Virtual Sabotage

by Julie Hyzy

  The werewolf stepped off the blond girl’s back and began to sniff the ground, probably smelling Kenna’s blood.

  Rising hatred bubbled up from Kenna’s gut, lodging itself hot in the back of her throat. The creature that killed Charlie now wanted to kill her, too. The hell if she was going to let that happen.

  Schematics be damned. She turned and sighted the werewolf down the barrel of the pistol. Clenching her teeth, she cocked the hammer back and curled her finger around the trigger. Her brain screamed: Kill the sucker.

  The barrel wobbled in her shaking hands.

  She hated this werewolf. Hated it with every cell of her being.

  Stop. This is only a clever mixture of pixels and synapses and light and smoke and mirrors. It isn’t real.

  She couldn’t hate it.

  But it had killed Charlie.

  Moving closer, its pale eyes shifted, searching warily, as if to see what it knew was there but could only smell and sense.

  “Die,” she said.

  She increased pressure on the trigger, ready to blow the werewolf’s head to kingdom come.

  She inhaled, stopped, then gently removed her finger from the trigger and dropped the gun to her side.

  “Nothing is real. Everything is perfectly safe.”

  But her shoulder didn’t feel perfectly safe.

  When Kenna shook her head, it felt as though she were banging it against a wall. She wouldn’t kill the monster. She couldn’t kill it. Then they—whoever they were—would win.

  Bringing the gun up again, two-handed, she sighted the werewolf’s front leg as it loomed closer. Maybe a dead werewolf wouldn’t be any good, but an incapacitated one could serve her purposes just as well.

  She fired, wincing at the sound and recoil of the blast. It jerked her shoulder. Exploding powder lit up the darkness.

  The creature fell back, letting loose a call of frenzied pain that sent shivers up the back of Kenna’s neck. She stood her ground, watching as the beast struggled to pull its bulk up to stand again, tucking its head down, whimpering as it did.

  Was this really only an oversize wolf, protecting its territory? Was she being ridiculous to believe that a mythical creature might lead her to Charlie’s killers? Her conscience jolted at the sight of the beast licking its wound, and she wondered, not for the first time, what the hell was going on.

  The whimpers grew softer as the pink tongue worked at the front paw’s bloody gash.

  Her own injury, the pulsating open wound on the side of her head, and the sight of the damage she just inflicted constricted her throat and brought hot pressure to her eyes.

  Charlie.

  A vision of his face floated into her mind, his expression concerned, his head shaking from side to side.

  “‘Nothing is real,’” she said, but her voice trembled. “‘Everything is perfectly safe.’”

  She lifted her head at a hoarse growl.

  The werewolf charged, its mouth wide, its breath steaming, its forepaw amazingly healed.

  She pulled the gun up again, realizing too late that she’d used her only bullet. Remembering her training from envoy school, she thought fast. “Program!” she screamed as the monster bore down on her. “Reload!”

  As the VR system processed her command, she stumbled backward. Keeping the gun pointed dead center of the creature’s head, she knew the matrix hadn’t fully recorded, but she’d take what she got. Staying here any longer could be fatal. For her body and her mind.

  Her eyes flicked down to the gun’s chamber an arm’s length away. The werewolf, screaming, lunged. Though the bullet’s appearance and her loading technique had taken no more than a few seconds, the sequence crawled in hideously slow motion.

  She fired at the moment the beast’s jaws clamped. The explosion from the firearm rocked her back, and her arm scraped against sharp teeth, sending the pistol skittering to the ground.

  The werewolf fell at her feet, its legs twitching, swinging its head back and forth as it howled.

  Kenna backed farther away. Her entire body shook with cold, fear, and a sense of dread she’d never before experienced in a VR scenario. “‘Nothing is real,’” she started to say, when she spotted an odd patch of color beneath the creature’s fur.

  Curious, she inched forward, coming within five feet of the creature, its body shuddering with wracking spasms from the wound in its chest, its breathing wet and labored. She must have gotten it in the heart. Blood pumped out, fountaining from the site, puddling around the stones beneath it.

  Lying on its side, the werewolf arched its back, stretching its neck till she could see the tendons of its throat through the taut fur.

  The colored patch grew more distinct.

  Furry animals were not blue.

  She stepped closer to examine the patch, and the werewolf closed its eyes, going perfectly still. The odd thing was, it seemed as though it had closed its eyes on purpose. Animals didn’t do that, either.

  Fixing her recorder on its relaxed form, she watched as the meter told her that the entire matrix was less than a minute away from completion. She crouched, pushing the blue-tinged fur aside to explore what looked like a tattoo on the beast’s skin.

  A blue tattoo.

  She couldn’t make out the design, but now that the creature was dead, it would disappear at any moment. She had no time to waste. Remembering the era, she called out for a straight razor, and one appeared in her hand.

  Careful not to damage the tattooed skin, she began to shave away the fur. But the yellow fur was coarse, and it took too long.

  Cold fingers of apprehension danced up the back of her neck.

  This creature should have dissolved by now. Scenarios never went on very long past resolution. Was another person involved? Would another character emerge from the woods to play a key role in this story?

  With her left hand on the beast’s shoulder, and her right hand poised above, she let her eyes wander to the bloody hole in the werewolf’s chest.

  Disbelief paralyzed her: even as the wound stopped bleeding, it began to seal. Healing itself.

  “No,” she said. Too late.

  With a sharp intake of breath that roared beneath Kenna’s hand, the werewolf opened its eyes and leaped to its feet.

  Knocked to her butt, Kenna crab-crawled backward, ignoring the stabbing pain from the razor tucked into her palm.

  The werewolf growled, coming around to face Kenna. It could smell her. It could see her.

  The fingers of her left hand fumbled across the clammy ground searching for the gun, her brain doing its best to make sense of this.

  The long snout came within inches of her nose. As though the creature wanted to taunt her before killing her, its growl steamed hot and wet against her face. The rancid smell of its breath churned her stomach. Frozen to the spot with fear, she choked back the rush of bile—unable to even turn her head to retch. Kenna’s heart pulsed in her ears; her head hammered in terror. Get away, she told herself. Get away. She slashed out defensively with the razor, its shiny blade shimmering in the moonlight. The werewolf jumped back.

  How could it be afraid of this little blade?

  The realization hit Kenna with clarity that left her breathless. A silver blade.

  On her hands and knees now, she switched the blade to her left hand and searched for the gun with her right, screaming a command for a silver bullet. Her fingers wrapped around the gun’s barrel. The werewolf turned toward the sound of her voice.

  Nothing appeared.

  “Now!” she screamed. “Give me a goddamn silver bullet!”

  Still nothing.

  She didn’t have time to think—to try to reason why a silver bullet couldn’t be conjured up in this scenario. Grabbing at the locket hanging from the silver chain around her neck, Kenna yanked it off. Righting the pistol, she shouted
for gunpowder and firing cap, and took the precious seconds she needed to load the weapon and point it toward the beast. She sucked in a breath.

  It leaped.

  She fired.

  What took a mere second expanded to feel like hours as the shiny projectile exploded from the chamber.

  The werewolf fell back again, its scream different this time, louder. Frenzied.

  No twitching, no spasms. It simply lay there, staring up at the moon. And as it howled at the sky, Kenna got to her feet.

  With a brief glance at the recorder, satisfied that she’d gathered all the data she needed, she raced to the creature’s side. She didn’t ever want to meet this thing again, no matter how controlled the circumstances. She needed to find this tattoo fast.

  Switching the razor back to her right hand and blinking away the burning pain in her left, she worked as fast to shave away the monster’s fur.

  Seconds later, she’d cleared a wide enough swath to recognize the pattern on the tattooed skin.

  With a staggered step backward, the razor fell from her grip onto the cobblestone ground. Its metallic ping rang like a bell in the open air.

  Kenna stood there a long time, her breath coming out in ragged gusts. She stared.

  A bright blue infinity symbol with Virtu on one side, and Tech on the other, was tattooed onto the animal’s skin.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Light faded to darkness and gradually back to light as the Virtu-Tech icon shimmered and dissolved.

  Kenna blinked, coming aware of her surroundings as though waking from a deep sleep. It took long minutes for her mind to process what her eyes were seeing, skewed as her view was. Lying more or less on her side, she’d fallen and twisted so that her face pressed hard against the VR capsule’s chilly tiled floor.

  Turning, she tried to pull herself up onto all fours but stopped, waiting for the pounding in her head to subside before moving again. The headgear she’d donned before entering the scene was slightly askew. Her temples throbbed as she eased to sit, her right hand instinctively grabbing her left shoulder, rubbing it to ease the knot of pain. This would be one nasty bruise.

  She tugged the blinder off, crying out at the unexpected pain. Her fingers reached up to find a sensitive gash on the left near her crown. The dried blood must have adhered her broken skin to the equipment. Ripped anew, bubbling sticky-warm blood leaked down her hand.

  Blood smears streaked the tile floor beneath her. Now she understood why it had felt as though she’d pounded her head against a wall. In a way, that’s exactly what she had been doing. Wincing, she sat back on her heels and gingerly began the disconnecting process.

  Gritty and drained, Kenna stood, knowing she still had to clean up the place—get it back to normal so that no one would know she’d been here. She swept her surroundings with a weary gaze. She’d never felt this drained before, never so wholly lost track of time before.

  All that mattered now was tracing that werewolf back through the matrix until it led her to whoever killed Charlie. Then she’d have all the time in the world to avenge his death.

  After Kenna verified that she’d been able to record the pertinent werewolf information, she transferred the data to a memory stick, pocketed it, and then made certain to delete any record of her recent adventure from the system’s hard drive. She waited till verification beeped.

  Across the room a digital readout broadcast the time in red numerals—0453. Nearly five in the morning.

  She couldn’t put her full weight on her right leg. The same calf that’d been speared by the Hun warriors had been pierced by the werewolf’s claw.

  But that didn’t really happen, Kenna told herself.

  Still, it sure felt as though it had.

  Grabbing paper towels from one of the washrooms, she mopped up the remaining blood from her head wound, bundled the sheets up, and shoved them into her pockets.

  Time to go.

  THIRTY

  Ready to get back in there today?” Jason asked Kenna when she walked in that morning. A second later, he said, “You feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Kenna ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it up and out of her face. “Lot on my mind. Is Vanessa here yet?”

  “Haven’t seen her.” Jason half rose from his seat. “Let me finish my coffee and my Flaxibar and we can get started.”

  “No exercises for me today,” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”

  When she sat down without answering, he tried again. “Something amiss?” he asked.

  Yeah, you borrowed a part of my program and didn’t put it back, you jerk.

  “Amiss?” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Stewart and Vanessa mentioned that you’ve been running VR scenarios on your own.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not if you’re getting in extra practice.”

  “What else would I be doing?”

  “You tell me.”

  He squinted at her. “If you mean—”

  Stewart came in, interrupting Jason. “Good to see you two getting along,” he said. “We’ll be up to full strength in no time. I’m sure of it.”

  Kenna leaned forward. “How come Vanessa isn’t in yet?” she asked with a glance at the office clock. “She’s usually here by now.”

  “Taking a half day, she said,” Stewart answered. “She’ll be here this afternoon. Out late with the new beau again last night,” he said with a wry grin. “Let’s hope this one is an improvement over the last guy.”

  When Stewart retreated to his office, Kenna stood. “What were you about to say?” she asked Jason. “Before Stewart came in?”

  With a glance around as though to ensure no one was listening, Jason leaned forward. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said quietly.

  “Really?” she said. “Then what were you up to?”

  “I don’t know how you figured it out,” he went on. “I made sure to delete any changes I made to the program before I left.”

  “You stole the werewolf element.”

  “I didn’t. I copied it.”

  Kenna shook her head.

  “Look,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “it was probably out of line for me to take a look at your program. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” she repeated. “For invading my privacy? For stealing an element and transferring it into some wacky rescue fantasy you wanted to play out? What language was your blond friend speaking, anyway? I couldn’t understand a word.”

  He scratched the top of his bald head. “I swear I copied it.”

  Kenna blinked. He seemed to be telling the truth about that.

  “You’re a tough person to figure out,” Jason said. “Maybe it’s a poor excuse, but it’s the only one I have. I wanted to understand you better. I thought it’d help if I knew what happened in there.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Yeah, I know. But back home we jumped in and out of each other’s programs all the time. If you didn’t want anyone else to mess with it, you locked it with a password.”

  “That’s not how we operate here.”

  “I understand that now.”

  Kenna thought again about what he’d said. “You’re being straight with me when you said you tried to copy the werewolf?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be straight with you?”

  Kenna held out both hands. “Seriously?”

  “Give me a break,” he said. “I honestly believed I’d copied the werewolf. I wouldn’t have touched it otherwise. I didn’t want you to know I’d been in there.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m going home.”

  “But you just got here.”

  Kenna would wait for Vanessa’s return to trace the werewolf’s matrix. Vanessa possessed tech skills Kenna cou
ld never hope to match. Not only that, but there was no way she’d initiate such a venture with nosy Jason hanging around.

  “I’ll be back later,” she said.

  “And then we can get to our final exercises?” Jason asked.

  “I thought I made it clear: not today.”

  “I am sorry.” Jason stared up at her. “Truly.”

  “Tell Vanessa to wait for me. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Werner Trutenko paced his office, heels snapping hard across the floor. Patrick watched, knowing that immediately outside this room, the three-person crew was scrambling in a futile effort to locate a record of the warehouse pickup earlier this week.

  “Do you think he was in on it?” Werner asked.

  Arms folded, Patrick leaned into the far corner. “Who, Ben?” he asked. “Not a chance.”

  “Fire him.”

  “But I’m sure he wasn’t involved.”

  “Then he’s incompetent. Get rid of him.”

  With regret, Patrick nodded.

  Werner held up his hand. “Perhaps we need to have Tate interrogate him first.”

  “I don’t think that would do any good,” Patrick said.

  “How the hell could all the 6.0s have disappeared?”

  Even though the glass door was shut, the three technicians’ heads shot up at Werner’s outburst. Behind him, Patrick gestured for them all to get back to work, which they did, their expressions wary.

  “Like I said during your meeting with Celia, the switch must have taken place when the recycling company picked up those defective 2.0s. They apparently took the Sixes instead. I’m working on it.”

  “Well, hurry up,” he said. “Celia seems determined to chop off my head.”

  “Don’t let her.”

  “And how do you suggest I do that?”

  Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever considered beating her to the punch?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Careful now. Patrick lowered his voice. “Think about it: Once Sub Rosa is fully implemented, there will be no stopping that woman. You believe she’s doing this for the greater good. I say she’s in it for herself. Stop her now, before we lose the chance to stop her at all.”