Raise your head, sent Jun.
Marisa was confused. What?
You’re staring at the table, sent Jun.
Sorry, sent Marisa. I’m not actually looking through my eyes right now. The database display was being fed from her djinni directly into her optic nerves—they weren’t actually blocking her vision, just her perception of it, so Jin could still watch Su-Yun’s presentation through Marisa’s eyes. Marisa straightened, and whispered to Alain: “Make sure my head is pointed at her, and nudge me if I should ever applaud or laugh or anything.”
“Nudge for applause, poke for laughter,” said Alain, and Marisa imagined the sly smile that was almost certainly on his face as he said it. Yet another thing she’d rather be looking at than the database.
She found the folder marked “Mexican Yearly Sales,” and a minute later the subfolder for 2049’s sales data—2050 must be stored somewhere else, because the year wasn’t done yet. Did that mean this was older data? How had she wandered into an archive? No matter—if there were infractions to be found, she could still find them here. She started sifting through it, looking for something juicy, then remembered Alain’s suggestion of just downloading it all and studying it later. She started the slow process of copying it all across the Wi-Fi connection, and then just to be on the safe side she grabbed nine more folders, to give her all of the last ten years. Normally a bunch of spreadsheets wouldn’t take that long to download, but the size of this database gave a whole new definition to “a bunch of spreadsheets.” She’d known KT Sigan was huge, but wow. “Megacorp” was right.
Alain poked her, and she applauded, and he immediately grabbed her hands in his own.
“Poke means laugh,” he whispered. She gasped, mortified by the thought of herself clapping like an idiot, and everyone else staring at her. She laughed, and he squeezed her hands—not a gentle reassurance, but a firm “shut up, you’re making it worse.” “Too late,” he said, “you missed the moment.”
“What did I just laugh at?”
“Her mother had to work three jobs to afford their school clothes.”
“Can you please murder me?” Marisa whispered. “Right now. Everyone in the room will forgive you.”
“Just be quiet and work,” whispered Alain. “I’ll guide you better next time.”
Marisa nodded and refocused on the database. Now that she had the data on how much money Sigan earned, she needed to find the data for how much they paid in taxes and international tariffs—the discrepancies between those two sets of numbers would be the thing that destroyed the company. But where did they store their tax information? And how could she find her way there from here in the sales archive?
Alain poked her, and Marisa heard laughter, so she laughed and hoped it sounded natural. She really wished she could be listening to Su-Yun.
Is Park still down in the lobby? sent Jaya.
Yes, sent Bao. With about ten security guards.
Marisa gave up on trying to find the files unassisted, and opened a search window. A simple search would be ridiculous—with so much data to search through, it would take hours—so instead she started writing a simple script that would narrow the search and speed it up, cutting out the obvious dead ends and going straight for the stuff she needed. Or at least she hoped it would.
Park’s heading back for the elevator, sent Bao.
I’m not done, sent Marisa.
Jaya, sent Sahara, do you still have control of that nuli?
It’s trashed, sent Jaya. They’re not designed to go through plate glass.
But can you do anything with it? sent Sahara. Wiggle the fins, spin the rotors . . . activate the ads on the speaker, I don’t know. Anything to buy Mari more time.
I’ll try, sent Jaya. Marisa kept coding her search function, trying to go as fast as she could without screwing it up.
Something just got their attention, sent Bao.
I didn’t think that was going to work, sent Jaya.
Did Park stay? sent Sahara.
No, sent Bao. He’s gone.
Alain nudged Marisa with his elbow, then started cheering loudly, and Marisa clapped with him. “This is the end,” said Alain, leaning in close and lifting her arm. After just half a second she realized that he was pulling her to her feet: Su-Yun Kho had finished, and this was her standing ovation. She blinked away the database and stood up, clapping and shouting with the others. She’d missed the entire thing—her hero was right there, and she’d missed it. The audience started chanting the catchphrase again—“Naeil, naega dangsin-eul dasi igil geos-ida!”—and Marisa chanted it with them.
“I like her,” said Alain. “She’s not a trust fund rat like the rest of the room.”
“That’s good,” said Marisa. “If you didn’t like her, this would be a very short relationship.”
“There’s a relationship?” asked Alain.
“I mean our . . . alliance,” said Marisa, suddenly flustered. “Whatever this is.”
“So what are they chanting?” he asked.
“Something she said after her first big win in a national tournament,” said Marisa. “Her team beat the reigning champions, and their captain told her she got lucky and her plays were inconsistent and her strategy was garbage. A vidcaster was recording the whole thing, and asked if she had a response, so she looked this jerk square in the face and said: ‘Tomorrow I’ll beat you again.’”
“Cool,” said Alain.
We don’t have a lot of time, sent Sahara. She was still clapping wildly, and no one watching her would even guess she was sending messages. We don’t know if Park is coming back up here, or if he’s headed somewhere else in the building.
He might be going to a security office, sent Jun.
Or to me, sent Jin.
There’s no way he knows you’re even there, sent Marisa.
If he comes back here I can distract him, sent Anja. I’ve got an awesome idea.
That makes me very worried, sent Sahara.
I don’t know what else I can do, sent Jaya.
Find us another way out, sent Marisa. We can’t use the elevators if he’s standing right by them, and if he’s chasing us we won’t have time to walk down eighty flights of stairs.
We can’t just leave, sent Sahara. That’s going to look incredibly suspicious.
You could say you just came for Su-Yun Kho, sent Bao.
We could, sent Sahara. That’s super rude, but it’s at least believable.
People don’t get arrested for being rude, sent Marisa.
You haven’t seen me distract anyone yet, sent Anja.
Alain and I will go back to the restrooms, sent Marisa. No one has to leave if we can stay hidden.
Someone will come looking for you again, sent Sahara. And there’s really only one way to explain why you’re hiding with a boy in the restroom.
Marisa smiled. If I have to make out with a guy in order for our plan to work, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Whatever you do, do it quickly, sent Bao. If Park’s heading back toward you he’ll be there any second.
Su-Yun left the stage, and the applause was finally starting to die down, so Marisa grabbed Alain’s hand and inclined her head toward the back of the room. He nodded and went with her. Was everyone watching them? What were they whispering to each other? She leaned close to Alain. “If someone comes back to look for us, our only cover story is that we can’t keep our hands off each other. So, you know . . . get ready.”
“I’ve been getting ready for that since we met.”
Marisa stumbled. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Well . . . are you serious? You can’t say things like that unless you’re serious.”
Alain looked at her. “Do you want me to be serious?”
“I . . .” The team at the nearest table stood up, headed for more food, and Marisa used it as an excuse to stop walking. “I’m trying to write a program, okay? I don’t need to be thinking abo
ut your lips the whole time.”
“Then don’t,” said Alain. “The mission is more important.”
“Careful,” Marisa muttered, “you never know what weird little robot birds might be listening.” She looked at him, at his rich, dark skin and his full lips, and his broad shoulders under his perfectly fitted tuxedo. How could he move so quickly from flirting to business? It was giving her whiplash.
If only they weren’t here on a mission. . . .
But they were. And she had to focus on it. The sales data was still downloading, and her search program was almost ready. All she needed was two more minutes of peace, and she could get everything they came here for—
“You two seem awfully anxious to get back in the alcove,” said a cheerful voice in front of them, and Marisa looked up to find their path blocked.
By Kwon Chaewon herself, and her entire team.
SIXTEEN
Chaewon smiled, but the girls flanking her made her look like a mob boss: Zi on her left, a tall white girl on her right, and two more Asian girls behind them. Chaewon’s dress was even more improbably perfect up close, and in fact the entire team were some of the best-dressed girls at the gala. The white girl was wearing a peach-colored dress and hat faintly reminiscent of an old southern belle, with a vest and gloves of delicate white lace. Even in the dimmed lights of the party Marisa could see deliberate flaws in the lacework—signs that it had been made by hand instead of printed. These girls would give even Franca Maldonado a run for her money.
Nightmare’s bird nuli, Marisa noticed, was sitting harmlessly in her hair. Unless she had more than one?
Marisa forced herself to smile. “Ms. Kwon! It’s a delight to meet you. This evening has been wonderful so far, and we can’t thank you enough for the invitation.”
“Thank you so much for coming,” said Chaewon brightly. “We’re just doing what we can to make the world a better place.” She smiled, and looked at Alain. “I saw on our RSVP list that you were marked as a plus one, not a player. It’s so nice to have you with us tonight.”
Don’t say anything rude, Marisa thought.
Alain bowed slightly. “It’s always a pleasure to talk to a fellow philanthropist. So few people are concerned about anyone but themselves these days.” He gestured around at the party. “Did you arrange all of this yourself?”
“Down to the last speck of glitter,” said Chaewon. “Did you like the short rib?”
Marisa frowned slightly. Did she watch us eat? How closely were they watching us—and why? She had to force herself not to glance nervously at the elevator—obviously Sahara would warn her if Park came back, but Marisa’s entire body was on edge, and she felt like she needed to do something. Looking, pointless as it was, would be doing something.
What about Sahara’s nulis? Marisa faked a small, polite cough, using the movement to mask a blink and call up Sahara’s video feed. The image appeared in a corner of her vision, and she let out a small sigh of relief—one of the nulis was camped on a wall, staring at the elevator, giving Marisa a perfect view of it. No Mr. Park yet.
“The rib was delicious,” said Alain, “though I can’t help but wonder how much something like that costs, and how that money could have been put to better use if the Forward Motion tournament had—”
“I’m sorry,” said Marisa, jumping in as soon she realized what he was saying. “He’s very passionate about his charity work.”
The tall white girl pursed her lips. “I can only imagine.”
“The food was mostly donated,” said Chaewon, never missing a beat or dropping her smile. “Most of the top-shelf caterers in LA owe my father a favor, so I called them in. What charity work do you do, Alain?”
“It’s mostly freelance, on the ground—” said Alain, but Marisa cut him off again, fearing the worst.
“He’s being modest,” she said, gripping Alain’s arm tighter than she needed to and hoping he got the message.
“Not at all,” smiled Chaewon. Marisa didn’t even know it was possible to smile a sentence, but there it was. “It doesn’t matter how much money we raise for new cables if there’s nobody out there to lay them, right?”
Marisa’s eyes widened. Somehow, despite the angelic smile and positive tone, that entire comment had felt like a slap.
“Ms. Kwon,” said Sahara, stepping up next to Marisa. Anja came with her, grinning like a cat as it tried to decide the best way of eating a mouse. “I want to thank you personally for hosting this event.”
“Of course,” said Chaewon. “And thank you, Ms. Cowan, so much for being a part of it! It’s great that the younger kids in the audience have a group of amateurs to look up to. They can’t all be world champions, but they can be you.” Her smile was so warm, Marisa wanted to hug her and punch her at the same time.
A movement on the nuli feed caught her attention: the elevator opened, and Mr. Park stepped into the room.
Code Red, sent Jun.
I’ll cover you, sent Anja. Keep your faces turned away from him, and get to the elevator while I hold his attention.
How are you going to hold his attention? sent Sahara.
By doing exactly what we’re all wishing we could do, sent Anja. She stepped forward, covered in straps and buckles and spikes, and planted herself in front of Chaewon.
Don’t hit her! thought Marisa.
Anja flipped her half-shaved hair and spoke so loudly Marisa wondered if she had an amplifier patch on her jaw: “It’s too bad those kids you’re talking about don’t have as much money as you do, or they could all just buy their way onto a championship team.”
The entire gala fell silent, everyone turning to look at them.
Chaewon’s smile disappeared, slowly fading as they watched, and Marisa couldn’t help but feel a pang of deep concern, as if Anja had just kicked a kitten. But her smile didn’t turn into hurt or sadness; it turned into nothing: Chaewon’s face became completely inert, with no expression at all, as if she weren’t a human but a VR character whose connection had dropped. It was one of the most unsettling things Marisa had ever seen.
“This is my party,” said Chaewon. Her voice was flat—no emotion, just stating a fact.
“I’m so sorry!” said Anja, her voice echoing through the hall. “I thought this was a party for everyone.”
Move, sent Sahara, the message bouncing in Marisa’s vision to get her attention. Park’s coming.
Marisa glanced at the nuli feed: the camera was following Park as he crossed toward them from the elevator. Marisa grabbed Alain’s arm and pulled him to the side, keeping their backs to Park. Would their movement attract his attention? Would he follow them?
Zi stepped forward, planting herself between Chaewon and Anja. “Nothing wrong with a little trash talk, right?”
“Nothing at all,” said Anja. “So let me go bigger: Chaewon’s pathetic little all-stars team is the most selfish cry for attention since she dropped out of her mother’s—”
“What the hell?” said Sahara.
“I can see what you bring to the team,” said Zi. “You’ve got more guts than Sahara ever did.”
“We don’t need to do this,” said Sahara.
“See?” said Zi.
Chaewon was still just staring, like a broken doll.
“This got scary,” said Alain as they moved away. “Is Anja always like that?”
“More often than we’d like,” said Marisa. “All we needed was a distraction, not a . . . howling catfight.” They moved into the alcove, out of sight of the rest of the hall, and Marisa gripped his arm for balance as she focused on the nuli feed. Zi and Anja were practically nose to nose, but a guard stepped between them, holding out his hands in a placating motion.
What’s going on in there? sent Bao.
Anja’s trying to get us thrown out a window, said Marisa. That’s not what I had in mind when I asked for an exit. She could still hear Anja yelling in the main hall. She switched her target from Chaewon to Zi, and eventually from Zi to the secur
ity guard—to whoever she could yell at the most, it seemed.
I’m going to kill her, sent Sahara.
She helped Alain and me escape, sent Marisa. That’s better than nothing. Do you see Park?
He’s gone, sent Sahara. I programmed Cameron to find him and follow him, but he lost the target and came back to me. It doesn’t make sense.
I think the mission’s a bust, sent Marisa.
You think? Sahara’s message dripped with frustration. We need a way out. Jaya, have you found anything?
That building’s a fortress, sent Jaya. I’ve got one idea, but I’ll need help.
We’re a little busy, sent Sahara. Find Fang—she’ll be on a plane, like you. Wake her up and get us out of here.
Marisa nudged Alain. “We have to hide—let’s duck in there.” She moved to the door to the fire stairs—the same door Jin had used earlier when she’d run down to the seventy-fifth floor—but Alain stepped in front her, blocking her way.
“The restroom’s safer,” he said. “The building will know if we go into a stairwell.”
Marisa nodded. Of course the building was reading their locations—that’s why they needed Jin for the mission, because she could turn off her ID—
“That’s it,” she said suddenly. “He can drop his ID.”
“What?” asked Alain.
“Mr. Park can drop his ID,” said Marisa. “Just like I did in the cafe, and Jin did when we got here. The nuli lost him because it was fixed on his ID, and then that ID disappeared, so it went back to Sahara.”
“Then we have to go now,” said Alain. The last remnants of his flirtatious attitude disappeared, and he became as focused as a laser. “The only reason for Park to disappear like that is if he perceived a threat—maybe it was the nuli downstairs, or Sahara’s nuli followed him too closely and he got suspicious. Whatever it was, he’s onto us, and inside of this building we’re completely at his mercy.”
Marisa looked up, dread gnawing at her stomach, and traced her eyes along the line where the wall met the ceiling. She found it in the corner: a tiny black tube, just barely protruding from the wall. A security camera.