Vortex

  “You’re a good friend,” Tom told him.

  “We’re not going to die.” Wyatt gave a big smile. “I really do think this could work. Obsidian Corp.’s completely oriented toward protecting against mechanized intruders. They have to worry about surveillance vehicles or small drones, but no one’s going to go in person to break into a building in the middle of Antarctica. It’s not a hospitable environment for humans to hang around and stroll on in, especially right now when it’s winter. Between that and the whole wing of motion-sensitive, electrified floors, they won’t expect anyone to come in person.”

  Vik sat up abruptly, finger raised. “Quick question: How is this inhospitable-for-humans thing not a problem for us? Last I checked, we’re about ninety-nine point nine percent human. Except for Tom, who’s ninety-nine point eight percent . . . We can joke about that now, right?”

  Tom flashed him a mechanized thumbs-up. “Joke away.”

  As he spoke, he inspected the mental map again, pinpointing every location on the walls where he saw neural access ports. Since Obsidian Corp. had designed the neural processors, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised they were there. He wondered who used them.

  “So how are we getting in?” Vik pressed. “We can’t exactly walk in from the outside. Tom almost froze to death in the summer.”

  Confidence surged through Tom. “Simple. We go in the same way Obsidian Corp. staffers do: right through the front door.”

  THEY CHOSE SUNDAY, early in the morning, for the operation. Tom tried to sleep in the scant hours before their departure, doing it the normal, human way by lying on the bed instead of hooking a neural wire into the access port on the back of his neck.

  In the darkness of his bunk, he was reminded of one aspect of normal sleeping: sometimes it didn’t happen, no matter how much he wanted it.

  Tom sat up hazily and became aware of a tapping noise. He rubbed at his eyes, and peered around, searching for it. Then he made out the surveillance camera in the corner, moving back and forth, waving at him.

  “Hey, Mai Shiranui,” he called.

  Here’s a hint: my name is not the name of a video-game character. Much less a Japanese one, Mordred.

  He grinned, reached down into the drawer beneath his bed, and pulled out a T-shirt. “I hoped you’d come.”

  And then Medusa’s words appeared in his net-send: I didn’t want to wake you up.

  “I wasn’t asleep. Lemme hook into a VR game and meet you. Pick a sim and I’ll see you in a minute.”

  Tom hooked his neural wire into his VR gaming system for the first time in a long while. The Pentagonal Spire had a large database of games for the trainees, and Medusa had obviously chosen one set in a vast, rolling desert of sorts. Then her avatar appeared—a big, muscular male character with long, flowing locks, whom the neural processor informed him was the mythological figure Sampson, the strongest man in the world. Tom looked down at himself and realized he was playing his mom’s namesake, the diabolical temptress Delilah.

  “I’m the girl?” he said, examining his chest closely.

  “Don’t worry. You’re very pretty, Tom.” The teasing note abruptly dropped from her manly voice. “Maybe these avatars will make this easier.”

  “Make what easier?”

  She folded her arms. “I should stay away.”

  “But you’re here. Right now. Not staying away. And I’m okay with this.” He stepped toward her. “Listen, I was a jerk last time you were here. I have a friend in trouble, and there was something I needed to get at Obsidian Corp. to save him, so I was frustrated and thinking about that, not about anything else. After we kissed, I wanted to talk to you. I scared you away. I know it.”

  She groaned. “If my character wasn’t about twenty times stronger than yours, I’d punch you right now. You didn’t scare me. You don’t scare me. You caught me off guard, Mordred. This is a terrible idea. We’re on opposite sides of the war. You were charged with treason, and I nearly faced the same thing the last time we did this.”

  “But that’s because we weren’t using what we can do,” Tom told her, drawing closer. “Yeah, it was dumb, meeting online when we could be tracked, but interfacing and moving into the systems like you and I can isn’t the same thing. We’ve got this power, and maybe we can’t use it out there, but why not use it like this? For each other? See, I’m not sorry about kissing you. I’m not. I want to do it again. I don’t know anyone else like you, and if you looked slightly less manly right now, I’d be grabbing you.” He reached down to shove his hands into his pockets, but the Delilah character didn’t have any. “So that’s it. Ball’s in your court.”

  She raised her hand into the air, and her long-haired, manly avatar vanished, leaving the Medusa he knew in its place. Tom felt his body shift back to the one he was familiar with. He closed the distance, but Medusa planted a hand on his chest to stop him.

  “I need to warn you about something. I don’t trust very easily. If you’re going to kiss me, if we’re going to do this . . .” Her small fist tightened on his tunic. “Tom, don’t burn me. I’ll hurt you.”

  Petite as she was, fragile as she seemed, Tom knew Medusa was infinitely more fearsome than the strongest man in the world, and she meant every word she said.

  “I won’t,” he vowed.

  And then he kissed her.

  WHEN THE TIME came, Tom saved two notes in his system files. One was for his father, one for Medusa—though he addressed it to “Murgatroid.” He didn’t write one for his mom. He considered it, but then decided she wouldn’t want it anyway.

  It wasn’t that Tom thought anything would happen. He, Vik, and Wyatt had worked out their plan so carefully to make sure they returned . . . but Tom had this strange superstition that if he didn’t write them notes, he might end up meeting some terrible fate at Obsidian Corp. that would cause him to regret not having at least put his last sentiments on record somewhere.

  He’d almost died there once, after all. It scared him a bit, willingly returning, but he had to. After he saved the notes, he donned his optical camouflage and headed to the vactrain to wait. While Wyatt hacked into the Interstice to arrange an anonymous, undocumented pickup time, Vik was visiting Yuri in the infirmary. He was going to place a pair of earbuds in Yuri’s ears to play a beeping sound.

  If all went to plan, the transmitter in Yuri’s brain would record the audio input in Yuri’s ears, and the other transmitter in Obsidian Corp.’s system would receive it. That would give them a specific, active data imprint to search for when they tried to find that transmitter. Tom’s job was to carry the search program in his processor. He’d interface with Obsidian Corp.’s systems and use it to locate the transmitter.

  Now his heart fluttered with a mixture of excitement and anxiety as he walked through the heavy iron doors to the Interstice and approached the rows of fake trees. Then he encountered the first snare in their plan.

  From her reading of schematics, Wyatt explained that the optical camouflage would conceal them from the retina scanners, but the scanners must’ve been cued to activate as soon as someone strolled in the door. Green lights lashed out from the fake trees and began dancing across the wall, searching for a retina to scan.

  Tom’s heart pounded as he tried to evade them, realizing he’d feel like an utter idiot, boldly announcing his plans to march right into Obsidian Corp. and free Yuri, and having some stupid retina scanners give him away before he got on the Interstice.

  He was unexpectedly saved by Heather Akron shoving open the doors and marching into the room after him. The green beams of the retina scanner found her yellow-brown eyes, registered her identity, and faded away.

  Tom held very still as she took her place by the glass doors gazing on into darkness. He quickly sent Vik and Wyatt a message.

  Delay another five minutes.

  Then he waited, monitoring Heather from under his optical camouflage. Capitol Summit had destroyed her prospects at the Spire for good. Wyndham Harks had withdrawn their
sponsorship of her; the military had held an inquest to question her fitness as a Combatant. She’d been forced to quit; she’d been offered a position at the National Security Agency as a consolation prize. Officially, she’d be an analyst, but everyone knew what that meant when it came to trainees who’d washed out of the program: she’d be there to serve as a walking, talking computer, and if rumors were true, she’d be treated as such. Just like Nigel Harrison.

  And then the iron doors swung open again, and someone else followed Heather inside. Tom gave a startled jerk when he saw Lieutenant Blackburn sweep into the room. Tom barely dared to breathe.

  “Ms. Akron.”

  Heather whipped around. Wariness filled her face. “You. What do you want?”

  The green beams began to dance through the air, but Blackburn raised his thick forearm and tapped at his keyboard. The retina scanners blinked off.

  What was this? Tom wondered as Blackburn drew toward her. “I couldn’t simply let you leave without a talk about that interesting file you sent me.”

  “The time to talk is over,” Heather snapped. Her gaze darted toward the trees, and Tom knew from the sharp gleam in her eyes that she’d noticed the way Blackburn had switched off the retina scanners. “You didn’t intercede for me. You didn’t speak up for me. You could’ve told them I had a computer virus or that I’d malfunctioned, and you didn’t. So I’m going to show you I wasn’t bluffing.” Her eyes gleamed with spite. “I think the military will be fascinated to find out what you’ve been hiding about Tom.”

  Tom caught his breath. Of course. Her blackmail of him had fallen through. . . . She must’ve tried it on Blackburn to save her own skin. It obviously hadn’t worked with him either.

  “Don’t!” Heather shouted, her voice taking on a shrill pitch.

  Tom leaned to the side to see them past the leafy canopy of a fake tree. Blackburn lowered his forearm keyboard, his brow furrowed. Whatever program he’d just tried to use had obviously failed.

  Heather gave a scornful laugh. She flipped back her hair and held up her own forearm keyboard in a triumphant flourish. “You can’t knock down my firewall that easily, sir. Your little protégé motivated me to work very hard on this one. It’s a good thing, too. I knew you might try to stop me from getting away.”

  Blackburn lowered his arm. “Nothing’s ever easy,” he breathed.

  “What is it exactly you were trying to do?” Heather said mock sweetly. Hostility burned in the air between them. “You really think you can delete what I know? Not going to happen.”

  Blackburn drew a breath that puffed his cheeks and blew it out slowly. “I was going to make you come with me to the Census Chamber. Then we were going to search for that string of very specific memories so I could delete them and send you on your way. I still think you’re going to come with me, Akron. You are too clever a girl to risk the consequences if you don’t.”

  “You can’t throw me over your shoulder and take me up to the census device. Someone will hear. Someone will see.”

  “You’re completely right. There are far too many people around, even this early in the morning, for me to haul you upstairs with brute force. You’re going to come with me willingly and allow me to tamper with your memory, because I’m not letting you leave here with what you know.”

  Heather’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Tom Raines destroyed my whole life. Why are you even protecting him? Why do you care if the government finds out what he can do?”

  Tom was wondering that, too.

  “Tom Raines himself? He’s not why I’m here.” Blackburn leaned toward her. “Let me put this in terms you’ll understand: I’ve devoted seventeen years of my life—almost the entirety of yours—to one single purpose. It’s the sole reason I haven’t already swallowed a bullet. I recently discovered a potent weapon that could make my last, middling wishes come true, and now here you are, threatening to hand it over to my enemies. I hope you understand how desperate I am to stop you from leaving. Whatever thrill you think you’ll get from revenge, whatever it is, if you try and walk out that door, you’ll be making a deadly mistake.”

  Tom felt himself growing very still. So that’s what it was. That’s why Blackburn had kept him alive in Antarctica. That’s why he’d been so fascinated, learning what Tom could do in the Census Chamber. He saw what Tom could do as something he could use. He saw Tom as a weapon. His heart began to thump so hard, he was sure they could both hear it.

  “You can’t do anything to me,” Heather said. “Even if you killed me right now, you’d leave forensic evidence everywhere, and you’d never be able to hide my body in time. You’re bluffing.”

  In the darkness beyond, the silvery vactrain had risen up from the tube below, and the chamber was repressurizing. Heather’s ride had arrived.

  Tom felt a sense of unreality, realizing that the rest of his life would probably hinge on what happened here between these two people.

  “Heather,” Blackburn said, as the doors slid open. “Last chance. Please come with me.”

  “Good-bye, sir,” Heather said with a delicate wave. “I’d say it was nice knowing you, but I think I own you now, so we’re not through by a long shot. Count on that.” And then she backed through the doors.

  Tom crept forward and saw her whirl around and dash toward the metallic train car waiting for her in the dark chamber.

  Blackburn gave a weary sigh, looking ten years older, then he tapped at his forearm keyboard. “Stupid girl.”

  A mechanized voice boomed in the air: “Decompression sequence initiated.”

  The words didn’t register in Tom’s brain for a moment. All he was aware of was the massive, chugging sound filling the air, and Heather, nearly at the train but not close enough to find shelter inside. She spun back around with naked fear blazing on her face, realizing what was about to happen, realizing now the meaning of Blackburn’s words:

  If you try and walk out that door, you’ll be making a deadly mistake. . . .

  The metallic vactrain plunged out of sight as the transition chamber depressurized, and a powerful gust of wind blew Heather down into the magnetized vacuum tube along with it.

  AS SOON AS he was alone, Tom moved to the door and stared into the blackness beyond the glass, trying to wake up from this strange dream. It couldn’t really have happened. He hadn’t really seen that, had he?

  His neural processor replayed the images and informed him of what must have followed Heather getting knocked into the vactube.

  She’d had fifteen seconds to be totally conscious, if she’d held her breath. Then her lungs would have ruptured. If she hadn’t held her breath, she might’ve remained conscious for forty-five seconds. It was enough time for her to realize she was doomed, that there was no way back out of the vactube, and her blood would’ve started to boil.

  Tom clutched his temples, because he couldn’t focus his brain. He couldn’t really be here, he couldn’t have stood by and seen Heather get murdered. He couldn’t have stood there, and done nothing, as Blackburn turned around and walked away like nothing had happened.

  There wouldn’t be any forensic evidence, would there? Her body was in the vactube somewhere, and her neural processor would be utterly obliterated once she was hit by a vactrain going several thousand miles per hour. He felt a hysterical laugh rise inside him, realizing he was the only person, the only person in the world who knew what Blackburn had done.

  He stared at the glass, reflecting no image of him, and wondered why he’d stood there and said nothing even after Blackburn decompressed the chamber. Had he been in shock or . . . or had some part of him realized what was about to happen and known it was the only way to neutralize Heather?

  He couldn’t figure it out. His brain wasn’t working right.

  Then he sprang a foot in the air as Wyatt and Vik’s footsteps scuffed up behind him.

  “Okay, the retina scanners are definitely out,” Wyatt said. “Ready to go?”

  Everything had transformed for Tom in
a few minutes. The lines of the world around him had taken on a stark clarity, and he felt like he could see every jagged detail he’d missed before. They could die doing this. He could get them all killed. Tom felt a great rush of self-doubt. They’d planned this so carefully, but what if they were wrong?

  Then his thoughts turned to Yuri, the reason they were doing this. It calmed him.

  No. They wouldn’t get killed.

  He wouldn’t let it happen. Not this time.

  He couldn’t think about Heather right now. He had a task and thinking about this would hobble him, distract him. All he needed to think about was getting into Obsidian Corp., destroying that transmitter, and getting back out. Nothing else mattered until that was done.

  “Let’s go,” Tom said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  WHEN THE VACTRAIN halted in Antarctica, they darted toward the elevator. Then they waited, invisible in their optical camouflage, for an elevator full of Obsidian Corp. employees to finally come to the Interstice. It took a while. Thirty-eight minutes later, the doors slid open and some of Obsidian Corp.’s personnel strode out. Tom, Vik, and Wyatt rushed straight inside.

  Then a message from Wyatt appeared before Tom’s eyes. I’m activating the net-send thought interface now, but I tweaked it so if you want it to actually send, you have to confirm. We don’t need to hear each other’s stray thoughts.

  Even now, Tom’s vision glowed with the first thought that always came to him when hooked into a thought interface: Don’t think about boobs. He felt very pleased to select the “Cancel Message” option rather than the “Send” one.

  As the elevator rose, Tom felt Wyatt’s hand grab his, and he squeezed hers reassuringly. Vik’s shoulder bumped his during the interminable trip upward, their ears popping.

  They flattened themselves against the wall when the next batch of Obsidian Corp. employees stepped into the elevator, then slipped past them into the lobby before the doors closed.