Page 107 (2/2)

Perry stopped drinking in mid-sip.

The grayness vanished.

For the first time since his triangles had started talking to him months before, his brain felt . . . clear.

He was so focused on this new sensation, or rather the absence of a sensation, that he didn’t notice the beer spilling out the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

“Kid,” Dew said. “Should I get you a sippy cup?”

Perry put the beer down on the computer-room console. He absently wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

“The jamming is gone,” he said. “Whatever was blocking me, it’s gone.”

Dew clapped once. “Fan-f.u.c.king-tastic! So where’s the next host? What direction?”

Perry closed his eyes, trying to hear, trying to sense. Trouble was, he didn’t sense jack squat.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not picking up anything. Nothing at all.”

Dew’s satphone buzzed. He pulled it out of his coat and answered, then just listened.

“Yeah?” he said after a few seconds. “No s.h.i.+t? Dawsey said the jamming is gone. We’ll keep you informed.”

Dew hung up.

“That was Murray,” he said. “Tight-lipped b.a.s.t.a.r.d has been up to all kinds of antics without filling me in. They found the mystery satellite and took it out. Just now, so gotta be the satellite that was blocking you.”

Perry smiled and grabbed Dew’s shoulder. “I’m not getting anything, man! Dew, I think that’s it. I think the whole thing is over! Guess what? f.u.c.k their fourth-quarter comeback, because we won!”

<script>