by Gwenda Bond
The man watched, sad and riveted, as the forms being directed by the Warheads raced around the scene. “They’re doing it—he’ll try to sell the military guys on this now for sure,” he said. “You can all say this is right, but it’s not. You’ll tell them that this group can direct the ground troops better than the best trained officers in the world could do on their own, and it’ll be true. They’d never have agreed, but once he shows them this, he’ll convince them to let us tech up real troops for these guys to drive in the field. He’ll make us do it.”
I almost gasped, but I managed to hold in the sound. Everything came together for me.
This wasn’t just about resurrecting the company’s old research into creating a fearless group consciousness, smarter and more strategic with its many minds. It was about bringing all the old research ideas they’d gotten in trouble for together. Reinventing it with the gaming creator’s technology and theories to make it a reality. The group mind in front of me was simply the first phase.
If what the man said was true, then the next step would be creating the capacity for the Warheads to control actual soldiers in the field. It was so far past wrong, so far past illegal . . . this was playing with people’s minds without bothering to give them a reason. It was stealing their lives. If the military said no, someone else would say yes. Other people with tasks that required intense planning, bad people with deep pockets who would want to be able to control the bodies they sent into the line of fire, or into a building to steal some priceless target.
Someone would always say yes.
I had to try to destroy this here, now, in its infancy, before it could go any further.
I slid my hands into my messenger bag and grappled gently to find the prism flare I’d brought with me, a treasure from Dad’s cache I hoped was significant enough to get this job done solo. At close quarters, it would be bright enough to blind everyone in the room temporarily.
A vibration distracted me.
My phone. I grabbed for it, looking up to make sure no one had spotted me.
The Warheads being in the sim continued to buy me cover, as it had kept any of them from noticing me lurking in the shadows. They were running a complicated formation in the first floor of the building—one soldier shot an enemy combatant wearing civilian clothes but wielding a rifle, and then the squad went into the room past him and planted small cylindrical objects in the corners.
“Now clear out of there,” Mr. Sympathetic commanded them. His attention was trained on the test subjects and their actions in the scene.
So I took a chance and checked my phone
SmallvilleGuy: Ready? The researcher decided to help. Backup’s coming to cover you.
My knees went briefly weak with relief. He had my back after all.
I sent back: When the tones start.
The two of us had to disrupt the audiovisual cue that synced the Warheads’ minds together and allowed the group link to occur in the real-sim—and, unbeknownst to those running the experiment, outside it. Doing it at the right time inside and outside the sim should break the bond as their neural pathways resealed to protect their minds. According to the game creator’s theory, at least.
That theory had better be right.
I deleted my messages with SmallvilleGuy so that no one could find them if I got caught, and then put my hands back in position on the fist-sized faceted cylinder of the flare. I continued to skirt the edges of the illuminated scene, waiting for our moment.
I watched as the black-clad troops left the compound and gathered together on the far side of a stretch of desert—cauterized by chaos, running civilians and commandos that were enemies in the simulation. They faced the large complex they’d been creeping around in, setting explosive charges.
They were about to make a successful strike in a zone that was the kind of populated area the military tried not to drop bombs on these days. And a series of charges set on-site, not just where it was convenient, but in the best possible places? That was an all-new level of accuracy, and would be far less controversial than drone strikes.
I stopped when I was right behind Sympathetic Experiment Man. This was all about to go down, for better or for worse.
A soldier in the simulation had a detonator in hand, waiting. Once the explosives went off, today’s simulation would likely end. We would have only the length of the audiovisual cue to get this done. It should be like the shock of coming out of the game too quickly, but magnified in effect. But if we missed the sync signal window, our chances were over.
“You guys seeing this?” the man said into his headset, low. He put his hand to his forehead and said solemnly, like it was the worst development imaginable, “This is it. Success. What are we doing?”
There must have been a response from the control room, because he lowered his hand from his head and raised his voice: “Blow the charges.”
I guess I’d see what kind of assistance the research man was willing to give to make this right.
The avatar in the scene who was holding the detonator pushed down on the top, and the compound exploded in a series of jarring booms.
My heart pounded, seeming as loud in my ears as the fake explosions. But it was as if I could hear the pitch they apparently planned to give the military—maybe even my dad? It would be all about saving civilian lives, with minimal risk to high-value assets (aka Project Hydra), because on-ground soldiers could take it all, at a much lower chance for human error.
There’d be no worries about soldiers not following orders to the letter, if their minds and bodies were being controlled—driven, the man had said—from afar. No more weaknesses in on-the-ground strategy and behavior. Not when the people making the decisions were safe in a suite like this. They might well be convinced.
But would anyone be asked to consent? Anavi and Devin hadn’t been. Anavi’s friend, the one the rest of the group had taken first when it started to expand, hadn’t been. In fact, from what I could tell none of the Warheads had ever been asked to do anything more than use real-sim tech, without the truth about what this experiment was intended to produce. The soldiers definitely wouldn’t be.
I’d done my homework for the story I wanted to write. Experiments of this nature, with zero informed consent? International law came down on them hard after World War II.
I looked at Anavi and Devin, beside each other, being forced to participate in this, whether they knew they were being forced or not. Their lives would be over if this experiment went forward. Their minds would never be their own.
“Get ready to bring them out,” the man said into his headset. He raised his voice, scrubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “Coming back in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
He started to turn around, and did a double take when he finally saw me standing there. “Who are you?”
“Me? I’m an interested party.” I steadied my hands on the flare. I was ready. But where was SmallvilleGuy? He’d said there would be help with the inside-the-sim part. “I’m here to stop this. Maybe you’re expecting me?”
The guy didn’t make a move, but something shifted in his face. It might have been approval. “You’re young,” he said, voice low. “I did what I told him I would in the sim, left the door wide open. He just had to put in the code I gave him, send the character to the right place. She’ll do the job.”
Before I had time to take in what that meant, the first of the tones sounded. The man stepped aside, clearing my way to the edge of the projection.
In the simulation, a round flying ship ringed with lights flew into place, the pattern cycling over and over. The Warheads began to lean forward, the eerie tones playing in sync with the lights’ visual music.
But the Warheads gasped and cringed back in their seats as Daisy the dragon flew wildly into the scene with a horrifying screech that drowned the tones, before shooting a missile directly into the shi
p.
Which exploded.
SmallvilleGuy had sent the cavalry, all right. He’d convinced the man to insert Daisy into the research scenario.
He hadn’t risked coming himself, but he’d gotten the help we needed. He’d completed his part in the plan.
The tones were still audible out here, cycling toward the end of the tune. The Warheads were recoiling from the fire in the real-sim, but they were watching it, trying to find the pattern they needed. The neural link must be fighting to stay alive.
Too bad.
I closed my eyes, because it was my turn.
I held the cylinder high overhead and yanked the pin free from the top, reveling in the dull boom that signaled the prism flare was activated and the extended flash of brighter-than-bright pinpoints of light on the backs of my eyelids as it blinded the room.
We’d disrupted the all-important signal, inside the game and out. Please let the theory be right.
For Anavi and Devin’s sake.
Replacing the pin, I stashed the prism flare and stumbled in their direction, waiting until the pinpricks of light were gone before opening my eyes. When I did, I saw chaos nearly as impressive as that on the fake battlefield had been.
How much worse would this be if I was coming out of a shock—like when I’d been shot on my way out of the game?
“Devin? Anavi?” I asked, grabbing their hands. “I know that had to hurt, but you have to come with me. Breathe.”
I tugged and they rose to their feet, both of them wobbly. Devin blinked, and blinked some more, focusing on me as well as he could.
“Go! Security will be here any second,” the man said, his hands over his eyes.
Annddd sure enough, an alarm began to sound, ringing and ringing and ringing.
“That’s our signal to get out of here,” I said.
“I’ll be okay . . . ” Devin shook his head once more, his eyes barely open. But he was there. “I can think. Anavi?”
She leaned against him, blinking.
Two men in security guard uniforms entered the room, and I started to steer Devin and Anavi toward the door. I shouted, “Help the kids first!”
We were close to the door by then, and staggered through it. Only to be greeted by more security guards rushing up the hall toward us.
A tall man in front slowed as he approached us. He held out a hand and said, “Everyone’s on lockdown. We’re going to need you to come back in with us and wait it out. ”
That wasn’t going to work. I had to get Anavi and Devin out of here.
Thinking fast, I fumbled in my bag and brought out the prism flare. Not that I had any intention of using it. A repeat flare that quickly after the first could cause more than temporary vision damage. My friends and I were the good guys. And what made us the good guys was acting like it.
But the security goons didn’t know that. They’d assume the worst of me in this situation and I needed them to until we were clear.
The man frowned as I lifted the cylinder, Anavi and Devin shielded behind me. “Back off. Let us out or I’ll set off this flare. I’m guessing you don’t want your prize test subjects here getting hurt.”
They wouldn’t know that Anavi and Devin were useless for their CEO’s evil purposes. Not yet.
The security cowboy started to surge forward, but a hand from behind pulled him back, against the wall. We were allowed to pass.
And there was the elevator, which I guided us past. I opened the stairwell door. “Sorry, we have to take the stairs. Pretty sure they can stop that elevator.”
“You are kind of terrifying,” Devin said, going through to the stairs.
“Thanks,” I returned.
Anavi was shaking her head, her blinks slowing as her eyes recovered. She hesitated at the threshold. “Lois, I—I had no intention of collusion, I—”
I pressed her into the stairwell after Devin. “Good to have you back.”
Both of them were recovering. They were going to be themselves. That was all the thanks I needed.
“Do you think the connection’s severed for everyone?” I asked.
“I could still feel the others when Daisy tossed us out of the game. Weak, but there. The second shock severed us. Cleanly,” Anavi said.
“She’s right,” Devin tossed over his shoulder. “It was like my brain made a moat, forced everything on the other side of it.”
We half stumbled, half ran down the stairwell. “How did you figure it out?” Anavi asked.
“Long story, lots of research. Some help from my trusty sidekick.”
“I don’t think that was a game,” Devin said. “It didn’t feel like Worlds.”
“It wasn’t—or it wasn’t going to be one forever,” I said. “They were going to try to sell it to the military. ”
Maybe even to my dad.
Maybe he would have liked it. Maybe he would have wanted to buy it.
No, I wouldn’t believe that. Couldn’t. It was plain enough that the military hadn’t been told anything about this. And Dad would never have agreed to it. But soon they and the rest of the world would know the details—assuming the rest of the plan went smoothly.
We reached the door that opened to the first floor. Part of me was more nervous about this than any of the rest. We had to make a getaway if we were going to tell this story. That was the only way to ensure the experiment got put on permanent ice. “Follow my lead,” I said, pulling open the door. “We’ll move quick and hope for the best.”
Or not.
The lobby was filled with more security guards. There were stun guns pointed toward us. The tightly wound, superior front desk woman held a taser that I did not doubt she’d delight in using.
It was my responsibility to get the three of us free from this place. Once we were out the front doors, everything would be fine.
That meant holding off security until our reinforcements showed. The only bluff I had was the prism flare.
So I hefted the cylinder high.
“Stay back,” I said.
A tall woman in a suit wearing an earpiece stepped forward. “I’m the head of security,” she said, “and you seem to be abducting two of our visitors.”
“They want to go,” I said. “They never wanted to be here in the first place.”
She ignored that. “I also happen to have this gadget developed by our very own lab that disables that kind of flare.”
The woman held up a long, slender device. It didn’t look that different from the detonator the soldiers in the simulation upstairs had been about to use. “It’s got a limited range, but it can kill that or anything with a signal—like your phones—from here.” She pressed a button on it. “Our instruments were designed to be unaffected by this. Yours wasn’t, I’m afraid.”
To be on the safe side, I said, “Close your eyes,” to Anavi and Devin, before I squeezed my own shut and pulled out the pin of the flare.
But as I’d suspected, nothing happened. The woman was telling the truth about her effective little gadget.
She was also coming toward us.
Which meant the commotion at the front doors was as welcome and as well-timed as it could possibly have been. Jamming the dead flare in my bag, I walked forward to meet the woman, and when I reached her, I did something I’d done plenty of times playing around with Lucy—I tripped. I grabbed her arm for balance, and she reached out to steady me. She dropped the gadget in the process, but I was still in motion, and the device made a satisfying crunch under my boot.
“Um, oops,” I said.
She frowned down at it, and I released her arm and slipped away from her.
The part of Dad’s self-defense lessons about evading holds had come in handy, finally, against someone other than my kid sister.
I moved back to Devin and Anavi, putting a hand around each of their wa
ists. “We’ll just be leaving now,” I said.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the head of security countered, smiling coldly.
That was when James’s shout rang out. He and Maddy stood inside the entrance, having shown right on schedule, and he had his phone raised over his head. “I have to hit one button to transmit this entire thing live, immediately. I think I’ll call it Security Lady Attacks Defenseless Student Journalists.”
Gadget broken, Security Lady had no way to prevent him from broadcasting. I returned her smile, just as coldly.
Or almost. My smile might have included a hint of gloating.
Maddy added a threat to James’s. “In case you don’t know, that feed is showcased on the Daily Scoop’s homepage, but that means all the visitors to the Daily Planet site will see it too,” she said. “Live.”
The nearby elevators binged and people poured off them, including the sympathetic man from the experiment and the rest of the Warheads.
They didn’t look so warlike anymore. They looked . . . dazed. Best of all, when they walked into the lobby, it wasn’t in any kind of sync. The man nodded to me, a thanks in it.
The head of security turned away from me to James and Maddy, “What do you want?”
I spurred Anavi and Devin forward. “They’re here for us. Like I said, we’ll just be leaving.”
The head of security and her team growled at that, but what could they do? Nothing. Especially when the research man stepped up and said, “Let them go.”
Maddy came forward to meet us, and James backed to a door and held it open, his phone still overhead until everyone else made it outside.
James shut the door, and breaking into a jog, said, “We’d better run.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I was already broadcasting,” James said, “the entire time. We need to get a story up fast. Might take longer if they come after us.”
“Excellent point,” I said, smiling.
A taxi sat at the curb and I wasn’t surprised at all to see my grinning friend behind the wheel. “Need a ride, big tipper?” he asked.