Tom felt the blood drain from his face. Sweat pricked on his forehead and palms. Suddenly he knew what that screen must be, what the thing in his brain stem was doing: she’d asked for two truths and then a question designed to fluster him. It was a lie detector. Maybe something more intricate than that, even, since he had a neural processor that could directly access certain areas of his brain. He wished he could see that screen.
“I understand.”
Frayne set the tablet down and folded her hands. “As you’ve probably discerned, we need to discuss your father.”
“Listen,” Tom tried, “my dad’s—”
“Very opinionated,” Frayne cut in. “Out of necessity after your public admission, we filled him in. He knows about the neural processor. Needless to say, he’s not pleased. Does this distress you?”
“Yes,” Tom said vehemently, and he noticed the way Frayne’s eyes flickered to the tablet to verify his words.
Of course it distressed him. He’d never wanted Neil to find out. He knew his dad had probably gone off on one of his antiestablishment, antigovernment rants when he learned he was in the custody of the NSA, and when he’d heard the full story about the neural processor, he must’ve exploded on them.
“Look, he talks one way, but he never acts on it,” Tom insisted. “He doesn’t do anything violent, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It surprises me he’d allow his son to be an Intrasolar Combatant.” Frayne’s lips were a flat scarlet line. “Then again, you haven’t exactly been the cookie-cutter Intrasolar Combatant, have you, Mr. Raines? We have a former trainee in our organization. I believe you know him. Nigel—”
“Nigel Harrison,” Tom cut in, glad for a chance to argue with whatever impression she’d formed of him. “Yeah, the guy who tried to blow up the Pentagonal Spire. I hope he’s not my character reference here, because I was the good guy there. I saved the day when he tried to attack his own side. Check your lie detector, and you’ll see.”
Frayne looked at him sharply, and Tom regretted giving away the fact that he’d figured out he was attached to a lie detector. She studied him for a tense moment, then, “We’re perfectly aware of Mr. Harrison’s past, and I assure you, his behavior is very adequately regulated now.”
A prickling sensation moved up the back of Tom’s neck. Yeah, he knew how Nigel had been “regulated.” They must have reprogrammed him to suit their needs. All they wanted was a person with a computer in his head, not Nigel himself. Dalton Prestwick had once taunted him with that possible fate, back when it looked like Tom might have no shot at CamCo.
A neural processor could be a terrible thing if the wrong person programmed it.
Frayne folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, her chin tilting up. “Mr. Harrison is a valuable source of insight into the workings of the Pentagonal Spire. Our agency previously had very little direct information from inside the installation. Given the recent disappearance of Heather Akron, a trainee who was supposed to join us, we expect that to change.”
Would she have been adequately regulated, too? Tom wondered cynically. Maybe that was part of the reason Heather had refused to back down from her quest to destroy Tom, destroy Blackburn. She knew what was ahead of her. She thought she had nothing left to lose.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling a chill at the very thought of the girl he’d seen Blackburn murder.
Frayne examined her tablet computer. “The Department of Defense gave me full access to your files. I see that this is your second major security breach. The first occurred when you held unauthorized meetings with the Russo-Chinese Combatant Medusa.”
“I admit that one, but I was cleared by the Congressional Defense Committee. That’s done.”
“You committed credit card fraud against a Coalition executive to the tune of nearly fifty thousand dollars.”
Tom gave a start, surprised they knew about that. As plebes, he and Vik had run up the balance on Dalton Prestwick’s credit card. It was revenge—the man had reprogrammed Tom, after all.
“That wasn’t fraud. My name was on the card. Besides . . .” Tom fumbled for a good excuse, then found it. “Besides, I only spent that money to help the economy.”
Frayne slanted him a look that told him he was an imbecile.
Tom cracked under it. “Look, he’s sleeping with my mom.”
“Your mother.” She consulted her tablet. “Ah, Delilah Nyland. The dancer.”
“Dancer?” Tom echoed. He’d never heard anything much about her, only that she’d run away from her own home at fourteen and his father had met her in Las Vegas. They’d never actually gotten married, even after Tom was born. “Wait, what sort of dancer?”
Then he thought of that handful times when he was a kid, when Neil had tried to be nonchalant about handing him some bills and telling him to go hang around a VR parlor for a while. Tom remembered the sort of women who’d tended to be hanging off his dad’s arm.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to know anything else about her. “Actually, don’t tell me. Forget I asked.”
Frayne studied him. “It seems you had a very unstable childhood, Mr. Raines. Coupled with what appears to be a familial predisposition toward antisocial conduct, I suppose this explains some of your adjustment issues at the Pentagonal Spire.”
“I’m not a psycho.”
“And yet you have the distinction of being one of the youngest people on Interpol’s terror watch list. There aren’t many sixteen-year-olds deemed international terrorist threats.”
“I’m classified as a low level terrorist, not even a dangerous one. There was this prank of sorts involving these toilets and this club, and the guys in there took it way too seriously, and one of them must’ve pulled some strings to screw me over. You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”
“I’m well aware the term ‘terrorist’ has become a very, shall we say, broad label, so, no, Mr. Raines, I don’t intend to arrest you. But I can’t help observing that trouble seems to follow you. This recent incident is one of a great many.” She stroked her long, slim finger over her chin, studying him. “Do you know what your father is facing today? Indefinite confinement.”
“He’s not dangerous, he’s—”
“Not particularly prudent, either.” Her eyes narrowed. “As soon as your father learned of your neural processor, he became the custodian of highly classified, sensitive intelligence. We’ve already reached an understanding with the other unauthorized civilians made aware of your neural implant, but it’s quite another matter with someone like your father who has a record of antisocial conduct. He can’t be trusted.”
Tom knew Neil’s rap sheet: resisting arrest, disturbing the peace, assault upon officers of the law, drunk and disorderly conduct. . . . He knew Neil had probably already condemned himself with his outspoken political views since being taken into custody. He hated people like Frayne, those he considered “enforcers of the corporate kleptocracy.”
“Fine. Let’s say my father told everyone.” Tom spread his hands. “Who’s gonna believe him? He’s an unemployed drunk who didn’t have the money to finish high school. Just call him a conspiracy theorist, and no one will listen to a word he says.”
“But some might. This is a sensitive point in the development of neural technology. We can’t take the risk your father might gain traction if he goes public about the neural processors. Are you aware of the National Defense Authorization Act, Mr. Raines?”
Tom sagged down in his seat, raking his hand through his hair, trying to think of what to do. “I think so. Something about terrorists, right?”
“The law’s language is rather broad,” she said, “deliberately so in order to give someone in my position more latitude in applying it. I could easily construe your father—and I will directly quote the law—as someone ‘who was part of or substantially supported . . . forces that are engaged in hostilities against the United States or its Coalition partners.’ He’s on record publicly agitating against the gov
ernment, against our Coalition partner companies. I already have grounds to take him into custody as a domestic terrorist. He’ll have no right to a lawyer or a trial by jury. He will simply disappear, and I will do this all legally . . . unless somehow you could reassure me he can be contained.”
Tom sat up, his heart racing, latching on to the single shred of hope she was offering. “Let me talk to my dad. I can find a way. I’ll get him to stay quiet.”
She cocked her head. “I’m not sure of him, and I’m certainly not sure of you, Mr. Raines, but I’ll give you one chance.” She rose to her feet, studying him in an unnerving, unblinking manner. “By all means, show me what you can do.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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CHAPTER TWO
TOM WAS ESCORTED into the interrogation room where Neil sat slouched at the table, forehead leaning on his hand.
This moment had been coming since the day Tom agreed to get a neural processor, but his stomach still swooped, realizing his dad knew everything. Tom had one chance, just one, to convince the NSA he could disarm Neil as a threat to the secrecy of the program.
“Hi, Dad.”
His dad half rose from the table, almost pleading, “Tommy, tell me none of this is true. This . . . this neural processor stuff. It’s gotta be a lie.”
Tom felt a cold pit in his stomach. His mouth felt bone-dry. “It’s true. The computer in my head is the only reason I’d be able to control the drones in space. I had to have it to join the Intrasolar Forces.”
“You mean you left me and you went and got this right after . . .” Neil sputtered into silence. He shook his head again and again. “I should have known. There was something different about you, about your face, I thought you’d matured, I didn’t imagine . . .” His hand flew to his head. “The roulette table. The roulette! It’s why you knew those numbers!”
“Yeah,” Tom admitted. “That’s why.”
Neil’s gaze sharpened on his. “And Joseph Vengerov knew, didn’t he? He was trying to make some point.” He closed the distance between them in a few strides. “Did he have something to do with this?” Spittle flew from his mouth. “Did he? That cold-blooded Russkie bastard, I’ll—”
“He had nothing to do with this. He only designed the tech for the military. I made the decision to get it. I agreed to keep it from you.”
Neil shook his head in furious denial. “I can’t believe this. You wouldn’t let them do this to you. You wouldn’t be so stupid.”
Tom felt heat wash up inside him. “Did anyone tell you about what I can do now that I have the neural processor? Did anyone tell you I speak thirty languages? I know physics. I know calculus. I won Capitol Summit! I can memorize a textbook in my sleep.”
Neil stared at him. “You don’t even sound like my son anymore.”
“Because I’m not!” Tom grew desperate for his father to understand. He paced away from Neil, feeling wired with agitation. “I had nothing going for me before. Nothing! I was ugly and stupid and a loser. I couldn’t do anything except play video games. Everything is different now. The computer made me so much more. So much better. So, no, I’m not the same guy I was before. I’m better. I’m so much better, Dad. I could go on and do anything now.”
Neil looked at him, his eyes hollow, the harsh lights overhead bringing out every line etched into his skin. “I never realized how much you hated yourself.”
Tom groaned. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It is,” Neil flared. “You must hate yourself to talk this way, and I’ll tell you, that breaks my heart, Tommy, it does, because you’re a great kid and you always have been.”
Tom grew fed up. “Do you really think I was better off when I was flunking out of Rosewood Reformatory? You think I would’ve been better if I’d just kept playing video games the rest of my life? This thing here”—he pointed at his temples—“it’s given me everything. It’s opened the whole world to me.”
“You had choices before,” Neil bellowed. “And now you don’t! Do you get that? They own you! No one in the world can sell you a lifetime warranty on that tech in your head. You had choices, and you threw them all away!”
“This wasn’t a choice! Obviously you can’t see that, but this was the only way I could’ve gone.”
“The only way? You gave up your mind, you gave up yourself!” He caught his breath, a ferocious gleam in his eyes. “But I’m not giving up on you.”
“What does that mean?”
Neil ripped toward the nearest surveillance camera, determination in every line of his body. He pointed right at the lens. “All right, Frayne! You want me to keep quiet? I will. I’ll sign a confidentiality agreement, sign whatever form you want. I won’t breathe a word again about you people mangling the brains of those poor kids, but I want my boy back!”
Tom stared at his thin back, realizing what his dad wanted to do. “No.”
“I can’t get that computer out of your head,” Neil said ferociously, “but I can get you out of that blasted program.”
Tom rose to his feet, staring at him, his heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears. “You can’t do that. They won’t let you do that.”
“The hell I can’t. I’m your father,” Neil shouted back. “You’re not eighteen yet. I had to give them permission to keep you, so now I’m rescinding it. They wanna stop me—then by God, I’ll spread this everywhere. I’ll raise a storm they can’t tamp down.”
“I can’t leave the program if I have a neural processor, and the neural processor can’t come out. My brain is dependent on it. Dad, don’t you get it? If you give them a problem, they won’t boot me out of the program—they’ll lock you away!”
“Let ’em try!”
Tom realized it, then: Neil was digging in his heels. His life had been one massive war against the world and now he had his greatest reason yet to take to the trenches. He couldn’t possibly win, but that never mattered. Neil would proudly destroy himself before giving up on fighting for his kid, even in the face of insurmountable odds.
Tom wouldn’t let him do it.
“There are brain doctors out there,” Neil was murmuring feverishly. “There are other people who know about the brain. It can’t come out? We’ll see. We’ll just see. But they’re not keeping you. I won’t let them.”
Tom looked up at the surveillance camera and held up a finger, telling Frayne to give him a bit more time before concluding Neil couldn’t be reasoned with. He felt very calm inside, realizing it: he could stop his dad from throwing his life away. He was the only one who could do it.
He just had to erase any reason his father had to wage this war.
The world seemed to go very still around Tom, and he almost didn’t hear his own words over the pounding of blood in his ears. “Dad, if you tell people about the neural processor, or you try and take me from the Spire, then I’ll go to child protective services, tell them all about my father being a lousy drunk who can’t hold a job, and I’ll get emancipated.”
The words made Neil jolt back around sharply, shock on his face like Tom had unexpectedly jammed a knife in his gut.
“And then,” Tom said, his voice feeling very far away, “I’ll tell them all about how my dad couldn’t get us somewhere to sleep indoors or make sure I got to school more than a few days in a row. That’s neglect, which is probably grounds for some sort of legal penalty.” It was all true. It was all too close, so he twisted the knife even more. “And if that’s not enough right there, then maybe I’ll even throw in a few things about . . . oh, I don’t know. Maybe about you beating me. How about that?”
Shock slackened Neil’s face. “I’d never hurt you, Tommy. You know I’ve never lifted a finger—”
“I know that,” Tom agreed, a terrible, deathly calm inside him, “but let’s face it, all the rest of that is true, so is it really gonna sound like a huge stretch
if I take it a bit farther? Mom hightailed it away from us so fast—that won’t look good—and think about all those times you got arrested for brawling with other people. Those are red flags, Dad. On paper, you look like a psycho. So here’s your choice: if you try to create a problem for me, I will create a far worse problem for you, I swear it. You can’t win this. You can only lose everything you have left.”
“I’m trying to do what’s best for you,” Neil said hollowly. “Why can’t you see that?”
“Why start now?”
Neil stared at him like he didn’t know him. Tom held his eyes, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, throbbing in his ears.
“Maybe you’re right,” Neil finally said. “You’re not my boy anymore. That computer’s done something awful to your brain, because I know my son never would’ve threatened me like this.”
Tom couldn’t speak for a second. Then he reminded himself that this was good. This was what he needed Neil to say. This was the clean break, the reason Neil wouldn’t wage the war that would be the end of him.
“I guess we’re agreed, then: I’m not your son.” Tom moved toward the door, feeling like some strange robot going through the motions of walking, his legs like unfeeling rubber beneath him.
“This is happening again.” Neil’s words were a broken whisper on the air. “This is really happening again.”
Tom’s gut clenched. He was leaving his father again. But this time, he knew, it would be much more permanent. There was no going back from this.
He walked out the door.
TOM WAS IN a sort of fog afterward. He felt like he’d just survived some terrible battle and emerged the victor over a field of ashes. He was only vaguely aware of the hours dragging past as he sat in his own cell, arms folded over his chest, staring up at the ceiling.
It was for his own good, Tom told himself over and over, but his brain burned with the devastation on his dad’s face. When he tried to resort to his old standby and think of something else, it didn’t help at all. He saw Medusa’s face instead in that moment he unleashed a computer virus on her. He’d done it for a good reason. Vengerov had suspected she was the ghost in the machine, so Tom had proven she wasn’t—by using Vengerov’s virus to incapacitate her and then blowing up the skyboards himself.
Catalyst Page 2
