Sulan, Episode 1: The League

by Camille Picott

  ***

  There’s so much to say, but silence squats on us like an overweight toad. The drone hums overhead.

  “Sulan!” Hank whispers.

  I turn my head to look at her. She motions with her eyes to the far corner of the room. I raise my head and squint into the darkness.

  At first I don’t see anything. As my eyes adjust, I see the barest outline of a black wing. A pair of feline eyes catch the light, twin mirrors looking directly at me.

  My breath catches in my throat. I drop my head back onto my pillow, struggling to control my expression. I can’t let the League see hope on my face.

  Riska. He’s here.

  How did he get free? How did he get here—wherever here is—and how did he find the very room where I’m being held? It doesn’t make sense.

  “What is that thing?” Hank says, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Um, my pet.” The answer sounds lame, even to my ears, but I don’t know what else to say. I certainly can’t explain his presence.

  Riska eases out of the shadows, wings silent against the air. His muscles bunch as he prepares to attack. He zips forward and smacks into the drone, sending it flying across the room. It collides with the wall over Hank’s head with a crack. I twist my head and catch a final glimpse of it. The golden disc, scrunched from the impact, slides to the floor. Both lights are dark.

  Riska lands on my chest, purring. He kneads with his claws and rubs his head against my chin. I drop a quick kiss onto his fur before raising my head to better see my companions.

  “We don’t have much time,” I say. “Riska’s bought us a few minutes. We need a plan. Any ideas?”

  “What is that thing?” Hank asks again.

  I shake my head. “I’ll explain later. Any ideas on how we’re going to escape?”

  Silence.

  Billy clears his throat. “Anyone familiar with Smoke’s Heist of Black Vault?”

  “That’s just a myth,” Hank says. “No one could hack into Black Vault in such a short amount of time, not even Smoke. Even if he did, Black Vault booby-traps its tech against theft. Smoke’s avatar would have been vaporized the minute he touched any of the products.”

  “What’s the Heist of Black Vault?” I ask.

  “A hacker legend,” Hank says. “A cyberthief named Smoke hacked into NorAm Bank and wired out a big chunk of change. NorAm cybermercs came after him, trying to trace the wire and get the money back.”

  “Black Vault sells Vex security packages,” Billy says. “They’re top of the line. Most people can’t afford them.”

  “Supposedly,” Hank says, “Smoke led the cybermercs to Black Vault. In less than ten seconds, he hacked into Black Vault, stole one of the nastier security programs, and set it loose on the cybermercs. He turned the mercs to pixel dust and got away with millions. It’s the hack all hackers talk about: breaking into a site of a security thug like Black Vault.”

  “Can someone tell me how this is important to our current situation?” Taro asks, speaking for the first time since he lost his finger. His voice is hoarse. My chest tightens at the thought of the pain he must be in—pain I am directly responsible for.

  “The point is that we may go into Vex defenseless, but we don’t have to remain defenseless,” Billy says.

  There’s an instant change in the room. Hank goes very still on her cot. All skepticism leeches out of me.

  “Go on,” Taro says.

  “Well,” Billy says, “let’s say a person has, ah, an uncle with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. That person’s paranoid uncle might make him build booby traps in Vex.”

  “Booby traps in Vex? What sort of booby traps?” Taro asks.

  “Nasty ones made from Touch.”

  Booby traps designed from Touch. My skin tingles. The possibilities are limitless in the hands of the right designer—in the hands of someone like Uncle Zed. For the first time since being captured, I indulge in a few seconds of hope.

  “My guess is that tomorrow they’ll jack us into Vex for the auction,” Billy says. “They’ll want to put us on display for the buyers. They could just stream images of us into Vex, but who wants to look at four dirty teenagers cuffed to beds? They’re asking a lot of money for us. We’ll show better as avatars.”

  “If they do jack us into Vex,” Hank says, “they’ll make us Ghosts.”

  Ghosts. Of course. Cheap one-time-use avatars with no traceability. If the League has a decent programmer, it will be easy to code the Ghosts to look just like us—without the cuts, bruises, and grime-covered bodies. Hell, they may even give Taro’s avatar all ten fingers. Anything to make us bright and shiny for the buyers.

  “Billy,” Taro says, “if you can get into public Vex, can you access these booby traps?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The firewalls will be tricky,” Hank says. “The League will know it’s risky to put a hacker into Vex. Our Ghosts will be sheathed in some sort of firewall. The auction site itself will be heavily protected, too.”

  I recognize the trill of anticipation in her voice.

  “Can you hack it?” I say.

  “All code has exploitable ports,” Hank says. “They’re like holes in the firewall. It’s just a matter of tearing them open before the self-healing technology closes them again. When dealing with a really strong firewall, I’ll have to tear a lot of holes, and I’ll have to tear fast.”

  “So it’s a matter of giving you enough time to work,” Taro says. “If we can buy you time, you can break through.”

  “Yeah. Buy me time, and I’ll get Billy to his Touch.”

  “Here’s the plan,” Taro says. “Tomorrow, when they jack us in for the auction, Sulan and I will cause a distraction. We’ll go after Imugi. That will cause the biggest diversion. Hank, it’ll be your job to hack the firewall. Billy, once Hank gets through, retrieve your Touch and activate it.”

  “And if they don’t put us in Vex tomorrow?” Hank asks.

  “Then we hope for a miraculous rescue by Global or our parents,” I say. Otherwise, we’re going to be shipped off to God-knows-where to do God-knows-what.

  “But won’t the League just jack us out of Vex as soon as they figure out what we’re doing?” Hank says.

  “No,” Taro says. “The League can’t afford to look weak. We need to appear controllable to the bidders, even in Vex. They’ll want to show everyone we can be managed. We have to make our move before they figure out they aren’t in control. Billy, what will your Touch do, if we can get to it?”

  Riska bolts upright on my chest, growling. His ears swivel toward the door.

  “Guys,” I whisper, “someone’s coming. Be quiet.” I tuck my chin to look at Riska. “You’ve got to hide, boy. They’ll kill you if they find you.”

  He cocks his furry head at me, then scurries under the bed. If I thought it would help, I’d have him attack whoever’s coming. But that won’t get our cuffs deactivated. It would only put Riska in jeopardy, and I’m not willing to do that unless it can gain us a real tactical advantage.

  The door bangs open.

  “What’s going on in here?”

  Six Leaguers stride into the room. All of us remain silent on our cots. One soldier retrieves the broken media drone.

  “What happened to this?” The lead soldier looms over us, holding up the drone for us to see. He speaks with a heavy Asian accent.

  “Went haywire and crashed into the wall,” I say.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “You’re right,” Hank says. “It was me. I broke free of my cuffs, smashed the drone against the wall, then climbed back into bed.”

  The soldier stares at me and Hank. A long moment passes. I don’t look away. Neither does Hank.

  Don’t look under my bed, I think. Don’t look under my bed.

  “Stupid kids,” the soldier growls after a moment. He turns on his heel and marches out. “Get a replacement drone down here. No
w!”

  15: Ghosts

  After that, we are quiet. I lie under the glare of the single naked lightbulb, staring at the drab, featureless ceiling. Two drones keep watch over us now, the gold discs making continuous circles around the room. Riska doesn’t stir from beneath my cot.

  At one point, I lift my head to check on Taro. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. I hope he’s really asleep, though somehow I doubt it.

  I want to apologize, but talking to him in front of Hank, Billy, and the drones would be awkward. Besides that, I don’t know what to say. He lost his finger, and it’s my fault. How can I ever make that up to him?

  Exhausted, I doze off for a while. Sometime later, I wake up to soft whispers.

  “Billy,” I hear Hank say, “are you really Uncle Zed?”

  Silence.

  Then, “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of? Either you are, or you aren’t.”

  “I, uh . . . write the software,” Billy says, voice faltering. “That part is true.”

  “You think a boyfriend would mention an important fact like that to his girlfriend.” I hear the hurt in Hank’s voice.

  “It wasn’t safe to tell you.”

  Hank snorts. “I’m not one of your stupid conspiracy theories, Billy. I’m your girlfriend.”

  With that, she turns her head away from him. Her gaze meets mine briefly, and I can see her struggling not to cry. When she closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep, I don’t bother her.