Billy nods.
“Why does Global keep getting hacked?” Hank demands. “Can’t we for once have a normal Vex appearance?”
“Global has drawn the attention of powerful players,” Billy replies. “The League and Anderson Arms have resources and a talented pool of programmers to throw at Global. Mr. Winn is in a powerful position and everyone is gunning for him.”
Gun’s face flashes through my mind—how does he have the resources to hack Global?—but I’m too panicked to dwell on the question.
“Are—are there other side effects to Dream Dust?” I ask.
Billy turns his head in my direction, letting his hair flop back over his eyes. “Difficulty breathing. Vivid nightmares and hallucinations. Elevated blood pressure and heart rate. Strokes. Occasionally, death.”
“What?” Hank’s voice is shrill. “Why isn’t anyone pulling us out?”
“They might not know what’s happening.” Billy rubs her shoulder in a gesture that’s supposed to be comforting, but it’s clear from Hank’s bulging eyes it’s not having the intended effect. “And we don’t know who else has been hit with the tech. The League may have found a way to attack others logged into this site. Half the Global tech team might be affected.”
“We have to get a message to them,” Hank says. “We have to get to Kerry.” She scans the distressed avatars in the audience.
The serpent’s attention is focused on them as he undulates around the room, doing a thorough job of coating everyone with blue dust. People are crushed against the walls, trying to get as far from the League serpent as they can. Many of them are crying, including the buffalo nickel. There’s no sign of Kerry.
“Children,” the serpent rumbles. He turns a lazy somersault in the air, reversing direction as he comes toward us. His eyes glow bright red. I bite back a shriek that threatens to burst from my mouth.
It’s not real, I tell myself. The League is just trying to mess with us.
It’s working. Memories of our kidnapping crash through my head. I replay a string of horrible moments: Taro’s little finger getting sliced off; electrical currents jolting through our bodies from the electromagnetic handcuffs; and Mom getting swallowed by the explosion.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight back the memories. In the real-world, I start to pant, struggling to breathe normally. My heart pounds against my chest. I’m not sure if it’s the GABA in my bloodstream, my fear, or both.
“You,” the serpent hisses.
My eyes snap open in Vex.
“The heroes, they call you,” the serpent says. “The heroes.” He snarls, barring two rows of sharp teeth.
He crosses the threshold of the stage. The four of us hunker against the floor. Taro puts his arms around me, pulling me close. Hank and Billy burrow together.
“You can cut off the head of Imugi, but two more will grow back in its place,” the serpent hisses. “The League cannot be defeated. We will not stop until America is torn and broken.”
His head whips around to face the audience. A gout of flame erupts from his mouth.
Right as this happens, Hank jumps to her feet. “Someone get us out of here!” she screams. Her usual poise is gone, replaced with pure panic. “We’re trapped! They’ve dosed us in Dream Dust! Help!”
Fire hits the foremost of the avatars. They catch fire, flames wrapping around them like a glove. Those nearest them scramble to get away, but it’s no use. The flames spread as though the avatars are nothing more than dry, brittle kindling.
Someone rips the Vex set off my head.
Color, sound, smell, and physical sensation crash in around me. I’m slumped in the green chair, unable to move.
“Looks like I have to do all the work around here myself.” Mr. Winn glares around in disgust and flings my Vex set to the ground. His maroon-and-yellow tracksuit takes up two-thirds of my vision.
Riska is in a state of frenzy, flapping in tight circles around Mr. Winn’s head. He alternates between yowling and hissing.
The big man spares a passing glance of appreciation for Riska. In that brief look, I surmise that Riska’s panic was what tipped off Mr. Winn to our predicament.
Mr. Winn lumbers to each of my friends, pulling off their Vex sets, too. While he does this, he shouts at the tech workers.
“You!” He points a finger. “Find out how they hacked the security code and dumped Black Tech on our kids. You! Trace those League bastards. I want to know their Vex hidey-holes. You! Get these kids some medical attention. Get everyone medical attention. Now!”
A woman drops her tablet and sprints out the door, presumably going for medical help. Three others who are unharmed huddle around their tablets, fingers flying as they shout at one another. Half a dozen of her gray-shirted colleagues lay on the floor, looking asleep or unconscious. One is on his knees vomiting up his breakfast. Another grips her throat as she struggles to breath.
I reach for Riska, but all I manage is a feeble twitch. I try again. I can’t even get my fingers to wiggle. My chest tightens with panic.
“Mrow?” Riska bumps his head against my hand. “Mrow?”
I loll in the chair like a listless doll, unable to move my neck or head. The only thing I can control is my eyes. Breath rasps through my mouth; my heart hammers at an unnatural pace.
Hank, Taro, Billy, and Kerry are all in various states of distress. Hank staggers to her feet and vomits. Kerry, like me, is paralyzed and struggles to breathe. Billy, trying to get out of his chair, crashes to his knees. He scratches at his arms and legs. My body itches like crazy.
Taro lurches to his feet. His face is flushed. Sweat rolls down his neck and temples. He wheezes, clearly struggling to breathe as he totters toward me. He pants and scratches at his neck.
“You … okay?” He falls to his knees beside me. He presses a hand to my forehead, eyes wide as he takes in my slack body. Then he heaves sideways and throws up all over the floor.
I watch his back convulse as he loses his breakfast, but I can’t move to help. Riska mews, swiveling his ears toward Taro.
A team of medics bustle into the room, led by the tech woman.
“Over there!” she cries, waving her arms in the general direction of the entire room. “They need your help!”
“The children first,” Mr. Winn snaps.
The blue-shirted medical workers descend on us. Two grown men lever my limp form out of the chair, carrying me between them. My head lolls backward. Riska rumbles at them, flying in the air above me.
The medics set me on a stretcher. I catch a glimpse of my friends. All three of them are being settled into stretchers. Kerry, too.
Riska lands on my stomach, wings half cocked. He rumbles at the medics, but doesn’t attack.
I’m wheeled out of the media room. The last thing I hear is Mr. Winn ranting at his tech team. The twisting granite halls of the Fortress swallow me.
26
Side Effects
THE CEILING BLURS ABOVE ME as I’m pushed along. The giant blue head of Imugi’s avatar bursts through the stone and stabs down at me.
It’s a hallucination, I know it is, but I try to scream anyway. All I manage is a weak gurgle. Riska goes berserk, hissing and growling. His fur bristles.
Right before Imugi’s maw closes on my face, he puffs away into blue vapor.
It’s becoming more difficult to breathe. I don’t know if it’s an effect of the GABA in my system, or the fear from my hallucination. It was a hallucination, right? Didn’t Billy say that was one of the side effects?
I’m transferred onto an exam table somewhere in the Fortress. A dark-skinned man with white-flecked black hair leans over me, scowling. Our eyes meet. A jolt of surprise goes through me. Though his face is considerably more lined and his hair considerably more white than black, I recognize the face of Dr. Nguyen, one of my teachers from VHS.
A growl ripples up from Riska.
“If that thing makes one wrong move, tranq him,” Dr. Nguyen says to the nearest merc. He then turns t
o the room at large and snaps, “We need to neutralize the GABA. Get them all on a flumazenil drip. Now!”
A needle is inserted into my arm, pinching as it’s driven into my skin. A bag with clear fluid is attached to it. Dr. Nguyen returns to check my temperature, take my pulse, listen to my heart, and shine a light into my eyes. This last seems cruel, considering the monumental effort it takes to blink.
He glares down at me. Dr. Nguyen has always harbored a particular dislike of me. He always went out of his way to single me out in class. He was one of my genetics teachers. What’s he doing here, acting like a medical doctor?
“Monitor her breathing,” he says to a medic. “She’s wheezing, but that should improve as the flumazenil gets into her blood stream.”
He moves away, administering treatment to each of my friends. All of them are given an IV in the arm. Afflicted tech workers are also brought in for treatment, all of them showing the same symptoms as the rest of us. I try to track Dr. Nguyen’s movements, but my neck muscles still aren’t working.
Taro and Hank are each taken behind a privacy screen where they change into clean clothes. Only Kerry and I are still paralyzed. Riska stands guard over me, rumbling every time a medic comes by to check my vitals.
As the treatment makes its way into my bloodstream, my breathing stabilizes. The itchy, tingly feeling subsides. My body starts to thaw. In a short while, I’m able to twitch my fingers and toes. When at last I can turn my head and look around, an inarticulate sound of triumph passes between my lips.
“Mrow?” Riska bumps his head against my hand. “Mrow?”
I scratch him between the ears, looking around for Dr. Nguyen. He’s standing in the far corner, his fingers flying across a tablet.
“Sulan?” Taro wheels his IV across the room and comes to stand beside me. He pushes hair back from my forehead, studying my face. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I say. Imugi hasn’t tried to burst through the ceiling and devour me in the last ten minutes. I consider that a win.
Taro sags with relief and sits beside me on the exam table. He takes my hand in his.
“I threw up on your shoes,” he says. “Sorry.”
I laugh weakly, squeezing his fingers. He smiles down at me. Riska crawls into his lap and curls up, purring.
By the time the four of us are released by the irascible Dr. Nguyen, almost a full day has passed. Kerry, dark circles under her eyes, tells us our appearances for the next day have been canceled and that we have a full twenty-four hours to ourselves. This is the best news I’ve had in weeks.
We’ve all regained full use of our limbs. My breathing and heart rate has returned to normal, but a fierce headache has taken up residence in my brain.
“You might continue to experience side effects,” Dr. Nguyen tells us as we leave. “Nightmares can be especially bad with an overdose of GABA. You might need another flumazenil treatment to completely flush the GABA out of your system. Go to the clinic if you need to.” With that, he stalks away and disappears through a doorway.
Riska growls at him as he leaves.
Billy frowns after him. “Since when did he become an MD?”
“Who cares?” Hank says. “He got us back on our feet.”
She clings to Billy as we exit the infirmary, leaning her head on his shoulder. Taro walks beside me and Riska rides on my shoulder. I scan the granite corridor for signs of Dr. Nguyen, relieved when I don’t see him. With any luck, I won’t run into him again anytime soon.
“Dream Dust,” Billy mutters as we walk. “Uncle Zed is going to flip when I tell him. He’ll be mad I didn’t figure out how to do it first. I wonder who figured out the code. Maybe Ram Sam or Tony V. Those guys were always my top competition.”
“Sometimes I forget you’re a top Black Tech designer,” I say.
“Was a top Black Tech designer,” Hank says. “Now he’s a Global spokesperson.”
“I only did it to fund Uncle Zed’s weapon fetish,” Billy says with a shrug, ignoring Hank’s comment.
Taro and I exchange a look. As much as I want to ask for details about Uncle Zed’s weapon fetish, I restrain myself. It’ll annoy Hank, and all I really want to do is get some food. Maybe if I fill my stomach, I can drive the sound of Imugi’s voice out of my head.
You can cut off the head of Imugi, but two more will grow back in its place. His words ring in my memory.
I jam my fists into my pockets and suppress a shiver.
“Conceptually, I know Imugi is dead,” I say. “I mean, we saw his body. But hearing his voice in Vex …”
“Makes it feel like he’s still out there?” Hank asks.
I nod.
“That’s the point,” Taro says. “Imugi is iconic. His voice and symbol are synonymous with fear. Even though he’s dead, the League will exploit his effect however they can.”
This time, I do shiver. “As far as days go, this hasn’t been the best.”
“Understatement of the year,” Billy replies.
We fall silent as we reach the Fortress exit. Two mercs are stationed there. They nod and step up to the retinal scanners to open the doors for us.
I exhale as I step onto the outdoor landing, relieved to be out of the Fortress. There are half a dozen mercs on watch with the Aircats. Even though it’s nearly nine o’clock in the evening, it’s still bright outside.
A menacing growl erupts from Riska’s throat. He leaps from Taro’s shoulder to mine, claws digging painfully through my shirt. At first I think he’s growling at the Aircats—he’s always hostile with the bigger creatures—but then I spot the merc with the salt-and-pepper hair and white soul patch.
Maxwell. He’s leaning against the wall beside the Fortress exit.
“Looking for a ride back to the Village?” he asks in a flat voice.
I open my mouth to reply. As I do, Maxwell’s face morphs into a blue serpent. Imugi’s scaled face leers at me, red eyes glowing. I stagger back with a wild shout.
27
Maxwell
RISKA LEAPS OFF MY SHOULDER, streaking at the merc. This time, it’s Taro who snatches him out of the air. I pull Riska out of Taro’s arms and squash him against my chest, blinking rapidly to clear the hallucination from my vision.
Maxwell—who still wears the blue serpent head of Imugi—watches us with a bored expression.
“Calm down, boy.” I rub his head, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Keep your pet in check,” Maxwell’s voice says out of Imugi’s face. “I’d hate to see him put down for attacking an innocent bystander.”
The serpent head puffs away into vapor, leaving behind the normal face of Maxwell. He studies me through narrowed eyes, wariness in every line of his body. I make note of his stance: the slightly bent knees, the raised tendons along his neck, and the tense muscles along his forearms. I don’t want to imagine what Mr. Winn would do if Riska wounded one of his mercs. Especially one of Claudine’s favorites.
“Sorry,” I say to Maxwell. “Riska is a little on edge. It’s been a long day.” I inch away from him.
To my dismay, Maxwell pushes off the wall and follows me. “You need a ride back to the Village. Come on.” He dons a neural net and starts toward one of the Aircats. “Swartz, Jumper, Five Toes,” he calls over his shoulder, “get Aircats and escort the other kids back.”
I reluctantly follow Maxwell, rubbing Riska’s head and making soothing sounds. He hisses and pushes free of me. He flies in angry circles around my head, growling in the merc’s direction. From across the outcropping, Billy and I exchange looks.
The merc pauses beside an Aircat, focusing his narrow-eyed gaze on Riska for a brief heartbeat. A shiver runs down my spine.
Something is off. Riska’s distrust of Maxwell—along with everything else that’s happened in the last few hours—unnerves me almost as much as Maxwell’s insistence on giving me a ride.
“Come on,” the merc calls. “I don’t have all night.”
I trail obedien
tly after him. Even though I’d rather eat dirty socks, I need to suck it up. This is an opportunity. When else will I get a chance to talk to Maxwell and glean information?
I climb onto the Aircat and grab hold of the merc’s belt. The faint odor of tobacco clings to him.
The Aircat lumbers to the edge of the plateau and launches into the air. The odd, pungent smell of tobacco is pushed up my nose by the draft of wind. A memory tickles the back of my mind, trying to surface.
Riska wings past us, still hissing. I haven’t seen him this worked up since the League kidnapped me.
“What was all the fuss about in the Fortress today?” Maxwell asks. The casual, off-handed way he says this sets off an internal alarm.
I pause before answering, picking my words carefully. “League attack in Vex,” I say. “What do you know about Dream Dust?”
“Urban legend,” he replies, the words sounding rehearsed. “Why do you ask?”
It’s at that moment, squashed against Maxwell’s back, emotionally strung out and bone weary with the scent of tobacco blowing up my nose, that the memory hits me. It unfurls in my mind, sharp and crisp, jarring me wide awake:
I’m face-to-face with a man who zeroes in on me. From the sudden crinkling around his eyes—the only part that’s visible through the ski mask—I know he’s smiling. There’s a small mole next to his left eye that wrinkles with the smile. He grabs me, whirls me around, and pins me against his chest. I smell sweat and cigarettes.
I scream, absolute panic gripping me as he raises a tranq gun toward my neck.
Thank goodness for the hundreds of hours spent training with Gun and Touch. My subconscious kicks in, knowing exactly what to do. My knife plunges down, slicing deep between the knuckles of his left hand.
Sweat prickles in my armpits and along my belly. Above me, Riska lets out a long mewl.
Could it be? Could the man in front of me be a Leaguer? Was he behind the Dream Dust attack? A deep part of me thrums with anxiety, fear, and uncertainty.
Is this why Riska hates him? Here I’d been thinking it was because something had happened to him when he lived in the Global lab, but what if it was because Riska recognized him from my kidnapping?
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