Both men guffaw. Gun raises his eyebrows at them. They sober at his expression.
“Sorry,” Mage mutters. “We thought it would be useful to learn about the Cube, in case you need more intel.”
Gun ignores this. “Did you find out anything else about Sulan?”
“No, but we did learn more about her mother.” Lox passes a tablet to Gun. “She was an underground cage fighter before she turned professional merc. That’s where she first took the name Morning Star. She was one of Global’s top mercs before she retired and became a housewife.”
Gun flips through the tablet, which features several photos of Sulan’s mother. She’s a tall, lean woman with eyes that radiate strength. Looking at her, it’s difficult to imagine her as a housewife.
“Are we certain she’s retired?” Gun asks. “Does she do side jobs for Global?”
“She rarely leaves their apartment,” Mage says. “However, she did leave a few months ago, in the middle of the night, and just so happened to meet with an associate of ours.” He smiles, pleased with himself.
“What’s your associate’s specialty?”
Lox shrugs. “Black market stuff. He fulfilled a rather lengthy shopping list for her.”
Gun scrolls through the tablet until he gets to the list. Cold suits, nutrition bars, medical supplies, and . . .
“A snow cruiser?” Gun frowns at the list.
The twins nod. “We asked about that. Our associate didn’t know why she wanted one.”
Odd. Gun files the fact away for later examination.
“Anything new on Global?”
“Their firewalls are nearly impossible to penetrate. We got through twice, but never for more than ten seconds before their cybermercs terminated our link.” A smirk pulls at Mage’s lips.
“You found good intel in those twenty seconds,” Gun guesses.
“One programmer ran data on all the country’s wastewater plants,” Lox says. “He was analyzing populations and the number of people serviced by each plant.”
“But,” Mage adds, his smirk deepening, “which wastewater plant do you think was near the top of the list?”
Gun doesn’t have to ask. “The Detroit plant. The last one targeted by the League.”
The twins nod in unison. “The very one,” Mage says. “Not at the very top—that was Chicago—but Detroit was number five on the list.”
Gun finds the report and reads it. The twins hadn’t been exaggerating—they didn’t have much—but he could see their deductions were correct. For some reason, Global had taken an interest in wastewater plants and the people they serviced. Perhaps the Winns did have predictive analysts working for Global. Maybe this was how Claudine and Reginald got Global to so many League attack sites.
Or maybe, they provided their intel to the League. Maybe they colluded on targets.
Gun hasn’t told the twins about his hunch. As far as the twins know, they’re conducting standard cyber reconnaissance as a supplement to Gun’s assignment with Sulan. He’s doesn’t plan to enlighten, at least not yet.
“Their firewall tech is well seasoned,” Gun says. “Let’s try the old phishing route. There’s a proxy left over from the old days. I don’t think anyone monitors it, and it shouldn’t throw up any immediate red flags. Use it to email some links on the latest celebrity gossip. There should be a handful of idiots who click the link before security catches on. Meet back here in thirty-six hours with the analysis of all the data you collect.”
• • •
After his meeting with the twins, Gun hurries to the Cube to meet Sulan. He tries to muster the previous day’s enthusiasm for the assignment, but all he feels is resignation and a lump of self-loathing.
The work for his dad is always the same: charm the females with good looks, show a keen interest in whatever interests them, and then betray them without getting caught. He’s refined the technique over the years to the point of mastery.
It was fun when he was a prepubescent teen, but he’s been at it long enough to have developed a low opinion of himself. Even using self-absorbed idiots like Andrea doesn’t make him feel justified.
Someday, when he and his sister run Anderson Arms, he won’t have to take orders from his father. Then he can do things his way.
Gun shoves his misgivings into the dark recesses of his mind. Game face, he tells himself.
He queues the Lice. To deploy them, all he needs to do is flick his right forefinger two times. The Black Tech will crawl onto the nearest avatar.
As he materializes in the Cube locker room, he catches Sulan closing her hand over a bright green lozenge. She’s palming a Touch pill, he realizes, and unsuccessfully trying to hide it. Gun refrains from sighing. His already bleak mood plummets even more.
She isn’t the first girl to want to use Touch with him. Touch is Black Tech that allows the user to experience the physical sensations of one’s avatar. It provides all the benefits with none of the risks of real-world flings.
He decides to play the board as it lies.
“Let me see the pills in your hand,” he says.
“What pills?” Sulan steps back from him, hand still clenched around the Touch, and tries to shove them into her pocket. She’s embarrassed.
Gun doesn’t let her off the hook. Girls that want to be seduced don’t really want to be let off the hook. He plucks up her wrist. She tightens her fist.
“Short Stuff.” He looks her straight in the eye with the focused intensity women like. “If we’re going to be partners, we can’t lie to each other. I’ve seen Touch. I know what it looks like.”
“Why’d you ask, then?” she snaps.
“Why’d you lie?”
She hesitates, then opens her hand and lets light fall on the bright green pills.
Gun lets the moment unfurl, taking the appropriate amount of time to stare at the pills. He senses a fierceness about Sulan, telling him this isn’t a girl who wants to be coaxed or romanced. This is a girl who wants things on her own terms. He’s going to have to make her come to him.
Gun sighs, dropping her wrist.
“So that’s why you came to the Cube? To play with this stuff? There are other clubs for that, Short Stuff.”
Her mouth falls open. He waits for her confession, feeling bored. He can’t count the number of times he’s reenacted scenes like this. All different girls in different places and circumstances, but not any different. The key is to act indifferent or hesitant to the idea of intimacy.
“It’s not what you think,” she says. “It . . . uh, I . . .”
He folds his arms over his chest, making his eyes distant. “The truth, Short Stuff.” Girls love truth. They practically build alters to the cherished ideal of truth, although he has yet to meet one who really wants marred, brutal truth.
She looks so embarrassed that he almost cracks. Almost.
“Last chance, Short Stuff.”
“I want to train with these,” she says in a rush, gesturing to the pills. “I want to learn how to fight.”
Her words are like an unexpected left hook to the jaw. They leave him floundering and dumbfounded. His mood switches from bored resignation to keen interest. She wants to what? He stares at her, realizing how badly he’s misjudged the situation. The realization almost makes him laugh, though he suppresses the sensation.
“I’ve got no one to teach me in the real-world,” Sulan says.
Well, that settles it. She clearly does not know her mother is Morning Star. He has a hard time digesting the knowledge that the daughter of a renowned fighter doesn’t know the first thing about self-defense, but the truth is standing before him.
“I came here because it won’t do me any good to fight with a Viking warrior Axcent in Vex,” Sulan continues. “I’m five foot two and barely one hundred pounds. I need to learn how to fight with my real body.”
Feeling like a complete idiot for working the seduction angle, Gun sits down to get his bearings. How is it that he is so ill-prepared for t
his meeting? How had he forgotten the look on her face when she first entered the Cube? Those weren’t the eyes of a girl looking for a boy to mess around with. He was getting jaded by his work and it was blunting his edge. He vows to reread all her files tonight.
Gun clears his throat, brain scrambling to find purchase. “I thought I had you pegged.” Which is a true statement.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m here because I’m pissed at my dad. Teenage angst and all that. I sort of figured you had a similar story. Why do you want to learn how to fight?” He’s curious and intrigued. He can’t remember the last time a girl made him feel either of those things. “I don’t know anyone with enough money for Vex who doesn’t lease some sort of merc security, even if it’s just a patrol unit.”
“I don’t want my safety to depend on someone else.”
He digests her words. “I can respect that,” he says after a minute. “But Touch is illegal for a reason. People die using it.” He’s here to turn her into an informant, after all, not get her killed.
“Not very often,” she replies. “Besides, these are Uncle Zed pills. They’re the safest on the market.”
“On the black market. You could die. If someone blows your head off in here, you’ll die in the real-world—”
“You don’t get it,” she says. “This isn’t some weekend sporting event for me. I’m not playing out some Black Ice-Morning Star fantasy like other people here. None of this means anything if I can’t protect myself in the real-world.”
“What is it you’re so scared of?”
She doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t miss the fear in her eyes. She really is scared. Of what, he can only guess. He decides not to press the subject. Yet.
“I’m not sure anyone’s ever used Touch this way,” he says. “How do you even know it will work?”
“I don’t. I have to try, though.”
She’s crazy. That’s all there is to it. This diminutive little math genius has a bona fide crazy streak.
He realizes with a start that he’s even more intrigued by her. If this girl wants to learn how to fight, he’ll teach her how. It’ll be a welcome distraction from the rest of his life.
“Do you have access to any exercise equipment?” he asks.
“Yeah. My apartment building has a workout room. Why?”
“I think your idea to train with Touch may work, at least for building muscle memory. I’m not sure about building actual muscles, though. I’ll give you workouts to help build your strength and endurance.”
She perks up. “Does this mean you’ll help me?”
Their eyes meet. He can’t help the slow smile that spreads across his face.
“I knew I was going to like you,” he says. “You remind me of my little sister. She’s rash and strong-willed, just like you.” Compliments are a necessity in his line of work, even if this one happens to be true.
“Does your sister know how to fight?”
He laughs. “My sister carries a gun in her bra.”
“Really?” She sits down next him on the bench. “What kind?”
He laughs again. “We’ll talk about guns next month. Let’s start with some basic hand-to-hand self-defense first.”
The hope in her eyes stirs something within him. It makes him uncomfortable. He tamps down the feeling.
“I’ve always wanted a big brother,” she says.
Alarm bells go off in his head. It is never, ever, good to be viewed as a sibling in any situation with a girl. Too many doors slam shut on siblings.
He made a mistake in comparing her to his sister, he realizes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How many other mistakes can he make in one meeting? He’s acting like a complete amateur. This is almost as bad as his negotiation with Balor all those years ago.
“You have to agree to one condition before we start training,” he says. “You can use Touch, but only when we train together. You leave them on the shelf when we compete against other teams. Agreed?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Good.” And here Gun does his best to do damage control, to get the sibling notion removed from her brain. “My real name is Gunther. You can call me Gun when we’re alone.” In the Cube, sharing a real-world name is intimate, a sign of trust.
“I’m Sulan.”
He smiles, inwardly relieved. With any luck, he’ll leave the big brother hole far behind him.
7
Plant
“Dude, you should have seen the Global hackers at work. They filleted your avatar!”
When Gun gets up the next morning, he finds Nate fully dressed and already working in the study.
“I got you some food.” Nate pokes a tray on the desk.
Gun, squinting in the bright light, eyes the tray. Half the pancakes on the tray have been eaten. The glass of milk has been drained.
Nate catches his sidelong glance. “Sorry, I got hungry waiting for you to wake up. Here, check this out.”
He angles the tablet so Gun can see the screen. His face is gleeful.
“I was monitoring them the whole time. They shredded this first eight facades. By the time they got to number nine, I had planted enough markers to make them think they’d found the real Virtual Identity. This is who they think you are.”
He swipes the screen, revealing a pimply teenage boy. The poor kid is so ugly that for a second, Gun thinks he’s looking at an avatar. Then he sees the look on Nate’s face, and he knows it’s a real kid.
“Global hackers think that’s me?” Gun asks.
Nate bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard, he can’t even speak. All he can manage is a wobbly nod.
It’s been weeks since Gun has seen Nate laugh. The sound is infectious. Gun plops into a chair across from his friend and finds himself chuckling, too.
“I thought they’d get farther,” Nate says at last, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. “There’s an old woman in upstate Michigan with thirty-six cats. If they’d dug through the next six layers, they’d have thought you were her.”
“Good work,” Gun says, still chuckling. He leans over the half-eaten pancakes and digs in.
“How did your first meeting go with the Hom girl? I’ve been waiting for Lice intel, but nothing has come through.”
Gun freezes, fork halfway to his mouth. “Damn. I forgot to plant them.”
Both of Nate’s eyebrows shoot up. “You . . . forgot?”
“I was . . . off-balance.”
“A girl made you off-balance?”
“She’s not like other girls. She wants to train with Touch.”
“She wants to what?” Nate gapes at him.
Gun gives him a recap of last night. “She’s crazy,” he says when he’s done.
“Morning Star’s daughter wants to train with Touch?” Nate says. “Is that even possible?
“We’re going to find out.”
“Let’s go back to the part where you forgot to plant the Lice.”
Gun waves a dismissive hand. “I’m meeting her again tonight. I’ll get them planted.”
“You’d better,” Nate replies. “Otherwise, I’m going to think you’re losing your edge.”
“I’m not losing my edge.” Gun glances up at the clock. “Damn. I overslept. I have a date with Andrea in two hours. Did the cactus come?”
“You mean the saguaro? Yeah, it came. Your sister put it in a red pot. You said that’s Hardon’s favorite color, right?”
“Yeah.” Gun rises. “Why don’t you come with me?” It would be good for Nate to get out. “We’re riding horses on her father’s ranch.”
And just like that, the mirth fades from Nate’s eyes. “No thanks, bro. I’ll just stay here and—”
A knock on the door interrupts him. Gun turns, about to call out. Before he can say a word, his father opens the door and strides in.
“I need an update on the Thompson assignment,” he says by way of greeting. His dreadlocks swing around his dark face.
Gun perc
hes himself on the edge of the desk, facing Anderson with squared shoulders. “I’m taking Hardon a special gift today,” he says. “It will be planted with a spy cam. I should have the intel I need to turn him soon.”
“Make it happen,” his father says. “I don’t care if you kidnap his firstborn or torture his mother.” Anderson strides out, slamming the door behind him.
Gun stares after him, distaste churning in his stomach. He has, in fact, kidnapped and tortured for his father. He doesn’t want to do either of those things again. Ever.
Appetite gone, he stalks into his bathroom to locate his razor and shaving cream. He goes to work on his head, shaving off every piece of stubble he can find. Nate remains in the study, giving him space.
• • •
On the horse ranch, Gun sits astride a gorgeous palomino. The animal trots alongside Andrea’s dappled gray. Green grass swishes beneath the horse’s hooves.
Gun savors the warm wind against his fresh-shaven head. They’ve been riding for over an hour, crisscrossing over the Thompsons’ ranch. What would Sulan think of this place?
“Can you believe the Callins did that?” Andrea is saying.
Gun, who hasn’t been paying much attention, pulls a standard line from his phrasebook. “They’re going to get themselves removed from every party list.”
Andrea nods emphatically. “I know. Can you imagine buying discount Axcents? I mean, you could tell the programming was sub-par. Cammie Callin was pixelated.”
Gun makes a concerted effort to focus on the conversation. “I heard their parents made some bad investments.”
“That’s no excuse,” Andrea replies. “Wearing cheap Axcents is just embarrassing for everyone. I mean, did they even think how it would make their friends feel? Like, why would I want to be seen with them if they’re pixelated?”
Gun clears his throat, taking a moment to compose his response. The woman is giving him a headache. “I hope you removed them from your standard invite list.”
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