(Max's POV)
Have you ever woken up about a hundred times more exhausted than you were when you went to sleep?
The next morning at least, I assumed it was morning since we were all waking up-I felt like one of the twelve dancing princesses, who danced all night, wore holes in their shoes, and had to sleep it off the next day. Except, oh, yeah: a) I'm not a princess; b) sleeping in a subway tunnel and having another brain attack aren't that much like dancing all night, and c) my combat boots were still in good shape. Other than that, it was exactly the same.
"Is it morning?" Angel asked, yawning.
"Yeah, is it morning?" Cookie agreed sleepily.
"I'm hungry" were, predictably, Nudge's first words.
"Okay, we'll get you some chow," I said tiredly. "Then it's off to find the Institute."
Fang, Iggy, and I had agreed to not tell the younger kids about the hacker or about my latest brain attack. Why make 'em worry?
It took a couple of minutes for us to wend our way through the subway tunnels, back up into light and air. You know you've been breathing something less than primo when the New York street smells really fresh and clean.
"It's so bright," the Gasman said, shielding his eyes. Then, "Is that honey-roasted peanuts?"
Their incredible scent was impossible to resist. You could have an Eraser selling those peanuts, and we'd probably still go. I focused my eyes on the vendor. No. Not an Eraser.
We got some peanuts, and then we walked down Fourteenth Street, chomping, as I tried to figure out a sensible way to comb the city. First, a phone book. We saw a phone kiosk up ahead, but it had only a chain where the phone book had been. Would a store let us use theirs? Hey! Information! I dug some change out of my pocket and picked up the phone. I dialled 411.
"In New York City, the Institute for Higher Living," I said when the automated operator came on.
"We're sorry. There is no listing under that name. Please check and try again."
Frustration was my constant companion. I wanted to scream. "What the he-heck are we supposed to do now?" I asked Fang.
He looked at me, and I could tell he was mulling over the problem. He held out a small waxed-paper bag. "Peanut?"
We kept walking and eating, gazing in constant amazement at the store windows. Everything you could buy in the world was for sale on Fourteenth Street in New York. Of course, we couldn't afford any of it. Still, it was awesome.
"Smile, you're on Candid Camera," said Fang, pointing at a window.
In an electronics store, a short-circuit camera was displaying passersby on a handful of TV screens. Automatically, we ducked our heads and turned away, instinctively paranoid about anyone having our images.
Suddenly, I winced as a single sharp pain hit my temple. At the same time, words scrolling across the TV screens caught my eye. I stared in disbelief as Good morning, Max, filled every screen.
"Jeez," Fang breathed, stopping dead in his tracks.
Iggy bumped into him, saying, "What? What is it?"
"Yeah, what does it say?" Cookie agreed, rubbing her eyes.
"Is that you?" the Gasman asked me. "How do they know you?"
Playing is learning, Max, said the Voice inside my head. It was the same one as last night, and I realized I couldn't tell if it was adult or child, male or female, friend or foe. Great.
Games test your abilities. Fun is crucial to human development. Go have fun, Max.
I halted, oblivious to the gobs of people streaming around us on the street. "I don't want to have fun! I want some answers!" I blurted without meaning to the crazy girl talking back to her little Voice.
Get on the Madison Avenue bus, said the Voice. Get off when it looks fun.