Touch

by Camille Picott

  Nate peels himself out of the chair, reluctance obvious in his face. He falls into step beside Gun, the two of them heading toward the elevator that will carry them to William Anderson.

  17

  New Assignment

  “He’s what?” William Anderson’s roar could flatten a refugee camp.

  Gun faces his father’s with a stoic expression, keeping his anxiety for Sulan behind a carefully constructed wall.

  “Reginald Winn is the League,” he repeats in a flat voice.

  Anderson lets out a wordless shout of rage. His arms sweep across the top of his desk, sending everything crashing to the ground. Several sculptures shatter as they hit the floor. A computer tablet lands on its side and cracks.

  “Tell me everything again,” Anderson snaps. “Wait, get your mother and sister first. They need to hear this. And you!” This is directed at Nate, who freezes with his hand on the door of Anderson’s study. “Don’t even think about leaving. I need you here too.”

  Nate flinches, caught in the act of trying to sneak away, and backs away from the door. Gun gives him an I-told-you-so look.

  Once Margaret, Maia, and Maia’s assistant, Tracie, have all been roused—none of them pleased about being woken in the middle of the night—Gun recounts all the information he’s gathered over the past few months, ending with everything he saw and learned at the League auction earlier this evening.

  By the time he’s finished, Anderson’s face is ruddy with rage. “And you stayed for the auction?” he demands. “Why didn’t you come to me immediately with this intel?”

  Gun looks his father in the eye. “My friend was in trouble.” He uses the word “friend” on purpose. He could have used “contact” or “inside source,” but he doesn’t. “I did what I could to help her.”

  “Your friend.” Anderson scoffs.

  “William,” Margaret admonishes. “Our son is fond of this girl. Don’t diminish or dismiss that.”

  “Fondness doesn’t serve any useful purpose,” Anderson says. “Fondness delayed a vital report for over an hour.”

  “But he got a location,” Maia says. “Gun found out where the kids were being held.”

  “And wasted an EMP bomb.” Anderson scowls. “Do you know how much those things cost?”

  “God, you’re insufferable.” Margaret elbows her husband. “Will you give it a rest?”

  “Give it a rest? Reginald Winn is about to pull off the coup of the century! We can’t use any of the evidence Gun gathered. All it will do is prove Anderson Arms had a representative at the League auction. That could get us thrown in jail for treason!”

  Margaret turns her back on Anderson with a huff. “Son,” she says, “you will let us know if any of the drones locate your girl?” Her voice is sweet, but there’s a hard edge to her words. She’s doing her best to soften a tense situation, but she’s not immune to its effects.

  “Of course.” Gun straightens. “I’m going to go back to check them now.” He’s nearly to the door, with Nate in tow, when Anderson stops him.

  “Son.”

  Gun stops, but doesn’t turn around.

  “From now on, your mission is to find admissible proof that Reginald is behind the League. Discontinue all other projects. I want every waking minute of every day spent finding a way to bring down Global. Hell, I want you working on this problem in your sleep. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” As if he would do any less with Sulan out there in danger.

  ***

  She’s gone.

  Gun stares out the window, watching the noon shadows shift on the leaves of his mother’s fruit trees. His eyes are grainy from lack of sleep. His head aches and he can barely think straight.

  Forty-eight hours of searching. Satellite footage, drone reconnaissance, constant surveillance on all Vex sites where Sulan might go. None of it yields a thing. He even sent drones to the perimeter of the cloaked area to do sweeps along the water. A few had infrared capabilities, but they captured nothing but the darting forms of sea life.

  It’s like the world swallowed her whole. Is she even alive? Could she have died in that explosion?

  She can’t be dead. She can’t be.

  He watches the footage over and over. Studies every inch of it. He enlarges the minisub, but can’t discern anything beyond the smudgy outline of a dark-haired person. If it is Sulan and her friends in the minisub, they have somehow evaded his searching.

  “Come on, bro.” Nate sets a sandwich on the windowsill. “You have to eat.”

  Gun ignores him. His insides feel twisted up.

  “Have you heard the rumors?” Nate asks. “There are reports popping up all over Vex saying Imugi is dead.”

  “I’ve heard them.” This might be significant if there was a chance Reginald Winn was dead. But Gun knows better. What’s the big deal if the hired pawn behind Imugi was killed? Reginald and Claudine are the ones who need taking out.

  “Wanna spar? I bet I could give you a good ass kicking right now.” Nate grins to show he’s joking.

  Gun doesn’t smile back.

  Nate sighs. “All right, bro. I get it. I’ll give you space. Just—”

  A sudden high, shrill beeping cuts him off. Both Gun and Nate swivel toward the tablet sitting on the desk.

  “My Vex sweep.” Gun lunges for the tablet. “It found something about Sulan.”

  He grabs the tablet. He taps the screen, connecting it to the larger monitor on the wall.

  Reginald Winn’s onocle face smiles out at them. His olive green cowboy hat is cocked to one side. Gun’s mood sours even further at the sight of the man.

  What would the world think if they knew what Reginald really looked like? He wasn’t the trim, elderly gent portrayed in Vex. He is a fat, blowfish of a man who can—and would—swindle a starving family out of their last meal.

  “Global press release,” Nate says. He’s on his own tablet now, fingers flying over the screen. “Almost two million viewers are watching.”

  A headline scrolls across the top of the screen. It reads, Imugi slain by Global teens.

  Sulan. Gun clenches his fists. If Reginald hurt her, Gun will tear Global apart with his bare hands.

  “My fellow Americans,” Reginald says, “I come to you tonight with the news to make your hearts sing. I come to you tonight with news of Imugi’s downfall.”

  Gun spends the next five minutes watching Reginald spin the tale of four kidnapped teens’ daring battle against the League. Sulan, Billy, Taro, and Henrietta. The four of them not only escaped captivity, but retaliated against their captors and killed Imugi.

  Sulan’s face flashes across the screen. It’s a Vex simulation, not her true face. It’s too smooth, too lifeless to be the real face of his Short Stuff. He should be relieved she’s alive, but the situation makes his temper boil. Sulan doesn’t deserve to be treated like a show pony.

  “The man is good,” Nate says. “First he kidnaps his own people. When they escape and manage to kill his head guy, he spins it into a Global PR wonderland. He might be the brother of the devil, but you have to admit he’s brilliant.”

  Gun grunts, resisting the urge to break something. “I wish I knew why he had them kidnapped in the first place.”

  Nate shrugs. “Who knows? You can bet he wasn’t going to sell them. Not really. Minds like that are too valuable. Maybe it was a ploy to draw out the rich and crazy. Maybe—oh, man, look at that.”

  The headline has changed. It now reads, Meet America’s young heroes tomorrow at 7 p.m. Central Time, Infinity Stadium.

  “He’s selling tickets to a press conference at Infinity Stadium,” Nate says. “Sulan and the others will be there.”

  “Use one of our alias accounts,” Gun says. “Get us tickets. No, wait—get tickets for the entire family.” He snatches up the sandwich, suddenly ravenous. “And get tickets for the Dread Twins. We’re going to hack the press conference.”

  “Hack the press conference?” Nate echoes.


  “Reginald is going to use Sulan and her friends to put Global front and center. When it comes time for Congress to award the defense contract, they want Global to be at the top of the list. We can’t compete with Global’s PR scheme, but we can interrupt it.” And if he knows Sulan—which he does—she’ll hate being thrust in front of the public. Gun plans to do what he can to make it less awful for her. “We aren’t going to roll over and accept defeat.” He strides to the door, taking huge bites as he goes.

  “Where are you going?” Nate asks.

  “To see my father.”

  ***

  When he arrives at Anderson’s study, the door is closed. Four mercs stand in front of it.

  Gun draws up short at the sight of them. He’s used to seeing mercs, but rarely in the personal family wings, and never in front of his father’s door.

  “Sir,” says one of the mercs. “Mr. Anderson has asked not to be disturbed.”

  Ever since that day his father dragged him around the employee hospital, Gun has made a concerted effort to the learn names of each Anderson employee. He might not have liked the lesson, but he got the message: These are his people, every last one of them.

  Even the ones currently standing between him and his goal. If Gun remembers correctly, the foremost of the men is named Jackson.

  “Jackson.” He gives the man a flat look to let him know he doesn’t care about Anderson’s order. He’s rewarded with a look of surprise, which tells him he got the name right. “This can’t wait.”

  He strides forward. Three of mercs hesitate, uncomfortable interfering with the son of William Anderson. Jackson intercepts him, having not such hang-ups.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Anderson was explicit in his instructions. No one is to disturb him.”

  “This can go two ways,” Gun replies. “You can fight me. To be honest, I’m fixing for a few good swings at someone. We can brawl like two drunkards in the taproom, which will bring my father out here to find out what’s going on. He won’t be pleased to find his son fighting in the middle of the hallway like a street rat, but I’m willing to face his anger. Alternatively, I can give all of you enough credits for five rounds of whatever you want in the taproom. My father might be pissed, but he’ll take it out on me when I bully my way through those doors.”

  Gun crosses his arms, staring at each of the four mercs in turn. “So, what’ll it be?”

  Three of the mercs step aside, clearing the way to the door for him. Only Jackson remains where he is, eyes skittering back and forth between Gun and his comrades.

  “Taproom credits, or my father’s wrath,” Gun says. “What’ll it be?”

  Jackson purses his lips, scowling with displeasure as he steps aside.

  Gun blows past them, flinging open the double doors, charging into his father’s study.

  “Father, I have an idea. Global is—”

  He halts mid-stride, words dying on his tongue.

  Standing at the window is a tall, statuesque woman. She’s dressed in a black, bulletproof jumpsuit, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Grime smudges her face, neck, and hands, the only parts of her exposed.

  A wide belt rests on her hips. A dozen empty sheaths hang from it. This woman was armed to the teeth with knives, guns, and who knows what else before Anderson mercs divested her of them.

  The woman eyes Gun from head to toe as he enters, weighing and assessing him in the blink of an eye. Her dark eyes are fierce. She radiates a coiled readiness, as if she could explode into violence at the drop of a pin.

  Which Gun has no doubt she could. He knows this woman, though they’ve never met. She’s the older, hardened version of Sulan. She’s a legendary mercenary.

  Gun is so shocked he blurts out her name. “Li Yuan Hom.”

  18

  Proposal

  Li Yuan narrows her eyes. “You know who I am. How?”

  Gun recovers. “We make it our business to know every facet of Global Arms. You are a former Global mercenary and the wife of Dr. Eugene Hom. Your alias is Morning Star.”

  Her eyes study his face. He gazes steadily back at her, allowing her to take her assessment, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she sees right through his lie. It’s difficult not to fidget under her scrutiny.

  “Please excuse the rude interruption. This is my son, William,” Anderson says. He lounges in a leather chair before a hearth that, in all of Gun’s memory, has never been lit. “Son, Li Yuan has traveled all the way from California to visit us. Li Yuan, please, take a seat.”

  “I prefer to stand.” The woman exudes a calm lethality that Gun finds unnerving. She shifts, turning so that she faces both men in the room. “Nice to meet you, William.”

  “Gun,” he corrects, not liking the idea of Sulan’s mother using his formal name. “Are you aware of Global’s latest press release? Imugi is dead and your daughter is back in the hands of Global.”

  Li Yuan’s mouth tightens. “I am aware of my daughter’s whereabouts, Gun. It’s part of the reason why I’m here. I had to fake my death to get away from Global.”

  She’s alive. Until that moment, some part of him worried Sulan wasn’t really alive, that her manufactured likeness in Vex was all that was left of her. Gun wants to sag in relief, but forces himself to keep a straight spine. Sulan is alive. His world is right side up again.

  “Are you sure I can’t entice you to take a seat?” Anderson asks. “I assure you, these chairs are of the highest quality. I’m sure your feet could use a break after the journey you’ve made.” His smile looks genuine, but Gun knows him well enough to know it’s the same ingenuous charm he uses on everyone.

  Li Yuan ignores the friendliness entirely. “Are you aware of Project Renascentia?”

  Gun wracks his brain. The name means nothing.

  Anderson shakes his head. “Alas, I’m afraid not. Enlighten us, please.”

  Li Yuan considers her words. “What if I told you the central mind behind the League is not only still alive, but very much close to home?”

  Anderson waves a dismissive hand. “Reginald and Claudine Winn are the League. We are aware of this, Ms. Hom.”

  For the first time, Gun sees a ripple in Li Yuan’s poise. She is surprised, but she reveals this with only a flicker of her eyelids.

  “How do you know?” she asks.

  “My son had a hunch. Gun and his team have been digging into the Winns.” Is that pride Gun sees in his father’s face, or is it just his normal veneer of smugness?

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Nothing admissible in court,” Anderson replies.

  Li Yuan processes this intel with a slight tilt of the head. “You mean nothing that can be presented without also indicating Anderson Arms in something less than legal?”

  Anderson’s amusement is genuine. “I don’t suppose you’re here looking for employment, Ms. Hom? Because I’d be willing to make you a substantial offer right now.”

  “I’m here to propose a trade, Mr. Anderson.”

  “A trade?” Anderson’s smile broadens. “I’m listening.”

  “I have a team inside the Global biodome. They’re gathering evidence that can be used against the Winns. Help me extract them. Give all of us a place here at Anderson Arms. In exchange, we’ll give you the evidence you need to expose the Winns as the League.”

  Gun is ready to roust their legal counsel out of bed and have a contract drawn up. But he knows better than to insert himself at this point in the negotiation. Anderson never, ever takes the first offer proffered on the table.

  “Your proposal indicates that you know the location of the Global biodome,” he says.

  “Yes. I know where it is.”

  “How did you come by this information?”

  “If you ran a background check on me, you’d know I still have many contacts in the Global mercenary corps.”

  “Aston Hudanus,” Gun says. “You’re old partner.”

  Li Yuan inclines her head.
“Yes.”

  “How reliable is his intel?” Anderson asks.

  “One hundred percent reliable.”

  “If you and your team have intel that can indicate Global, why did you not come forward with it before? Why do you need my help?”

  Li Yuan begins to pace. “Mr. Winn is planning something called Project Renascentia. It’s part of his League end game. None of us knows exactly what it is, but millions of lives might be at stake. One of his lead scientists—not my husband—has been given strains of deadly viruses to modify. My husband has the task of creating vaccines for these viruses.”

  A knot forms in Gun’s stomach. “What kind of viruses?”

  “Black plague. Smallpox. Cerebral malaria. Others.” Li Yuan stops before the hearth, her eyes cutting into them. “It’s a long list, but most recent efforts surround the pneumonic plague. My husband doesn’t have a vaccine yet. He doesn’t want to leave Global until he has something. If Mr. Winn does release the modified pneumonic plague, or one of his other diseases, none of us can afford to let him be the only person in possession of the vaccine.”

  Anderson rises. Li Yuan is tall for a woman—much taller than Sulan, that’s for sure—but Anderson towers over her by at least six inches.

  “Global needs to be wiped from the face of the earth,” he says. “Give me the location of the Dome. I’ll send every last merc in my employ to raze Global to the ground.”

  Li Yuan stiffens. “There are families in the Dome,” she says. “Hundreds of innocents. Children.”

  “Surely you’ve made difficult decisions in the mercenary world,” Anderson says. “What’s a few hundred when compared to the millions who will die if we don’t act now?”

  Gun senses the negotiation careening off course. The fact that his father is pushing for such a rash act shows how rattled he is.

  “Think about what you’re saying,” Gun says. “How will it look to the world when Anderson Arms launches an unprovoked attack against Global?