Архитектура Аудит Военная наука Иностранные языки Медицина Металлургия Метрология
Образование Политология Производство Психология Стандартизация Технологии


PHOENIX RIDERS vs ANDROMEDA



 

I take a deep breath. “Here we go,” I murmur. Then I reach out, tap the words with a finger, and the world around me goes dark.

 

I hear the whistle of the wind before I see anything. Then, the world fades into view and I’m standing on a ledge, looking down into a perfectly circular lake surrounded on all sides by sheer metal walls hundreds of feet high. When I


 

I can’t glitch in until the game gets going,

 

I hope so,

look behind me, I realize that there is nothing but open ocean on the other side of the walls.

 

In the center of the circular lake, ten steel bridges—none of them connected —extend out to the walls like a star. They each lead to a tall, metal hangar door embedded in the wall, spaced out evenly. Security bots stand on either side of each enormous door. As I watch, power-ups materialize over the steel walls and along the edge of the lake’s waters, the colorful marbles lining the bridges both over and under. I double-check the power-ups in my own inventory. All there.

 

Let’s tear through Tokyo from zero to sixty / yeah, like we’re running out of time in this city.

 

The intro music playing all around us makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Ren’s new track, to activate the rigged Artifacts.

Let’s go out with a bang / yeah, it’s time to go out with a bang.

It takes me a while to notice the roar of the audience’s cheers thundering all around the landscape. The ever-present announcer voices come on, as excited as ever.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” they declare. “Welcome to the Silver Circle!” Down below, the players finally flicker into view. Each one appears

 

standing on a bridge, near the center of the lake where they do not connect. The Andromedans are unmistakable in scarlet-red suits—their captain, Shahira, has her scarf pinned tightly back and her team’s scarlet-ruby Artifact hanging over her head, while their Fighter, Ivo Erikkson, has his hair slicked back and a scowl on. My heart sits in my throat as my gaze turns to my teammates. Their suits are blue, a stark contrast against the steel walls around them. Asher (bearing the Riders’ blue diamond Artifact over his head), Hammie, Roshan. Then, the two new additions. Jackie Nguyen, to replace Ren. And my replacement—Brennar Lyons, their new Architect.

Ready? It’s Asher, contacting me through an encrypted channel I set up for him. His message shows up as transparent white text in the bottom of my view.

I nod, even though I’m not sure I am.                                                                      I reply. I bring up my

 

inventory of precious power-ups.

 

When I get in, pass me your Artifact.

Will do.

 

Then I focus on Brennar and comb through his data. If I’m going to glitch myself into his place, I’d better make sure I can do it on my first try. What will happen today, if the Phoenix Riders don’t win the game? What will happen if Zero triggers his plans?

 

The announcers are introducing the players now. I strip down Brennar’s

data, then make a frustrated sound.                                                                                                                                                I say to


Asher. He’s not activated yet.

 

I’ll be watching, he replies. I’ll warn you if I see anything.

 

I take a deep breath and look back down at the scene. Each of the players stands at the edge of their bridge, looking down at the water below them, then glaring at one another. No one can reach the other—everyone is separated by a good fifty feet of space in the central gap. I can see Asher’s lips moving, giving each of the Riders their instructions. My attention shifts to the enormous metal doors lining the inside of the circular steel wall. Red lights start to flash at the top of each door. What’s kept inside? And where is Zero? My skin prickles in real life knowing that Zero is watching this game right now, perhaps watching it in the same way that I am. Waiting to disrupt it.

“Game! Set! Fight!” the announcer shouts. The invisible audience lets out a thunderous cheer.

 

At the same time, an earsplitting alarm goes off, echoing all across the world. It comes from the flashing red lights at the top of each of the ten steel doors. The players whirl around. Hammie is the first to start running toward her door along her bridge. I bring myself lower for a better view, until I’m hovering over the bridges. The doors shudder in unison, then begin to pull up, the sound grating with their weight. Hammie’s run turns into a sprint. She shouts something back at the other Riders. The Andromedans are making their way down their respective bridges, too, and as the doors rise farther, I get a glimpse of what’s inside.

 

Metal legs, thick as buildings. Circular chrome joints, steel sinews. Then, as the doors rise higher, a barrel-like chest, each one different in design, with powerful arms hanging on either side. At the top, transparent glass lining the metal heads. My jaw drops as my gaze travels up. Ten mecha robots, each waiting to be boarded.

 

The waters in the lake and out in the open ocean churn furiously now, turning choppier as a storm approaches from the horizon, black and threatening. I double-tap on the area of my view where I can see Brennar running toward his mech. The world zooms in around me, and suddenly I’m directly above him, looking on as he approaches the steel door. He begins to climb the ladder along the side of the robot.

 

On the next bridge over, Hammie has reached the top of her mech and is now standing on its head. She searches for the entrance, finds it, pries something open—and hops in, disappearing from view. Seconds later, the inside of the mech’s eyes light up, bathing the metal around them with a green glow. A whirring sound starts—like some kind of turbo jet engine—and rises to a fever pitch. Her mech stirs to life, the joints moving as fluidly as if Hammie were the


robot. It lifts one leg. Then another. The bridge trembles from each step.

 

Asher reaches his mech second. As he enters the robot, his Artifact also vanishes from view. I let out a breath in disappointment. The same will probably happen with Shahira—meaning that if I want to use my Artifact King power-up to steal her Artifact, I’ll have to first get her out of the mech. Shahira hops into her robot a breath behind Asher, and then Franco, the Andromedans’ Architect, follows suit. I look down at Brennar. He’s almost there, but there’s no question that he’s slower than the others, having been yanked into the final tournament with no time at all to train. Even so—he wasn’t chosen as a wild card for nothing. He reaches the top of his mech, hops in, and starts the robot. Its eyes power up, glowing bright blue.

 

I bring up a grid over Brennar and his mech, and data about them pours into a green, rotating block of code over my view. I have to time this correctly. If I do it wrong, I might glitch myself into the scene outside of Brennar altogether, and I could be exposed to the entire audience. Zero would know instantly where I am and what I’m doing. And once I’m in as an actual player, I’ll have to move fast. In real life, Brennar will know right away when he’s no longer able to control his avatar. He’ll alert the security, and they will pause the game. They’ll find me and shut me out.

 

“Shahira is moving to strike!” the announcer exclaims, and my attention whirls momentarily to where Shahira’s mech is now running down the bridge toward the central gap. As she reaches the end of the bridge, her mech crouches down like a leopard ready to spring. Then, it gives a mighty leap into the air— and blade-like wings extend from either side of it, unfurling in a magnificent display. She launches into the air with a single swoop. As she goes, she grabs a speed power-up, and in a burst of temporary power, she leaps across the gap and onto the bridge where Asher’s mech now stands. The bridge shakes from her impact, and the sound reverberates across the virtual space.

 

I type faster. I have to get into this game. As Brennar’s mech steps forward, I bring up a lattice-like image of him inside it. Then I fly down as close as I can get to his mech. I hover right in front of the robot’s eyes. Through them, I can see the outline of Brennar inside. Ready, I mouth to myself.

Then I type a command. For a split second, Brennar sees me hovering outside of his mech. He blinks in shock at the sight.

 

The world rushes around me, and when I open my eyes, I am inside the cockpit of the mech. More important, I’m inside of Brennar’s body, with complete control over his avatar.

 

Hey, Captain, I say to Asher.

 

Welcome back, he replies. And a second later, he turns to face Hammie’s mech,


ready to pass her our Team’s Artifact. She’s ready for him, already anticipating his move. In a few strides, she’s at his side, clasping her mech’s metal hand with his. A flash of light illuminates them both for an instant, and then every player is alerted that our Artifact is now in Hammie’s hands.

She doesn’t waste a second. As Shahira barrels down on Asher, Hammie reaches for me. I take her mech’s hand. Another flash of light—and our Artifact is now with me. The crowd roars in excitement.

 

I bring up my deactivation hack, take a deep breath, and run it on the Artifact in my hand. It takes a few seconds. For a moment, I think it won’t work.

 

Then the Artifact sparks with electricity. A ream of garbled code appears in my view. The Artifact turns black. I run an analysis of it again—and smile when it doesn’t respond. Deactivated.

 

Now the countdown starts. I have only a minute or two, at most, before Brennar alerts everyone of what happened to him and then security resets me out of the game. I don’t know when, or if, Zero will know what I’ve done to our Artifact, but there’s no time to dwell on it now. I turn my attention to the inside of my mech.

 

The controls inside the mech are beautifully simple—designed for each of us to understand it instantaneously. There are weapons built into the arms and shoulders, and when I move my arms and legs, the robot moves its arms and legs. I search for Shahira. She has engaged Asher in locked combat in the air over the lake, while Franco is heading toward Asher too in an attempt to overwhelm him. Others are turning their attention to me.

I have to get Shahira out of her mech.

 

Team Freeze, to disable the enemy team. Artifact King, to steal Shahira’s Artifact. And Play God, to permanently alter the landscape. I run forward with my mech along my bridge, look over at the scene, and get ready to activate my Freeze power-up.

 

“To your left!” Asher suddenly shouts at me. “He’s shifted toward you—” I startle and swing my mech’s head around just in time to see Ivo

Erikkson’s flying mech barreling down on me, its jaws open as if to take a bite.

 

All I have time to do is brace for impact.

He hurtles into me. Metal slams against metal as we both go tumbling off the bridge and into the lake. The impact jars me hard; for an instant, all I can see is a blur of water outside my glass view. Use the power-up, my instinct says, but I push it down. If I do it now, Shahira will fall into the water and sink, then reset on the bridge. Instead, I aim my arm directly at Ivo’s head. Then I slam my fist down on a launch button.

 

A rocket fires at Ivo’s mech, slamming his head backward. He releases me.


My mech is suddenly floating free in the water. No time to waste. I reach for my Play God power-up and activate it.

 

The world suddenly stops, as if paused mid-frame in a movie. In my view, a transparent number now counts down the seconds I have to alter the landscape. My fingers fly. I pull myself out of the water and settle on a bridge—then yank the bridges together so that they close the gap in the center. Metal screeches as the bridges pop free from their columns. My gaze settles on where Shahira and Asher are still locked together in midair. I clap my hands together, then push them apart. Shahira’s mech goes flying off Asher’s, freeing him. At the same time, I bring her closer to me, forcing her mech to land on the now-connected bridge between us.

 

All around us, the audience’s gasp echoes. The announcer’s voice comes on, confused. “A power-up has been activated—we’re not sure where Brennar got this from, but he has used an item that has never appeared in a game since the genesis of the tournaments! We are standing by for more info—”

 

The security knows something is wrong now. Hideo knows. And that means Zero probably knows, too. The timer runs out on my power-up. The world moves again. Shahira’s mech crouches, shaking its head for a moment as it tries to reorient itself. I immediately activate my second power-up. Team Freeze.

 

Her mech freezes in its motions. All around us, the Andromedans freeze, too. Through Brennar’s comm, Asher’s voice comes on. “Go!” he shouts.

But I have no time to explain. I jump up from my seat inside my mech and grab hold of the cover over my head. I push it up. Rain lashes me, dotting my view, and I realize that the storm on the horizon has now reached us, one thing I hadn’t changed during my control of the surroundings. I haul myself out of my mech. The other Phoenix Riders are circled around me, the backs of their mechs turned to protect me.

 

I crouch on top of my mech and turn my attention to Shahira’s frozen one. Through its eyes, I can see her staring back at me, eyes wide, unable to move. I hop down onto the shoulder of my mech and break into a run along its extended arm. Overhead, the announcer’s voice echoes above the storm. “Brennar has broken from the pack and used a second power-up! We are trying to figure out —”

 

They are going to stop the game at any moment now. I’m surprised they haven’t stopped it already. What is Hideo doing? Just concentrate. I reach my mech’s hand and take a flying leap onto Shahira’s mech arm. The rain has turned the metal into a slippery slope—and I almost slide off during my landing. My arms grapple for support. I manage to scramble to my feet and continue sprinting up her arm. I climb up the side of the mech’s head. As the audience breaks into a


rumble of confusion and bewilderment, I yank open the hangar right as the Team Freeze runs out.

 

I look down through the opening at Shahira, who has just unfrozen enough to turn her head up at me. Her Artifact shines right over her head, scarlet red. I take out my third power-up. Artifact King.

I move to activate it.

But I can’t. I blink, shocked. My limbs are frozen, head to toe, and I stand there with my power-up in my hand, unable to budge an inch. Below me, Shahira narrows her eyes and jumps up to pull herself out of the mech. She comes to stand in front of me. I realize through a haze that she has used a power-up on me, too, something that has rendered me frozen.

 

“I warned you, Emika,” she says.

And, even though the words are in Shahira’s voice, I know. I know that it is not her who is really talking to me.

It is Zero, inhabiting her body.

I struggle in vain as Shahira approaches me, her gait now having the same predatory grace as Zero’s. Her ruby Artifact shines brightly above her head. So close. She circles me once, just as Zero had done in the Pirate’s Den, and then she reaches out and takes my power-up.

 

No! I want to shout, but I can’t. Shahira holds out the power-up to me as if we were clinking glasses. “Two can play at this,” she says. She turns her back and starts running toward Asher’s mech.

 

Why isn’t Hideo stopping the game? Surely by now everyone can see that the game has gone wrong. As the audience roars with a cacophony of confusion, cheers, boos, and incredulous shouts, the power-up finally wears off on me. I stumble forward, gasping, then start sprinting after Shahira. Whatever happens, I can’t let her use the power-up on Asher. I can’t let Zero’s Artifacts activate. My hands grapple for the rope at my waist.

“Hey!”

 

All of our heads turn to see Hammie’s mech hurtling toward us. She brings her legs down hard into the water, sending waves pummeling over the bridges. The hangar on her mech’s head flies open, and out shoots Hammie in a blur of motion, suspended in the rain in a flying leap. She holds up a bright-green power-up she’d grabbed earlier. Then she flings it at Shahira.

An explosion lights up the end of my mech’s arm, just shy of where Shahira is running. She skids to a halt, but the blast still throws Shahira off her feet and sends her flying through the air. On our other side, Franco’s mech comes charging through the water, bent against the strengthening winds. “Hammie!” I shout, but it’s too late. Franco grabs Hammie with one mech arm, closes the fist,


and throws her. She goes flying through the air, landing with a splash in the churning open ocean beyond the wall. With his other hand, Franco catches Shahira and saves her from her fall.

Asher’s mech is moving fast now, fist raised at Franco. I stop running for a second to duck down. I see Asher soar high over me, his mech’s eye a distant scarlet dot high in the sky. He smashes hard into Franco’s side—the impact knocks me to my knees. Water slams into me as the waves from Asher’s landing pour over the ruined arm of my mech. I wipe water from my eyes and look up. Franco strikes back against Asher, each blow a deafening crunch of metal. In the midst of everything, I find Shahira. She is racing up Franco’s arm toward Asher’s mech. I run in her direction.

 

“Need a lift?” Roshan’s voice comes on in my comms. I turn just long enough to see his fist come from nowhere, scooping me up and closing around me. His mech is flying, his metal blade wings beating so hard that they form a whirlpool in the lake’s water. I soar through the air to where Franco and Asher are locked in a death grip.

 

Nearby, Ivo’s mech comes hurtling toward us, aiming straight for Roshan. We’re almost there. “Let me go!” I call to Roshan, banging my fist against the inside of his palm.

 

He does as I say and drops me. I fall toward Asher’s shoulders. At the same time, Shahira reaches his opposite shoulder. We both climb. Rain lashes against me, threatening to hurl me into the water. I hang on as tightly as I can and try to climb faster. Franco lands another hit hard against Asher’s chest, sending me careening wildly to one side, hanging on by only my arm. I force myself to swing back. Keep going.

 

I reach the top of the mech’s head right as Shahira gets to her feet. She runs toward the head’s cover. If she gets it open and sees Asher’s Artifact, she can use the power-up on him, and we’ll lose. I clench my jaw and force myself onto my feet. Then I sprint toward her. Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

Shahira pulls the head’s cover open.

She raises her hand to use the power-up.

 

I reach her, throwing myself at her with every ounce of strength I have.

 

My hands close on the power-up. I yank it out of her—Zero’s—grasp right as she is about to use it. Do it, now. I turn my view’s focus on Shahira’s Artifact. Before she can stop me, I aim the power-up at her and throw. Her eyes widen.

 

The power-up bursts into a ball of black smoke, engulfing both of us. Through the darkness, Shahira’s ruby Artifact appears in my hand. My fingers close around it at the same time I run my deactivation hack. It sparks wildly, streaks of electricity whipping out from it in every direction. Then, a split second


later, it turns black.

 

Mine. Game over.

The audience explodes into chaotic noise all around us. The sound is deafening, drowning out anything and everything. “It’s all done!” the announcer’s voice shouts over the noise, mired in confusion. “But hang on, folks, what happened in the arena today? This is an unprecedented hack of the final tournament! We are standing by for more—”

 

It’s all done. I clench the Artifact like my life depends on it. That’s it. Is that it? A choked laugh breaks out of me, and all the energy rushes out of my chest. Asher’s voice has come on through my earpiece, and he’s shouting something ecstatically, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. I can’t concentrate on anything except the fact that the game is over.

 

Then, something strange happens.

A jolt of electricity sparks through me. Like a static shock. I jump. A unified gasp ripples through the audience, too, as if everyone had felt it at the exact same time. Numbers and data flicker over each of the players, in and out, then gone.

 

What was that? I stand there, blinking for an instant, unsure of what just happened. A feeling of dread hits me.

 

In front of me, Shahira’s avatar vanishes, replaced by Zero, his dark armor and opaque helmet black under the stormy sky. He stares at me. “You triggered it,” he says. His voice is low, furious.

 

“Triggered what? You’re done!” I shout at him. “And so is your plan.” Something about my words seems to surprise Zero. “You don’t know.” Don’t know? Know what?

He straightens. “My plan,” he says, “was to stop Hideo.”


 

 

30

 

What?

 

I shake my head, not understanding. But before I can reply, Zero vanishes as the Silver Circle world around us freezes and fades into black. When I blink again, I’m back in my hotel room, and the games are done. I sit for a moment, startled by the silence. It’s all over so suddenly. I’d done it—and even though I still haven’t figured out who Zero is, I know that I’ve stopped his plans, whatever they happened to be.

 

You don’t know. My plan was to stop Hideo.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? What don’t I know? Something tugs at the back of my mind, a nagging little worry.

 

As if on cue, a message pops up in my view. It’s Asher. I accept it, and his familiar face appears as if he’s in the room with me, his expression elated. “Emi!” he exclaims. “You did it! We won!”

 

I manage a smile at him and mutter something back, but Zero’s words run through my head.

 










Where are you?

 

It’s a message from Hideo.

 

“I’ll call you back, Ash,” I say, then end the call and type back to Hideo in a fog. If I can just see him in person, he’ll be able to explain away what Zero had said. I’ll tell him all about it, and he’ll know what Zero was referring to.

Barely a half hour later, my door opens, and I look up to see Hideo walk into my room, flanked by his bodyguards. He shakes his head once at them, and they stop immediately in unison, obeying so quickly that it is as if they were programmed to do it. Then they turn and go outside, leaving us alone. I haven’t seen Hideo in several days, not in person, and my heart leaps immediately in response to his presence. I hop to my feet. He can explain what’s going on.

 

Hideo stops a foot away from me and gives me a strange, solemn frown. “I told you to leave.”

 

Something in his gaze makes me pause. Zero’s words come back to me, suspended in the air between us. “Zero was in the game,” I say. “He’d rigged the Artifacts with a virus. He said something to me before he disappeared, that he was here to stop your plans.” I frown. “I don’t understand what he means.”


Hideo stays silent.

 

“I mean,” I go on, now afraid to stop talking, “I thought his plans were to trigger a destruction of the NeuroLink, maybe hurt everyone connected to it, but I didn’t know why he wanted that.” I stare at Hideo, suddenly dreading his answer. “Do you know?”

 

Hideo bows his head. His brows are furrowed, and everything about his posture screams of his reluctance to reply.

 

Zero can’t be right, can he? What do I not know? “What is he talking about?” I say, my voice soft now.

 

Hideo finally looks at me again. It is a haunted expression, the boy of curiosity and playfulness hidden now beneath a veil. It’s the same seriousness I always see on his face, but this is the first time I feel a sense of foreboding from it, like it’s more than just the expression of a quiet creator. After a while, he sighs and runs his hand through his hair. A familiar screen appears between us.

 


Link with Hideo?

 

“Let me show you,” he says.

 

I hesitate. Then I tap to accept the invite.

A trickle of Hideo’s emotions opens to me as our Link establishes. He’s wary, weighed down by something. But he’s optimistic, too. Optimistic about what?

 

“We are always searching for a way to improve our lives with machines,” Hideo says. “With data. For a while now, I’ve been working on developing the perfect artificial intelligence, an algorithm that, when implemented through the NeuroLink, can fix our flaws better than any human police force.”

I frown at him. “‘Fix our flaws’? What are you talking about?”

 

Hideo brings up a new screen between us with a subtle wave of his hand. It looks like an oval of colors, greens and blues, yellows and purples, all constantly shifting. “You’re looking inside the mind of a NeuroLink user,” he explains. Then he swipes again. The oval is replaced with another one, with its own shifting colors. “And another user.” He swipes yet again. “And another.”

 

I stare, incredulous. “These are all the minds of your users? You can see into their thoughts? Their brains?”

 

“I can do more than just see. The NeuroLink has always interfaced with the human brain,” Hideo continues. “That is what makes its virtual reality so efficient and so realistic. That’s what made the glasses special. You knew this. Until now, I used that interface as a one-way information system—the code simply created and displayed what your brain wished. You move your arm; the code moves your virtual arm. Your brain is the one in control.” He gives me a


pointed look. “But information travels both ways.”

 

I struggle to comprehend the truth of what he’s saying. Hideo’s invention uses the world’s best 3-D effects generator—your own brain—to create for you the most incredible illusion of reality ever.

The world’s best brain–computer interface.

 

I shake my head, not wanting to believe his words. “What are you trying to say?”

 

Hideo looks at me for a long moment before he answers. “The end of the game,” he says, “activated the NeuroLink’s ability to control its users’ minds.”

The NeuroLink can control its users.

 

The realization hits me so hard and fast that I can barely breathe. Users are supposed to be able to control the NeuroLink with their minds. But that can also be used the other way—type in a command and use that to tell the brain what to do. Type in enough commands, and the brain can be permanently controlled. And Hideo has created an entire algorithm to do this.

I take a step back, steadying myself against the side table. “You are controlling how people think,” I say, “. . . with code?”

 

“Those Warcross lenses were free,” Hideo reminds me. “They have been shipped to nearly every person in the world, in almost every corner of the globe.”

 

The news stories of long lines, of shipments of stolen lenses. Now I understand why Hideo wasn’t worried about stolen shipments. The more given out, the better.

 

Hideo brings up another image of the inside of a user’s mind. This time, the oval’s colors look deep red and purple. “The NeuroLink can tell when a user’s emotions shift to anger,” he says. “It can tell when they are plotting something violent, and it knows this with incredible accuracy.” He shifts our view to the actual person behind this specific mind. It’s a person struggling to pull a handgun out of his coat, his forehead matted with sweat as he prepares to hold up a convenience store.

 

“Is this happening right now?” I manage to say.

Hideo nods once. “Downtown Los Angeles.”

 

Right as the person reaches the convenience store entrance, the dark red oval representing his mind suddenly flares, flashing bright. As I look on, the NeuroLink’s new algorithm resets the colors. The deep scarlet turns into a mild mix of blues, greens, and yellow. On the live view, the man freezes. He stops pulling out his gun. There is a strange blankness on his face that sends a shiver through me. Then, as his face calms, he blinks out of it, exits, and moves on down the street, the convenience store forgotten.


Hideo shows me other videos, of events all happening simultaneously around the world. The color maps of billions of minds, all controlled by an algorithm.

“As time goes on,” Hideo says, “the code will adapt to each person’s mind. It will fine-tune itself, improve itself, adding to its automated responses every specific detail about what a person might do. It will turn itself into a perfect security system.”

 

Judging from the footage, people don’t even know what had hit them—and even if they had, the code will stop them from thinking about it now. “What if people don’t want this? What if they just stop using the NeuroLink and their lenses?”

“Remember what I told you when I first gave you a set of them?”

I recall his words at the same time he says this. The lenses leave behind a harmless film on the eye’s surface that is only one atom thick. This film acts as a conduit between the lenses and your body.

 

That lingering film on the eyes will keep someone connected to the NeuroLink, even when they take the lenses out.

 

I’d understood Zero’s plans all wrong. He had wanted to destroy this with the virus in those rigged Artifacts. He had wanted to assassinate Hideo to stop him from moving forward. He had bombed our dorms in an attempt to keep me out of the games and from carrying out Hideo’s final goal. And maybe this is why Hideo had not stopped the final game when he saw that things were going wrong. He’d wanted me to stop Zero so that I could trigger his plans.

He’s doing this because of Sasuke. He created all of this so that no one would ever have to suffer the same fate as his brother, that no family would ever go through what his did. Our conversation comes back to me in a flash. You created Warcross for him, I’d said. And he’d responded, Everything I do is for him.

Does Kenn know about this plan? Was everyone always in on it?

“You can’t,” I finally say, hoarse.

My question doesn’t stir him. “Why not?” Hideo asks.

 

“You can’t be serious.” I let out a single, desperate, humorless laugh. “You want to be a . . . dictator? You want to control everyone in the world?”

 

“Not me.” Hideo gives me the same piercing stare that I remember from our first meeting. “What if the dictator is an algorithm? A code? What if that code can force the world to be a better place, can stop wars with a single breath of text, can save lives with an automated system? The algorithm doesn’t have an ego. It doesn’t lust after power. It is programmed solely to do right, to be fair. It is the same as the laws that govern our society—except it can also enforce that


law immediately, everywhere, all the time.” “But you control the algorithm.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “I do.”

“No one chose you,” I snap.

 

“And have people been so great at choosing their leaders?” he snaps back. “But you can’t do that! You’re taking away something that makes us

fundamentally human!”

Hideo steps closer. “And what is it that makes us human, exactly? The choice to kill and rape? To war and bomb and destroy? To kidnap children? To gun down the innocent? Is that the part of humanity that shouldn’t be taken away? Has democracy been able to stop any of this? We already try to fight back with laws—but law enforcers cannot be everywhere at once. They cannot see everything. What if I can? I could have stopped the person who stole Sasuke— the NeuroLink can stop anyone who might do the same now to another child. I can make ninety percent of the population crime-free, allowing our law enforcement to focus only on the remaining ten percent.”

“You mean you’ll control ninety percent of the population.”

 

“People can still live their lives, pursue their dreams, enjoy their fantasy worlds, do everything they’ve ever wished to do. I’m not standing in the way of any of that. They can do anything they want, as long as it is not a crime. Nothing in their lives changes except for this. So why not?”

 

Everything about Hideo’s words seems contradictory, and I find myself standing in the middle, not sure what to believe. I think of my own city, how I have a job as a bounty hunter because the police can no longer keep up with the rising crime in New York. I think of how the same has been happening everywhere. They can do anything they want, as long as it is not a crime. Nothing in their lives changes except for this.

 

Except for giving up their freedom. Except the thing that changes everything.

 

“It’s an essential part of everyday life, the NeuroLink,” Hideo says. “People work inside it and build businesses on top of it and are engulfed in the entertainment it offers. They want to use it.”

 

And I realize that, of course, he’s right. Why would anyone give up the perfect fantasy reality just because they have to give up their freedom? What’s the point of freedom if you’re just living in a miserable reality? It would be like telling everyone to quit using the internet. And even as my skin crawls at the knowledge that I’ve worn the NeuroLink lenses—am still wearing them—I still feel a sharp pang at the thought of never logging back into the Link, a reluctance to abandon them.


Even without the film against the eyes, people would never stop using it. They probably won’t even believe that it’s doing this to them. And even if they did start arguing with each other about the implications of the NeuroLink’s manipulation, their lives now revolve around it. Anyone not logged in to the NeuroLink right now will use it before long, triggering this new algorithm the instant they do. Eventually, everyone will have this installed in their minds. And that will give Hideo control over each of them.

 

Maybe no one would even care.

“What about protestors?” I press. “What about fighting for what’s right or making mistakes or even just respecting people who disagree with you? Is it going to stop people from passing laws that are unjust? What laws is it going to enforce, exactly?” I clench my fists. “How is your artificial intelligence capable of judging everyone in the world, or understanding why they do what they do? How do you know you won’t go too far? You aren’t going to bring about world peace all by yourself.”

 

“Everyone pays lip service to world peace,” Hideo says. “They use it as a pretty answer to pointless questions, to make themselves sound good.” His eyes sear me to the core. “I’m tired of the horror in the world. So I will force it to end.”

 

I think of the times, after my father’s death, when I’d picked fights in school or shouted things I later regretted. I think of what I’d done to defend Annie Pattridge. Hideo’s code would have stopped me. Would that have been good? Why does it feel like a knife twisting in my chest, to know that this is the reason why he flew me to Tokyo? All those warnings from him for me to leave.

“You lied to me,” I say in a firm voice.

 

“I was not the one who attacked you.” Hideo’s eyes are soft and steady. “I was not the one who destroyed what was precious to you. There is real evil in the world, and I am not it.”

 

Zero had destroyed the things that mattered most to me—my pieces of the past, my ornament and my father’s painting. My memories. Hideo is the one who gave me a way to even store those memories, who saved me from being thrown into the streets, who mourns his brother and loves his family and creates beautiful things.

 

Zero uses violence to further his cause. Hideo furthers his by preventing violence. Some part of me, some crazy, calm part, sees sense in his plan, even as I recoil in disgust.

 

Hideo sighs and looks away. “When I first hired you, all I wanted to do was stop a hacker whom I knew was trying to stop me. I didn’t know that . . .” He hesitates, then abandons the sentence. “I didn’t want you to continue working for


me without truly understanding the weight of what you were doing.”

 

“Yeah, well, I did keep working for you. And you let me, without telling me why.”

 

The times he had hesitated in my presence, reluctant to take us further. The moment when he’d decided to let me go. My removal from the Phoenix Riders’ team. He had been trying, in his own way, to go about his plans alone. The lenses I’m wearing feel cold, as if they were something foreign and hostile. I think about the hacked version of Warcross that I use. Am I safe?

Hideo leans close enough for our lips to touch. The part of me that is made of raw instinct stirs, wanting desperately to close that distance between us. His eyes are so dark now, almost black, his expression haunted. Every problem has a solution, doesn’t it? I want to prove to you the sense in my plans. His brows furrow. I can show you the good in this, if you’ll let me. Please.

 

And through the Link, I can sense his earnestness, his burning ambition to do right, his desire to prove it to me. When I search his gaze, I recognize that curious, passionate, intelligent man I’d first seen in his office, showing me his newest creation. This is the same person. How can this be the same person? His expression remains uncertain, unsure.

Don’t leave, Emika, he says.

I swallow hard. When I respond, I respond with my real voice. It is calm now, even cold. “I can’t support you in this.”

 

I can almost feel his heart crack, stabbed right where he had risked opening it up to me, where he had let me see the beating wound inside. He had confided in me, thinking that perhaps I would be the one person who would side with him. Why wouldn’t I, he must have thought—I understood his loss, and he had understood mine. We’d understood each other . . . or so we thought. He looks suddenly alone, vulnerable even in his determination.

“Emika,” he says, in one last attempt to convince me.

 

I take a deep breath, then sever the Link between us. The subtle stream of his emotions cuts off abruptly. “I’m going to stop you, Hideo.”

 

His eyes turn distant, those familiar walls going up until he’s looking at me in the same way he had during our first meeting. He leans away from me. He studies my face, as if taking it in for the last time. “I don’t want to be your enemy,” he says quietly. “But I’m going to do this, with or without you.”

 

I can feel my own heart breaking, but I stand firm. He does not give, and neither do I, so we continue to stand on opposite sides of a ravine. “Then you’re going to have to do it alone.”


 

 

31

 

The streets of Tokyo are still emptier than I’ve ever seen them. I tear down the road on my board, my hair streaming out behind me, the wind making my eyes water.

 

How complicated everything has become. Not long ago, I had been gliding through the crowded center of New York City, wanting nothing more than to make enough money to keep myself off the streets. Hideo had been a magazine cover then—a glimpse in a news article, a photo in a televised broadcast, a headline in a tabloid. Now he is someone I am struggling to understand, someone with a thousand different versions of himself that I am trying to piece together.

 

All around me, the only screaming headlines seem to be accusations that the final championship results were unfair, that the game was compromised by illegal power-ups. Fans are calling for a redo of the match. Conspiracy theories have already sprung up all over fan communities, claiming that some employee had planted the power-ups as a joke, or that Henka Games had wanted to raise their ratings, or that the players had somehow stumbled upon secrets hidden in the final world. If the truth were thrown in there, no one would be able to tell the difference.

 

Everyone else goes about their business without even realizing the subtle, significant shift in the NeuroLink that can now control their lives. And is anything different, really? Haven’t we all been plugged in for years now, completely addicted to this world beyond reality? Are we this willing to give up? I force myself to look away as I pass a police car. Can Hideo come after me now, by simply telling the police to arrest me? Would he do that to me? When will his patience run out? When will he turn on me completely?

 

I have to find a way to stop him first. Before he stops me.

I have my old cracked phone out, my hack allowing me to track down the other Phoenix Riders without being subjected to the new NeuroLink algorithm. They have holed up in an apartment that I can only assume belongs to Asher, on the outskirts of the city.

 

An incoming message appears on my phone. It’s from some encrypted, unknown source. Hideo, most likely. I force myself to ignore it, blinking


moisture from my eyes as I push my board to its highest speeds along an empty stretch of highway.

 

As the sun starts to set, washing the city in shades of gold, I pull to a stop at a quiet intersection on the outskirts of Tokyo, where the city gives way to hills and sparse streets. I find myself staring at a gated, three-story townhome, simply decorated in dark and white wood.

 

Asher greets me at the door. He ushers me quickly inside, then leads me to his living room, where Hammie and Roshan have already gathered. They stand up at the sight of me. Hammie hugs me. A second later, I glimpse others on the couch, too, from some of the other teams. Ziggy Frost. Abeni Lea, from the Cloud Knights. Tremaine is here, as well, sitting noticeably apart from Roshan— but the two are turned toward each other, as if they were talking a moment ago. The tension between them that I’d always felt seems lessened now, if not completely gone.

 

“What do we do from here?” Hammie asks as we all settle. She’s greeted by a long silence.

 

I sit down, too. “I run a hacked version of Warcross,” I reply. “I don’t think I’m affected in the same way. Maybe I can figure out a way for you guys to have it, too.”

 

I tell them about what happened from the beginning, of Hideo hiring me after my first glitch, of my frequent meetings with him, of then realizing what had really happened when Zero appeared in the final game. I talk until the streetlamps are lit, and Asher has to turn on the living room’s lights.

 

“I saw him glitch into view,” I finish, “during the final moment when we all felt that static shock. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen any data about him.”

Tremaine looks at me. “You saw Zero, too? It wasn’t just me?”

 

The others chime in. “I saw him,” Asher adds. “He had an opaque helmet on and a [null] name over his head. Black body armor.”

Hammie repeats the same, as does Roshan.

Everyone had seen Zero in that instant. That means that he had been exposed outside of my hack, that in that instant, all of his data had been exposed. All of his data had been exposed.

 

Suddenly, I straighten and begin to type. I bring up my Warcross account, then my Memory Worlds. There is one memory in there now, my Memory of the final game. “I need to see something,” I mutter as the others gather around. I access the Memory, sharing it with the others so that they can see what I see. The world momentarily vanishes, putting me back into what I had recorded. I see the start of the game, and then the bridges, the robots emerging from their hangars, the battle that ensued. I fast-forward through all of it, all the way until the end.


Then I let it play until the instant the electric shock had happened, when Zero suddenly stood in front of me. I pause it.

His data. I’ve recorded it.

I can see his actual account.

 

“Ems,” Asher says beside me as he watches the Memory. “Can you actually find out who he is now?”

With trembling fingers, I scroll through Zero’s personal account.

And sure enough, there it is. The trigger had exposed him, if only for a fraction of a second, but it’s all the time I needed. I stare numbly at the account info that now displays before us, hovering in the center of the living room.

 

There is a name, a real name, floating alongside a photo of the real-life user who is Zero. I don’t even need to read the name to know who it is. Staring back at me is someone who looks like a younger version of Hideo, a boy who resembles how Hideo looked several years ago. A boy my age. My eyes go back to the name, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

 









Sasuke Tanaka

 

• • • • •

 

LATER THAT NIGHT, I leave the apartment to stand outside in the front yard. I need some air. The streetlamps outside of Asher’s home cast a lattice of light on the sidewalks, and I decide to concentrate on that, forcing myself to clear my mind and find a moment of peace. Then I look up, searching for stars. There are only a few to be seen from here, scattered dots representing the rest of the Milky Way, invisible without a virtual overlay. I don’t care. For once, it’s comforting to be seeing the real world for what it is, instead of the enhanced version through the NeuroLink.

 

Sasuke. Sasuke.

Endless questions swirl in my mind. There is no way that Hideo knows about this. He would have mentioned it, if he did—he might even have stopped his plans. But how is this possible? Sasuke had vanished so many years ago, taken by a nameless kidnapper. Why has he reappeared as a hacker, trying to stop Hideo? Why hasn’t he appeared to Hideo himself, to reveal who he really is? Does he even remember his past life—does he know that Hideo is his brother? Who controls him? Who does he work for? And why keep his identity a secret?

 

Is he even real?

I sit down on the curb and pull my knees up to my chin. What will this do


to Hideo, once he finds out? Would he stop, if he knew? Do I even want him to stop? What is worse—a world where Hideo fights against violence, or a world where Zero fights using it?

 

I wonder what thoughts are going through Hideo’s mind right now, and it takes all my willpower not to reach out and Link with him, to feel what he’s feeling, to send him a message so that I can hear his voice.

 

A message. I look back down at my phone, remembering the encrypted note I’d received earlier in the afternoon. A small voice in the back of my head still urges me not to open it, not to indulge whatever it is that Hideo might be trying to convince me of. But my finger still hovers over the message, and after a long moment, I finally decide to open it.

It’s not from Hideo. It’s from Zero.

My offer to you still stands.

 

A faint ding rings out, alerting me that I’ve just downloaded something into my account. My hand freezes over the new files.

 

They’re my Memories. My Memory Worlds. I let out a small gasp as I see one after another, the Memories of my father that Zero had originally stolen, now blinking back into existence as if they had never gone missing in the first place.

He returned them.

My hand starts to tremble. Then I close my eyes and wrap my arms tightly around my legs, hugging them as if my life had been restored. When I open my eyes again, they are wet.

My offer to you still stands.

His offer. Why is he giving me back what he’d originally taken? How dare he pretend he’s returning them as a gift, as if he’s doing me some kind of favor? I picture his dark figure in that red cavern, his low, quiet voice. I picture the sheets of black armor encasing my arms and body and legs, turning me into someone else.

“Hey.”

My thoughts scatter at the greeting. I hurriedly wipe my eyes and turn my head enough to see that Tremaine has come to stand beside me. “Hey,” I mutter back, hiding my phone away. Tremaine notices my movement, but even though he casts me a brief, sidelong glance, he doesn’t comment on it. Enough secrets have been revealed today.

 

“I was contacted by another bounty hunter,” he finally says, stretching his arms over his head. The streetlamps cast their light against his pale skin.

I meet his eyes. “One of Hideo’s?”

 

He nods. “I think I crossed paths with him when I was down under. He was


sitting up with the avatars watching the assassination lottery. If we work together, we can probably track our way to him, and he can help us. We’re some of the only people in the world who both understand the inner workings of Warcross and also worked for Hideo at the same time.”

 

Zero’s message echoes in my thoughts. I turn away again and nod. “Then we’ll go into the Dark World. We’ll find a way to contact him. We can figure out a solution to this.”

“To stop Hideo?” Tremaine asks. “Or Zero?”

I think of Hideo’s intense gaze, his single-minded genius. I think of how he’d leaned his head weakly against me and whispered my name. I think of the way he looked up to the stars, searching for a way to move forward from his past. I think of the final words we’d exchanged. Then I think of Zero’s surprised voice, his anger as he faced me in the final game, the way he’d stolen my Memories. The way he’d returned them.

 

Everyone has a price, he’d said. Name yours.

Tremaine offers me his hand, and after a while, I take it, letting him help me up. Then we continue to stand there, unmoving, looking out at the electric glitter of Tokyo, my boots pointed away from the house and toward the city, my heart suspended somewhere between one choice and another, unsure where to go next.


 

 

Acknowledgments

 

 

All of my books have a bit of myself in them, but Warcross is particularly me-ish. (I mean, one of my corgis makes an appearance in it. That was his fat butt waddling down Hideo’s hallway. Love you, Koa.) I could not have written this story, however, without the help of the best minds I know.

 

To my queen of an agent, Kristin Nelson—thank you for your enthusiasm for Warcross from day one, your brilliant outlines, ideas, and feedback, and all of your incredible work championing this book as well as all our past books. I truly don’t know what I’d do without you.

 

To my inimitable, brilliant editors, Jen Besser and Kate Meltzer, for pushing me with every new round of edits and making sure this book was the best it could be. To Anne Heausler, copyediting genius—I just want to marvel at your brain. Thank you for everything.

 

This is my seventh book with the amazing team at Putnam, Puffin, and Penguin Young Readers, and every time, I am more amazed and humbled by what you all do: Marisa Russell, Paul Crichton, Theresa Evangelista, Eileen Savage, Katherine Perkins, Rachel Cone-Gorham, Anna Jarzab, Laura Flavin, Carmela Iaria, Venessa Carson, Alexis B. Watts, Chelsea Fought, Eileen Kreit, Dana Leydig, Shanta Newlin, Elyse Marshall, Emily Romero, Erin Berger, Brianna Lockhart, and Kara Brammer. How did I get this lucky to work with you all? I still don’t know, but I remain grateful every day. A special note of gratitude to Wes (Cream Design) for the spectacular 3-D Warcross cover art.

 

To Kassie Evashevski, my extraordinary film agent—it means so much to me that this book is with you. I am endlessly grateful. To Addison Duffy: How lovely to meet you in person! Thank you for always being so helpful and awesome.

 

To my darling, dearest, fiercest Amie Kaufman, Leigh Bardugo, Sabaa Tahir, and Kami Garcia: Thank you for listening to me talk about Warcross even in its infancy, for helping me shape this story, for your kind words about the book that always make me smile, and for your friendship and badass hearts.

 

To my wonderful friends who offered invaluable feedback: JJ (S. Jae-Jones), one of the first to ever read Warcross; Tahereh Mafi, for generously answering all of my questions (anything fashionable in this book is inspired by you!); Julie Zhuo, for your deep tech wisdom and insight, and for your


friendship (twenty-eight years and counting!); Yulin and Yuki Zhuang, for showing me and Amie around Tokyo and knowing literally everything about the city, and for being two of the nicest people I’ve ever been fortunate enough to know; Mike Sellers, for your endless knowledge of all things and your generous help; Sum-yan Ng and David Baser, for brainstorming with me on late-night streets and offering so much helpful advice; and Adam Silvera, for all of your knowledge of New York City and for being an all-around badass. A special thanks to Ryh-Ming Poon for your industry insight (and love of good food!).

 

The Think Tank, the eight-intern group that I belonged to as a newbie working in video games, deserves its own callout: Those six months continue to be one of my favorite life memories. Pretty much everything I know about games, I learned from you guys. (Note—that Mario Kart round mentioned in the book, with the epic blue shell thrown right at the finish line? That was a real game we played. Savage.)

 

To my husband, fellow Think Tank ex-intern, and best human, Primo Gallanosa: Thank you for reading 120,582,015 versions of Warcross, for all your fun game ideas, and for always knowing exactly how to make me laugh.

To my mom, who is absolutely nothing like Emika’s mom: Emika’s resilience, fire, and brain are completely based on you. You are the most capable, selfless, and inspiring person I know. (Hideo’s cooking skills are also based on yours. Obviously.)

 

To the librarians, teachers, booksellers, readers, and champions of books around the world: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all that you do. Sharing stories with you is my deepest honor.

Finally, to all the gamer girls out there. You inspired this.


 

What’s next on

 

your reading list?

 

Discover your next

 

great read!

 

 

Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

 

Sign up now.


 


Поделиться:



Последнее изменение этой страницы: 2019-04-19; Просмотров: 205; Нарушение авторского права страницы


lektsia.com 2007 - 2024 год. Все материалы представленные на сайте исключительно с целью ознакомления читателями и не преследуют коммерческих целей или нарушение авторских прав! (0.443 с.)
Главная | Случайная страница | Обратная связь