Insignia
Page 26
“Sit down, Raines. This won’t take long. To start a scan, Enslow, you first open the—”
Tom interrupted him, “Sir, I don’t want to be the guinea pig. I’d rather you chose someone else.”
Blackburn gave a short laugh. “It’s strange you think you have a choice here. Now be a good guinea pig and stop talking.” He stuck the neural wire into the access port on the wall, the same one that always gave Tom his homework downloads, then gestured Wyatt closer to see what he was typing into his keyboard. “Start with the program I sent you . . .”
A warning beacon flashed in Tom’s vision over and over again as they talked. This was an emergency. This was a disaster. He was supposed to avoid Blackburn’s notice first and foremost. He had to stop this somehow.
“. . . and you need to select the directories to include . . .”
“Wait!” Tom protested, interrupting Blackburn again. “You have to use someone else as a test subject. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Where, exactly?” Blackburn said.
Tom tried to think of somewhere he might need to be urgently, but couldn’t seem to come up with one.
“Oh, that must be urgent,” Blackburn said sarcastically when he remained silent. “Well, you can afford to wait for twenty minutes more. The more you fight me, the longer this will take.”
“I am not fighting you, sir.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing. Stop. Now.”
Tom knew it suddenly: he couldn’t win this. There was no avoiding the scan.
And maybe that realization was what triggered it, what activated something in the recesses of his brain. A back-up algorithm written just for this situation.
He closed his eyes and found that there weren’t eleven possible responses this time, not like there’d been at lunch. Only one word popped into his brain. Just one, but Tom knew—he just knew, somehow—that this was the only weapon he needed.
He opened his eyes again, armed and ready.
“I am not battling you, sir,” Tom said to Blackburn’s back, watching the lieutenant turn back toward him, irritated. “You see, if I was trying to fight you, you’d know it. I’d probably throw something out there about, I don’t know . . . Roanoke?”
And there it was. The word sat on the air between them, and it had a strange effect on Blackburn. His face grew completely still and blank like he’d been carved into granite.
Tom waited, his heart pounding, uncertain what he’d done. He could see Wyatt’s brow furrow, too.
And then Blackburn closed the distance between them so suddenly, Tom knew he was going to hit him. He threw his hands up over his face and backed up until he hit the wall. He opened his eyes to find Blackburn just inches away, gray eyes burning—his face inhuman with rage. He planted large, shaking fists against the wall over Tom’s head.
“Digging in my personnel files, were you, Raines? Were you, Raines?”
Tom stared back at that twisted face so transformed by fury, it was unrecognizable. He managed, “No, not me.”
Blackburn caught the implication right away. His eyes widened, and the realization seemed to wash all color from his face. Tom stayed there, plastered back against the wall, as Blackburn retreated one step, then another. He turned to Wyatt.
“You,” Blackburn breathed. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Wyatt put the pieces together right away. “What? No! I never looked in your personnel files.”
“You broke into that exact database,” Blackburn said quietly. “Twice.”
“But—”
“Tell me, was it a fun read? It must have been, if you spread it around to the other trainees.”
“I wouldn’t do that—”
“Then how does he know about Roanoke? I suppose he hacked the file himself”—fury filled his voice—“with his astounding hacking skills?”
“Please, I don’t know how he got it,” Wyatt insisted. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve told you, Enslow, trust is everything. The day you start lying to me is the day I wash my hands of you.”
“I am not lying! Please, sir, I’m not.”
Blackburn stared at her for a long moment. The rage disappeared from his face—replaced with a strange, resigned look like he was closing some door on her. He left them without another word.
Wyatt stared after him, shell-shocked. Her arms were hugged around her body, and Tom could see from across the room that she was shaking. A wave of crazed relief flooded him. He’d come so close to disaster, thanks to her.
He turned to his mirror and smoothed his uniform back down, absolutely certain he’d averted something terrible, even if he didn’t understand what it was.
“Why did he react like that, Tom?” Wyatt asked shakily. “What’s Roanoke?”
Tom didn’t have an answer for that. It didn’t really matter, either. “I’d say it’s the reason you never should have messed with me,” he said coldly, looking at her in the mirror. “Now get out of my room.”
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Chapter Nineteen
AT 0532 THE next morning, Tom was warming up for his morning workout when Yuri tapped on the door.
Tom stepped out, careful not to wake Vik—mostly because the very sight of the Vik filled him with a strange loathing right now. He didn’t like Yuri any better.
He eyed the larger boy warily. Between the incident last night and his newest download, he was having trouble this morning remembering why he’d ever been able to stand any of these people.
“Ah, excellent, you are awake, Tim,” Yuri said genially, as though he didn’t even notice the loathing on Tom’s face. “I’ve noticed you are now very concerned with physical fitness.”
“Responsible people take care of their bodies,” Tom informed him.
“Exactly. Just as I have always believed. So I am here to suggest we go running together.”
Tom felt a sudden burst of suspicion. He didn’t trust Yuri at all. “I prefer to run on my own, thanks.”
Yuri nodded. “Ah, I understand. You worry you will not be able to keep up with me.” He turned and started jogging.
Indignation exploded through Tom. Not keep up? He hurled himself forward after Yuri, matching him pace for pace.
Yuri was in better shape. He’d been running every morning for years, and Tom had only gotten into this in the last few weeks. But he gritted his teeth every time he began to lag behind, and charged after Yuri through the corridors and staircases of the Spire. Yuri dashed through the Calisthenics arena and then slid open the door to the weight room beyond. He headed straight for the weight bench. Tom vowed to match him pound for pound.
“I’ll spot you first,” Yuri said.
“No, I’ll spot you,” Tom growled.
“Fine. If you are too tired to go first, I’ll be glad to.”
“I am not too tired.” Tom flopped down onto the bench.
Yuri slid weights onto the bar. Tom watched him add more and more.
“Er . . .”
“What, Tim? I was setting it at my usual, but perhaps this is too heavy for you?”
Tom gritted his teeth. “No. Maybe put on more.” He regretted it when Yuri nodded.
“I’ll do that.” And he slid on more weights.
Tom bit the inside of his cheek, nervous. But he’d lift it. If he had to bust a few joints, he’d lift that bar.
But after Yuri helped him lift the bar from the bench, then released it to Tom’s grasp, Tom’s arms buckled and it took all his strength to stop the weight from crushing his chest. His arms shook as the bar sank down, then settled against his ribs.
“Okay, maybe not.” Tom could barely talk, straining against the bar, fighting for breath. “Yuri, a little help?”
“You will have to wait for that, Tom.”
Yuri ducked out of his sight, and that
’s when Tom realized he’d been tricked. “Yuri . . . Yuri!” He began struggling to dislodge the bar, to get out from under it, but he was stuck there, trapped in place on the bench.
A new set of footsteps marched in. “Is he stuck?”
Wyatt.
“What—what—” Tom sputtered.
“He is stuck.” Yuri’s face appeared above him, thoughtful—no, scheming.
“See, I told you he’d be dumb enough to try to lift it,” Wyatt said.
“What are you guys doing?” Tom snarled at them. “I told you—”
“Not to mess with you, right?” Wyatt bent down toward him. “You didn’t really think I’d leave it alone after what you pulled last night, did you?”
“Let me go!”
“No. See, we’re dealing with New Tom,” she said. “We hate him.”
He tried to thrash his head away from her, but Yuri clamped his hands on his cheeks to hold him still.
Tom spotted a neural wire in her hands. “What is that for?”
“I hoped Lieutenant Blackburn would debug you himself, but you stopped that, so I had to finish my program early. It’s a firewall of sorts.”
“The mother of all firewalls,” Yuri said, admiration in his voice. “She programmed it.”
“It’s all coded in Klondike,” Wyatt said. “It has some antivirus functions—it searches out rootkits, removes malware. Mostly my coding. It might have some problems I haven’t found yet. If so, sorry, Tom, but you’re still getting this.”
“No!” Tom wasn’t allowed unauthorized software. A warning beacon flashed in his head over and over again, electric jolts telling him not to allow this. “Stop!”
“Quickly, Wyatt,” Yuri urged.
“You’ll thank us for this,” she promised, and clicked the wire into his brain stem.
TOM WAS HALF aware of Yuri lifting the bar back off his chest. His brain buzzed with the stream of codes searching for every last trace of Dominion Agra’s software and behavioral modification. All the data implanted over the course of thirty-one days was neutralized, removed, and replaced with security subroutines. The procedure lasted forty-seven minutes. It took that much time for Tom to wrap his head around what was happening, what had happened.
Debug complete, flashed in his visual cortex and Tom opened his eyes. Yuri and Wyatt both straightened, their murmured conversation fading. They were both frozen stock-still, waiting for his reaction.
“Tom?” Wyatt ventured meekly.
“It’s me.” He sat up. “Actually me.”
“I knew there was some software problem in your head,” Wyatt cried. “What happened?”
“Dominion.” His voice shook with fury. “I am going to murder Dalton Prestwick.”
Comprehension flooded Wyatt’s face. “That’s the guy you saw parents’ weekend, right? Your stepfather?”
“He’s not married to my mom.” Tom rubbed at the bruised skin over his chest. “He works for Dominion Agra. They were . . . They did something to me.” He felt like there was a furnace igniting inside him, his anger kept burning hotter and hotter. The nightmare of the past month flashed in front of his eyes.
Barking for Karl . . . trying on suits for Dalton . . . smiling and being polite to those Dominion Agra execs . . . agreeing that his dad was asleep in his own vomit somewhere . . .
Tom ripped to his feet and hurled a dumbbell, sending it crashing into an equipment rack. Yuri jumped to his feet, startled, when it all came crashing down in an earsplitting jumble. Wyatt just sat frozen on the weight bench.
Yuri’s mouth hung open. “Do you feel better now, Tom?”
“No!” Nothing was going to be better. Not until he tore them all apart. Until he ripped Dalton’s face off and clawed out Karl’s guts.
Tom clamped his fists over the steel bar of the bench, feeling like he could break it apart with his hands. Fury pulsed through him, and his fingers tightened on it until they hurt. He was so angry he felt sick. So angry he—he didn’t remember something. But then he did. He remembered it.
He released his grip on the bar, the shock of it clearing his head. He looked at Yuri.
“You called me Tom. You said it. Just now. You used my name. You . . .” The implication raced through his brain.
The mother of all firewalls . . .
“Wyatt,” Tom breathed.
Yuri sighed, and looked at Wyatt. She nodded stiffly.
“I have this firewall, too, Tom,” Yuri said.
“I tested it on him last night.” She folded her arms. “I had to see if it would neutralize sophisticated malware like Yuri’s, so I’d know if it would work on yours. And afterward . . . Well, I didn’t want to change it back.”
“You unscrambled him,” Tom said, shocked.
“He’s not a spy,” Wyatt said heatedly.
“I am not, Tom,” Yuri pledged.
He must’ve seen the apprehension on Tom’s face, because his big, broad-shouldered body stirred uneasily on the weight bench.
“I was born in Russia, yes, but I have lived here many years now. I always wanted to be a cosmonaut, but no people go into space now. So when my father moved us here, I tried to join the US Intrasolar Forces in case that changed one day. My father’s friend, he heard about this ambition and helped me come here . . .”
“Vengerov.” Tom spat the name, remembering the man from the Beringer Club.
Yuri dipped his head, conceding it. “He has influence, because when my country began experimenting with neural processors, Vengerov defected with this technology to America. He helped develop the program, so out of friendship to my father, he was able to get me in here. I have always tried to be a good trainee. Even when I did not get promoted after two years, I stayed, and I tried harder. Why would I spy? It is one thing if I believed I was fighting for Russia, and you for America—but my parents, they are always saying this is not the case with this war. War is not about countries now.”
Tom thought suddenly of what his dad always said. “It’s about companies.”
“Exactly,” Yuri agreed. “So what is it to me who wins? It has never mattered.”
Tom rubbed at his pulsing forehead. He wasn’t sure what to think of this. He couldn’t really think right now.
Yuri grabbed hold of Wyatt’s hand, and she jumped, startled—like she’d forgotten for a moment that he was there.
“At least I know your name now,” Yuri told her.
There was a wistful note in his voice that made Tom feel like a terrible person. Yuri saw everything now for the first time—and he knew his friends had gone along with it, too.
“Look, I’m sorry, man.”
“To be very honest”—Yuri’s gaze dropped to his fingers, linked with Wyatt’s—“I almost wish I’d stayed that way. It was very strange to realize I did not know the names of any of my friends.”
Wyatt stood there, rigid, for a few moments, then reached out and gave Yuri a few rough taps on his shoulder. Tom realized after a moment that she wasn’t halfheartedly punching him—she was trying to comfort him.
“You can’t tell anyone, Tom,” Wyatt said severely. “Yuri and I would both get charged with treason.”
“I won’t. I owe you both.”
“Thomas will not tell.” Yuri leaned forward, his eyes gripping Tom’s. “I know he will keep our secret.”
“I would die before I’d tell anyone.” And he meant it with every fiber of his being.
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Chapter Twenty
WHEN TOM STEPPED into his bunk, he had twenty minutes left until morning meal formation, and his brain was still a mess. He couldn’t stop thinking of the video Karl had sent him, the video of him crouched on the floor, barking like a dog.
Tom settled onto his bed, the images of Karl laughing at him over the video camera and Dalton wreathed in cigar smoke burning his brain.
“Nope.” Tom’s chest felt like it was going to explode. He scrunched the bedsheets with his clenched fists, trying to think through the blinding rage that kept morphing and twisting into confusion and this bone-deep misery.
“See you later then, Spineless Disgrace to Mankind.”
Tom saw Vik head toward the door, about to disappear back into the hallway. Despair crashed over him like a living force of its own. Out it came, one word: “Doctor!”
Vik halted, his shoulders drawing up like some alert predator. He turned, a strange gleam in his black eyes. “Doctor?”
“Doctor,” Tom confirmed.
Hope leaped into Vik’s face. “Seriously? Seriously, Tom?”
Tom nodded, and swallowed hard. “So as it turns out, some Dominion Agra people have been planting stuff in my head to make me a good little boy. I need vengeance. I need blood-vendetta, massacre-style vengeance.”
Vik bellowed a sudden laugh. To Tom’s shock, his roommate leaped forward and crushed him in a fierce bear hug before hurling him back down onto the bed. “Good to have you back!” Vik dropped down next to him. “So, vengeance, huh?”
Tom gazed bleakly at the wall across from him. “Vik, I’m supposed to see the Dominion Agra people on Saturday. I have until Saturday to figure it out. Something . . . something . . . And I’m . . . Vik, right now I can’t even think of a revenge scheme that won’t get me sent to prison for the next forty years.”
“That’s why there are two Doctors of Doom, buddy. Can’t think? I’ll think for you.”
“Right. Right.” Tom scraped his hands through his hair over and over again. He rose, fumbling in his drawer for his uniform.
“Forget that.” Vik knocked Tom’s drawer closed with his heel. “We’ll skip morning meal formation. Tell me what happened. And then we’ll plot some glorious revenge.”