At least Dad and Aston didn’t figure out what we were really up to.
• • •
When I wake up the next morning, my eyes are gritty from lack of sleep. The press conference looms over me, making me think last night had been less than ideal for a failed spy adventure.
I pad into the living room and find Dad’s door standing open. When I peek inside, I see his bed is empty. He’s already out of the house for today.
His room looks like it’s been ransacked by a tornado. Blankets and pillows are in a tangled wad at the foot of his bed. Clothes are on the floor, looking as though they’ve been walked on. I never knew how messy my father was. Or maybe I never realized how clean Mom was, because she never let things get like this when he was home.
I take another few steps into the room, then hesitate. I’ve never snooped before. Even though I have good reason, it’s a huge breach of trust.
Seconds tick by. I purse my lips and stride forward, deciding that if Dad won’t share information, I’ll do what I can to find it myself.
I spend the next fifteen minutes going through his room. It’s a small room, without many places to hide things. I check all the obvious places: under the bed, in his dresser, under the mattress, in the closet, in the pockets of his clothing, and even in his shoes. Nothing. The only things he has in his room are the few things Global gave us, plus his duffel bag. The only things in the duffel are rumpled white clothes.
Annoyed, I head to breakfast with the hope of finding Dad and cornering him. I don’t see him anywhere, but I do spot Taro and Billy at a table together. Taro has a plate piled with eggs and potatoes. Billy’s plate is piled with rabbit sausage.
I decide not to beat around the bush. “So,” I say, by way of greeting, “did you get a talk last night? After me and my dad left?”
“Yes.” Taro grimaces, running one hand over his short hair. “Yeah, I did.”
I groan. “Me, too.”
Taro cocks his head at me. “Made a good cover, though. They don’t suspect anything.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Billy asks.
We fill him in on the run-in with our dads, and the little we overheard of their conversation. If Billy finds any humor in our predicament, it’s overshadowed by his obsession for good conspiracies.
“Project Renascentia?” He leans forward, breakfast forgotten. “They know about that?”
“They’re obviously interested in Maxwell for a reason,” Taro says. “Have you or Uncle Zed been able to find out anything else about him?”
“Nothing besides what I already told you.” Billy tilts his head, bangs falling aside to reveal his blue eyes. “We should break into his house. Look through his stuff and see what we can find.”
“Break into Maxwell’s house?” Taro echoes.
“Yeah.” Billy shoves a whole sausage into his mouth. “He’s going in and out of the Dome for Claudine. Who knows what he has lying around.”
I raise my eyebrows. I hadn’t considered that before. “Maybe we should,” I say slowly.
“The F1 antigen is one of the things that goes into the vaccine for the pneumonic plague,” Billy says.
I frown. “How do you know that?”
He shrugs. “I was obsessed with viruses for six months or so. If they mentioned a virus, they could have been talking about the pneumonic plague.” Billy sits up straighter, staring at us through his bangs. “I think we should search your dads’ bedrooms, too. See what we can find.”
“I, uh, already did,” I say with a grimace.
“And?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“No way am I going to snoop in my dad’s room,” Taro says. “He’d know. He’s a neat freak and would know if anything was out of place.”
Billy waves a dismissive hand. “We should focus our efforts on Maxwell.”
“I’m too tired to talk about bad ideas.” Taro opens his mouth to say more, then closes it. His eyes slide past us.
“Miss Hom?”
I jump at the tap on my shoulder. A merc stands behind me.
“Time to go to the Fortress, Miss Hom,” the merc says.
“Already?”
At the man’s nod, I sigh. So much for breakfast.
I really wish I’d gotten a good night’s sleep.
19
Tools
I spend my flight to the Fortress mentally shifting gears. I put thoughts of Dad and Aston into a neat box, tucking it away into a corner of my mind for later examination. Then I focus on the upcoming Vex interview, running through a checklist of the many things Kerry has drilled into me over the past week.
Smile. Always bring conversation back to Global. Don’t scowl.
Once I arrive at the Fortress, I’m escorted to the media room. Hank is already there. Of course she is. Hank was always early to school on exam days.
We make cursory eye contact with one another. I try a small smile, hoping to alleviate some of the tension between us. Her expression is unreadable, but there are dark circles under her eyes.
The media room bustles with men and women in gray polos. There’s a great deal of murmuring about firewalls.
“Are you sure this is adequate?” I hear one of them say.
“It’s stronger than anything we’ve used to date,” another replies.
Their conversation gets lost in the general hum in the room. They’re worried someone will hack into the site hosting us and use us to make Global look bad.
I make my way toward the center of the room where the Vex sets are. Kerry fusses in my wake, murmuring annoying things like, “Remember your persona,” and “All conversations need to lead back to Global,” and “Don’t forget you are an extension of Global.”
I wish I could gag her. The beginnings of a growl rise from Riska. I place a hand on his back to quell him. No need for him to project my unease to everyone.
“Our heroes have arrived,” Mr. Winn drawls when he sees me. This morning, he’s dressed in a dark blue tracksuit with bright green racing stripes down the side. He’s seated in his regular chair, fat rolls oozing over the armrests.
With all the money he has, why doesn’t he have a chair custom-made to fit his girth? Maybe it’s his way of inspiring a diet. Why am I even thinking about Mr. Winn and his fat rolls and his chair and his money?
I resist the urge to rub my eyes. It’s pointless to wish for more sleep I won’t get. Even if I had gotten a full night’s rest, I still wouldn’t feel ready for the Vex appearance.
“I trust Ms. Sturgess has adequately prepared each of you.” Claudine rolls into view, her voice tinny as it projects from the tiny speakers on her screen. Her avatar stares out at us. It might be my imagination, but her gaze seems icier than usual. “We will not accept anything less than perfection from each of you.” The lights shine on her bald head and slack face.
“Don’t make them nervous, Claudine. Ms. Sturgess has assured me they are more than ready.” Mr. Winn smiles at us over his big bushy beard and gestures to the circle of green chairs. “Please, have a seat, Miss Hom.”
I take a seat next to Hank, suppressing a grimace as I lower my sore body into a chair. She sits with her back straight, looking like she’s ready to whip out a tablet and take notes. It’s her prepared look that I know so well.
Claudine rolls down a ramp into the circle of chairs. At first I assume she’s joining Mr. Winn. My heart jumps as I realize she’s rolling toward me. Kerry’s relentless chatter abruptly ceases.
“Miss Hom.” Claudine’s chair stops in front of me. The eyes of her avatar look like they want to drill holes through my head. “Ms. Sturgess keeps me apprised of your work with her. I understand you had a friend who aided you in your escape from the League.”
Gun.
I’m instantly wary, although I do my best to hide it. My brain fumbles for the right thing to say.
“I won’t mention him,” I say, thinking she wants assurance I won’t screw things up for Global. “I understan
d he’s not part of the Global family and would only distract from our objective.”
Hank shoots me an approving look.
“Ms. Sturgess has assured me that’s the case,” Claudine says. “However, an individual with the means to derail a private Anti-American League Vex site is of utmost interest to me. Someone with that much influence might go out of his way to contact you while you’re in Vex.” Her eyes sharpen. “I will be in attendance at all of your appearances. You will signal me if you see any avatar you suspect to be him. Understood, Miss Hom?”
Throat dry, I nod, even though inside I’m screaming. I would never, ever betray Gun to Claudine. What does she want with him? Is there a chance he’ll try to connect with me again while I’m in Vex?
There are too many questions for me to handle on an empty stomach and so little sleep.
“Miss Winn,” Kerry says, a slight quaver in her voice, “Sulan and Hank are scheduled to appear in less than sixty seconds.”
Without another word, Claudine rolls away. She gives me one last, penetrating look before stopping beside her uncle.
“Please put on your Vex sets,” Kerry says to us, her voice brighter than usual. It reveals how nervous she is. “Crawler has indicated you can jack in now.”
Crawler. At the mention of the avatar’s name, my mouth goes dry. I put a hand on Riska to suppress another of his growls. I am so not looking forward to this.
I pick up the Vex set from the stand beside my chair. I glance in Hank’s direction and find her staring back at me. There’s pleading in her gaze. She wants this to go well.
Hank has always been an overachiever. In school, she was never satisfied with anything under a four-point-oh. No doubt she sees this as one big exam. The only difference is that she can’t just depend on herself for a good grade. She’s got me to worry about. And I’ve never been the best student.
Still, I’ve got as much riding on this as she does. I give her a smile and a nod to tell her I understand. Relief floods her face.
For an instant, I feel like we’re just Hank and Sulan again, like we used to be. The Hank and Sulan that went to VHS together and hung out in Café Blu every night to study. Best friends that did everything together.
Then the hum of the media room closes in around me. The plush green chairs, the granite walls and ceilings, and the penetrating stares from Mr. Winn and Claudine. I’m hit with a wave of longing for a time in my life I can never have back.
We’re not just Hank and Sulan anymore. Now, we’re Global Arms tools. And it’s time for us to go to work.
20
Crawler
With a deep breath, I lower the Vex set over my eyes, knotting my free hand in Riska’s fur. I’m pulled into the familiar whirling blue vortex of Virtual Experience.
“Welcome, welcome!” says a rich voice. “You must be Henrietta Simmons and Sulan Hom!”
I blink and find myself standing with Hank in a small room with aqua-blue walls. The infamous Crawler stands before us. The avatar is a man in his mid-twenties with wild red hair and a generous dose of freckles.
He’s dressed in his signature jacket, which is the same shade as the walls. The jacket is comprised of tiny aqua-blue bugs, each of them about the size of a period in a pre-’Fault novel. They’re in continuous movement, skittering and writhing around Crawler’s body. It’s these little bugs—known as Wall Crawlers—that catapulted Crawler’s career. They specialize in infiltrating the Vex sites of the rich and famous.
“Hi,” Hank says with a bright smile, extending her hand to shake Crawler’s. “You can call me Hank.”
“So nice to meet you!” Crawler seizes Hank’s hand and gives it a vigorous shake before turning to me.
I plaster on my best smile and imitate Hank’s chipper tone. “Hey. I’m Sulan.”
“Defenders of our nation!” Crawler grasps my hand with enthusiasm.
I pull free before any of the Wall Crawlers can attach themselves to me. The bugs are mostly used to spy on celebrities and catch them in embarrassing situations, but I’ve seen enough of Crawler over the years to know nothing is off limits. He loves to expose things people want hidden. Even though he’s famous and everyone knows about his bugs, he’s managed to keep the Wall Crawler programming ahead of many ever-evolving firewalls.
“I’m so excited to have you both on my show! Are you ready to greet the audience?” It’s a rhetorical question, but we’re clearly supposed to answer.
“Of course,” Hank says, right as I say, “Sure.”
“I’ll go out first and rev them up. One hundred lucky avatars paid big bucks to be in the same room with the two of you!” Crawler flashes us a cheesy grin. In a loud stage whisper, he says, “With the ticket sales, I was able to fund the purchase of my own private island.”
Hank laughs, body and face relaxed. As if Crawler is making a funny joke, even though he’s just another jerk using us for his own ends.
I suppress a scowl and force out a laugh. Kerry always says laughing is better than scowling.
“See you in a few!” Crawler winks at us and presses his hand against the wall.
A panel fades away, giving me a glimpse of a stage and, beyond that, the faces of those in the audience. Crawler slips past us, the wall going solid behind him.
There’s a moment of silence as Hank and I look at one another.
“You haven’t scowled once,” she says. A small smile quirks her lips. “Kerry would be proud.”
“I told you I’d do my best. I meant it.”
“I know.” Hank’s gaze drops to the floor. “Sorry I doubted you.”
And just like that, the tension between us melts away.
“You look nice,” Hank says.
I glance down at my attire, which I hadn’t noticed until now. To my immense relief, Global does not have me decked out like a stripper this time. My avatar resembles my real-world body: slim, short, with black hair in a bun at the nape of my neck. I’m wearing a cream-colored pantsuit only vaguely reminiscent of a lab coat. And there are no glasses. I count the entire get-up as a small victory.
Hank is in black leather pants and a leather jacket. Under the jacket is a tight pink shirt. A chain mail gorget decorates her neck, a matching bracelet at her wrist.
“I wonder what he’ll do to make us look bad,” I say. “That’s his specialty, you know.”
Hank makes a face. “We killed Imugi. He’ll just come off looking like a jerk if he tries to humiliate us. Besides, I don’t think Kerry would have agreed to let us come on his show unless—”
She doesn’t get to finish her thought. Without warning, the wall panel disintegrates. Crawler stands ten feet away, grinning, arms spread wide in a dramatic gesture.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “I give you Hank Simmons and Sulan Hom!”
The applause is thunderous. I freeze just inside the aqua-blue room, paralyzed with stage fright. Hank grabs my hand and marches us onto the stage, smiling so widely the skin around her eyes crinkles. I do my best to mimic her expression.
The audience members are on their feet cheering, whistling, and clapping. To my surprise, there aren’t any six-foot pink aliens or anything else outlandish in the audience. These avatars look like real-world people—albeit exceptionally attractive real-world people. Everyone is wearing a combination of red, white, and blue. I take it all as a display of patriotism. One man is even dressed from head-to-foot in a red and white leisure suit. His button-down shirt is dark blue with white stars.
The sight of all those avatars watching me makes my brain scramble. I struggle to reassemble my composure.
Smile. Bring the conversation back to Global. Don’t scowl. The words run through my mind like a mantra, helping me focus.
I spot Kerry in the front row. She’s a younger, prettier version of her real-world self. Her hair is done in an elaborate swirl and she’s wearing a bright red gown with spaghetti straps, like she’s going to an old-fashioned teenage dance. Claudine sits next to her, dressed in a
conservative navy blue pencil skirt with matching blazer.
Kerry gives us an encouraging wave. Claudine gazes at us coolly.
Crawler sprawls on a white sofa situated in the middle of the stage. Wall Crawlers scuttle off his jacket and disappear into the audience to cull gossip.
Hank and I take seats on the couch next to Crawler. I put as much space as possible between myself and Crawler, doing my best not to let his writhing jacket distract me.
“So,” Crawler says as the applause dies away, “how does it feel to be heroes?”
Hank jumps in. She’s all smiles and vivacity.
“We’re honored to be here,” she gushes. “And we’re honored to represent Global Arms. Without Global, we’d never have had the training needed to defeat Imugi.” She delivers it all without sounding ingratiating or fake.
“Tell us how you did it.” Crawler leans forward and lowers his voice, as if we’re sharing a secret. “America is dying to hear it directly from the two of you. Tell us how you brought down Imugi.”
Behind Crawler is a crackle of electricity. For the barest second, I see the flickering avatar of William Anderson. A lurch of anxiety goes through me. I’ve got enough to manage without having to do Anderson Arms damage control.
William Anderson flickers into sight once, twice, three times. The audience leans forward in a mixture of anticipation and excitement. Then Anderson’s avatar shorts out, leaving a faint glimmer of pixels in his wake. The bulk of the crowd looks disappointed. Crawler laughs.
“I had a feeling there might be some shenanigans in today’s show,” he says with a broad smile. “I had our firewalls beefed up for this special occasion. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Sulan and Hank, tell my audience how you brought down Imugi. We’re dying to hear the gritty details.”
I force myself to speak. As easy as it would be to let Hank do all the talking, I know Mr. Winn will frown on that. I have to show I can perform under pressure.
“I calculated our best chance to escape would be during the League auction.” I’m nowhere near as perky as Hank, but my voice is steady, clear, and non-hostile. “We only had an eighteen percent chance of success, but that was better than the alternatives.”
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