Mindwalker by AJ Steiger Read Free Book Online Page A

this, but of course, that’s something she can’t give me. “No.”
    â€œIn that case, I’ll take a nap.” Chloe curls up at the foot of the bed and disappears.
    Those two words burn inside my head, as if etched into my brain by sharp little claws.
Voluntarily passed.
It sounds so civilized, so peaceful. Father always hated the term. He said it masked the suffering of the people involved, that suicide is suicide, regardless of whether the government approves it or not.
    I struggle to control my breathing.
Think.
    As soon as someone obtains Somnazol from a doctor, his status changes to
voluntarily passed
—meaning he’s legally dead, even before he takes the pill. That means Steven might still bealive. But if he’s planning to die anyway, why did he approach me? Is he having second thoughts?
    In my head, I see the Somnazol ad in the school bathroom. I’ve seen those same ads in mono stations and stores—ads filled with soothing colors, smiling doctors, words like
merciful
and
dignified.
Somnazol is an accepted part of society. We learn about it in school. A humane, painless death for people who are too broken to be fixed, a last resort for those who would otherwise just be dangerous burdens on society. That’s what they tell us. I never liked it, never quite believed the line, but the cold reality never hit me so hard until this moment.
    That’s why Steven didn’t want to go to IFEN. There’s no way they’ll approve him for neural modification therapy. There’s no way they’ll let me treat him. They’re not even legally allowed to treat someone who’s obtained a Somnazol.
    In their eyes, he’s already dead.

When I arrive at Greenborough the next day, there are police cars everywhere. Students huddle outside, bundled in coats and shivering.
    An evacuation?
    I park my car, get out, and jog toward the crowd, scanning it for a familiar face. Guards prowl around us. They’re all wielding NDs—neural disrupters—resembling small pistols, as well as portable neuroscanners resembling black plastic wands. One of the guards stalks toward me, and I tense. “What’s going on?”
    â€œWe’re dealing with a potential threat,” he says. “Hold still.” I flinch back as he waves the scanner in front of my face.
    â€œExcuse me,” I say, holding up one arm like a shield. “I haven’t consented to a scan.”
    â€œWe don’t need your consent,” he snaps. “An emergency has been declared. Hold still!” I freeze. A green light blinks. “Type One!” he shouts to someone else. “She’s clean.”
    More voices raise. “Get in line! Everyone get in line!”
    The guards are brandishing their NDs at the students, pushing them into a loose line and scanning them one by one. Many of the students are bunched together, as if for protection. Some of them have been on the wrong end of an ND before. I’ve seen it happen—the twitching, the convulsions, the bloody foam bubbling from bitten tongues and lips.
    I spot Ian. With his hairstyle and trademark black leather jacket with fishnet sleeves, he’s easy to pick out of a crowd. I run toward him, calling his name.
    He turns. There’s an odd, unfocused look in his eyes, as if he’s not quite there. “Lain …”
    I jog to a halt, panting. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Sweat shines on his forehead. He rubs his hand over the fuzzy stripe of ginger hair on his scalp. Then he leans in, lowering his voice. “Be careful. They’re really riled up. They’re itching to use those NDs.”
    â€œWhat’s going on? Did someone find a weapon?”
    He shakes his head. “You won’t believe it.” A tiny, wry smile curves one corner of his mouth, though the glassy look doesn’t quite leave his eyes. “They’re here because someone