by Mary Weber
No one under the age of twenty-five, besides Claudius and Miguel, was looking at anything but their hands.
“Inola, if I may.” A man in his sixties finally stood. Hart, the CEO from Corp 13, had helped harness cold-fusion power with Delonese assistance—and since then had been rumored to be investing in another Corp. Which one and what for, Miguel had yet to determine. But the man was seated beside Corp 30’s VP, Ms. Gaines. “Since your team has been investigating closely,” he said, “would you please apprise us of the basic details beyond what we’ve seen on the news?”
Inola nodded. “At 3:35 this afternoon, Corp 24’s player took ill and was replaced by another.” As Inola spoke, the vids around the room switched to display the Colinade’s explosion and aftermath. “At 4:03, that new player, a Kyle Wickman from the Antarctix region, attacked Corp 30’s Shilo Snow and held him underwater.”
The faces staring at the teles were enamored. Miguel searched for any flickering eyelids or flinching lips, his gaze roving faster as he took note of who was watching the CEO, who was watching their own handscreens, and who was watching him.
Because oddly enough, there were a few. And not just in a flirtatious way.
Senator Finn. Ambassador Danya. And, curiously, CEO Hart himself.
Inola’s voice grew louder. “What followed was the explosion from a device that took out one fraction of the Colinade.”
A senator stood. “Do we know how security was breached?”
Miguel caught Hart glance his way again, but the look was gone before he could read anything in it.
“What about Corp 24?” demanded an ambassador, turning in Corp 24’s direction. “Are your people going to take full responsibility for this?”
A different awareness grabbed Miguel’s attention—another gaze directed at him. A woman observing him for the fourth time beneath her heavily made-up lids. Ms. Gaines.
He stared right back at her as Corp 24’s VP stood. “As of an hour ago, we have fired CEO Kim. And we categorically deny having anything to do with this tragedy.”
A low buzz rippled through the room.
Interesante. Miguel moved his gaze and leaned back to sip his té de manzanilla.
And let Ms. Gaines continue to study him.
13
SOFI
THE IMAGES WERE EVERYWHERE THROUGHOUT THE FLUORESCENT-COLORED city. Sofi weaved among the Thursday-night traffic while keeping an eye on the news pics moving across the boulevard’s giant billboards and tall glass buildings.
They reminded Sofi of the one outdoor movie Papa took Shilo and her to when they were little and their small, broken town was trying to resurrect itself. Except these vids were of the FanFight explosion plastered alongside enormous, barely clothed 3-D models selling sex and cars and every recreational experience under the moon.
As usual, half the mannequins looked human; the others mimicked the taller, leaner Delonese with their wider noses and tan skin.
Sofi pursed her lips and glanced away as something shuddered in her chest. They gave her the creeps. The next moment she rolled her eyes as Corp 24’s ad for Altered flashed on—their new DNA detection device. Rumor had it they’d been planning to unveil and demonstrate it on the players at tomorrow’s games for the audience’s amusement. It’d been a joke around the halls for days. “So much for that,” she muttered.
A gust of air billowed through the shot-out window, ruffling her hair with the opposing scents of soy sauce and curry. Her stomach growled as the hovercar’s music eerily thumped in time to the varied news shots on the screens—mostly of the damaged Colinade and panicked crowd, followed by faces and texts describing each of those lost or injured.
“Please mourn with us,” the scrolling messages near the top read. And just below: “Reward for any info leading to those responsible.”
Sofi bent forward to study them amid the flashing lights and colors, grasping for the details she’d missed after the explosion. Until her throat caught at the sudden oversize photo of Shilo’s face on-screen. I’m coming, bud.
A scuffle came through her earcom, making her jolt. “Hey, Sof—”
“Heller,” she cut in. “Have you heard from any of the others?”
He cleared his throat. “From our team? No, it took every hack I had just to find you. I figured Corp 30’d be holding you in the same area they did before. When you were—you know . . .”
When she’d gone crazy numerous times. Yes. Thank you. Her mind flashed back to the nightmares that had originally sent her to the therapist. Usually of herself pinned to a cot with bright lights burning down on her, a butterfly specimen pinned to a board. When her brother found out, he’d made the owl necklace. “To chase away bad thoughts,” he’d said.
She shook off the memory. “Okay, but what about Shilo? You didn’t find anything on him?”
The club’s music pulsed in the background, conflicting with her own and enhancing his hesitation. “I don’t know what you mean. Sofi . . . Didn’t you hear? He’s—”
“Dead, yeah. Except from what Corp 30 said in the hall an hour ago, they don’t even seem to believe that.” She moved her gaze to the accelerating traffic in front of her. “I saw him alive today when they were wheeling me out.”
“Alive? Wait—you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then where is he?”
“No idea. But you did try to find him, right?”
“Shilo? Yeah, totally, I looked for him. Just like the others. But I’m telling you, Sof, we’re the only ones who made it. We were the lucky two.”
She gnawed her lip. Was he serious? How were they lucky?
“Hey, Sof, I swear I checked for him.” His tone grew intense. “Like I said, you were the only one I could find. And not cuz I couldn’t hack them, but like, cuz all his records just disappeared. I figured it was the Corp’s way of cleaning up.”
She frowned. Since when did any of them believe half of what the Corp did tech-wise? “And you didn’t find it weird they’d erase files?” she started to say but stopped. He’d had a crappy day too. “Okay, I’ll look at it when I get a comp.”
Clenching her jaw, Sofi refocused on the sea of red tail beams suddenly slowing in front of her. They bobbed like the fireflies she’d chased as a kid when their house still stood beside the old barn. Back before her dad passed and everyone moved into tightly centered cities to be near Corp resources. A thing she’d hated—the lack of space and freedom from UW-sanctioned peacekeepers—up until now. Because it could only work to her benefit in finding Shilo. He had to be in the city, or at least someone in the city had to know where he was. “Destination in 1640 feet,” the car’s auto-tone said.
Good. She veered into the left lane just as a giant picture of her face from back at the Colinade slid across five boulevard screens. It was promptly chased by a discreet video of covered bodies being wheeled out on stretchers. She ignored the chill that spread across her skin as the large printed words declared her dead. Yeah, that’s not creepy.
“Hey, how close are you?” Her earcom crackled with Heller’s voice. “People here’ve been asking ever since I showed them your vid. It’s all over. They want the scoop. It’s about to hit the newsreels.”
“Almost there. And hey.” She paused just as the street hoverlight changed to green and a group of protesters ran in front of her with their signs declaring “Aliens Will Kill Us All.” She’d actually joined them once, to her mom’s horror—especially when the woman had to send someone down to bail Sofi out of jail. She waited for the protesters to pass her car. “Thanks for your help back there at the Corp.”
“No prob. You know me.” His voice softened. “I’m always here for you.”
She nodded. All of them were. The seven of them had been there for each other constantly over the past two years. Until today. Her throat squeezed.
“By the way.” She frowned. “How’d you get out of the explosion and away from the Colinade? And do they know you’re alive?” A twitch of panic seepe
d in. What if they knew? What if they were tracking Heller?
“Nope. They’ve no clue. At least besides the fact they’re still searching for my body. Like I said, lucky.”
She nodded. “Well, I’m glad you made it.” The next moment she fell silent and accelerated through an intersection, only to swerve at the end before jetting into a lane of oncoming traffic. Three seconds later she slammed her brakes and right-turned it into an alley, then stopped the hover, killed the lights, and sat a full minute before she shut off the fusion engine. Just in case she had a tail.
She’d left the first guy following her back on 8th, and the other two were probably heading for her apartment—but no harm in being extra safe.
She smashed the camera lens she’d recorded her speech on, then double-checked the comp on the car’s dashboard in case she’d missed something. Once done, she opened the door in the thin alleyway just as a drone flew by half a block over. She tugged her hair over the side of her face, yanked the black med gown tighter around her body, and swallowed before looking toward the underground parking garage two blocks away.
“Hey, Heller, I’ll see you in two.” Sofi shoved the hover door closed and took off at a jog in her bare feet.
When she reached the garage, she avoided the usual camera placements and snuck down two floors before stopping at a door with a sign written in black lights: “Mom’s Basement.”
“I’m here,” she whispered and tapped out five measures from the song “We Drink in the Night” on the metal.
The door opened before she finished, and Heller charged into her with as much force as the blaring red entry glow. Short dark hair, dark eyes, and a strobe-light cheek piercing were complemented by a muscled physique that the old-skool gamer geeks would’ve killed for, even though nowadays it was the norm among the top techs. He grinned and released her to straighten his black jacket and jeans. Then scooped her forward and flashed the bouncer a high five, as if to assure him she was allowed.
The female bouncer ignored him and tipped her chin. “Hey, girl, what’s up? Good game today. Sorry about your bro.”
“Thanks, Raj. Nice to see you.” With a steadying inhale, she followed Heller through the long hall toward the lounge as the door closed behind them.
The place was colder than normal, prompting the overhead vents to buzz like the yellow bulbs and make it all a bit misty. She sucked the frigid air into her lungs and aimed for the pulsing colors and metronic music growing brighter and louder as they approached the main room.
Heller leaned in and yelled something about her outfit in her ear, his scruffy chin scratching her skin, but she couldn’t hear him.
Not that it mattered. She was focused on absorbing the noise and cold as it wrapped around her like her headphones usually did. She shivered. These days she craved it—to the point she often dreamt her veins were icing over and breaking her brittle heart.
She smirked. The last time she’d had that particular dream, a guy named Drafe had come to her room and fallen asleep after their time together. She’d woken up frozen and reached for the inhaler she hadn’t needed since the age of ten and totally freaked him out. He never said anything about it afterward, but then, she’d never spoken to him again.
Her face warmed in the flashing rainbow strobe lights as she shoved the memory aside and entered the lounge that was pumping loud from telescreens and gaming teams and music.
Heller aimed them for a set of neon wall seats amid an onslaught of comments and catcalls from the other gamers, including a group of techs crowing their butts off while eyeing Sofi with varied levels of lust or hatred. Or a mix of both.
She put a smirk on and winked for the haters.
“Hey, Sof, you’re alive!” someone yelled. “Dig the outfit.”
“Saw your vid you just made,” said another.
On the back wall above the oxygen bar a telescreen was replaying the actual games rather than the news assessments. Sofi’s shoulders eased as she dropped into a seat and watched. She needed info and answers and a phone, and yet the idea that life was proceeding here just like normal was inherently comforting. In its own sketchy, pulsing way.
“Drinks.” A guy wearing an animated-skull apron handed over two cups of green buzz—a mixture of hot green tea and foaming iced Popsicles. The moment he strode away, Heller pulled out a handscreen and slid it to Sofi. “Grabbed this from your locker back by the chat rooms. Figured you’d want it.”
She nodded and took a sip of the buzz. And promptly flagged the animated-skull guy with two fingers—for a number two on the menu. Then sent him a thumbs-up and swiped the screen with her thumb pass code.
“I pulled the vids I thought you’d want.” Heller leaned in, brushing her chest as he went to tap an icon. An image from a news feed popped up—one Sofi’d seen on the boulevard screens during her drive over. She moved it aside and flicked through the others, but a quick perusal showed more of the same. She closed it out and accessed the Darknet.
“Are there close-ups of Corp 24’s guy or his gamers in the final moments?” she asked.
“Gone. And his file? Faked. Even his name is fake. He’s literally a nobody.”
“Of course. Can we do a money trace?”
“Already did. Nada.”
Sofi flipped to her mother’s Corp 30 database and after a moment pulled up the back door to hack it. Only to realize she’d need more bandwidth—and even then, curiously, their firewalls were brand new.
The animated-skull guy brought over her order. “Ran you a tab,” he said with a sorry-about-your-day wink before walking off.
She nodded and grabbed a synthetic fry, then looked at Heller. “So, what’s the Anonymous group saying?”
“Nothing yet. Though I’m sure they will.”
She nodded and reattacked the comp screen—this time logging in to the UW’s site and bypassing their security with hack codes one of the Ns had given her last week. She flipped through item after item and scanned for anything involving Shilo’s name. Nothing emerged.
She ran a search for his first name, last name, and physical specs. A flood of boxes opened up, but the latest was the morning’s log saying all players were cleared for the day’s challenges. After that—nothing.
“Told ya,” Heller said around a mouthful.
Switching over to the FanFight’s private server, she ran the same search there. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she murmured. It was spotless. As if Shilo failed to exist other than as a general player. “Who could’ve wiped it this clean?”
“Other than you and maybe Ranger? I know of one entity.”
She didn’t want to hear that. Didn’t want to think about that. No, there were others. There had to be. Hackers erased files all the time.
“At least who could’ve done it that fast and thorough. Because if it’d been anyone we know, there’d be residue. Which leaves—”
“The Delonese.”
He shrugged as she shoved a fistful of fries in her mouth.
“Sofiiiiiii!” The squeal came from behind her.
She turned to see what the commotion was, only to find her face on the giant screen at the bar. It was the vid from the hovercar, declaring she was still alive and kicking.
“Shh,” someone at the oxygen counter yelled.
She started to watch but her gaze drifted to the smaller news vid set in the corner of the screen. It was displaying updated pics of the quarter-time break in the FanFights today, just before the water world and shark tank took over. The vid flickered through the players—including Corp 24’s and Shilo—following them around behind the scenes in the med rooms and rest areas before and after she’d left Shilo.
She squinted and moved closer. What the—?
Sofi paused, blinked, and grabbed Heller’s elbow.
Heller frowned. “You okay?”
Both vids abruptly ended to the tune of the room cheering and one of the guys calling out, “Suckaaaas!” at the tele while another pointed, shouting, “Who’s in char
ge now, scabs? Sofi! Sofi! Sofi!”
“I’m fine.” She swallowed. “I just need to hit up the chat rooms.”
“Okay.” His expression was leery. “Anything going on?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared hard at the hall ahead and stepped forward with a sick sensation emerging in her gut. And tried to make sense of the fact that in the background of every one of those pics of Shilo, the Delonese medical personnel had been there, standing, watching him.
14
MIGUEL
IF MIGUEL HAD THOUGHT TO PUT A FIGHT-PIT IN THE SESSION Hall, he could’ve handed out spandex suits and mud buckets and charged money to see the CEOs take one another on. Alas, he had to be satisfied with the underhanded comments from the safety of politician seats. But still . . . the idea had merit.
In fact, he’d have to jot it down for future vote.
He slid Claudius the napkin sketch he’d made of the scheme and was promptly rewarded with a quiet laugh, followed by his friend surreptitiously pointing out a few he’d elect to go first.
Miguel nodded just as the VP from Corp 24 stood again to readdress the room. “As CEO Inola noted, the Antarctix player not only hacked us but a portion of your Corps’ security and firewalls. And, in fact, the FanFight Games’ entire defense system. Making this a global issue, not just ours.”
“Good way to shift the blame,” Claudius whispered.
Miguel snorted and continued to study their faces as he sketched. A habit developed years ago by way of analyzing them. “You study them,” his father once told him, “if you want to work with them.” Miguel had been seven at the time.
Except Miguel had studied so well that by fifteen he was traveling the world with VPs. And soon after, earned enough Delonese interest that the UW had invited him to take an ambassador role—which, unlike the senators who needed election by individual Corporation-taxed constituents, was voted in by the CEOs themselves. Thirty ambassadors filled ten-year terms to represent the good citizens of Earth to Delon. It’d been a ride.