The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(34)

“Of course, William,” I say, calling him by his full name to show that I truly do respect him.

He nods, looking satisfied. “And another thing. If this Nirvana stuff is true, that means the Elders might make me become an Ambassador. If that happens—”

“Say no more. If it turns out you’ve become one, I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks. You might get that raise after all.” He winks and then, with mock horror, says, “Wait a minute.”

We both laugh, but his laughter sounds strained. I haven’t seen Bill this stressed out since the last big oil-price plummet; the man loathes it when anything in the world is beyond his control.

“I think I’ll take a walk, if you don’t mind,” he says. “My advice to you is to have a heart-to-heart with whoever took you into Nirvana.”

“Do you know whose Mind Dimension this is?” I ask. “If the rumors you mentioned are true, it would be the same person.”

“No, I don’t, but I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” I say.

After Bill leaves the room, I look over the books.

Sadly, I don’t locate a book titled How to Master Nirvana, at least not at a glance. Of course, if they kept stuff like that around, the Nirvana stuff wouldn’t be a rumor. Some of the topics the Elders do write about are fascinating, though. I flip through a book filled with proofs and other pure mathematics written by Frederick. Next, I scan Alfred’s Detailed Analysis of the Second Iraq War. After that, I find that Gustav created a catalogue of every species of creatures that run, fly, swim, or crawl on this Island, complete with hand-drawn illustrations.

Locating a genealogy book, I leaf through it, searching for ‘Taylor,’ my mom’s family line. I’m absorbed in this task when I’m interrupted by a faint sound.

One moment I hear the rustling of clothing, and the next I’m having difficulty breathing.

The book falls from my hand to the floor.

I try to say, “What the hell,” but only a hoarse grunt comes out.

Someone grabbed me from behind, I realize, and they have my neck in a tight elbow lock. Their other hand is on the back of my head. Unbidden, a thought comes: I’m in a rear naked choke, which is a pretty deadly way of taking out an opponent. I probably have five seconds to react before I suffocate.

Given the circumstances, I don’t have to worry about dying, but I do have to worry about becoming Inert.

I suppress the fear and the pain, though it’s extremely difficult. My body doesn’t realize that the result of this attack won’t be truly fatal; it’s running through the motions of the fight-or-flight response. I try to calm myself and focus on the fight, and not the flight, part of what my body is so ready for. I have to react before I lose consciousness.

I grab at the arm around my neck.

My head might as well be in a steel vise.

I’m beginning to see a white haze.

My next move isn’t a conscious one. I’m only aware of what I’m doing as I begin doing it.

I grab the arm again, but this time, I suddenly squat.

My brain catches up with my body, and I swing the back of my hand to where I hope my attacker’s groin is. My hand hits something disgustingly soft, and a satisfying grunt sounds from behind me.

My attacker is definitely male.

The hold on my neck slackens enough for me to grab the hand holding me. I move a few inches to the right, bringing the arm along with me.

I succeed in overextending my attacker’s shoulder and use that moment to throw him off balance.

As he falls, I catch a quick glimpse of him, which confirms his gender. This person is far too big to be a woman, at least an average-sized one. He’s wearing a strange mask, which prevents me from recognizing who he is. Aside from that, he’s wearing a plain black kimono and no shoes.

I pay the price for examining my attacker. He does what looks like a breakdancing move, his legs sweeping mine.

When I trained with Caleb at the Temple, the thing I learned best was how to fall, so I don’t flop down like a sack of potatoes. Instead, I make sure I land on my attacker with my elbow out, wrestling-style.

My elbow plunges into his chest area, and his breath rushes out of him like air from a punctured balloon. I use my advantage to reach for the mask; I need to find out who this is since he’s likely the Super Pusher. If he is, by the way, then punching him in his privates already proved I was wrong in calling him a she.

I move to complete the identification, but his hands catch mine before I can unfasten the mask. He rolls to his side, and I fight not to roll off him.

We wrestle in the style of the ancient Greeks, each trying to catch the other in a submission lock. Only the Greeks didn’t allow dirty moves. Since this isn’t the Olympics, I bite his arm when he shoves it in my face. He retaliates by grasping for my genitals. I back away just in time.

Unfortunately, he uses that moment to grab the tail end of the nearest bookshelf and tries to tip it over. Though the shelf doesn’t fall, it does lean. I snap to alertness when books rain down, slipping off the polished shelf. As I protect my head from the heavy tomes, he crawls away.

I move to follow and notice he’s trying to topple the shelf from the other side. Again it leans, and before I get out of its path, a book hits me in the temple, blurring my vision and sending a wave of nausea through me.