Vortex

  But not from within Obsidian Corp.’s walls.

  Tom moved softly so his friends wouldn’t notice him creeping backward, his legs shaking as he inched toward the door leading outside. It felt like moving through quicksand. And then he was there, his hand on the chilled doorknob, and Tom knew the clock was running out. He shoved open the door, the wall of overpowering cold like a massive fist striking him. But Tom forced himself outward despite every instinct screaming at him to turn around.

  Then he closed the door behind him, trapping himself outside in the punishing, intolerable cold.

  For a moment, he stood there, horrified by what he’d done, trapping himself outside, condemning himself. His skin began to freeze as the wind knifed his skull, drove spikes into his eardrums. His neural processor advised him to seek shelter, but Tom knew he would never surrender to the census device if he stayed out there.

  His neural processor connected with the roaming server as wind stung tears out of his eyes and froze them on his cheeks, and his ears became pokers burning into his head. A nightmare of the past reared back to life under the pitiless sky cut with vivid stars and a green veil of solar winds as Tom waited to die.

  And then something made the stars swim in the sky, and the distortion grew larger and larger above him. For a moment, Tom wasn’t sure what he was seeing, and then a wave of displaced air knocked him backward onto the hard snow, humming throbbing his eardrums as a full Centurion-class drone retracted its camouflaging above his head.

  I saw your note, Mordred, Medusa net-sent him. I thought I’d come tell you: not a good idea.

  Tom gaped up at Medusa’s drone, too shocked to feel cold for a moment, and he shouted into the wind, “My friends are still trapped inside!”

  Immediately, the Centurion swung around, and its weapons flashed at the side of the warehouse, ripping a gaping hole into it. Through the sudden blast of heat, Tom made out Wyatt and Vik on the floor. He saw Vik grab her and they ducked as the drone roared over their heads across the warehouse.

  That’s when swarms of Praetorians blasted the wall and poured through the opening. Medusa’s Centurion began firing at them, and Tom charged forward until he reached Vik and Wyatt, his lungs alternately stabbed by heat and cold, and he helped haul them upright and jerked them with him as the lasers of the Praetorians spliced through the night, Medusa’s drone spinning in the air as it fired back. And then Vik and Wyatt were crowding against him, a wall of warmth reaching them as fire consumed the warehouse. Snow and sparks swirled around them as Praetorian after Praetorian was blasted apart.

  “T-T-Tom . . . how . . .” Vik said, shivering violently.

  And then behind them, another optically camouflaged ship lowered itself onto the snow, passenger compartment popping open, as close as it could get to them without danger.

  Vik and Wyatt were frozen in place, but Tom snapped into motion and urged them toward it, knowing their only safety lay inside. They clambered up the steps and stuffed themselves into the crowded little cabin, meant for a crew of two, at most. The windowed compartment sealed up over them.

  Tom willed on his net-send thought interface. He had no trouble focusing. Medusa, is the drone still intact? Tom messaged her. Here is Obsidian Corp.’s external defense grid, and here is the supercomputer we need destroyed. . . . He sent her the coordinates he’d found in Obsidian Corp.’s systems, the transmitter they hadn’t managed to get themselves.

  Got it.

  And the last thing they saw before they jolted up into the atmosphere was a series of warehouses blasting apart.

  Done, she sent back.

  Antarctica’s icy expanse and Obsidian Corp.’s burning, black mass receded beneath them until they became mere pinpricks.

  Tom realized his breath was fogging up the window where he was pressed against it, trying to see. He grew aware of Wyatt’s fingers digging into his arm, Vik’s tense form against his other side. Tom maneuvered around in the tiny space, his legs bundled up against him. Wyatt and Vik’s eyes enormous in the dimness.

  “Thank y-you,” Tom said reverently to the air. “You s-saved our lives.”

  “W-who are you talking to?” Vik managed.

  “I d-don’t understand this,” Wyatt said, shivering.

  “C-can I tell?” Tom said. “They can be t-trusted.”

  For a long moment, they all three shivered in the thick silence as Tom awaited an answer.

  If you’re sure, Medusa replied.

  Tom felt almost like he could laugh and cry with the sheer relief of this, another secret sliding off him. He waited until his teeth stopped chattering, just so he could figure out the right words. “Guys, meet Medusa. Sort of. She’s controlling this ship, and that was her drone, too. Medusa, meet Vik and Wyatt. Sort of. They’re my best friends.”

  In response, the ship dipped briefly toward the dark waters below them like a salute.

  Vik and Wyatt stared at Tom, wide-eyed. They said nothing for so long, Tom began to grow alarmed.

  Finally, Wyatt said, “Thank you, uh, Medusa?”

  And then Vik said, “This is your secret life again, isn’t it?”

  Tom leaned his head back against the glass enclosure with a sheepish smile. “Sort of.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  MEDUSA DROPPED THEM off as close to the Pentagon as she dared approach, and Tom, Vik, and Wyatt hitched a very awkward ride into Arlington. The Pentagon City Mall was closed for the night, so they conducted their second stealth operation of the evening. Breaking into Obsidian Corp. had been a tense, life-threatening experience. Breaking into Toddery’s Chicken Barn to access the Pentagon City Mall was another matter.

  They could barely repress their giddy laughter as they followed the passage between the mall and the Pentagon, trying to think of the excuse they’d use to explain why they weren’t listed as absent from the Pentagonal Spire. Finally, they decided to just show themselves to the officers on duty, and pretend they’d been caught sneaking out of the Spire, not sneaking in. They all got slapped with a weekend of scutwork duty and restricted libs, but they were ushered back into the Spire and no eyebrows were raised. In an installation filled with teenagers, catching trainees trying to sneak out after curfew wasn’t a notable or unusual event.

  Tom was so wired up with adrenaline, he was sure he could sprint ten miles if he needed to. He volunteered to sneak the gear back into the armory. Anything to put off sleep. He couldn’t sleep anytime soon.

  He was scrunching across the ground in the unlit Calisthenics Arena when a shadow moved, and Tom became aware of Lieutenant Blackburn waiting for him. Ice water flooded Tom’s veins. He found himself rooted in place, thinking of Heather. Thinking of what he’d seen.

  “Well?” Blackburn said tiredly. He looked years older in the dimness. “I’m sure you’ve got some preposterous lie ready for me. Give it a shot.”

  “I borrowed these. For a prank.” Tom lifted the optical camouflage suits.

  Blackburn shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I was up working late tonight . . .”

  Tom stirred. Working? So Blackburn hadn’t dropped off to sleep after what happened with Heather.

  “. . . and I got to hear in real time the confidential channels lighting up with chatter about an accident at Obsidian Corp. An entire wing of the Antarctica facility was obliterated. Shockingly enough, my thoughts immediately turned to you. I checked on you and according to your GPS signal, you’d been in the bathroom for the last three hours. Coincidentally, so had Vikram Ashwan and Wyatt Enslow.”

  “I think it was something we ate,” Tom tried. “You know Chris Majal’s Indian Hall . . .”

  “Raines, have I ever, and I mean ever, fallen for any of these ridiculous stories of yours?”

  Tom let out a breath. “Fine. You’ve got us. We did it. And you know it. The transmitter’s gone. We destroyed it. We freed Yuri. And I knew I had to do more damage to the place than targeting the transmitter, or it would be too conspicuous so we hit some other things, too
.”

  “Do you know what’s conspicuous? Burning down the heart of the security state.”

  “We were careful,” Tom assured him. “We took care of the surveillance cameras, we were wrapped in these optical camouflage suits securely enough that we didn’t leave any DNA, and the one place we removed them, we burned down afterward. Even the Interstice didn’t record our trip. That transmitter’s not controlling Yuri. It’s gone. Stick me in the census device, and I’ll show you, then you can approve him for a neural processor while there’s still time.”

  Blackburn drew closer, shadows sliding over his scarred face. “And let’s say I do what you want. I inform higher-ups that Sysevich is no longer a threat. Then, I’m giving you a pat on the back for what you did. I’m rewarding you for this.”

  Tom held his ground. “I realize you could probably let Vengerov kill Yuri. I also get that you are probably even capable of, I dunno”—he shrugged, never taking his eyes from him—“just killing someone who posed a threat to you somehow. . . .”

  Blackburn’s shoulders tensed, and Tom knew he was wondering if there was more behind his choice of words.

  “But I don’t think you’re gonna let Yuri die when there’s no reason for it.” Tom’s thoughts flickered back to Blackburn’s empty apartment, to that dumb candle. “You may not care what I think about you, or what anyone else thinks about you, but I don’t think you’re some unfeeling monster. If you turn around and let Yuri die, you know Wyatt will never get over it. She won’t forgive you. She won’t forgive herself. You’re not going to let that happen.”

  Blackburn looked like some sort of statue. He didn’t move.

  “And, hey, if you really need more incentive, then I can buy your agreement about Yuri’s new processor,” Tom said, inspired. “I have something else. Information. You’re gonna want this.”

  “What?” Blackburn said quietly.

  “Joseph Vengerov has a neural processor.”

  Blackburn’s face froze.

  “I figured you didn’t know. I didn’t.”

  For a moment, Blackburn stood there. Then, “That’s impossible. He’s too old, Raines. It would have damaged his brain. No one would do that.”

  “Well, it hasn’t. It’s there. It’s in his head. I saw it. That’s gotta be worth something to you,” Tom said, weary. He tossed the gear at him. Blackburn caught it automatically. “Think it over. I’m going to bed. I’m beat.”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and left Blackburn alone there by the armory in the shadowy Calisthenics Arena, stock-still, clutching the bundle of optical camouflage suits.

  WITHIN HOURS OF receiving his new neural processor, Yuri began bucking against the ventilator, so it was replaced by a nasal cannula. The prongs in his nose gave him a decidedly less alien appearance than the giant tube down his throat had.

  Yuri began to wake up for minutes at a time, and then for a full hour. Tom, Vik, and Wyatt were finally all there one day when he stirred. The large Russian boy blinked at them, dazed. Yuri’s memories had all been downloaded into the new processor, but they hadn’t spoken to him yet.

  “Thomas? Vikram?” He hadn’t yet spotted Wyatt, lurking by the doorway.

  Tom and Vik ambled over. “Hey, man. Welcome to the waking world.”

  Yuri settled back in his bed. “I am pleased to return.” He raised his arm, then looked at it, wide-eyed. “My great muscle mass!”

  “Sorry, man,” Tom said, feeling bad for him.

  “Yeah, you’ve got work to do. That’s what you get for lying in bed for months on end,” Vik chided him. “By the way, Yuri, now seems an optimal time for you and I to have a weight lifting contest, winner gets a hundred.”

  Tom socked Vik’s arm for Yuri. Yuri chuckled weakly.

  And then his lingering distress seemed to melt away when Wyatt slunk forward and settled by his side. He craned his head back so he could gaze up at her adoringly, and for the first time Tom could remember, she looked back at him the same way.

  As she leaned down to kiss him, Tom’s thoughts stretched to someone else.

  He needed to see Medusa.

  THE PENTAGONAL SPIRE was a tense place these days, so most people paid little attention to Yuri Sysevich’s miraculous recovery or his restoration to active duty status, pending his actual, physical recovery. Instead, everyone talked about Elliot’s dramatic, public defection. Or they whispered about the way Heather Akron had gone crazy at Capitol Summit, and now she was missing. Her GPS signal had even disappeared.

  Tom knew the truth, and it made his stomach churn, knowing he was essentially covering up a murder . . . but he wasn’t sure what else to do. Too many of his secrets were tangled up with Blackburn’s.

  Some things weren’t as complicated.

  Tom owed Medusa his life, Yuri’s life, and Vik and Wyatt’s freedom. It seemed like forever before she popped into the system again. When he met her, there were no more avatars, no illusory setting, just a blank white room, a template unwritten. He swept her up into his arms and swung her around. “I owe you so incredibly much, and I’m going to pay you back somehow.”

  She laughed. “I know. You seriously owe me. You’re lucky I saw your fond farewell note.”

  “How did you find that so soon?” Tom asked. “I wrote it right before I left.”

  “I told you, I’ve been monitoring your online activity to make sure you wouldn’t compromise our identities. I get an alert if your personal database references ‘Medusa.’ I also added ‘Murgatroid’ just in case.”

  He laughed. “I should’ve addressed it to ‘the Troid.’”

  “Then you’d be dead.”

  “Yeah,” he said, suddenly serious. “I’d be dead.”

  “Once I knew where you’d gone,” she said, “I kept those ships on standby. As soon as you were outside the building, I homed in on your GPS coordinates to see if you needed help.” She punched him lightly. “You should have asked me from the beginning.”

  Tom gazed at her. “But we were doing it because our friend needed us to destroy that transmitter, Medusa. I couldn’t have asked you to risk that. . . .”

  “You didn’t have to,” she told him. “You’ve never had to.”

  “I guess not,” Tom breathed.

  A year ago, before Capitol Summit, he’d tried to ask her to take a dive for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d known she’d say no. Why would anyone do that for him? She’d said to him afterward that maybe it would’ve been a possibility. He hadn’t believed her. Not even long afterward. Not until now, when she’d done something so hazardous just for his sake. The realization rocked through Tom that she’d risked drawing Obsidian Corp.’s attention to herself and she’d done it for him.

  Tom’s grip tensed around her, because he had this sudden, terrible sense something awful would happen if he let her go. “I have to ask you something, Medusa.”

  She eased back, waiting for it, her eyes searching his.

  Tom stroked her black hair nervously. “Listen.” He licked his lips, his stomach dancing. For a tangle of reasons. “Tell me something. I hope I’m wrong, but I’m going to guess your name again.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.” His voice was intent. “Is your name ‘Yaolan’?”

  Medusa jerked in his grip, and Tom felt something cold and frightening squeezing inside him, knowing it was.

  “How did you . . .” she breathed. “Did you go in the personnel files in the Citadel? I told you not to do that, Tom!”

  “I didn’t.” Tom clasped her shoulders, full of dread. He leaned down so he could stare right into her eyes. “Joseph Vengerov said it. I interfaced with his neural processor, briefly—”

  “His neural processor?”

  “His neural processor,” Tom confirmed. “He has one. You were right when you said LM Lymer Fleet was surveilling you—that was Vengerov surveilling you because he’s on to what you can do. I couldn’t get into Obsidian Corp. because he’d already figured out how to
block our way. He knows there’s a ghost in the machine. He knows how to detect us, block us, and when he found me in his system, he called me ‘Yaolan.’”

  She folded her arms, withdrawing one step, then another. He wished she wouldn’t pull away from him when something upset her.

  “Don’t you see?” Tom said urgently. “You’re in danger. He’s going to come for you, especially after what happened at Obsidian Corp. I think this is why he wanted me to use the virus on you—he wanted to knock you out for a while to see if the ghost in the machine went away when you did. If that happened, he would have all the confirmation he needs about who the ghost is. He already suspects it’s you.”

  Her jaw set as she straightened to her full height. “It’s good you warned me. I’ll be careful.”

  “Careful won’t do it, Medusa! He knows.”

  But she shook her head, and Tom felt a surge of frustration, because she couldn’t understand. Joseph Vengerov was another Coalition CEO to her. She hadn’t been in Vengerov’s mind for that brief instant, hadn’t felt his ferocious desire to possess, the blinding need to own without conscience, without scruple, without self-doubt. She didn’t have a Blackburn or a Yuri to serve as walking examples of how little value Vengerov placed on human life.

  “What am I supposed to do, then?” Medusa demanded. “Even if he suspects me, it’s not like there is any way I can fix this.”

  “Yes, there is,” Tom said. “You can come over here.”

  “Go there?” she said disbelievingly. “To the Pentagonal Spire?”

  But Tom’s thoughts were racing ahead, and he grew so sure of this. There was one thing he had over here that Medusa didn’t have—and strange as it was, Tom realized it was the strongest weapon in his arsenal.

  He had Blackburn.

  Blackburn knew everything about him. He was the single person who could face Vengerov on a technical level. He was the only person who could be counted upon to hate Vengerov without wavering. And after seeing Blackburn kill Heather, Tom knew one more thing: Blackburn would do whatever he had to do to keep Tom’s ability out of Vengerov’s hands. He’d do it by any means necessary. It was strange that Tom felt no connection with Blackburn, no fondness, but he knew to his bones that he could rely on Blackburn’s hatred for Vengerov in a way he’d never been able to rely on anything else, even his own father.