“If there are any more Leaguers on the ship, they’ll be on their way here,” Taro says. “Even if we can overpower them, there’s no way to navigate the ship. The EMP will have fried all the circuitry. That leaves us two options. Option one is to find a life raft.”
“And the second option?” I ask.
“How well can you swim?” Taro’s expression is void of amusement.
“I like option one.”
“Me too.”
“Me three,” Hank says weakly.
“Me four,” Billy says.
Taro in the lead, the four of us strike out into the darkness, leaving Imugi and the rest of the dead Leaguers behind. Billy trails Taro closely with Hank in his arms. I bring up the rear with Riska.
The glow sticks are little remedy against the suffocating blackness of the ship, revealing only the next ten steps in front of us. I’m pretty sure Taro has no idea where he’s going, though his steps are even and steady. When we hit a dead end, he turns around and leads us another way. Every now and then he gets lucky and hits a staircase. We are surrounded by drippy silence.
And then: “Die, you commie bastards!”
This statement, bouncing through the halls like a ricocheting bullet, is followed by an eruption of gunfire and several explosions.
A raucous voice, ribboned with mad laughter, says, “That’s what you get for messing with my boy, you commies!”
Silence.
“That,” Billy says, “was my uncle.”
“What?” Taro says.
“My uncle, Zed,” Billy says. “That was him.”
“You’ve got a real Uncle Zed?” Hank says, at the same time I say, “What would your uncle be doing here?”
Billy glances over his shoulder at me. “He was a merc once, before a North Korean corporation kidnapped him and tortured him for intel on Global security. Now he’s retired and . . . an enthusiastic anticommunist. He lives with me and my mom.”
“Your uncle is a retired merc?” I say.
“Yeah, but he still has lots of guns and stuff at home. He took out a lot of Leaguers when I was kidnapped. I thought he might try and rescue me.”
And here I had been entertaining thoughts of my mom launching a daring rescue mission with Black Ice.
“Come on,” Taro says. “Let’s see if we can find him.”
We walk in the direction of the voice. We’re a bubble of neon green oozing through palpable black.
A man is suddenly there. There is no sound, no whisper of breath or scuff of boot to warn us of his coming. He appears in our green bubble, a machine gun in one hand, a grenade in the other.
“Uncle Zed!” Billy grins, but makes no move to relinquish his hold on Hank.
“Billy!” The man beams and rests the machine gun against his shoulder. “Is that your girl?” he asks, motioning to Hank.
Even in the darkness, I see Billy’s face turn red. “I can’t believe you brought the peacock suit,” he says.
Peacock suit is the right name for it. Strapped to Zed’s back is a fan of black metal. He’s got a rocket launcher attached to it, along with several rockets and three machine guns. The straps, which make a big X across his chest, are studded with grenades and clips. There’s a contraption on his head—a combination of infrared goggles, radio receiver, and Vex headset—that creates a blocky caricature of a peacock crest.
On top of all that, he’s got at least four guns on his belt, a handful of knives, and two big chunks of C-4. He’s like death on steroids. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or intimidated.
Zed caresses his machine gun. “What is it I always tell you, Billy?”
“Always be prepared for the worst.” Billy’s words have a mechanical lilt, as though he’s used to reciting them.
“That’s right.” Zed claps Billy on the shoulder. “Always knew there’d be a day when I’d need the peacock suit. Soon as the commies took you, I got it out.”
At first I think Zed’s painted a camouflage pattern on his face. As I get a closer look, I realize his neck, face, and hands are all tattooed. His head, shaved, is also covered with a camouflage tattoo.
He catches me looking. “Like the tats, girl? I’ve got a guy, if you want your own.”
“I, uh . . .”
“Did you bring the helicopter?” Billy asks.
Of course a black-market multimillionaire would have his own helicopter. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“Got something better than a chopper.” Zed grins. I give a start as I notice all his teeth are blacked out. Another permanent alteration?
Zed uses his grenade hand to activate his earpiece; he must not have been on the freighter when the EMP bomb detonated.
“Zed here,” he says. “I found them. We’re coming to you. Get the Gav ready. Keep your eyes open. Still lots of commies out here.” He drops his hand. Looking at Taro and me, he says, “Your dad and mom will meet us on deck. Come on.”
“My mom’s with you?” I ask, just as Taro says, “My dad’s with you?” We share a quick look of surprise.
“’Course,” Zed says. “They got me out of North Korea. Wouldn’t go back into the field without them at my back. Since our kids are here, we all had to come anyway. Come on.”
Mom. In North Korea. Rescuing Zed. With Black Ice.
Somewhere off to our left in a distant part of the ship, there’s another explosion. We all freeze, but Zed waves us on.
“Just some commies setting off one of my tripwires. Don’t worry. Commies are all over this ship. Take ’em out if you spot ’em. No mercy.”
I try not to think about what would have happened if we’d stumbled into one of those booby traps before Zed found us. Memories of the things Billy has said about his uncle suddenly surface.
Laws are just sort of a guideline. That’s what my uncle always says. And when Hank asked him if he was really Uncle Zed, he said, Sort of. I write the software.
The clues click together in my brain.
“You’re both Uncle Zed in Vex,” I say. “You design it, and he sells it. Or at least most of it.”
Billy’s eyes widen in alarm. It’s my only warning before Zed whirls on me. The length of his machine gun slams into my chest.
The impact throws Riska off balance. He lets loose a spray of venom, but only a few drops hit Zed’s face. Zed twitches the butt of his rifle and slams it into Riska’s head. Riska drops to the floor. I yell and reach for him, but Zed shoves me hard against the wall, resting a grenade against my cheek.
“Who told you?” he says, leaning so close our noses almost touch. “Who told you my identity?”
“Let her go.” Taro raises his gun. Billy latches onto him, hauling him backward and hissing in his ear. Taro shakes free. He doesn’t advance, but he doesn’t lower his gun, either.
“Was it the commies?” Zed’s lips draw back, revealing the black teeth. “Are you with them?”
I stare into Zed’s eyes, my mouth dry and my pulse thundering. “I . . .” It occurs to me that I’m looking into the eyes of a bona fide nut job. “I . . .”
“Answer me!”
My gaze flicks to Taro. A muscle in his jaw twitches. His gun is steady, aimed straight at the back of Zed’s head.
“Uncle Zed!” Billy wedges himself next to me on the wall, careful not to touch his uncle. “Uncle, you’re safe. The Anti-American League told everyone that I’m Uncle Zed. Sulan is my friend. She goes to school with me. She’s not a commie, and she won’t tell anyone about you. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
“How do you know?” Zed glances at Billy, but some of the tension melts out of his face. “How do you know she’s not a commie?”
“She doesn’t have time to be a commie. She spends all her time going to school and studying.” Billy pauses. “Did you take your medicine today?”
Zed makes an annoyed sound in his throat. “Half a dose.”
“Uncle Zed, you know better.” Billy’s voice takes an authoritative tone, and I sense the tension diffusi
ng.
Zed wrinkles his nose. “Didn’t want it to dull my reaction time.”
“Mom will be mad if she finds out. Let Sulan go, and I won’t tell her.”
Zed mutters a string of curses under his breath, and I gather that an angry Mrs. Long is a force of nature more terrible than commies. He releases me, muttering, “I won’t hurt the girl.”
“You’re safe with us,” Billy says. “None of us are commies. We’re all friends.”
“No commies,” Zed repeats. “No commies.” As if he’s trying to convince himself.
Taro lowers his gun. I scoop up Riska and scurry to his side, putting distance between Zed and me. Taro rests a protective hand on my shoulder as I cradle Riska, stroking his furry head. He’s alive and awake, but dazed. He purrs and gazes at me with bleary eyes. I zip him into my jumpsuit and he makes no protest, which tells me just how stunned he is.
“Can you lead us out of here?” Billy asks Zed.
Zed straightens, whirling the machine gun around to prop it against his shoulder. “’Course I can. Follow me.”
The four of us trail him. There’s a gap between Zed and the rest of us. As we climb the next flight of stairs, a breeze moves past my cheek. Fresh salt air fills my nostrils. That’s when I notice the surrounding black has faded to thick gray. We reach the top of the stairs, and I find myself standing on the deck of a freighter ship. It’s nighttime, and a near-full moon hangs in the sky.
A Gav is crouched on the far end of the deck. The thick tail lies immobile like a giant sleeping snake. Its wings are loose, only partially folded against scales that gleam like oil slicks in the moonlight. The Gav’s left eyelid moves rapidly in a way that seems oddly familiar.
“That’s our ride out of here,” Zed says. “Come on, kiddos.”
“Wait,” I hiss, grinding to a halt on the deck. The strange movement of the eyelid registers. “Look at its eye.”
“The eye?” Zed raises his machine gun. He positions the grenade by his mouth, as if he’s ready to pull the pin out with his teeth.
“Is there someone inside the Gav?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“That person is trying to communicate with us. That eye is using Morse code.”
Zed snarls and herds us all back into the doorway. “Good catch, kid. I should have known Morning Star’s daughter would be well-trained.”
19
Morning Star
His words take the breath out of my lungs. “What did you say?” I put an arm out to steady myself against the wall. “What did you say about my mom?”
Zed doesn’t appear to hear me. He’s staring at the fluttering eye, deciphering the message. “A,” he says.
“Zed! What did you say about my mom?”
“M,” Zed says. “B.”
Taro places a hand on my shoulder. I whirl around to face him.
“Did you know?” I demand. “Did you know?”
He eyes me cautiously. “I suspected. I saw the way they fought together on the rooftop. She never—?”
“U!” Zed bellows. “Ambush! It’s an ambush! Get down!”
Spitting gunfire lights up the night, filling the empty space between the Gav and us. Zed turns, arms outspread, and plows into us. We topple like bowling pins down the stairwell.
There’s a moment of weightlessness as we fall. We hit the floor at the bottom; my head whips back, cracking into Taro’s chin. I twist my body sideways, curling protectively around Riska. Hank lands heavily on me. Billy flies past us and knocks into the wall.
Zed looms over us like an armored tank on legs. “Up,” he shouts. “Move!”
The gunfire draws closer. There’s a clink in the stairwell, followed by a hissing sound and a plume of white gas.
“Sleeping grenade!” Zed says. “Hold your breath!”
We scramble up and stumble away with our elbows over our noses. I glance back, expecting to see Zed on our heels. But he’s standing at the foot of the stairs like a matador staring down a bull. He makes a fist with his left hand and aims it at the grenade. White foam shoots out of his sleeve, smothering the grenade. The foam hardens into a shell, snuffing out the gas.
“Let’s see you mock the suit now, you commies!” Zed cackles and rounds on us. “Eh, kids? Who can mock the suit now?”
In response, more gas grenades tumble down the stairs. Gunfire sparks fill the doorway like thousands of fireflies. My lungs burn from holding my breath.
“Time to run,” Zed says.
We run. Zed leads the way, snaking down and down into the freighter. The wrists and ankles of his peacock suit are illuminated with bright white bands of light.
The shouts of the Leaguers grows distant.
“The commies are trying to take us alive,” Zed says, panting. “I’ve got suicide pills, if it comes to that.”
Suicide pills?
“No,” Taro says firmly. “No suicide pills.”
“A fighter!” Zed slaps him on the shoulder. “I like it.” He presses the earpiece. “Zed here. We’re heading to the alternative rendezvous. Zed out.” He moves up and takes point. “Come on.”
Billy, once again cradling Hank, struggles to keep up. Sweat runs down his face, and he breaths heavily.
“I can carry her for a while,” Taro says.
Billy shakes his head. “You’re better with guns,” he says.
“Billy,” Hank says, face still wan, “I can try and . . .”
“No. You’re too weak.” His arms tighten around her, and he picks up his pace.
I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see the stiff shine of SmartPlastic masks emerge from the gloom. But all is silent, dark. Gunfire has ceased. If Leaguers are still behind us, I can’t hear them. We must have lost them, at least for now.
I have one arm across my chest to keep Riska from bouncing too much. He dozes against my chest, and I realize the gas grenade has knocked him out. That brief exposure was too much for his small body.
Zed leads us down several more flights of stairs, finally stopping in a passageway that looks like all the others. The air is slightly colder, making me think we must be next to the hull.
“Here we are.” He pats the wall affectionately.
I look around. “Where is here?”
“Alternative rendezvous.” He pulls a chunk of C-4 out of his belt. “You know how to make bombs out of this stuff?”
I hesitate. “Yeah . . .”
“Good. Here are the blasting caps.” He shoves them into my hands along with some C-4. “Set the charges in a big oval. We want a large opening here.” He slaps the wall on our right.
“We’re blowing a hole in the hull?” Taro asks.
“Absolutely. How else do you plan to board the Gav?”
“What do we do when the ship starts to sink?” I say.
“We’re five decks up. We’ll be long gone before this boat sinks. Here.” Zed pushes blasting caps and C-4 at Taro. “Go nuts, kid.”
“I’d rather not,” Taro mutters, but he begins sticking tiny bombs all over the wall.
I join him. There’s something comforting about the task. I’m able to focus on the job and ignore the fear and anxiety riding on my back. Most importantly, the work helps me avoid thinking about Morning Star. About Mom. Resentment, awe, and anger scour through me, but I concentrate on making the bombs. The remote detonators stick out of the green putty like flags.
I glance at Taro, who works silently beside me. It’s a bit strange seeing him there. I’ve always done this sort of thing with Gun. I almost wish Gun were here, except I wouldn’t wish this on a friend. I hope he got out of the auction okay. I picture his shiny shaved head and his big smile, the smile he never shares with anyone else in the Cube. Gun, with his funny inventions and absolute faith in me. Gun.
“Sulan,” a familiar voice says.
Mom? I jump and spin around, the C-4 thumping to the ground. She’s standing before me in all her mercenary glory. The mother I’ve grown up with has transformed from HOA
president into my childhood idol. She grabs me in a fierce hug, and even though I know I should hug her back, I stiffen in her embrace.
She pulls back, takes one look at my face, and says, “Zed told you, didn’t he?”
Now’s not the time to play dumb. “Yeah, he did.” I wish Riska were awake. He’d have a nice collection of hisses for Mom right now, plus some bristling fur. “How could keep your identity a secret? From me?”
I’m not used to seeing Mom look uncomfortable, but her eyes slide away from mine and she hunches her shoulders.
“I always meant to tell you,” she says. “Then you started watching all those Merc reruns, talking about Morning Star and Black Ice all the time . . .” She turns her head.
I follow her gaze and see Aston standing beside Taro, speaking to him softly. They embrace briefly, awkwardly. Then Aston gives Taro something slim and black. It looks like a pen.
“I just couldn’t tell you,” Mom says, pulling my attention back to her. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Sulan.”
I open my mouth to speak. Emotions tumble through me, one after another, and I struggle to put them into words. “Mom, I . . . I . . .”
A gas grenade pings onto the floor by our feet.
Mom does three things at once: her foot kicks the smoking grenade away from us, her right hand pulls out a machine gun, and her left hand shoves me out of the way.
“Stay down, Sulan.”
A dozen Leaguers pour into the corridor, gas masks over the SmartPlastic. Aston moves to Mom’s side, and together they flow out to meet the rush head-on. Even though we’re outnumbered, the narrow corridor makes it impossible for the Leaguers to overwhelm Mom and Aston. They fight, and hold the Leaguers back.
Taro and I rush after them, guns raised. My shoulder burns from the Vex stab wound, but I ignore the pain and fire over Mom’s shoulder. Even in the midst of everything, a small part of my mind hopes she’ll see me fight.
There are more grenades. I cough, covering my nose and mouth with my free hand, but it’s not good enough. Already my head feels woozy, my eyes heavy and stinging. The Leaguers all wear glow sticks on their belts. Gas from the grenades billows and flows with the green light. Mom and Aston rip masks off downed Leaguers and pass them back to us, then grab two more for themselves. I pull the mask on and take several deep gulps of air to clear my head.
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