by Julie Hyzy
“I’m sorry.” Patrick blew out a breath. “Chicago has no upgrades.”
“But they arrived more than a week ago,” Werner said.
“I’d hoped to break the news to you in a less public setting, but—” Patrick gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry to report that the dissident group apparently intercepted the shipment. We have no 6.0 upgrades to disperse.”
“That’s impossible,” Werner said to Celia. “I saw them myself.” He spun in his chair, practically shouting at his brother. “We examined the shipment together. You saw them. We both did.”
Patrick’s homely face took up the entire glittering screen. “They weren’t 6.0s.”
Werner sputtered, “But—”
“Fakes?” Celia said. She turned to face him again. “What kind of idiot are you?”
He didn’t have the chance to answer that because Nick broke into the conversation. “If Chicago’s not ready to go, we shouldn’t move forward in the other areas. Not yet. Moving forward piecemeal could jeopardize the initiative.”
“Jeopardize?” Glen asked. “How? The beauty of all this is that there is no time frame.”
Nick straightened. “Glen, you don’t understand what’s at stake here.” A pointed look from Celia made Nick hesitate before continuing. “What I mean,” he began again, “we don’t do things haphazardly in this company. From the very start, we agreed that we roll out all divisions together.”
“It would hardly be haphazard,” Glen said.
Celia held up a hand to stop him from arguing further. She turned to Werner. “We deserve an explanation.”
Werner turned to his brother again, his anger growing. “Patrick?”
“They’re not fakes, they’re…” Patrick took a breath, then started again. “This all just came to light. We’ve been scrambling to trace how it happened. I wanted to have better news for you by this time. At least we have an idea of who’s responsible.”
“Who?” Werner asked.
The entire room leaned closer as though to better hear Patrick’s answer.
“Tate. Instead of destroying the 2.0 supply that’s been sitting in the warehouse for the past year—the way you ordered him to—it appears he sold them for scrap and pocketed the profits. We imagine he called some recycling company to pick them up. Someone switched labels before the hauler showed up.”
“Tate couldn’t have done that. He’s busy elsewhere,” Werner said.
Patrick blinked. “I guess I would have beaten a path out of here too if I’d pulled a move like that.”
“No, he’s…,” Werner started to explain, then stopped. “He’s on special assignment.”
“I hope he handles this one better than the last one. He told me to my face that you were having him look into an important matter. Next thing I know, the warehouse is cleaned out and his signature is on the paperwork. I know he’s going to deny any involvement, but I have to tell you…”
Like hungry dogs with treats dangled in front of them, the group again leaned forward to hear what Patrick had to say. “We’ve got a couple million 2.0s here and not a single Six.”
TWENTY-THREE
Kenna left Dr. Baxter’s office intending to take a walk along the lakefront to excise her high aggravation. When she stepped outside the building’s doors into heavy cloud cover and the tang of impending rain, however, she groaned in frustration. Annoyed, she took in her surroundings, gauging options. She wasn’t ready to return to AdventureSome for another day of exercises with Jason. Not yet.
Across Michigan Avenue, Millennium Park’s Cloud Gate—affectionately known as “The Bean”—reflected the sky’s gray dreariness as well as the day reflected Kenna’s mood.
Spying a cheerful café on the next block, Kenna hurried across Washington Street with four seconds left on the “walk” signal. She pushed through a set of revolving doors to breathe in the welcoming aroma of fresh coffee. As ever, the smell conjured up a sense of home, of being a kid, and of memories of her parents chatting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around their warm mugs. She didn’t particularly care for the taste of the stuff, but the scent was pure bliss.
After collecting her order of cinnamon tea and cherry-almond scone, she settled herself at a cozy table far from the door, in a corner that allowed her to view the entire establishment at once. The perfect spot was always the one with no one behind her, no one beside her. The habit was one she’d developed from being with Charlie. She used to tease him about being paranoid, but she’d learned to appreciate the comfort of safe awareness.
Even better, this spot sat directly below the Virtu-Tech screen, making it easier for her to avoid watching its nonstop ads. Restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and even libraries were happy to run the company’s commercials. Why wouldn’t they be? Virtu-Tech paid a monthly stipend to any establishment promoting VR adventures. The ads with their smiling, cheerful spokespeople and constant reminders to upgrade were inescapable these days. Kenna was relieved to sit beneath the monitor. In places like this with piped-in music and busy conversation, ads were close-captioned, which meant she didn’t have to listen to them, either.
As her tea bag steeped, she thought about her ransacked apartment and wondered if Charlie would have handled things differently. If it hadn’t been for Patrick Danaher’s cryptic note on her coffee table, she may have capitulated to Vanessa’s insistence that she call the police. Kenna fingered her silver locket. No jewelry had been taken. All their pricey electronics remained in place. Even the gun she kept in her nightstand—her trusty Beretta—hadn’t been snatched. The worst had been the mess of paperwork strewn everywhere. None of Kenna’s important documents were missing. If any of Charlie’s were, Kenna was unaware.
She pulled Patrick’s note from her pocket and read it again. Clearly, he wanted to tell her something. She’d visit him tonight to find out what. That settled, she took a sip of her tea and sat back, doing her best to relax.
By setting tables close together, the café did its best to maximize seating capacity. Kenna broke off a corner of her scone and popped it into her mouth, happy to have snagged this table when she had. The place was beginning to fill up.
“That.” Two tables away, a young man pointed to the monitor above Kenna’s head as he addressed his companion. “The minute we hear when the Six will be available, I’m getting in line.”
The woman, who may have been his girlfriend, shrugged. “I get upgrades shipped direct. They arrive a day or two after the rollout, but it’s so much nicer than hanging outside a store in the early morning. Waste of time, if you ask me.”
“I want to be the first to see what’s new with the Sixes. I did that with the Five.”
She shrugged again. “What’s the big deal with these new ones? I didn’t see much difference when we upgraded last time.”
“That’s because there weren’t a lot of improvements to the experience. Virtu-Tech said they needed to work out some system bugs.”
The woman sipped from her mug. “I’m glad they’re free. Can you imagine if we would have to buy new implants every time an enhancement was announced?”
“I’d do it anyway,” he said. “Totally worth it.”
She laughed, wryly. “Yeah, I probably would, too.”
Farther away, sitting alone in a booth near the café windows, a middle-aged man stared at the monitor ads, mouthing along as though he’d memorized them. Oblivious to the raging storm outside, he nodded occasionally, the soup on the table before him apparently forgotten.
Two young moms plunked their gear atop another nearby table. Parking their rain-soaked strollers against the wall, they stripped off wet jackets and huffed with relief when the three little kids between them were safely settled in high chairs and booster seats. Both women operated with brisk efficiency, handing the two older kids miniature tablets and placing a sippy cup in front of the toddler.
&nb
sp; “My turn to get the coffee,” the taller one said. “Anything special today?”
“Just the usual, thanks,” the other one replied.
When the first mom stepped away to get in line, the second one gave the kids a perfunctory once-over, then fixed her gaze on the Virtu-Tech monitor. Her peace and quiet was cut short, however, when the toddler grabbed one of the older kids’ tablets. The boy shrieked with indignation as the littlest child hugged the tablet to his chest.
“Give it back, honey,” the mom said. Righting the sippy cup that had been knocked over in the fracas, she spoke coaxingly. “Come on, you have juice in here. You like juice.”
The toddler shook his head. “No!”
The little boy kept bellowing. “Please, honey,” the mom said to him. “I’ll get it back. Be patient.”
The toddler cried out when the mom tried to pry the tablet from his pink arms. “Mommy give you a different toy, okay? This one belongs to your brother.”
The toddler pointed to his mother’s purse. “Phone.”
She sighed and dug out her phone, then pulled out a plastic frame that she wrapped around it like a safety bumper. “Here you go. Be careful with Mommy’s toy, okay?”
The toddler relinquished the tablet as the other mom returned to the table with two cups of coffee and two frothy kid-size drinks. “Trouble?”
“Same as always. They always want what they don’t have.”
She sat down. “Isn’t that the truth?”
The boy whose tablet had been swiped pointed to a spot behind his right ear. “And I’m gonna get my implant for my birthday, right, Mom?”
“We’ll see,” she said.
Both moms rolled their eyes.
“You promised.”
“I didn’t promise. I said I’d look into it.”
Her friend leaned forward. “You know they’re bringing out a whole new bunch of educational VR programs designed to give students an advantage in school. It may not be the worst thing.”
“True,” she said.
“Can I, Mom? Can I? You and Dad always say how much fun it is. And how much you learn.”
“How much you learn?” The second mom raised her eyebrows and lifted her cup to her lips. “I’d like to hear more about that.”
“Ha, ha,” her friend said. “Get your mind out of the gutter. What I’ve learned is that there are too many things in life I don’t want to worry about. I just want to go through my life happy.”
When more people filled in the tables between them, Kenna lost track of their conversation. Because Stewart maintained a strict over-eighteen rule for participation at AdventureSome, Kenna had forgotten that kids were often fitted for implants, too. She stared out over the rim of her mug at the sea of café patrons. Could she find one customer not talking about VR? Or not mesmerized by the ads running on the monitor above?
Three young men, no older than twenty, had occupied a nearby booth since before Kenna had arrived. They’d kept their heads low and spoken quietly. She hadn’t heard a word of their conversation, nor had she tried very hard to listen in. But now, as they shrugged on backpacks, and pulled up their hoods, their voices grew more animated.
“Can you imagine how much power that would give us?” one said. “My uncle is an envoy.”
“Envoy school is supposed to be super hard, though.”
Kenna’s ears perked up and she leaned forward to hear better.
“Hey, if we flunk out, I’ll bet we can buy an envoy implant. There’s got to be a way, right? Like a black market or something?”
The boys were halfway to the door before she could stop them. Not that kids that age would have listened to her warning.
Envoy implants weren’t simply pieces of equipment one could pick up and play with. Their distribution was tightly regulated because envoys were allowed enormous control over VR systems. Going in without training and without a properly fitted implant risked frying your brain.
Kenna watched the boys go, realizing how completely Virtu-Tech held the world in thrall and wondering why it had taken her so long to see it.
From her perch in the corner, she slowly, methodically, swept her gaze around the room, studying this random sample of strangers.
Nearly every person in the room appeared to be captivated by VR. Some gestured toward the ads as they conversed with one another. Some merely stared at the monitor as though spellbound. Many, wearing wistful expressions, absentmindedly fingered their implants.
Kenna glanced down at her half-finished scone. She bunched it up in her napkin, threw it away, and headed out into the storm.
TWENTY-FOUR
The moment Virtu-Tech’s meeting broke up, Patrick Danaher got to his feet. He needed to get things moving or there’d be hell to pay when his brother got back.
He opened Werner’s office door to look out over the staff beyond. Each of the three technicians had five monitors to manage, and each worked in one quadrant of a high-tech square. Two women, one man. All kept their eyes focused on the busy screens, switching and updating as information became available on new implants, upgrades, and virtual reality consumption data. Not one of them had any appreciation for the power Virtu-Tech controlled, and even less about plans for that power’s use.
The fourth quadrant position sat empty. Patrick sometimes logged in from there.
He pulled on his windbreaker as he crossed the room. “I’m out for the afternoon,” he said to the group as he made his way to the far door.
One of the other employees, Janet, looked up. Her face was blue-gray from the surrounding screens of sizzling pixels; she always kept the tip of her tongue perched between her lips while she concentrated. Now she half turned toward him, her eyes still scanning the data stream. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Can’t talk about it.”
That garnered him a raised eyebrow. “Ohhhh,” she said, stringing the word out into two syllables.
“Let me know if that Tate guy shows up or calls in.”
“You got it.”
He made his way down to the Chicago headquarters main floor, then stepped out into the gray afternoon downpour. Lousy weather. Perfect. Yanking up his hood, he dug out his phone and dialed.
“It’s me,” he said, when the other person answered. “Get everyone together. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
After disconnecting, he placed another call. “Simon,” he said when the other man answered. “Timeline has changed. We’re moving in today.”
TWENTY-FIVE
A faraway loudspeaker announced the first boarding call for Werner’s flight, but his attention remained on his cell phone screen, where Tate, visibly flabbergasted, protested his innocence.
“I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Werner watched closely, gauging Tate’s reaction for any measure of deceit. En route to Chicago after having endured yet another lengthy dressing-down in Celia’s office, this was Werner’s first opportunity to contact his assistant away from the eyes and ears of Virtu-Tech minions.
“You’re telling me that, since I left, you haven’t been to the warehouse where we stored the 6.0 upgrades?” he asked. “Not once?”
Tate’s face curled up into a snarl. He looked out to his right for a moment as though to collect his composure before returning to meet Werner’s inquisitive stare. “How could I? I’ve been following our target, like you wanted me to.”
“So you say. You haven’t come up with much.”
Tate’s face contorted yet again. “You don’t seriously believe I’d have anything to do with sabotage, do you?”
“Not so loud.” Werner’s eyes flicked up to reassure himself that no one nearby could hear.
“You might be interested to know that somebody trashed her apartment the other day.”
“That was Danaher and his team,”
Werner said.
“Danaher.” Tate snorted. “Yeah, so what did they come up with?”
Werner didn’t feel like explaining that he hadn’t had a chance to talk with Patrick yet. “Enough,” he said. “I’ll tell you more later.”
“He’s the one you ought to keep an eye on,” Tate said. “I don’t trust him.”
Werner shook his head, feeling every one of his years and then some. “It may not matter anymore. Celia is ready to shut me out of the Chicago operation if I don’t produce something positive soon.”
“She can’t do that,” Tate said.
Werner shot him a disdainful glare. “Don’t be stupid. Of course she can.” He thought for a moment. “And she will if I don’t find out who switched our upgrades.” He knew Patrick wouldn’t lie about Tate’s signature on the warehouse receipt. “Trust me, I will find out how the Sixes disappeared.”
“Yeah, well”—Tate frowned—“I got nothing.”
Tate seemed to be telling the truth, but then how had the dissidents gotten in without his help? Werner rubbed his face. He came to a decision.
“I’ll tell Celia that one of the dissidents started talking to you,” Werner said. “That you’re working to get more. That’ll buy me some time.”
“But,” Tate said, “I’ve been stuck following this envoy around. I haven’t been able to get any intelligence on the dissident faction.”
“All that matters is that Celia believes it.”
“Where does that leave me?”
“Keep following that Kenna Ward. Find out whatever you can.”
Tate groaned. “I’m tired of babysitting.”
“You’re tired of coming up empty, you mean,” Werner said. “She’s an envoy. That means she’s smart. Time to up your game.”
TWENTY-SIX
