“I won’t mention him,” I say, thinking she wants assurance I won’t screw things up for Global. “I understand 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 weari
ng 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.”
“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-u
p 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.
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