The Leveller

  “They’re playing a cha-cha now, easy as walking,” he explains. “Here, watch my feet. One, two, cha-cha-cha, three, four, cha-cha-cha.”

  I do my best to imitate his steps. “One, two, cha-cha-cha,” I repeat, “three, four, cha-cha . . . oops! Sorry about that.”

  We shuffle around like this several times, Wyn patiently counting out the steps with me. Not that it matters. I am a complete disaster at the cha-cha.

  We try a mambo next, which is even worse.

  “Okay!” says Wyn, after I’ve stepped on his foot for the twenty-seventh time. “Let’s just stick to a simple two-step from now on. One-two, one-two, one-two,” he counts.

  This is more like it.

  I look at the mambo-ing, salsa-ing, cha-cha-ing Meeple doing their complicated dance moves nearby. “Show-offs,” I say, as Wyn and I two-step like hillbillies around the dance floor.

  “They got nothing on us,” Wyn says, putting his hands around my waist and lifting me into the air. As we twirl around I stretch my arms out like a ballerina. “Thatta girl, princesa!” he says, laughing at my dramatic pose.

  I love hearing him laugh. I almost wish we didn’t have work to do.

  But now that I don’t have to worry so much about my feet, I start scoping the place as we circle through the room. “I recognize Frank Sinatra,” I say. “But point out the rest of the famous people to me.”

  As we circuit the dance floor, Wyn shows me all the custom Meeple he’s programmed based on the prestigious guest list of the Tropicana, back when it was the favorite playground of the rich and famous. I recognize many of the names—Marlon Brando, Nat King Cole, Sammy Davis Jr., Joan Crawford, and Elizabeth Taylor—but there are others he has to explain to me, like Edith Piaf, a French singer whose long, skinny eyebrows look like they’ve been applied with a Sharpie, and Rocky Marciano, a heavyweight boxer whose nose looks like it lost a fight with a bowling ball.

  “See that woman over there in the long white dress with the short dark hair?” he asks, tilting his head at a corner of the room.

  I look in that direction and spot her. The white satin of her dress clings to every curve of her body and her hair has been slicked against her head like a cap, with little ringlets framing her tawny face. Huge spirals of diamonds hang from her ears, as big as Christmas ornaments. She’s gorgeous.

  “Let me guess . . . another actress? Singer? Dancer?”

  “All of the above,” he answers. “That’s Josephine Baker. She was quite the sensation back in the day.”

  “Who’s the Rico Suave with her?” I ask, thinking the tall, dark, tuxedoed man sitting across from her is pretty sensational as well. He is drinking from a martini glass and giving Josephine a smoky look across the table.

  Wyn shrugs. “No one famous, just one of the stock Meeple. Latin Lover III, I think.”

  “Oooh, he sounds like fun,” I say, wondering if Jill has given him a bunch of total cheeseball lines. I certainly hope so.

  We continue to wing our way around the floor, watching for anything out of the ordinary, anything human among the Meeple.

  “They’re probably not on the dance floor,” Wyn says. “Unless they’re great dancers, this would be an easy place to give yourself away.”

  “You don’t say?” I tease, and he lowers me into a dip like I’m Ginger Rogers. I kick up a leg for flourish and my long wench dress slides down to my thigh.

  Wyn whistles at my bare leg and wags his eyebrows at me. “That leg must be enhanced, ’cause they don’t make ’em that shapely in the real world.”

  “Steal that line from Latin Lover III?” I ask, as he pulls me back up.

  He puts both arms around me now, like we’re slow dancing, though the music is still loud and lively. We stay this way for a while, and I rest my head on his shoulder as I scan the tables again. Wyn’s right: if there are any human players here, they would most likely be seated, where their nonautomated movements won’t give them away.

  So far, everyone just looks happy and fabulous. Marlon Brando is smoking a cigar and eyeing a cigarette girl. Nat King Cole and Sammy Davis Jr. are chuckling together and clinking glasses. Elizabeth Taylor is whispering something in Joan Crawford’s ear. Joan Crawford looks unamused. Josephine Baker is adjusting her dangling earrings in a small compact while Rico Suave taps his foot impatiently. My eyes continue their search, though I’m starting to doubt this plan is working. I’m pretty sure the only two humans in this room are me and Wyn, and honestly, that’s fine by me. I’m having fun and I don’t want this night to—

  “They’re here,” I say, jerking my head up as the realization finally dawns on me.

  “Easy,” Wyn says, continuing to dance. “Don’t let them know you know. Tell me where they are, but smile like you’re telling me what a great dancer I am.”

  “Josephine and Rico Suave,” I say through my smile. “She had on spiral earrings before, not dangly ones. And he’s tapping his foot out of sync with the music.”

  Wyn spins me around a bit so he can take a peek. “You’re right. Ready for phase two?”

  “Ready,” I say, mentally rehearsing the next part of the plan.

  “Okay, but you just put on your ‘Nixy Bauer, Butt-kicker’ face, which isn’t going to work,” he says, tapping me playfully on the nose. “We’re supposed to be crazy about each other, remember?”

  Oh yeah. I plaster a smile back on my lips, and tap his nose back in return. “Sorry, sweetcakes, guess I’m better at butt-kicking than acting.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance,” Wyn says, “but for now just pretend you’re trying to woo me with your wenchiness.”

  I want to snort, but I titter instead behind a demure hand. Someone should award me an Oscar for this performance.

  Wyn waits for the song to die down, then he leads me off the dance floor, right past their table. He puts his arm around me and kisses me on the cheek. “Thanks for one last dance, beautiful,” he says, loud enough for them to hear. “Now let’s blast through that alt portal and get home so I can kiss you in the real world.”

  I smile up at him like I’m head over heels in love with him, which isn’t actually that hard, as it turns out, and we stroll out of the cabaret and into the casino. We pass the slot machines and roulette tables toward the staff door at the back of the room. About halfway through the casino, I throw my head back and pretend to laugh at something Wyn says. He picks me up and swings me around, like we’re completely smitten with each other. While I’m swinging, I take a quick glance around the room.

  “They took the bait,” I whisper in his ear. “They’re at the blackjack table directly behind us.”

  “Right. Let’s do this,” he says, then pushes through the door.

  I open my inventory and equip the rappelling gun.

  FOURTEEN

  I CRASH DOWN ON JOSEPHINE LIKE A TON OF BRICKS AND SLAP MY hand over her mouth.

  Wyn, whose job was to ambush Rico, swears, then looks out the staff door. It appears Rico sent Josephine in alone, the coward.

  “Damn,” Wyn says. “He’s already vanished.”

  “That’s okay, we still have Josie here,” I say, looking down at my captive.

  Josephine struggles frantically beneath me and I almost feel sorry for her. She never even saw me coming as I slid down the rappelling line and knocked her to the floor. Now I’ve got her pinned underneath me, though I’ve made one crucial mistake. I’m still in the wench dress, which makes it hard to maneuver. “Closet!” I say, then quickly select my commando clothes. My avatar’s outfit transforms instantaneously.

  That’s better. Now it’s Josephine’s turn.

  “I want to see the real you,” I say into the MEEPosphere without taking my eyes off Josephine. Her tawny skin, black hair, and white dress begin to pixelate like she’s a human blender just switched to puree. A new image solidifies before us.


  Holy heck.

  “Kora?” Wyn and I both say at once.

  Yes, Kora. Josephine Baker in her slinky satin dress has just transformed into Diego Salvador’s trusted assistant. She’s in a black catsuit, her long black hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. She wears no makeup, but her fingernails are long, sharp, and red. She looks ready to scratch my eyes out, but I’ve got her claws trapped firmly under my knees.

  “What are you doing here? Did my father send you? Why didn’t you reveal yourself?” Wyn asks in a tirade of questions, but I keep my hand clamped tightly over her mouth. “Let her speak, Nixy,” he says. “Kora works for my dad. I’ve known her for years. She’s here to help.”

  “I know who she is, but she’s not here to help.” I lean in, pinning her down harder. “Don’t you get it? She’s one of the bad guys.”

  Wyn shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me. “She can’t be. Kora’s like family. . . . My dad trusts her implicitly.”

  Well, that was a huge mistake, I think, though I refrain from saying so out loud. The last thing I want to do is argue with Wyn. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.

  Meanwhile, Kora is blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to figure out what her story will be if I ever let her speak. She looks scared.

  “If Kora came to rescue you,” I say, “why was she stalking you in disguise? It makes no sense.”

  Wyn shrugs and looks at Kora for an answer. She turns her eyes away.

  “You know I’m right,” I tell him, wishing I was wrong.

  Wyn still looks doubtful. “Kora,” he says quietly, and her eyes turn back to his. “What are you doing here? Did my father send you?” he asks, then puts a hand on my shoulder. “Nixy, let her answer. If she starts reciting code or accessing her inventory you can stop her.”

  I purse my lips and give Kora my don’t-even-think-about-it glare. “Fine. But she doesn’t move.” Slowly, I slide my hand off her mouth and put it around her neck instead.

  “Let me go, please,” she begs, her eyes looking at Wyn, not me. “I have to get back immediately. You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand,” says Wyn, his eyes growing darker. “Enlighten me, Kora. Why have I been trapped here? What do you know?”

  Kora’s eyes dart between me and Wyn. “I can’t say. Please, let me go! If I’m not back soon, they’ll kill me!”

  “Who, my father?” exclaims Wyn. “Kora, what are you talking about?”

  “Not your father, the . . . others,” she says. “I told you, I can’t say. But if they find out I’ve been caught, I don’t know what they’ll do.”

  I want to shake her now. “What who will do? Who are they? And why are they keeping us locked up here?”

  Kora ignores me and keeps her gaze on Wyn. “Listen, just let me out of here and I’ll go straight to your father, I promise. I’ll tell him everything. It’s the only way to save us both now. Wyn, please. Hurry!”

  “Save us both?” I ask, glaring at Kora. “There are three of us here, by the way, and I’m not buying your little sob story. Now tell us how to get home.”

  Kora glares back at me, but I don’t flinch. I’ve already won a staring contest with the Wicked Witch of the MEEP and Kora’s got nothing on that hag.

  She finally looks away and I glance at Wyn, who rubs a hand over his face. I can tell he’s torn.

  “She’s bluffing, Wyn,” I say, pressing down harder on Kora’s shoulders with my knees. “I bet she’s some corporate spy, paid to steal programming from your father. There’s no way she’s going to make nice with your dad at this point. It’s too late; she’s already incriminated herself. All she can do now is run and hope she’s not caught. Right, Kora?”

  Kora doesn’t answer. Her eyes are wide and unblinking now, staring at the ceiling.

  “Look, I don’t know who or what you’ve got yourself messed up with, but just tell us how to get out of here,” says Wyn, kneeling beside her. “You must know a way out. As soon as you tell us, we’ll let you go.”

  I give Wyn a glare. I have no intention of letting Kora go so easily.

  Then again, maybe it can’t hurt to let her think we’ll let her go.

  “Wyn’s right. We’ll settle the rest of this when we get back. Just tell us how to return to the Landing and we’ll all go home.”

  Kora doesn’t answer at first, then suddenly yells, “8-9-7-4-5—”

  I slap my hand over her mouth.

  “Nice try,” I say. I am losing patience with Wyn’s good-cop tactics. Time for some bad cop. I need to get Kora to talk.

  “Tell us how to get out of here, Kora, before your Big Boss decides this game is over,” I say. “Who are you working for anyway? Russia? China? I bet those guys don’t mess around. No wonder you’re scared.”

  Kora narrows her eyes at me like I’m a fool, but I can see fear beneath the contempt.

  “Tell us this minute, Kora, or I will tie you to the seawall and let the crabs pick at your eyeballs until you talk!” I say, getting right in her face. I slide my hand off her mouth but keep it raised only a few inches away, ready to slap it down at any second.

  “Wyn, please—” she says again, looking over my shoulder.

  Wyn begins to speak but I throw him a look and he swallows his words.

  Kora’s really starting to look scared now. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” she says, her voice trembling. “I’ll tell you what I know, but then promise me you’ll let me go before they find me.”

  Wyn nods.

  “Start talking,” I order.

  “I work for LEGION. They’ve trapped Wyn here to blackmail Diego. They want him to give up control of the MEEP.”

  Wyn and I glance at each other. He looks as incredulous as I feel.

  “LEGION?” he asks.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say. “LEGION’s just a group of internet nerds with an axe to grind. They’re hackers, not kidnappers. She’s lying.”

  “It’s the truth,” Kora cries. “The LEGION you know—the amateur hackers and gamers—they’re just a front, a source of data for the Legionnaires.”

  “Who?” I ask, my mind going a hundred miles a minute.

  “The Legionnaires,” she repeats. “I don’t know their real names or what they look like—no one does. But they’ve sworn to use any means necessary to bring down the MEEP.”

  “But why would they do that?” Wyn asks. “Kora, you know what the MEEP can do, what it can be . . . once my dad and his scientists work out the glitches, it could change the world!”

  Kora’s eyes fill with a mixture of pity and sadness now as she answers Wyn. “All your father has done, Wyn, is invent a form of mind control . . . mental slavery disguised as a game. Don’t you see? Diego Salvador is the world’s new Oppenheimer, only instead of creating an atomic bomb, he’s created something even worse, something even more dangerous. One day your father’s toy will control us, or kill us all.”

  Wyn is shaking his head, his eyes wild with disbelief. “That’s a lie! You can’t believe that!”

  “I’m sorry, I never thought it would come to this,” Kora continues, the pity in her eyes now replaced by tears. “I never thought you’d get hurt. I just wanted to stop your father. Now please, let me go! They’ll be coming!” Her voice is almost a sob now and her whole body is shaking beneath me. “8-9-7—”

  I slap my hand back over her mouth.

  “Nixy—” Wyn starts, but I don’t let him finish.

  “We’re not done yet. How do we get to the Landing, Kora? Where’d you hide the portal?”

  Kora opens and closes her mouth a few times, like a fish. Her eyes stare straight up, almost glassy looking. She looks like she’s about to have a seizure, but that’s impossible. She’s an avatar. Maybe she’s bluffing, trying to throw us off balance so she can blurt out the numbers.
r />   “Where’s the portal, Kora?”

  “Please,” she says in a strangled gasp. “They’re hurting me.”

  “Nixy, stop!” Wyn says, taking Kora’s face between his hands. “Kora, are you okay? What’s happening to you?”

  Kora’s body takes on a shimmery quality, like it might disappear any moment. We don’t have time for this. I shove Wyn away from her. “The portal, Kora,” I yell, my face just inches above hers. “Where is it?”

  Her eyes roll a bit, but then they find me and she looks straight at me.

  “Black,” she whispers, as her body convulses once, then fades beneath me.

  FIFTEEN

  “WE’LL THINK MORE CLEARLY ONCE WE’VE HAD SOME SLEEP,” WYN says, squeezing my hand.

  We are walking through the lobby of the Hotel Nacional again. I’m a little more alert than I was last night when we were here, though equally distraught. I admit, I had a good cry in the Tropicana dressing room after Kora disappeared. I’m not sure exactly what happened to her, but there’s a pretty good chance she wasn’t lying. Which means there is a pretty good chance she’s hurt, maybe even dead, and it’s my fault.

  I’m also pretty sure that if we are up against stone-cold killers, we are never getting back home.

  As we go up in the elevator, I feel Wyn’s eyes on me, deliberating, trying to decide what to do with me next. I don’t blame him. I’m a bundle of raw feelings and my brain’s on overdrive. Part of me feels like knocking down a few walls again to relieve my frustration. The other part of me wants to pull a Rip Van Winkle and sleep for the next hundred years.

  “It’s not your fault, you know,” he says quietly.

  “I trapped her here while someone in the real world was killing her,” I finally say, as the elevator doors open.

  “We don’t know what truly happened, Nixy. Maybe she’s still alive,” Wyn says, but I can tell by his voice he doesn’t believe it. Neither do I. We both felt the presence of death in that dressing room, something permanent when Kora’s body disappeared. Besides, she never activated her return frequency code. And she’d been terrified. Which means either someone summoned her back remotely, or . . . she really died.