Near the end of the week, Kerry hands out a sheet of paper to each of us. I take it, surprised to see what looks like an old-fashioned computer printout.
“These are your schedules,” she says. “It shows when and where you’ll be appearing in Vex, and who your partner is. None of you is ready to appear in public alone. Sulan and Hank, you’ll be paired together for this first round of appearances. Sulan, your job is to mimic Hank’s cheerfulness and enthusiasm. Hank, your job is to continue as you have been. Mr. Winn is very pleased with your work here.”
Hank beams.
“Billy and Taro, the two of you will be paired together. Taro, keep up the stoic mercenary persona. Mr. Winn likes that. Billy, I’ve asked to have your avatar equipped with a pair of sunglasses. This way you won’t have to worry about making eye contact with anyone. That should help you to be more comfortable in public. In return, Mr. Winn asks that you smile at least three times during each appearance. Can you do that?”
Billy shrugs and nods.
“All right.” Kerry claps her hands. “That’s a wrap. Public appearances begin tomorrow. I recommend you spend tonight mentally prepping yourselves. I expect all you to come back here with your game faces.”
• • •
After the Aircats drop us off in the Village, Taro and I drift toward one another, like we always do at the end of the day. Our post-Kerry workouts have become a daily tradition. We hit the punching bags or spar, sometimes both if one of us is carrying an extra load of aggravation. Part of me is surprised at how close we’ve become in such a short amount of time.
I expect Hank and Billy to head off together, like they do every evening when the Aircats return us to the Village. To my surprise, Hank intercepts me.
“Do you want to prep together tonight?”
“More practice?” I shake my head. “No, Taro and I are going to work out and grab some dinner.” I don’t bother telling her that a good workout will put me in a better headspace for tomorrow. She wouldn’t understand.
“We should prep together,” Hank insists. “Like we used to do in Café Blu. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Remembering all our times together, studying for exams in Café Blu, sends a pang of sadness through me. I never thought I would miss Virtual High and my life as a student in Vex. I never appreciated those moments with my friend, and now they’re gone.
“Not tonight, Hank.”
I turn away. Taro raises an eyebrow at me in a silent question. I give a bare shake of my head. I’m afraid I’ll get in an argument with Hank if I stick around.
The two of us are half a dozen steps away when Hank calls out after me.
“Sulan! Wait.” She jogs toward me. “We’re partners tomorrow. I just want us to do right by Global. They’ve given us all this.” She gestures, taking in the Dome and the Village. “I really think you should go home and rest. Clear your mind and think about what we have to do tomorrow when we’re in Vex.”
“Studying was always your thing.” I struggle to control the irritation boiling up my spine. “You prep in the way that’s best for you. I’ll do what’s best for me.”
“Fighting has never been what’s best for you!” she snaps, face turning red. “At VHS you wasted all your free time in the Cube. Now in the Dome you waste your free time sparring and exercising. You’re a math prodigy, Sulan! I wish you’d quit wasting your time chasing your stupid mercenary daydream.”
The rational part of my brain tells me to walk away. Nothing I say will help the direction of this conversation.
The irrational part of my brain is a seething knot of anger and overpowers the rational half. Words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I’m glad you’re happy being Mr. Winn’s superstar,” I snap.
“Just because I care about my work at Global doesn’t mean—”
“Please.” I scowl at her. “Listen to you. Your work? We’re not in school, Hank. Mr. Winn is capitalizing on our tragedies. He’s using us. And if we don’t do what he says, he’ll hurt people we care about. That’s called blackmail.”
“Mr. Winn is giving us a good life here. We owe him and we owe Global.” Hank straightens. “If you want to be angry with Mr. Winn and waste your potential, be my guest. But you’re my partner in Vex tomorrow. I’m not going to be dragged down by you. I’ve got my family to think about.”
In my periphery, I notice Taro and Billy edging away from us.
“Oh. Right. I guess all those years I spent helping you study really ruined your GPA. Don’t you see me making a real effort with Kerry? Seriously, Hank, have I ever—ever—done anything to hold you back or drag you down?”
There’s a brief moment when our eyes lock. Looking at Hank’s earnest, determined face, I see the truth of our unraveling friendship. Mr. Winn and the Dome have driven a wedge between us. We’re on two sides of a rapidly growing divide, and it makes me ache with anguish.
I shake her off and stalk away without another word, blinking rapidly against tears.
18
Dad
I can’t sleep. My fight with Hank keeps replaying in my head.
I wish you’d quit wasting your time chasing your mercenary daydream.
Stifling a groan, I flip over onto my stomach and pull the pillow over my head. Riska rumbles and gets to his feet, turning in a circle to find a more comfortable position.
My back and arms are sore from my two-hour sparring session with Taro. You’d think, with that kind of physical exertion, I’d be able to turn off my brain and get some sleep, but no such luck.
The clock next to my bed reads two in the morning. I mutter in annoyance, wishing desperately for sleep.
The front door opens and closes. Dad is just getting home from the lab now. These long days are normal for him. I’ve barely seen him since we arrived in the Dome.
I listen to him move around in the living room. His footsteps draw near my bedroom and pause outside. Is he going to check on me?
Dad stands outside for so long I begin to think I imagined hearing him approach. Then I hear the doorknob turn. There’s a whisper of air as my bedroom door swings open. I lay still, pretending to be asleep, not in the mood to talk to anyone.
“Riska.” Dad’s voice feathers the air. “Come on, boy.”
To my surprise, Riska rises. I feel him stretch beside me. There’s the soft whoosh of his wings as he flies to Dad.
The door closes with barely a sound. A few seconds later, I hear the front door open and close.
What’s going on? Several seconds pass as I lay there in shock, my brain trying to catalogue what just happened.
I jump out of bed and run to the window. There’s the barest glimpse of Dad’s back before he disappears out of sight, Riska riding on his shoulder.
Even though I’m wearing nothing more than my Global-issued pajamas—blue-and-green checkered flannel with the company logo embroidered on the sleeves—I throw open the window and scramble out.
Outside, I force myself to a sedate walk, as if I’m just out for a stroll. In the middle of the night. Barefoot. With the Alaskan sun casting long shadows across the ground, it doesn’t feel like nighttime.
I spot Dad six houses ahead of me. He passes one more house, then turns right onto a connecting street.
The gravel road grinds into the soles of my feet. I cut to the right, darting between two houses to the green belt that runs along the back of the homes. The Village is silent around me.
I skim along the grass, moving lightly on the balls of my feet. When I reach the cross street, I slow, peering out cautiously. Dad is a distant figure, looking for all the world like he’s out for a post-midnight stroll.
I grit my teeth as I step back onto the gravel road and continue after Dad. Staying a good fifty yards behind him, I follow him through the streets. Once, Riska glances back at me and swishes his tail, but he never gives me away.
A few more turns and I find myself on Taro’s street. With dawning understanding, I realize where
Dad is going.
Dad is going to see Aston. In the middle of the night.
Over the past week, I’ve spotted Dad in line at the buffet next to Aston four times. They never appeared to be talking or interacting in any way, but there was something odd about them being next to each other.
There’s something going on between them. I have no idea what it could be, but I’m determined to find out.
When Dad reaches Aston’s house, I duck into the doorway of a house four doors down. Peering around the wall, I see Dad step through the front door. I dash forward. Reaching the doorway, I press my ear flat against the door.
There’s nothing more than indistinct, muffled voices. The door is too thick to hear through.
I tear around the house. When I reach Taro’s bedroom window, I tap frantically on the pane. His face appears, surprise and concern registering in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he whispers, pushing up the sash.
I scramble onto the windowsill and drop down into his room.
“My dad,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath. “He’s here. With your dad.”
I push past Taro, arrowing toward his bedroom door.
“Your dad is here?” A note of panic creeps into Taro’s voice.
“He took Riska when he thought I was sleeping and came here. There’s something going on between them.”
“But now we’re in here”—Taro stabs a finger at the ground—“and they’re both out there. Dad will kill me if he catches you here.”
Crap, crap, crap. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
I purse my lips and head determinedly to Taro’s bedroom door. It’s worth the risk to find out what Dad and Aston are up to.
Taro’s eyes are still round with apprehension at the thought of getting caught, but after a beat he comes to stand beside me. The two of us press our ears against the door.
This time I can hear them, though they speak so softly their voices drop in and out.
“… Maxwell left again on Monday,” Dad says.
“I know. I had to replace his shifts with some of the other guys. He came back again this morning.”
“… still seeing inflammation in the test cells, but she sent my most recent vaccine with the modified F1 antigen …”
Taro and I exchange looks. There is more murmuring, all of it indistinct.
“… are you sure?” Dad asks.
“Positive. I wasn’t supposed to see the report.”
Their voices again drop out of register. I press my ear harder against the door.
“… more for Project Renascentia …”
“He’s making more modifications to the virus …”
More muffled voices.
“… and you’re going to get caught,” Aston is saying.
“Just because I’m not a mercenary doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be stealthy,” Dad retorts.
“That thing—” Aston begins.
Taro’s bedroom door, assaulted by the dual pressure of our bodies, gives a loud creak. We leap back.
“What’s that?” says Aston, tone rising.
A shadow darkens the line of light at the base of Taro’s door.
My stomach drops into my feet. I have one leg out the window when Taro’s bedroom door is yanked open. Riska bursts inside, flying straight to my shoulder.
“What’s going on in here?” Aston roars, filling the doorway with his large frame.
I freeze, feeling heat rush to my face. Taro, on the other hand, straightens with defiance and faces his father.
“What are you doing with a girl in your bedroom?” Aston demands.
“Sulan?”
Dad pokes his head around Aston’s broad shoulder. His eyes are wide behind his glasses. I see them flick toward Taro’s unmade bed and then to me in my rumpled pajamas. If possible, my face gets even hotter.
“This isn’t what you think,” I say, then kick myself. It looks like we’ve been fooling around. Better for them to think that than to know what we’re really up to.
“Then what is going on?” Aston takes a step into the room, flicking on the light and looming over us. Taro straightens his spine, meeting his father with a steady gaze. He is tall enough to look his father in the eye.
I, on the other hand, am at least a foot shorter than Aston, maybe more. And he’s twice as wide as me and a tad scary when he’s angry. As he glowers at us, my brain freezes. I teeter on the window ledge, trying to decide if I should stand tall or make a mad dash for home. Riska growls, fanning his wings open protectively.
Taro steps toward me. He makes a show of putting his hands around my waist and helping me off the window.
Mortification and comfort rage inside of me. Mortification, because I can’t believe he’s touching me in front of our fathers, even if it’s just my waist. Comfort, because in the midst of this embarrassment, his steadiness helps me rally.
As I drop to the ground, Taro puts one arm around my shoulders. He doesn’t say a word, just cinches his arm tight around me. His muscles are taut. He stares straight at his father, chin raised, expression defiant.
Aston’s face is ruddy with displeasure. Muscles ripple beneath his jumpsuit. My dad keeps pulling at his hair, creating a wild landscape on top of his head.
The four of us stand there in silence. A large part of me wants to curl up in a ball and die of embarrassment. I am many things, but I am not a lovesick girl who sneaks into her boyfriend’s room in the middle of the night to smooch.
No, I’m just a girl trying—and failing miserably—to spy on her father. Which means, by default, I have to pretend to be a lovesick teenager.
I shuffle my feet, scrunching closer to Taro. Yep, much better for this to look like what it’s not. And my red face fits right into the scenario. Riska mews, stepping onto Taro’s shoulder and wrapping his tail around his neck.
“Oh,” Dad says faintly, eyes moving between Taro’s arm around me and Riska’s tail around Taro. “I, uh, think it’s time for me to take you home, Sulan.”
“I agree.” Aston grips my arm and pulls me away from Taro. “It’s time for you to go home.”
Riska growls and takes a swipe at Aston. His claws rake along the jumpsuit, rending four parallel tears in the fabric. My jaw drops. Bulletproof fabric isn’t indestructible, but it’s a lot stronger than normal fabric. Riska’s claws shouldn’t be able to cut through it.
“You should have your suit looked at,” Taro says to Aston. “It might be defective.”
“Time to go,” Dad says, voice a little too loud. He grabs my elbow and swoops out of Taro’s bedroom with me.
• • •
The walk home is agonizingly silent. Riska flies beside me, mrowing and twitching his tail. Dad keeps his hand on my arm the entire time, as if he’s afraid I’m going to make a run for it.
“Dad,” I say when we finally get back to our house.
“Not a word.” He steers me to the couch and pushes me down. Then he paces back and forth in front of me, crimping his hands in his hair and creating a masterpiece of a mess. Riska flies in a circle around his head.
“Sulan,” he says at last, turning to face me. He can’t quite bring himself to look me in the eye. “Did, uh, your mother ever, uh, talk to you about … about things?”
I blink at him in confusion. I was expecting a lecture, not questions. “What things?”
“Things.” Dad makes a helpless gesture. Riska whines. “You know.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Are you and Ast—”
“Things!” Dad shouts, as though he’s trying to drown out my words. He takes a deep breath and yanks on his hair again. “Boy and girl things?”
My mouth drops open. My face heats up again.
A sex talk. My dad is trying to have a sex talk with me. Can I die right now?
“Dad,” I begin, trying to figure a way out of this conversation, “Taro and I—”
“I suppose it’s only natural,” Dad mutters, pacing aga
in. “Aston and your mother—”
“What?” I sit up straight. “Mom and Aston what?”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “You have to be careful,” he says. “Do you—”
“Dad, what were you going to say about Mom and Aston?”
He ignores my question. “Do you need anything?”
“Need anything?” I scrunch my face in confusion. “Like what?” A spying guide for dummies would be nice. Do they even have such a thing?
“Things.” Dad makes another helpless gesture. “For—boy and girl—things.”
His implication nearly makes me faint. Seriously, if I had a gun right now, I would happily shoot myself.
“I’m not sleeping with Taro, Dad.” Riska yowls and lands on my shoulder, the fur along his spine bristling. “We weren’t doing anything. Just … talking.”
“I know what it’s like to be a teenager,” Dad continues, as if I haven’t said a word. “Hormones. Attraction. It’s only natural. Taro is a nice enough kid, I suppose—”
“I’m not sleeping with him!” I stand up from the sofa so fast that I dislodge Riska. He swoops around the room, growling. I take a deep breath, trying to recover a sense of calm. “Don’t worry, I know how the birds and the bees work. Mom explained that to me.”
With that, I charge out of the living room.
“Sulan—”
I pretend not to hear him and shut my door with more gusto than necessary. I grimace as Riska yowls from the other side, scratching at the carpet. I open the door just wide enough so he can zoom inside, then shut it again.
I let out a breath and slide to the floor, my back against the door. This night could not have been a bigger disaster. I can’t believe my father tried to have a birds-and-bees talk with me. How gross.
“Sulan,” Dad calls through the door.
I don’t say anything.
“I respect your privacy. You’re a smart girl. Just … I’m here if you do need to talk.”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
He sighs. I hear him walk away and close the door to his room. Riska crawls into my lap. I bury my face in his fur and groan. I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life.
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