“And how about that front kick?”
“You nailed him right in the crotch. If we’d been in the real-world, he’d be sore for a week.”
Sulan’s delight is infectious. She rehashes every moment of the competition, reliving their first victory in the Cube. But as she winds down, a shadow flickers across her face.
“What is it?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“That look wasn’t nothing. Tell me.”
She sighs. “I wish I could tell my mom.”
He gets that. “She just wants to hear about things that are important to her,” he guesses. “Not necessarily about things that are important to you?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
He puts an arm around her shoulders and squeezes. “Our parents can’t always be what we want them to be.”
“I know. It would just be nice if I could tell her. But she’d just be mad.”
Gun keeps his arm around her. Even before they won against the Blazers, he’d determined tonight was the night to ask her out. He completed a special Vex site for her a few days ago and wanted nothing more than to take her there.
“You know,” he says, “we should celebrate. I—”
A loud buzz cuts him off.
“Someone’s here to see us.” Sulan slips out of his arm and punches on the view screen. She makes a face. “The Blazers are out there.”
Gun grunts, annoyed the two idiots are interrupting his time with Sulan. “Do you want to ignore them?” he asks.
“Sort of. But we may as well see what they want.” She palms open the door.
The Blazers are a large team, but tonight only two members competed against them. Hammer is short and stocky with a pretty boy face. Fist is just as stocky but a bit taller. Both have the well-muscled physique common in the Cube.
“Hey, Short Stuff.” Fist leans against the doorframe.
Gun doesn’t like the way he smiles down at Sulan. He stalks over and plants himself next to her. He has a good five inches on Fist, which he does not hesitate to use to his advantage.
“What’s up?” Sulan asks. “You guys want to schedule a rematch?” She doesn’t bother disguising her eagerness.
“A rematch?” Fist glances at Gun. He just as quickly dismisses him, turning his attention back to Sulan. “Sure, if you want to. Maybe in a few weeks. Hammer and I were just heading out to a club. You should come with us.” Fist leans in, far too close to Sulan for Gun’s liking. The guy flashes an inviting smile. “It’ll be fun.”
Sulan frowns, taking a step back. “I don’t think so. Baldy and I don’t go to clubs.”
“Baldy doesn’t have to go.” Fist flicks Gun another dismissive glance. “You can come with me.” He flashes that smile again.
Gun wants to smash those perfect teeth. The idiot wouldn’t dare flash a smile at Sulan without those perfect teeth.
“With you?” Sulan’s frown deepens.
“Yeah. It was hot when you beat us. I want to get to know you more.” He reaches out to play with a strand of her hair that’s come loose. “What do you say, Short Stuff?”
Sulan slaps his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” Her voice is cold.
Fist drops his hand, but not his smile. “I didn’t mean—”
“You can go now.” Without another word, Sulan slams the door in his face. “What a creep,” she mutters.
Gun wishes he could replay the door slamming moment; the stunned look on Fist’s face had been priceless.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Sulan says.
“Why not?” Gun asks.
“Fist and Hammer think they can have anyone they want because they’re good looking. They’re the reason I’m never going to date.”
This brings Gun up short. “You’re never going to date?” he echoes.
Sulan nods, eyes fierce. “Relationships are a waste of time. I’d rather spend my time doing something productive, like training.”
Something inside him withers. It takes all his willpower not to turn away from her, not to let her see the crushing disappointment he feels.
He’d fooled himself into thinking he had a shot at something more than friendship with Sulan. She never does anything other girls do when interested in a relationship. She doesn’t flirt, doesn’t find excuses to touch him, and doesn’t cast covert glances his way when she thinks he isn’t looking.
His feelings are one-sided. That’s all there is to it. If he doesn’t want to lose her altogether, he has to keep his feelings to himself, even if he feels flattened inside.
“You okay?” Sulan tilts her head, studying him.
He forces a smile. He wants to put an arm around her shoulders and draw her close, but settles for sliding his hands into his pockets.
“We should celebrate our win,” he says. “What do you say to watching a few Merc reruns?”
Her eyes light up. “Sounds perfect.”
They settle atop a training map, side by side on their backs. A hologram projector plays a Merc episode above them. Even though she’s seen every episode multiple times, Sulan watches each scene with rapt attention. It’s both sad and ironic she doesn’t know Morning Star is her mother. As she exclaims over some of the more amazing feats of the professional mercenaries, Gun takes a few precious moments to clear his mind and accept disappointment.
13
Gone
“Are you sure she wasn’t being coy?” Nate throws a punch at his head.
Gun ducks, then comes back with two quick jabs into Nate’s rib cage. His friend grunts at the impact and tries to get him in a headlock. Gun twists away. They circle each other.
“She wasn’t being coy. Sulan isn’t like that. She doesn’t play games.”
“That’s why you like her,” Nate surmises.
Gun doesn’t bother denying it. “It’s one of the many reasons.”
“So, what, you’re just going to continue on as her friend?”
“There’s no other option.” Gun rushes in, faking a left hook. He drops low, trying to sweep Nate’s legs out from under him.
Nate dances sideways, then throws himself forward and tackles Gun. They roll across the training mat, flailing at each other and trying to get the upper hand.
“There’s always another option.” Nate grunts as Gun digs an elbow into his groin.
“I won’t risk losing her,” Gun replies. “If that means all I can have is friendship, I’ll accept that.”
“That’s one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said.” Nate whips his neck down a vicious head butt.
Gun reels from the impact, seeing spots.
“Since when does William Gunther Anderson, Junior, settle?”
Nate delivers a left hook that sends Gun sprawling. He rolls as he hits the ground, narrowly missing Nate’s full-body tackle. He lashes out with one foot. It connects with Nate’s gut, knocking the breath out of him.
This buys Gun a few precious seconds to clear his head. He clambers onto all fours and pounces.
“I’m not settling. I’m doing what I have to do.”
He lands a blow to Nate’s sternum, but his friend recovers. They grapple, rolling over one another, each trying to gain the upper hand.
“You’re settling.” Two blows to the rib cage.
“I’m not!” An elbow to the throat.
Nate reels, choking. Gun capitalizes on the moment, shoving his friend backward. Nate hits the padded training room wall and slides to the ground.
“Yield!” Nate holds up one hand, still coughing from the blow to the throat.
Gun drops his arms, recoiling from the string of punches he was ready to deliver. Anger sizzles along his arms and neck. He wants to hit something.
Since he can’t hit his best friend, he stalks to the mini fridge and pulls out two beers. He tosses one to Nate and proceeds to pound his.
Approximately a dozen beers later, slouched next to his friend against the wall, Gun says, “I’m settling.”
Nate belches and rolls his eyes. “I know.”
Gun stares down at his empty beer bottle. His head buzzes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Nate rolls his eyes again. “She’s the first girl you’ve been afraid to lose.” He fixes reddening eyes on Gun as he tosses away the empty beer bottle and pops open another. “Has it occurred to you that you’ll lose her if you don’t act? Someone will swoop in while you’re not looking.”
“She doesn’t want—”
“She doesn’t know what she wants. Look at the facts, Gun. The girl meets you every single night. She might have herself convinced that she doesn’t care about you, but there’s no way she’d spend that much time with you if she didn’t.” Nate gives him a congenial punch in the arm. “Grow a pair, buddy.”
Gun says nothing, opting for another pull off his beer.
***
Sweat streams down his temples and dribbles into his eyes. Gun welcomes the sting, never pausing as he delivers a string of hits to the punching bag.
It’s two in the morning. He can’t turn off his brain. His head keeps replaying the last sparring session with Sulan.
They are in a sand arena, practicing on uneven surface. Touch zings through his system. His foot slips in the sand, sending him toppling into Sulan. They end up in a tangled heap on the ground, laughing.
Their eyes meet. Her mouth is only inches from his. There is nothing he wants more than to gather her in his arms and kiss her.
It had taken all his willpower to turn away and peel himself off her.
I should have done it, he thinks, hitting the bag as hard as he can. It swings and vibrates on the metal chain. I should have just done it.
Nate would never let him hear the end of it if he knew. Which was why Gun was never going to tell him.
He could lie, steel, cheat, and fight, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to kiss one girl.
What would happen, if he did it? Would she yell at him? Stalk out of the training room in indignation? Would it ruin their friendship?
Or maybe, just maybe, would she kiss him back?
His gloved hands connect with the punching bag in a frantic rhythm. Never in his life has he been so tormented by a girl.
“There you are.”
The unwelcome voice sends a spike of irritation through him. What’s his father doing here at this time of night?
Gun doesn’t bother stopping or looking up.
“What do you want?” he asks, rasping from the exertion of his workout.
Anderson comes up from behind and places a hand on his shoulder. Gun jerks away.
“What’s bothering you, son?” Anderson asks.
“Nothing.” Gun yanks off his gloves and tosses them into the corner. He’s not in the mood to deal with his father right now. “I’m going to bed.”
“Don’t you want to know why the Hardon mission was so important?”
Gun’s temper ratchets up several notches. “You came down here at two in the morning to tell me about the Hardon mission?”
“No. I came down here to do some yoga before bed. I was going to tell you about Hardon in the morning. But since you’re up and clearly not going to bed anytime soon, I thought you might appreciate a distraction.”
Gun’s anger fizzles out. He could use a distraction. Maybe immersing himself in one of his father’s many plots would be the thing to take his mind off Sulan.
“I thought you needed intel on the deal he was make for that steel mine in China.”
“That was of importance, yes. But there’s more, if you want to know.”
Gun is too exhausted to play his father’s games. “Sure, okay,” he says with a shrug.
Anderson raises an eyebrow. Gun pretends not to notice.
“Come upstairs to my office.”
Once upstairs, Gun plunks down in one of the office chairs, not caring that he’ll leave sweat stains on the leather. Anderson sits across from him, picking up his tablet.
“Do you remember the exoskeleton project?”
Gun nods. “Yeah. The one pitched by Dr. Christakos. He proposed building a suit that resembled an external exoskeleton. A super soldier suit.”
Anderson’s mouth curves into a smile. “Precisely. A super soldier suit.” His smile broadens.
Gun’s brow lifts. “Are you saying . . . ?”
“I found the material to turn Christakos’s vision into a reality.”
“What does this have to do with Hardon? Andrea’s dad owns mines. You can’t make a suit like that out of metal.”
“He does own mines, but he also dabbles in emerging technology. All cutting edge, speculative stuff. Most of it goes nowhere. Occasionally, he invests in something marketable. This time, though, he hit on something revolutionary. He backed a few garage geniuses who developed a flexible nanobot that’s durable under extreme pressure.”
“Flexible nanobots,” he repeats. Gun’s mind buzzes as he grasps the significance of this new technology.
“Yes.” Anderson’s smile is smug. “And because of your ingenious idea to plant nanos in Hardon’s retinas, I didn’t even have to buy the technology. I stole it.” He throws back his head and laughs.
“How?” Gun asks. “That’s advanced tech. How did Hardon see enough for you to steal the tech?”
“He happened to be serving breakfast when Thompson reviewed the specs with his lead engineer. We got snapshots of everything.” He laces his fingers behind his head.
Gun pulls the tablet toward him. On the screen is live footage of the Anderson R&D lab. The scientists are busy assembling something that loosely resembles a human skeleton.
“You already have a suit,” Gun exclaims.
“I call the project Skeletex,” Anderson says. “I had Christakos begin work on it weeks ago. Standard nanobots collapsed under the pressure of the suit’s recoil, but that’s not an issue with the new flexible technology. We use them to connect with the transmitter in the human subjects. The transmitter will sync with the nanobots and ensure seamless interface. Five suits are in development. This is just what our company needs to set itself apart from Global.”
Despite himself, Gun is impressed. His eyes rove over the tablet, taking in every detail of the Skeletex suit.
“This is why we do what we do,” Anderson says, voice soft. “All our work is a means to an end. You will not always like what we do. Just remember it’s for the greater good of the company and all the people who depend on us.”
“But you could have bought the technology,” Gun says. “You didn’t have to steal it.”
Irritation flashes in Anderson’s eyes, but he suppresses it. “Cash flow is a boon, son. Don’t disregard it. Remember those new solar panels your mother wants for the gardens? Money we would have used on the nano tech can be used to buy them. The solar panels will increase food yield by at least five percent, which benefits everyone.”
It’s a bald lie. They both know it. Anderson steals and cheats and lies because he thrives on the intrigue. He likes pushing others down so he can get ahead. Success isn’t measured by how well he does; it’s measured by how others around him fail.
Gun doesn’t say any of this. There isn’t any point.
Instead, he says, “Mom will be thrilled to hear about the solar panels. I’ll tell her tomorrow morning.”
Anderson’s brow is creased by a brief wrinkle. The millisecond break in his facade tells Gun he wasn’t really intending to buy the solar panels.
He doesn’t give his father any quarter. “She’ll be so excited.” He yawns. “I’m going to bed now. See you tomorrow.”
As he heads toward the door, he realizes something: He doesn’t have to use the same metrics as his father. He can decide for himself how to measure success.
“Oh, and son?”
Gun pauses, hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”
“I thought you might want to know Hardon died tragically three nights ago. His body was discovered on the Thompson ranch. He apparently went on a
drunken moonlit walk and got trampled to death by the horses.”
Gun feels the world fall out from under his feet. His grasps the doorknob, desperate for something to hold onto.
He should have known better than to try and have the last word with his father.
“Guess you lost your inside man,” he says without turning around.
“No matter. He served his purpose,” Anderson replies.
Gun’s feet are lead as he leaves the study and treads to the elevator.
Did Anderson have Hardon killed? Or had Thompson fingered Hardon as a traitor? There’s no way to know for certain. Whatever the case, there is one inescapable truth: Hardon’s blood is on Gun’s hands.
He realizes something else. Anderson is the one person on the planet who can make him angry enough to forget about Sulan. He decides this is not a good thing.
***
The weeks go by. Gun and Sulan log more wins. They train hard, spending long hours together in Vex.
Gun’s father sends him out to recruit more scientists for Anderson’s R&D department. He finds creative ways to avoid blackmail and brute force. This requires a healthy amount of bribery, and, in one case, a favor.
His father nods as each new scientist is ushered into the Anderson compound, though when he looks at his son, Gun notes the lack of approval in his eyes. William Anderson does not like this softer side of his son. Gun doesn’t care. He gives his father a mental middle figure and continues with his work. If it’s one thing he’s learned from Sulan, there’s more than one way to maintain one’s self-respect.
Utilizing the new Lice planted on Sulan, the Dread Twins are able to hack into VHS. They spread among the students, giving Gun a look at the many projects they’re working on.
The most interesting intel comes from the programming classes.
“You know the defense software at Claudine’s party?” Nate says.
“Yeah?”
“She pieced it together from the programs written by half a dozen different students at VHS.” Nate spins a tablet around, displaying rows and rows of code. “I could tell you which student programmed each of the different components. That explains why the architecture was like a patchwork. Different, but effective.”
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