol initiated. Recording confirmed.”
    “Trial 324. Mark. Subject: Austin Hartt observed by Nyah Parks. Commence hack protocol.”
    “Hack protocol commenced.”
    With that the low droning noise I’d heard earlier started, slowly growing louder. It filtered into the room through two small speakers mounted at the corners of the control panel. This was the sound feeding into Austin’s headset.
    Screens on the control panel streamed his biometric data. His heart rate was already beginning to slow noticeably. A digital image of his brain from multiple angles lit up with flashes of red, orange, and yellow, indicating electrical activity as the neurons fired. Next to it, an EEG measured his brain-wave activity. At first, the monitor showed short staccato lines. Over the course of ten minutes, the waves grew longer, slowing as his mind calmed and transitioned to a different state of consciousness. Then, like an aerial view of forest fires flickering out, the flashes on the digital brain image disappeared.
    I stared at the image of Austin on-screen, his lips parted slightly. His eyes were closed and he floated motionless for five more minutes.
    An electronic chime, like a tiny bell, sounded and a message appeared on a screen. Kick protocol initiated. A timer appeared on the screen and began counting up like a stopwatch.
    As soon as the first digit appeared—1—I heard Austin exhale loudly through the speakers. I leaned closer to the screen monitoring his face as his eyelids parted. He stared straight into the camera. His pupils were bottomless and consumed his irises. His breathing came in thick, deep draws, yet his heart rate and vital signs continued to slow. His eyes began to twitch rapidly left to right, faster than anyone could consciously do.
    A buzzing in my pocket startled me. I jerked upright and my attention broke from Austin’s stare.
    I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out my iPhone. The screen read “Jill Corbis.” For a brief moment I considered answering it, but hesitated. She’d have to wait.
    Not now, Jill. Not now. I thumbed the END button, sending her to voicemail.
    The