One avatar is an old-fashioned buffalo nickel, with legs and arms. Another is a mustang sporting a cowboy hat, which looks odd sitting cross-legged on a chair. There are quite a few avatars dressed like cowboys and Civil War soldiers.
I’m so busy studying a Winchester rifle avatar that I don’t even notice when the Legion speaker calls us to the front.
“Sulan!” Hank hisses, grabbing my elbow and pulling me up. “Come on.” She gives me another tug, leading me toward the podium.
Inwardly cursing myself for not paying attention—Kerry will no doubt have noticed, which means I’ll hear about it—I put on my best smile and approach the front of the stage. Apparently, however this award is being given, we’re all required to walk up to the podium to receive it.
The Legion members are all dressed in blue pantsuits with American flags pinned on their lapels. A gray-haired man flashes perfectly white teeth as he smiles.
“Sulan Hom, Henrietta Simmons, William Long, and Taro Hudanus,” he says, giving each of us an enthusiastic handshake. “We’re so honored to have all of you here today. I’m pleased to present you with this award on behalf of the American Heritage Legion.” He hands me an American flag lapel pin identical to the one he wears. “This will grant you access into any Legion-owned Vex site. You and your friends are always welcome among Legionnaires.”
He makes a great show of pinning the flags on each of us. I slide a glance at Billy, who tilts his head so that one eye is revealed through the curtain of his bangs. For a conspiracy theory hobbyist like Billy, this is like giving him the equivalent of a never-ending supply of candy. There’s no telling what sort of information he can glean from a fringe society like the Legionnaires.
Too bad we can’t get into Vex. Daruuk has been laboring on his homemade Vex equipment, and as far as I can tell, I’ll be fifty years old before he finishes it.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The Legionnaire claps his hands and beams at the audience. “I give you our young heroes, defenders of our country’s heritage!”
The avatars in the audience stand and applaud. All of them have hands, even the Winchester rifle. I stand with my friends and smile away, like I was taught. Other than my slight period of distraction earlier in the presentation, I don’t think Kerry will find any flaw in tonight’s performance.
“I hope to see each of you at our sites in the near future,” the Legionnaire says. “There are so many of our members who would love a chance to speak to you in person. We have a networking event next Tuesday. Would you consider joining us?”
“That sounds fun,” Hank says. “But you’ll have to check with our Global PR representative.”
Even in a situation like this, Hank manages to bring Global into the dialogue. No wonder Kerry loves her.
There’s another round of applause from the audience. I keep smiling, waiting to be pulled out of Vex.
“Perhaps I can schedule a time for you to visit my site,” booms a new voice. “Our members would like to … sell you. Again.”
Laughter rings out. I look around wildly, searching for the source.
I know the voice. Everyone knows that voice.
But the owner of that voice is dead.
Is this someone’s idea of a joke? Is it even legal to impersonate a dead terrorist? Is the Heritage Legion messing with us?
I scan the audience, but everyone looks as confused as I feel. Or at least, those with the semblance of faces look confused. The buffalo nickel doesn’t even have a face.
Kerry speaks into her ballpoint pen, eyes darting between us and the audience. This is the first I’ve seen her talk to her pen; I’m not sure if this is a sign of extreme stress or if the pen is a link to Global.
I reach for Hank’s hand, only to find my fingers closing around Taro’s instead. Hank is on my left, but I’d reached out with my right hand.
Taro moves close to me, feet shifting into a defensive stance. He gives me a thin-lipped expression. Hank and Billy huddle together, crouched like rabbits at the back of the stage. If someone wants to scare us, it’s working.
The maniacal laughter continues, growing louder. The avatars continue to look around for the source of the voice.
A blue shimmer fills the middle of the small auditorium. It begins to coalesce, bits of sparkling dust coating the audience.
I’m gripped with the urge to flee. Even before the shimmering blue fully solidifies, I know what I’m going to see. The real Imugi might be dead, but the League is still out there. They can still wreak havoc in our lives. I don’t want to be anywhere near them in Vex or the real-world.
Blue dust flurries out from the growing blue ball in the middle of the room, gusting over the stage. I try to step away, but there’s no escaping them. They swirl through the room, coating everyone with a blue veneer. Taro and I inch toward the back of the stage.
“Any time now, Kerry,” Taro murmurs. “You can pull us out any time.”
We’re under strict orders not to remove our Vex sets. Kerry is in charge of our official exits. Unfortunately, Kerry, is still talking to her pen. She looks apoplectic.
I stare at the blue image forming in mid-air. When it resolves into Imugi’s blue sea serpent, my heart sinks into my feet. A small part of me hoped I might be wrong, but there’s no denying it now: the League is here.
The audience, seeing the serpent, breaks into panic. Their words meld into a cacophony, but I snatch a few sentences that fill me dread.
“I can’t jack out!”
“I can’t move!”
“We can’t get out!”
“We’re trapped!”
“The League has us trapped!”
The avatars are in chaos, scrambling around and over each other even though there’s nowhere to go.
“What do they mean, the League has us trapped?” I hiss as we reach Hank and Billy at the back of the stage. Taro’s hand stays firmly in mine.
Billy pushes his bangs back from his face. He stares out at the unfolding scene: at the coiled serpent that sends out undulations of blue dust; at the desperately fearful avatars; and, finally, at the shimmering dust that coats all of us like second skin. He blinks, eyes widening in recognition.
“I—I think that blue stuff is Dream Dust,” he says, voice mixed with awe and dread. “Black Tech.”
25
Dream Dust
Billy runs a finger along his arm, scraping off the sparkly powder. He holds up his finger, displaying the soft blue.
“This is why Kerry hasn’t pulled us out, and why she’s still here,” he says. “Dream Dust is real. The last time I was in Vex, Dream Dust was just a concept, an idea among Black Tech programmers. Someone’s figured out how to make the code.”
“What’s Dream Dust do?” Taro asks.
“Try to take off your Vex set. In the real-world,” Billy says.
I do as he instructs.
Nothing happens.
I can’t lift my arms. I can’t move my hands. I can’t even twitch my toes. My body is filled with an itchy, tingly sensation. Fear rockets through my bloodstream.
“I can’t move,” Taro says, voice hard-edged.
“Me, either,” I say. “And I’m tingly.”
“It’s the Dream Dust,” Billy says, raising his voice so we can hear him over the chaos surrounding us. “It’s Black Tech that triggers a massive release of GABA in the brain.”
“Gamma-aminobutyric acid?” Hank asks. “The chemical that causes sleep paralysis?”
“Yeah,” Billy says. “When the Black Tech triggers the release, the most common side effect is temporary paralysis. Vex users are trapped in Vex until it wears off, or until someone takes the Vex sets off for them.”
“Trapped in Vex?” Hank says shrilly.
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 A
rms 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 to 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 t
o 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.”
Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4) Page 37