Warcross

by Marie Lu

  Finally, Hideo steps off the podium, and the broadcast ends. Asher asks Wikki to turn off the feed. Then he looks at all of us. “Well,” he says, “we’ve got one month to get two wild cards up to speed.”

  I glance at the program I’m running to bypass Ren’s shields. Sure enough, I’m almost in.

  “Lenses on?” Asher asks. We nod in unison. “All right, then, Riders. Training time starts now.”

  13

  Asher leans forward, then presses something on his own display in midair. All of us see a Warcross menu pop up in our view. If Asher can show us all the same thing, then we are linked on the same network during training. Ren had been walled behind his shields during the party, but maybe now, if we’re all linked on the same network, I can find a way to get into some of Ren’s data. Of everyone’s personal data.

  As I ponder this, Asher taps the option that says Training Grounds. The world around us fades into black, as if I’d closed my eyes. I blink several times. Then, a new world materializes around us.

  This is a Warcross world I’ve never seen before. It must be exclusive to the professional teams. It looks like a whitewashed world, like it’s a virtual world only half finished, its surfaces unpainted and without texture. We are standing in the middle of a white sidewalk, next to a white street crowded with white cars, with white columned buildings towering all around us. When I look farther down the street, I can see a glimpse of a whitewashed jungle, the trees and their trunks the color of ivory, the grass white as it grows at the edge of the city streets. The only color in this world comes from the sky above us, which is bright blue.

  For a moment, I allow myself to forget about my hunt. I’m standing inside a level that few will ever get to see, with some of the most famous players in the world.

  “Welcome to the training grounds,” Asher says beside me. He, like the rest of us, is now dressed in a standard, formfitting suit of red body armor that starkly contrasts with the world around us. It makes it incredibly easy for us to spot each other. “This is a whitewashed simulation containing miniature worlds all condensed into one.” He nods down the street toward the jungle. “There are forests here, along with the city block we’re currently in. A few blocks east, the city ends and an ocean starts. To the west, there are narrow stairways that lead into the sky. The potholes in the city streets will drop you into an underground network of caves. There are examples here of most of the obstacles we might encounter in this year’s levels.”

  I look more closely at each of our outfits. Even though we’re all wearing red body armor, there are subtle differences between the suits. Ren’s Fighter suit is streamlined, full of smooth plates reinforced by an outer set of warrior armor. His armguards are spiked. Hammie’s Thief suit is full of pockets, nooks, and crannies, where she can stash items away. Asher looks like the captain that he is, while Roshan, our Shield, has armguards larger than any of ours, his belt equipped with potions and elixirs he can use to protect the rest of us.

  Then there’s mine, the Architect’s armor. Around my waist is a utility belt, equipped with a myriad of tools I’m all too familiar with. Hammer. Screwdriver. A box of nails. Two rolls of duct tape. A small chain saw. A coil of rope. Tools are tucked along the tops of my boots, too—sticks of dynamite, lock picks—and an assortment of knives are strapped to my right thigh.

  “Hammie,” Asher says. “You’re with me.” He nods in my direction. “Emika, Ren, and Roshan. You’re a team. Roshan will be your captain.” He taps something in midair, and a glittering gem appears over Roshan’s head. “Remember—your goal is always to aim for the gem. However you accomplish that is up to you. Let’s work out our weaknesses.” He glances between our two teams. Then he pushes something in midair.

  Jewel-toned power-ups appear all around us, their bright colors electric against the white. Some are on display in store windows. Others are at the tops of the streetlights, while a bunch hang above the buildings.

  My eyes follow the power-ups as they dot the training level, noting the easy grabs and the hard ones. I’ve only ever played beginners or practiced alone in worlds accessible to everyone. What will it be like to have an official team scrutinizing my plays?

  “Power-ups in the championship tournaments are different from the ones in regular games,” Asher says to me and Ren. “Every year, the Warcross Committee will vote in a dozen new power-ups exclusive only to the championships, and then retire them at the end of the game season. Today, I want us to practice going after these power-ups.”

  He pushes another button in midair. All of the power-ups vanish—except for one, perched over the edge of a bridge that links two buildings. It’s fuzzy, covered with bright blue fur striped with bits of gold and silver, and buzzing slightly.

  “Specifically, I want us to be going after that one,” Asher adds.

  “What does it do?” Ren asks.

  “Morph,” Asher replies. “It gives the user the power to change one thing into something else.”

  As Ren nods, his attention turned on the power-up, I watch him and quietly tap my fingers against my leg. A little progress bar blinks in the corner of my vision while I run one of my hacks on him. After a few minutes, the only data that I’m able to access is his full name—Renoir Thomas—alongside his photo. I frown a little. My hack manages to access some of his more public information and even a few of his messages—but everything else is still secured behind a wall of shields that I’ve never seen before.

  “Emi,” Roshan says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Step up.”

  I do as he says.

  “This power-up was put into this year’s championships for the Architects, since you’ll probably use it best. I want you to retrieve it for your temporary captain, Roshan.” Asher looks to his side. “You’ll be facing off against Hamilton, who will do everything in her power to get it for me first.”

  Roshan steps over to her and murmurs something in her ear. He’s probably telling her to pull some of Tremaine’s signature moves, I think, recalling what Roshan had said moments earlier. Hammie nods a few times, her gaze flickering to me as she listens. When Roshan’s done, she offers me a dark grin. I try to smile casually in return.

  A timer, glowing scarlet, appears over the power-up. Asher taps his wrist. “Phoenix Riders are known for speed,” he adds. “So I time every single one of our training sessions, no matter how small or trivial it might seem. Got that, wild card?”

  I nod. “Got it.”

  “You both have five minutes.” He looks up. “Go!”

  A surge of adrenaline hits me. I don’t think; I just bolt. Hammie does the same. She rushes toward the building itself, but I decide to run across the street. As Hammie starts to scale the side of the building, grabbing one brick after another and winding her way around the walls, I sprint toward one of the tall streetlights lining the block across from the building. I pull one of the sticks of dynamite from my boot. Then I plant it at the base of the pole, careful to position it so that the explosion will break the pole in the right direction. I ignite the dynamite. Then I take several steps away so that I’m safe from the blast zone.

  Bam!

  The ground rumbles as the base of the streetlight explodes. The pole careens sharply forward, toppling at an angle against the wall of the building.

  “Nice!” Roshan shouts in approval.

  I’m too focused to glance toward them. All my energy now hones in on my task. I hop onto the pole, then take a deep breath and start sprinting up it toward the building. The time I’ve lost from setting up the dynamite is now made up as I rapidly get higher and higher, until I reach the wall of the building. Hammie is still climbing, a good dozen feet below where I am. Two stories above us, the power-up hovers along the bridge.

  I press my hands against the wall, then reach for the rope at my waist. If I can fling it and loop it around one of the spotlights along the bridge, I can pull myself up fast enough to get there first.

  Suddenly, something tugs sharply against m
y waist. I nearly lose my balance and fall off. I look down.

  The loop of rope at my waist is gone. Below me, Hammie shoots me a grin as she holds it up. How did she get it so quickly? How did she know I’d use it?

  “You’re not the only one with tools, wild card,” she calls up at me. She flashes her stun gun at me, its edges gleaming in the light, and then flings my rope up to the protruding corner of the next story up. She pulls herself higher.

  Hammie had shot my rope straight off my waist and caught it. No time to fume at her. I turn my attention back to my task and lunge upward along the wall, grabbing for each brick. The two of us climb at a feverish pace.

  Hammie’s faster than I am. She quickly outpaces me, and seconds later, I’m behind her by at least six feet. I force myself to climb faster.

  Right as Hammie reaches the edge of the bridge, colors flash around us. Other spheres and cubes suddenly appear, scattered over the bridge and against the walls. Asher must have turned the rest of the power-ups back on. My eyes dart to a power-up within reach.

  It’s a bright yellow sphere, hovering against the wall where I am. Speed Burst. I seize it, then give it a squeeze in my hand.

  The sphere vanishes, covering me in a neon-yellow glow. The world around me seems to slow, and Hammie along with it. I surge upward, climbing twice as fast as I had been only moments earlier.

  I pass Hammie and jump onto the bridge right as my power-up runs out. The world snaps back to its regular pace.

  The timer above the Morph power-up continues to count down. Thirty seconds left.

  Instead of inching along the bridge as fast as I can, I give up several precious seconds and set a quick trap for Hammie. I yank my hammer from my belt and smash each of the hand- and footholds I’m using as I make my way along the bridge’s edge. Hammie won’t be able to use them to follow right behind me. Then I turn back around and keep going. I’m so close to the power-up now.

  When I look behind me, Hammie is gone again.

  I blink. What?

  “Up here,” her voice calls from above.

  I peer up to see her hovering right over me, as if she knew exactly what I would do to slow her down. She was able to reach a power-up—Wings (temporary flight), from the orange glow around her. She grins, then dives for the Morph power-up.

  I launch off the edge of the bridge and lunge at her. My hands grab for her legs. I throw her off balance before she can reach the Morph power-up. She lets out a startled, angry yell. For an instant, with her power of flight still working, we tumble in place as she tries to shake me off. Then, to my shock, she comes at me with her fists up.

  I barely manage to dodge her first blow. Her second hits me in my chin, and I lose my grip on her. To my surprise again, she doesn’t release me. A normal Thief would—but instead, Hammie tightens her grip and continues fighting me in midair.

  “Watch her hands!” Roshan shouts out, right as I see something glint in Hammie’s fist. It’s a dagger. A dagger? Thieves aren’t supposed to have daggers. In a flash, I realize that this must have been planned by Roshan. Tremaine probably plays like this, switching easily from one role to another. So Roshan must have given her the dagger to test me on how I’d react in a situation like this.

  Hammie strikes out at me with blinding speed.

  Most players wouldn’t have been able to dodge it. But my reflexes have been honed on the streets as a bounty hunter. The memory of me running through New York, catching the gambler, flashes back to me. He had attacked me with a knife, a real knife. As Hammie’s virtual knife comes at me, I find myself moving on pure instinct—I release her completely with a shove, fall a little, and then shoot out my hands at the last second to grab her ankles.

  Her eyes widen. Then her flight power-up runs out.

  I use her last bit of momentum in midair to swing myself up. As she starts to fall, I let go of her. The momentum is just enough. I reach up as high as I can. My fingertips brush against the Morph power-up. It’s in my hand. A tingle rushes up my arm at the acquisition. I let out a shout of triumph.

  Then I tumble back down toward the ground. I land hard on my back, knocking my avatar out of commission for several long seconds. There I lie, gasping and laughing. When my avatar recovers, I roll over and check my inventory, eager to see the Morph power-up in my account.

  It’s not there.

  Hammie strides over to me as I manage to sit up. She holds out the Morph power-up in her hand and smiles. “Took it from you right as you landed on the ground,” she says.

  “How—?” I hesitate, shaking my head. She’d done it so quickly that I hadn’t even felt her snatch it from my hands as I’d lain on the ground. I glance over to where Asher and the others are walking toward us. “But—didn’t I win the exercise? I got it first.”

  “You’ve got a lot of strengths, Emi,” Asher says. Hammie offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet. “Very resourceful. The way you play as an Architect—those aren’t the plays of an amateur player. Fast on your feet. Accurate. You’re much more talented than your Level 28 would suggest. Just like I thought.” He nods at Hammie. “But you’ve got some classic wild-card weaknesses. One.” He holds up a finger. “You get tunnel vision. Hammie is a world-class Thief. She’s probably faster and nimbler than any Thief you’ve ever played against. I had to help you out by turning the other power-ups on.”

  I rest a hand on my hip and look at Hammie. “How did you always know what I’d do next?”

  She taps her temple once. “Don’t let me talk you into playing chess,” she quips, repeating Asher’s warning he’d given me when I’d first met her.

  “Hammie can structure out your moves a dozen steps ahead,” Asher explains. “Like any master chess player. She can sort your potential paths in her head and, judging by your body language, figure out what you’re the most likely to do, all while she’s on the move. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I didn’t know you’d throw yourself at me during those final moments, though,” Hammie adds. “That’s the fun of playing a wild card, isn’t it? You never know what kind of player you’ll get.”

  A dozen steps ahead. She had probably guessed my moves from the instant we began, maybe the moment I started running toward the streetlight. I sigh. “Well? What other classic weaknesses do I have?”

  Asher holds up two fingers now. “You didn’t listen to my instructions.”

  “I got the Morph power-up.”

  “Your instructions were to retrieve the Morph power-up for me,” Roshan interrupts me. “Your team captain. The exercise didn’t end when you grabbed the power-up first. It ends when you hand it over to me. This isn’t a solo game, Emika, and you can’t play as if you alone want to win.” As he says this, Hammie walks over to Asher and tosses the power-up to him. He catches it without looking.

  “Nicely done,” Asher says.

  She beams. “Thanks, Captain.”

  I’m glad I’m inside Warcross, so that the others can’t tell that my cheeks are turning red from embarrassment. Hackers and bounty hunters aren’t exactly known for being great team players. I don’t do well with instructions. But I swallow these thoughts and nod at Roshan. “Sorry,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Don’t sweat it, love. Thieves aren’t supposed to have daggers in their possession—Fighters are. But this is how Tremaine can act during a game, and you just successfully fought him off. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone react that quickly to a surprise attack. A brilliant first exercise, really, especially from a wild card.”

  “Yeah.” Hammie nods at me, too. “Not bad. You put up a hell of a fight, Emi. You’re just going to have to fight a little bit harder to beat me.” She winks. “Don’t worry—you’re still better than Roshan was when he was a wild card.”

  Roshan gives her an exasperated look that makes her laugh. And in spite of myself, I smile, too.

  “Next!” Asher says. “Roshan and Ren. Get up there.” The power-ups reset, and this time the Morph power-up is in
side one of the buildings. I look on as the others move away. My attention stays focused on Ren. The progress bar in the bottom of my vision has finished and my program is now running on my other teammates, but with the pitiful number of Ren’s encrypted files I’ve managed to grab, I might as well not have run my hack on him at all.

  • • • • •

  THE SUN HAS already begun to set by the time we finish training. The instant I head back to my room and close my door, I bring up all of my downloaded info on the players and display it on my wall. A long list of data appears—birth date, home address, phone number, credit card information, calendar. I scroll through it, searching.

  Hammie’s info appears first, detailing some of the plane tickets she’d recently purchased and hotels she’d booked. I catch a glimpse of bits of Memories she’s stored away. In one, she’s laughing with people who look like her mom and sister as they try to pose for a good shot in front of the Grand Canyon. In another, she’s at a chess tournament, staring down at the board. It’s speed chess—each player’s taking a fraction of a second to make a move. I pause in spite of myself, awed as her fingers fly across the board. I’m barely able to track her moves, let alone keep up with why she’s making them. In sixty seconds flat, she checkmates her opponent’s king. A roar comes from the audience, and her opponent shakes her hand grudgingly.

  In her final Memory, she’s looking on behind a barricade as a man in uniform walks to a waiting helicopter. Nothing unusual; lots of people record Memories of greeting loved ones or sending them off. The man glances over his shoulder at her and waves. She waves back, recording in his direction long after the helicopter has taken off.

  I switch to Asher. There’s nothing incriminating or interesting in any of his data either, other than a few texts about flight arrival and departure times. His most recent Memory, aside from the draft and the party, is of him at the airport’s private jet strip, waiting beside an older boy in sunglasses who I recognize immediately as his brother Daniel. Bodyguards stand near them both, but Daniel carries bags labeled with Asher’s name instead of letting the handlers do it. The brothers don’t utter a word to each other. And when the time comes for Daniel to finally hand over Asher’s bags to an attendant, Asher heads for the jet’s stairs without saying good-bye.