“Eighteen percent?” Crawler raises one red eyebrow. “How did you come up with that figure?”
“I factored the notoriety of the event, the possibility of a Black Tech attack, the high level of security by attending avatars, and the skills of myself and my friends …” I rattle off the complex explanation from memory.
Hank gives me a look. I realize I sound like I’m delivering a memorized speech. Which I am. Except that I’m supposed to sound natural.
I close my mouth and give Crawler my best sheepish expression. “Sorry,” I say. “Nerdy stuff. Boring, I know. Let’s just say I knew there wasn’t going to be a better chance to stage our escape.”
Hank chimes in, her face animated, “When Sulan makes a calculation, we never second-guess it. She said our only statistical chance of escape would take place during the auction. I knew I’d have to figure out a way to hack through the League’s firewall.”
Together, Hank and I spin the story Kerry and Mr. Winn outlined for us. The audience leans forward, drawn in by our words.
Hank feeds on the reactions from the audience as they gasp and exclaim. The more reaction she gets, the more animated she becomes. She’s a natural in the limelight.
I continue to throw out nerdy statistical stuff, obediently playing the part of the mathematical strategist. It’s obvious I’m not as engaging as Hank; no one leans forward in their chairs when I speak or hangs on my every word. Hank is acing this real-life exam.
“This is all so exciting,” Crawler says as we wrap up the semi-factual tale of our harrowing escape. “How I wish I could have gotten my Wall Crawlers into that auction! To have actual footage of your daring rebellion.” He sighs dramatically. “Ah, well. I’ll just have to settle with the scuttlebutt my Wall Crawlers did manage to snag.” He flashes a sudden, mischievous grin at us.
There’s a glint in his eye that makes me feel sick. Hank slides a quick glance at me. I see the worry there, even though she’s got it hidden beneath a layer of Kerry-like perkiness.
“Sulan, tell me about this.” Crawler flicks his wrist. A dozen Wall Crawlers scuttle off his jacket, across his hand, and plink onto the floor. They form a single line before the audience and project a holographic image into the air.
At first, all I see is a tangle of athletic avatars in a big open space. The avatars are all human and either extremely unattractive and plain, or extremely well-built and good-looking. The latter is common in Vex, but not the former. These avatars are Naked; they all reflect their real-world bodies. There are only a handful of sites in Vex where Naked avatars congregate.
My stomach sinks as I realize what I’m looking at.
On the hologram, I see myself enter the throng of Naked avatars in the Cube after the Meat Grinder competition. I wander through the sea of people, dressed in black pants with a matching black tank top. I’ve got a pathetic expression on my face as I watch groups form. People move around me, doing their best to ignore and rebuff me.
This is what Crawler excels at—finding bits and pieces people want to keep hidden.
I wish I could yank off my Vex set and disappear. No, I wish I could throw my Vex set at Kerry and demand an explanation. Surely there were plenty of other sites we could have visited today. Surely they could have strong-armed Crawler into—
“And here I sent my Crawlers to scout around for fun, to see what Naked avatars got up to in their spare time.” Crawler gestures to the hologram as it plays. “Imagine my shock when I discovered I had captured one of the slayers of Imugi in action!” No one can miss the lost, desperate look on my face as I try to find a Cube team to accept me.
“You look so sad,” Crawler says. “What made our heroine so sad? Tell us, Sulan.” His teeth sparkle in the light like razors. Though he maintains his genial countenance, he’s all predator now—and I’m his prey.
21
Prey
“That’s—that’s me,” I say, unable to peel my eyes from the footage. This is one of my most vulnerable moments, and it’s being broadcast all over Vex. I’m embarrassed and angry and off-balance all at once.
“Where are you?” Crawler prompts. He oozes smugness. This jerk knows exactly where I was when this footage was captured. He’s trying to make me look bad, and it’s working. He’s caught one of America’s heroes—one of the slayers of Imugi—in a weak moment. He must have run me through his facial recognition software to dig up this little snippet.
This is why he’s a multibillionaire. There’s good money in exploiting people.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Kerry, her practiced smile frozen in panic. This is bound to muddy my math-girl persona. Beside her, Claudine’s lips are pursed, her eyes narrowed. She will blame Kerry for this, for scheduling us with Crawler.
She’ll also blame me if I can’t find a way to gracefully extricate myself.
“Tell us about this,” Crawler says, gesturing to the holograph.
“I—I was in the Cube.” No way to get around revealing that. “I showed up for the Meat Grinder competition.”
A titter runs through the audience. No doubt every last one of them is taking in my slight build and small stature. The Cube is a private club where members compete as teams in merc-inspired obstacle courses.
I watch myself gaze longingly at the teams being formed. It’s obvious I’m pathetically underqualified to be there. I’m at least a foot shorter than everyone around me. I’m twiggy, weak-looking. Bigger, stronger avatars stare down their noses at me, all of them either sneering or instantly dismissing me. There are other merc clubs for people like me, merc clubs where my real-world stature wouldn’t matter—where I could deck myself out in a souped-up avatar and shoot lightning out of my fingers.
I’m suddenly angry. Crawler wants to embarrass me and make me look bad. He’s built an empire on this. Everybody wants to use me for something. Mr. Winn wants to use me for his publicity campaign. Crawler wants to use me to jack up his Vex ratings. All I am to these people is a walking dollar sign.
I am so sick of all this. I’m not going to let this jerk derail me. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I earned my place in the Cube.
I look Crawler in the eye, straightening my spine. “I trained and competed at the Cube up until the time I was kidnapped by the League. It was something I did for fun. I may be the daughter of Dr. Hom, but my mother was a mercenary. I’m equal parts muscle and brain.”
The audience cheers and whistles in approval. An appreciative grin splits Crawler’s face.
I don’t look at Kerry. I’m breaking away from my proscribed role, but I don’t care. She should have done a better job of scripting this interview, or avoided Crawler altogether. This is her problem, not mine.
“You’re full of surprises,” Crawler says. “Why did you pick a Naked merc club?”
“I am who I am. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of it. I don’t need to hide behind a Vex Axcent. That’s more than most people can say.” I look Crawler right in the eye when I say that.
The audience titters, even though I just insulted all of them.
Crawler raises an eyebrow at me, eyes glinting. He doesn’t look offended. No, he looks more like a bull—and I just waved a red flag under his nose.
“Tell us about this moment, Sulan.” Crawler gives me a smug smile, eyes glinting like a predator.
That’s when Gun makes his entrance onto the hologram. He’s trailed by several merc teams, all of them intent on recruiting him. Even in a loose T-shirt and black pants, Gun’s well-muscled physique is obvious. There are murmurs of appreciation from the audience.
Crawler freezes the hologram as Gun stands before me. In the image, I stare up at Gun with a look of confusion and wariness on my face. I don’t look like a girl who’s comfortable in her own skin. I look like a girl who desperately wants to belong.
“The world is dying for a look into the private world of Sulan Hom,” Crawler says with a sickly sweet smile. “Tell us what was going through your mind in this moment.”
<
br /> And just like that, my anger evaporates. My mind goes blank. It’s as if all the hours of practice with Kerry never happened.
I’m hit with an intense wave of longing as I stare at Gun—at his blue eyes, his shaved head, and his familiar face. My eyes flick between the audience and the image of my friend. My brain fumbles for something to say, but I can’t see past my memories of Gun.
I’ve worked so hard to ignore my sadness over his absence. He’s out there, somewhere. Is he watching this interview? Does he miss our fights in the Cube as much as I do?
Does he miss me?
I see and hear the audience shifting, all of them predatory as they sense Crawler has stumbled upon something sacred to me.
In my mind, I hear Gun’s voice: Hey, Short Stuff.
It’s like a jumper cable to my brain. I sit up straighter, turning to look at the audience. I’m Short Stuff. I earned every scrap of respect I was given in the Cube. Short Stuff doesn’t go down without a fight.
“It wasn’t easy, earning a place at a Naked merc club,” I tell the audience. “It wasn’t like being at Virtual High, where everything was easy and I fit in. I had to prove myself every day.” I gesture at the frozen hologram. “This was my first night there. I was a fish out of water. But I didn’t let that stop me.”
The audience breaks into applause. Crawler gives me a flicker of a smile. It could be my imagination, but I swear I see a glimmer of respect there.
“That’s how we defeated Imugi,” Hank says. “Global kids don’t give up just because things are hard. We don’t shirk away from scary situations. Global encourages all its students to tackle challenges head on.”
Hank to the rescue, steering everything back in right direction. I jump on board with her.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s what they taught us at Virtual High. On top of the math and science.”
Hank and I laugh in unison, both of us smiling.
“Well, remind me not to stand in front of Global girls,” Crawler says. “I might just get run over.”
This time, when he smiles, I see a flash of irritation. That’s when I know I’m in the clear. He’s dealt his ace and doesn’t have any other cards to play. At least, not today.
“Well,” he says with forced cheer, “I can’t wait to ask your friend Billy Long about his Black Tech when he visits my show next week. Fascinating stuff.”
• • •
The rest of the interview passes smoothly. When Hank and I reemerge into the real-world thirty minutes later, Claudine and Mr. Winn are locked in an intense conversation. Kerry rises from her chair, uneasiness scrawled across her features.
“I told you it was a mistake to turn Crawler loose on them,” Claudine snaps.
“Nonsense.” Mr. Winn waves a dismissive hand. “The girls handled him expertly.”
“Miss Hom did not stick to her prescribed role,” Claudine says. Her screen swivels so she can glare at me.
“But she didn’t crack,” Mr. Winn says. “And the audience loved her sassiness. Besides, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to amp up her math angle.” He shifts his gaze to Kerry. “I applaud your hard work, Ms. Sturgess. The girls performed remarkably well, all things considered.”
I sag in relief. Riska crawls onto my chest, rubbing his head against my chin. I give him a quick squeeze.
“I want the Long and Hudanus interview pulled.” Claudine rotates her screen so that she faces Kerry. “Cancel it immediately.”
“You’re overreacting.” Mr. Winn waves a dismissive hand. “The Wall Crawler interview will remain as scheduled, Ms. Sturgess.”
“Then we need to investigate that boy.” Claudine’s screen snaps back toward me. “We’ve ignored his presence for too long—”
“Someone bring in Mr. Long and Mr. Hudanus,” Mr. Winn shouts, drowning out the rest of what Claudine is trying to say. “They’re up in twenty minutes. Ms. Sturgess, take Miss Simmons and Miss Hom back to the prep room. More practice can’t hurt.”
Claudine makes a sound of disgust. Her wheelchair cuts a ninety-degree turn before whirring down a back hallway. It’s as close to storming out of the room as she can manage.
I trail Hank and Kerry out of the media room, a longing for Gun filling every crevice inside me. I almost wish Mr. Winn would investigate Gun, if only so I could get a chance to see him. But I wouldn’t wish the attention of the Winns on anyone. Better for Gun if the Winns never think about him again.
On my shoulder, Riska lets out a long, discordant mew.
22
Anarchist Rally
The next week passes in a blur. After my near miss with Crawler, I have a new appreciation for how much power the Vex show hosts have over us.
Kerry continues her work with us. I apply newfound enthusiasm to my practice sessions. I don’t like it, but the alternative is worse.
At home, Dad and I settle into an uneasy truce. He doesn’t try to have any more uncomfortable talks with me and I don’t mention Taro or Aston.
I spot Dad and Aston together only once in the cafeteria. I try to sneak through the crowd to eavesdrop, but even with dozens of people milling around, Aston spots me fifty yards away. He leans forward, pretending to get a pancake. Dad never looks in my direction, but immediately peels away from the buffet line and disappears into the crowd. I never see them together again.
So much for getting to the bottom of that mystery.
With all of us being so busy, Taro, Billy, and I don’t have much time to talk about Maxwell, Project Renascentia, or viruses. Over a covert conversation at breakfast—when Hank and Timmy briefly leave us to get seconds on biscuits—we promise to work out a solid plan when our publicity schedules lighten up.
If only we knew when that would be.
• • •
Of all my friends, I’m paired with Billy the least for my public appearances in Vex. So I’m surprised when, one evening, I show up at the Aircat landing pad outside the Village and find him waiting there. He tilts his head, one eye smiling out at me from behind the curtain of his bangs.
“So you’re the one who got drafted to attend the anarchist rally with me.” There’s an amused quirk to his mouth. “I thought for sure Kerry would send Taro.”
“An anarchist rally? Really?” I ask.
Billy shrugs. “Anarchists like guns. I bet we’re going to meet some of Global’s best customers.”
“They probably would’ve sent Taro with you, but he’s booked with some munitions club in a few hours for their annual virtual gala.” I shrug.
“You’re the daughter of Morning Star,” Billy replies. “You’re not exactly out of place among these people.”
“Global isn’t exactly pushing that part of my life.” I make a face and change the subject. “I saw Daruuk a few days ago. He said he’s getting closer on the Vex modem.”
Billy grunts. “He’s been saying that for weeks now. Uncle Zed is going crazy. His Project Renascentia obsession is driving him to do some strange things. Well, stranger than usual, anyway. He’s been staking out different hiding places along the paths that lead to the lab and defense buildings so he can eavesdrop on conversations. He stole a few green polo shirts and turned them into pants to be better camouflaged among the plants.”
The mental image of Uncle Zed hiding in plants in a stolen Global polo shirt makes me giggle. A smile of amusement tugs up the corners of Billy’s mouth.
A breeze stirs the air. I glance up, sighting the source of the breeze: two Aircats. Even from a distance, I recognize the salt-and-pepper hair of Maxwell. I’ve seen him around the Dome over the past few weeks, though I’ve made it a point to steer wide of him.
I put a firm hand on the back of Riska’s neck as Maxwell and his Aircat draw near.
“No,” I tell him, making my voice firm. “No, Riska.”
Riska growls in response, dropping into a crouch on my shoulder. All the fur along his spine and tail stands on end. As soon as Maxwell’s Aircat touches down, Riska launches off my shoul
der.
“Riska, no,” I say again.
He growls, hissing and flapping in tight, angry circles, but he doesn’t attack. Maxwell gives me a dirty look and pointedly ignores Riska.
Billy gives me a look as Riska does his berserk routine, but I shrug and look away, not wanting to do anything that draws more attention from Maxwell. I might never know why Riska hates him, but I can do my best to keep more bad things from happening to him.
I climb up behind him, ignoring the gross smell of cigarettes and my sense of uneasiness.
Our trip to the Fortress is uneventful. We’re delivered to the media room by a bored-looking merc. Kerry is already there, waiting for us. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she still has her chipper smile.
Even though I find her perma-smile annoying, I’ve developed a grudging respect for the woman. For as hard as she pushes us, she works just as hard. She doesn’t miss a single event. I’m not sure when she has time to sleep, let alone book media events for us. But somehow she does it.
At the late hour, the media room is mostly deserted. There are two gray-shirted techs stationed by the Vex servers, both of them with Vex goggles over their eyes. Other than that, the room is empty.
“Hello,” Kerry says, with her customary bright smile. “Have a seat. The rally is just getting started. It’s their annual membership convention and everyone is excited to meet the two of you. Global has some big customers in the crowd. Keep that in mind as you circulate.”
Billy pushes a hand through his hair and arches one eyebrow at me, as if to say I told you so.
We jack into Vex and land in the anarchist site. A long line of people has already formed, all of them eager to meet us and have us autograph their avatars.
Billy and I spend the next several hours surrounded by tattooed, leather-clad avatars who love to shoot guns into the air and shout things like, “Death to the institution!” and, “Nevermind the bullocks!”
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