“Come with me.” Gun holds out of the whip. “Please.”
I hesitate a heartbeat before reaching out, my hand closing around the black leather. As soon as I touch the whip, blue Vex swirls down around us.
“Site: First Date. Authentication code JX2K09RT.”
We’re sucked away. I look at Gun through the formless blue. His eyes are bright as they gaze back at me.
The blue of Vex dissipates, and I find myself on a cloud. It floats among a sea of stars.
We stand in silence, me in my ridiculous vinyl leotard and triple E breasts. The whip hangs between me and Gun, each of us grasping an end. I have a sinking feeling these may be my last moments with him.
I’m afraid, I realize. A big part of me doesn’t want to know the truth. It will forever alter our friendship. This knowledge sits on my shoulders like lead.
“What do you call this?” I finger the whip.
“Selina.” Gun flicks his wrist. The whip coils back around his hand. “Named after a pre-’Fault superhero.”
“You read too many old books …” My voice trails off, raspy with emotion. “God, I just want us to be Baldy and Short Stuff again.” I want everything back, all our nights together sparring and competing in the Cube.
But I can’t have it back. My old life is gone forever.
Gun laughs. It’s a pained, harsh laugh. “I built this site for you,” he says. “I knew how trapped you felt. I wanted you to feel free, even if only for a while. I wanted to ask you out, but you were adamant about not wanting a relationship. I saw the way you looked at the guys in the Cube who hit on you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you ever looking at me that way. So I contented myself with being your friend.”
He looks at me, a silent question in his eyes. I stare back, unable to find words. Part of me always knew he was interested in more than friendship.
I think of Taro and how his lips felt against mine. I suddenly wish he were here with me. I could use his solid, unwavering strength. His friendship. Everything with him is real. Taro is real. His oddities, his intricacies, his kindness and integrity. Real. All of it.
Gun? I don’t know who he is. My cherished friend is a made-up Vex avatar.
“Gun, I—” I break off and shake my head. “We can’t be together. I don’t even know who you really are.”
He nods. I see the pain my words cause him. I don’t apologize.
The cloud boils, oozing through the sky. Cities pass beneath us, bundles of geometric lights.
“You’re with him, aren’t you?” Gun asks abruptly.
He doesn’t have to clarify who him is. “There’s something between us,” I say.
“Is he good to you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all that matters.” His face goes blank. I sense the wall he builds between us.
I take a few steps back from him in silent acknowledgment of that wall. “The truth, please,” I say. “All of it.”
His mouth tightens. “I propose a trade. You answer one question for me, and I’ll tell you who I am.”
I hesitate, then realize this is the most I’ll get. “Okay,” I agree. “I answer one question, and you tell me who you are and who you work for. No more Axcents, no more lies.”
“Agreed.” His voice is clipped, businesslike. It makes me ache with loss, but I’m careful not to let the hurt show.
“I don’t know how much you get to see of the world outside the Dome,” Gun says. “I have a feeling the Winns are selective about the information they share, so I brought this.” He pulls a holograph tube from a pocket and presses one end.
A holograph of Imugi’s face is projected into the air. His white SmartPlastic mask with the blue sea serpent floats on a backdrop of black.
“America,” Imugi purrs. “I bring you despair.”
The voice sends a spear of fear through me. Even though the real Imugi is gone, the synthetic voice of the avatar on the screen shares a frightening likeness.
“Behold Project Renascentia,” says Imugi.
In the holograph, the mask fades away, replaced with footage of gas canisters being dropped on a refugee camp. I can see it’s a small camp, home to no more than forty or fifty people. The gas boils out in a whitish-brown haze, rolling through the tents and lean-tos.
The camera switches to time lapse. The sun rises and sets, showing the people as they emerge from their shelter and go through their day.
Then the sickness sets in. Coughs wrack their bodies, often resulting in blood-spattered handkerchiefs. More are stricken with fever and lie down in their shelters. Chests heave as people struggle to breathe. The victims clutch at their chests, their bloody coughs worsening.
In less than forty-eight hours, the entire camp is dead.
Gun stares at me soberly through the hologram. “There have been over a dozen attacks like this on isolated refugee camps. The League is testing a modified version of the pneumonic plague and killing everyone in the process. Global has been vocal about creating a vaccine to combat the plague.”
“They have?” Kerry never once mentioned this to us.
Gun nods. “Claudine and Mr. Winn spend quite a bit of time on the Vex media circuit. They say their scientists are close to finding a cure. My company has studied some of the bodies. We’ve found traces of a failed vaccine in the victims. This is my question to you: do you know anything about their vaccine program?”
I shake my head. Why would the Winns keep this from us? With all our media work, wouldn’t they want us to speak about this?
Gun clicks the holograph tube again. The video of the camp disappears, replaced with a map. It’s a map of the United States marked with red stars. I immediately recognize it.
“This is the scope of Project Renascentia,” Gun says. “These are all the places that have been attacked—Sulan?”
The pictures I saw on Maxwell’s tablet tumble through my brain, coupled with a snatch of conversation I overhead between Dad and Aston.
… still seeing inflammation in the test cells, but she sent my most recent vaccine with the modified F1 antigen, Dad said.
She.
She.
She.
There is only one she, and Maxwell works for her. Maxwell goes out and runs errands for her. Maxwell has data on death rates and pictures of the murdered people.
Suddenly, everything is perfectly clear. The pieces of the puzzle all snap into place. I can’t believe it took me this long to patch it all together.
Claudine Winn is a League agent.
“You know something,” Gun says. “Tell me.”
Even though I don’t completely trust him, he fought with me against the League before. I know I can trust him on this.
“Claudine,” I whisper. “She—she’s a League agent. She’s part of Project Renascentia.”
I quickly relate all the information I pieced together over the past few weeks. The muscles in Gun’s jaw and neck tense as I speak.
“I don’t know anything about the vaccine, or the work that’s being done on it,” I say as I finish, shaking my head.
Gun looks ready to grind rocks with his teeth. When he looks at me, I see anger in his eyes—anger, and something else. Could it be fear?
“Sulan,” he says, “you’re in danger. You have to get out of the Dome.”
There’s no getting out of the Dome. Doesn’t he know that? As I open my mouth to reply, something stirs in the periphery of my vision. I turn—and come face-to-face once again with a Global cybermerc.
“Dammit,” Gun snarls. “Not again.”
43
Son
THE MERC IS ADORNED with a pair of black wings. The Axcent allows him to glide through the air and land on the cloud beside us. As soon as his feet touch the cloud, he lunges forward. One hand closes around Gun’s whip.
Gun snarls, his hand grabbing the whip. His other hand blurs in an arc as he aims a punch at the merc’s jaw. Before his fist connects, the merc gives one ferocious beat of his wing
s. A cloud of fine blue powder puffs outward from his feathers.
“Dream Dust!” I scream, diving across the cloud to avoid being hit by the stuff.
The Dream Dust eliminates any lingering doubts I may have had about Claudine. It’s no coincidence she has a Black Tech supposedly designed by the League.
Gun jerks away, trying to avoid the Dream Dust. As he does, the merc yanks Selina from his belt and leaps off the cloud, hovering in the air out of reach.
Gun staggers back, but he’s not fast enough. The blue powder rolls over him. Blue bits shower down on my foot and ankle, but the rest of my body is untouched. I can only hope my physical reaction won’t be as severe as last time.
I jump to my feet. Gun angles himself so that he stands by my side. It’s the way we always stood together when going into a match in the Cube. Despite all the murkiness clouding our friendship, we’re still fighting partners.
More and more mercs drop through the star-filled sky, all of them outfitted with black wings.
“You have any other sites where we can hide?” I whisper to Gun.
He grunts, but doesn’t reply.
“You certainly didn’t make things easy.” The familiar voice of Claudine Winn floats in the starlight around us. She glides through her dark-winged mercs. Her pale pink wings match her pink business suit. She lands lightly on the cloud beside us. The rest of the mercs fan out around the cloud.
“Good work, Miss Hom,” she says. “My cybermercs have spent weeks trying to track down this young man. And here you help us catch him in a single night. I will overlook the fact that you violated Global protocol to do so.”
I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. I clench my fists, weighing the pros and cons of punching her.
“And you.” Claudine turns to Gun. “We can do this two ways. You can let me see your true VI, or my cybermercs will force the truth from you. Your choice.”
The cybermercs brandish Decoders. They’re two-foot smooth, black batons, the ends capped with small metal spikes. The spikes shoot code into any avatar they touch. The code is meant to strip all Vex Axcents and reveal the true, Naked avatar beneath. It’s tech generally used by law enforcement.
“Leave Sulan out of this,” Gun says. “This is between us.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Claudine flicks her wrist.
One merc detaches from the main unit, flying toward me.
“Gun, no!”
He says nothing. He doesn’t move as the mercs close in on me.
No way am I going down without a fight. I leap straight at the nearest merc, plowing into his stomach. He grunts, flying backward as I deliver a string of punches to his ribs. His wings flap as we fall off the cloud and plummet through the stars. I grip his belt and get another punch into his ribs.
Another merc swoops in and grabs me around the waist. He pulls. I scream in frustration as my grip on the first merc loosens. The two men beat their wings, slowly pulling me free. My vinyl jumpsuit creaks under the strain.
I dig my nails into the first merc’s belt, but it’s no use. They’re too strong. I make an inarticulate sound as I’m pried away. I twist around, swinging a fist at the new merc. My angle is off and I miss.
“Sulan, let it go.” Gun’s voice cuts through the frenzy. “It’s okay. This is my fight.”
With a sound that’s half snarl, half grunt of defeat, I stop resisting. Clasping me about the waist, the merc flies back toward the cloud. He stops beside it, holding me in one arm like I’m an oversized doll. Claudine rises in the air, pink wings fluttering primly.
Gun stands in the center of the cloud surrounded by winged cybermercs. Every last one of them is armed with a Decoder. Despite the fact that he’s outnumbered twelve to one, he looks calm. He meets my eye and winks.
“You can still let me go,” Gun says to Claudine. “It will be better for everyone in the end, especially you.”
Claudine sniffs. “You’re afraid,” she says. “You don’t want Miss Hom to know who you really are. You’re afraid it will affect the influence you hold over her.” Her eyes narrow. “She will see you fully exposed. As will I.”
And with that, the cybermercs close in.
“Get out of here, Gun!” I shout, struggling against my captor. “Just leave!” He may not be able to get out of Vex, but he can still leave this site.
“Quiet,” Claudine snaps, her pink wings vibrating with annoyance.
Gun ignores me and remains crouched. I recognize his fighting stance, although he doesn’t move as the cybermercs near. Why won’t he go? He must have other sites where he can hide.
He doesn’t even flinch as the first Decoder catches him in the side of the arm. A stream of silver light arcs into him.
His avatar cracks in half like an egg. The sturdy teenage boy with the shaved head falls away, revealing a skinny, pimply boy with close-cropped blond hair.
I stare at the awkward boy, my captivity momentarily forgotten. This must be the boy Claudine found when she originally investigated Gun. He’s gangly and ugly, no doubt about it, but he has the same intense blue eyes.
As soon as this boy is revealed, an answering crack of code lances out from Gun. It zips up the baton and jolts into the merc. The merc’s eyes start melting like gobs of wax. The man drops the Decoder and staggers back, clawing at his eyes. He can’t feel any pain in Vex, but the sudden blindness is disorienting.
I have no idea what sort of Black Tech this is, but I immediately understand the intent of its design. Gun has booby-trapped his avatar, loaded it with countermeasures for attacks like this.
Within seconds, the cybermerc disintegrates and disappears—no doubt roughly ejected from Vex.
Gun has one less enemy to deal with. Now I understand why he isn’t running. He doesn’t need to run.
“It’s only going to get worse,” Gun says to Claudine. “One last chance to call off your boys.”
“Take him down,” Claudine snaps.
The mercs surge forward, Decoders in hand. All I can see is a flurry of black wings. I crane my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Gun.
Flashes of silver code fill the air. Several mercs fall back, their bodies melting away. A hole in the melee opens up as several avatars disappear, and I see Gun—or at least, a version of Gun. This avatar is a tall, thin man with thick brown lamb chops.
More flashes. Three more avatars shed off Gun in rapid succession. There’s an Indian man in a blue suit, followed by a man-sized rooster with a bow tie, followed by a replica of Einstein.
It all happens so fast my eyes can barely track the changes. The only thing that remains consistent is his bright blue gaze.
A feeling of dread swells inside me as I watch. Even though I want to know the truth behind Gun, another piece of me wants to hide from the truth and my own stupidity. Whatever the truth is, it’s going to hurt.
Only four mercs remain. They circle Gun, who now looks like a cross between a pirate and a cowboy. As a unit, the mercs close in like a boa constrictor. Four Decoders hit him at the same time.
Gun’s body lights up as code pours into him. More avatars shed off him in rapid succession. A dark-haired refugee. A bulky mercenary. A caterpillar with a machine gun on every leg. There are so many avatars, all of them shedding away in rapid succession, I can’t track them all. The only feature that remains constant is the eyes. Gun’s familiar blue eyes never change.
As he stands there, transforming before my eyes, a steady stream of code arcs out of him and barrels into the mercs. One by one, they begin to melt. Their hands, the initial body parts to come in contact with his Black Tech defense system, are first to go. They turn into lumpy stumps. As they do, the Decoders fall silently to the cloud below. Black Tech races up their arms and across their bodies, each of them dissolving into formless black goo.
Within seconds, the last of the cybermercs—except the one holding me—are gone.
Stray code from the Decoders sizzles across Gun’s avatar. He continues to shed various ide
ntities.
“Fascinating,” Claudine breathes. “He went to such lengths to hide himself from us—and you.”
This last part is directed at me. I want to look away, to hide from whatever is at the center of all this. Yet I can’t peel my eyes away.
At last a middle-aged man stands before us. His gray-brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Like all the previous avatars, this one also has the same blue eyes.
Nothing else happens.
Is this Gun? Is this who he really is?
The avatar gives one final shudder. The ponytail man sloughs off like dead skin, disintegrating when it hits the cloud. Another man stands before us.
And this time, I know I’m looking at the real Gun.
Seconds ticks by. I stare. Gun stands straight and tall, meeting my gaze without flinching.
His real avatar is similar to the Axcent he’s worn in the Cube all these months—except for two prominent features.
“You—you’re black,” I say. “And old.”
“I’m twenty-two,” Gun says. “And I’m biracial.”
He has the same shaved head, the same broad shoulders and muscular stature, and the same blue eyes. But his skin is a smooth chocolate. His features are leaner, more defined, and his nose, which had been bold and straight, is wide and rounder. There’s something familiar about him, like I’ve seen this real Gun somewhere before.
“You,” Claudine says, her breath coming out in an angry hiss.
Gun ignores her, his eyes never leaving mine. “Sulan,” he calls.
That’s when I notice his clothing. Gone are the familiar loose black pants and simple white T-shirt. His body is molded into a dark green bulletproof jumpsuit. Embroidered on the left breast is the Anderson Arms logo.
That’s when I realize exactly who Gun is. If he had dreadlocks and skin of a darker hue, he would be the younger version of William Anderson—the owner of Anderson Arms.
“You’re his son,” I whisper. “William Anderson’s son.”
Gun gives a small nod. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Short Stuff.”
The Dome Page 25
