Vortex (16 page)

“Now I’m getting Wyatted,” Vik complained to Tom.

“Stop making up
any
words!” Wyatt cried. “It’s so annoying!”

Lyla spoke up. “You guys are both annoying.”

Wyatt looked hurt, Vik grinned proudly, and Tom started laughing again. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt strange, almost giddy, more so every second he waited.

“You, too,” Lyla said to him. “You, especially, Raines. Nothing is funny. Stop laughing. We get it. You’re freaked out. Boo hoo.”

Tom stopped laughing. “I’m not freaked out.”

Lyla mimed crying and adopted a whiny voice: “Oh no, I am so, so scared of the census device.”

“I am not scared of the census device!”

Lyla smirked. Vik grew indignant on Tom’s behalf and pointed at her. “You’re wrong, Martin. Dead wrong. The only thing Tom fears is proper table etiquette.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. Then, to Vik, “Hey!”

Vik gave a laugh that sounded like a giggle, and then the door to the cell slid open, and Olivia Ossare strode inside. “Hello, everyone.”

Tom felt a terrible spike of unease, Lyla’s words still burning in his ears. Oh no. If Olivia tried to check on how he was faring or something, it would kill him. Lyla would laugh and laugh.

Luckily, Olivia didn’t single him out. “I heard what happened. Are you all okay?”

Murmurs carried through the room, everyone affirming they were fine. Tom said it very vehemently, hoping she’d get the message.

Her dark eyes found Tom’s, and he could tell from something in her face that she might get it, after all. She made no move to draw toward any one of them, merely stood there and began explaining in her soft, firm voice that Lieutenant Blackburn was under orders to consult her regarding any activity with the census device. Not only that, but they
did
have the right to opt out of a memory scan.

“No matter what anyone may tell you, they cannot force this intrusion on you,” she concluded, an edge to her voice. “It
is
against the law, and if you tell me you want to opt out, I’ll make sure you’re allowed to do so.”

But no one spoke up. No one wanted to be the pansy who couldn’t face the census device like everyone else, least of all Tom. Then the door to the Census Chamber slid open, and Lyla was called inside. Vik was next.

Olivia had brought them some sodas, so Tom took one and sipped it, glad for something to do with his hands. Then it was Vik’s turn, and all pretense of levity vanished from the room with him. Tom couldn’t take his eyes off the door. He was vaguely aware of Olivia sinking down into the seat next to his.

Then the soldier came for Jennifer, and said, “Raines, you’re going after her.”

Jennifer left, and Tom’s focus narrowed into a tiny window in the center of his vision, his heart thumping harder and harder in his ears. It would be fine. It would be. It would have to be. It wouldn’t be like the last time. Blackburn would stop this time. He had to stop this time.

He felt Olivia’s hand gently grip his shoulder, and the shock of physical contact was enough to break the frantic spiral of his thoughts. He realized that his hands were shaking where they gripped the aluminum can.

He saw the softness on her face, the understanding in her eyes. Her other hand began stroking his back. It made his stomach clench and his throat grow tight, realizing she knew what he was feeling but didn’t see him as some sort of coward. She understood. A constriction loosened around his chest, an incredible weight sliding off his shoulders. Need welled up deep from the core of his being, along with a crushing sense of gratitude that she’d come here, that she was staying.

And then he felt the blare of Wyatt’s gaze on them and remembered that she was there, seeing this. Heat stole into his face. What was wrong with him?

“I’m okay,” Tom said, edging himself away from Olivia until he hung off the edge of the bench. “I’m good.”

“You can opt out,” Olivia said softly, her eyes intent. “You don’t have to do this.”

Tom’s gaze skittered over to Wyatt’s, then danced away. “Nah.” He laughed again. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

Despite his words, his instincts were screaming at him when he stepped inside the Census Chamber and found Blackburn facing the screen, the projected light of the census device on his back, casting a dark silhouette against the larger screen. Tom’s eyes found the metal claw looming threateningly over the seat, the one he’d been tied to for two days, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from those straps hanging from the chair.

“Raines.”

Tom jumped. He faced Blackburn in the shadowed chamber, his blood roaring in his ears.

Blackburn considered him for a long moment. Then, “Did you see anything that can’t go into an official record?”

Tom blinked.

“Well?”

“Uh, what?”

“All this footage”—Blackburn jabbed his thumb toward the census device—“will be reviewed by external auditors. Not just me. Did you see anything that
you
can’t afford to show to anyone other than me?” There was an intensity in his voice, and Tom finally understood what he was asking.

“Uh, yes. Sir. There’s something.”

“What?” There was a frightening light in Blackburn’s eyes.

Tom drew back a step. He looked uneasily up at the census device.

“Raines, I can’t use the census device on you if there is something others can’t see. That means you need to tell me
with words
what you saw on that fly-along.”

Wait. So this meant . . . Wow. This time, his strange ability with machines was actually his defense. Relief crashed over him in a giddy wave.

“Yeah. I saw something. Sort of.” The words tumbled out of him; he feared Blackburn’s offer might disappear if he didn’t tell him everything quickly. “I know there was someone with a neural processor behind it. The processor was controlling the ships remotely. I don’t know who it was, or where they were doing it from. I didn’t get a chance to look into it, really, before we got crushed. I know that a third neural processor was interfacing with the ship somehow. Not mine. Not Heather’s. Someone else’s. I felt it.”

Blackburn rubbed his big palm over his mouth.

“That’s it,” Tom said lamely. “Sir.”

Blackburn turned his back to him and began gazing at a frozen image on the screen—the view from Snowden and Jennifer’s ship as it plummeted into Jupiter. Then he crossed the room to the cell and rapped on the door. Olivia Ossare emerged, hostility prickling in the air as her dark-eyed gaze clashed with Blackburn’s. The two of them had been on bad terms ever since Blackburn broke into her office with his men to seize Tom.

“You’re right.” Blackburn’s gaze skirted over her briefly before flicking away. “It’s too soon, and the kid’s anxious. He’s opting out. You win. Now get him out of my sight.”

Olivia didn’t say a word and brushed past Blackburn, stepping toward Tom. “Would you like to head upstairs with me?”

Tom gazed past her into the cell, its lone occupant Wyatt Enslow, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. He flushed, his relief at his reprieve somewhat dampened by the sheer surge of humiliation he felt, knowing she’d heard all this.

“Yeah,” Tom mumbled. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

V
IK TOOK
T
OM’S
mind from the Census Chamber that evening before dinner, when they sneaked into Hannibal Division to await Wyatt’s return to her bunk. If Wyatt hadn’t been so busy the last few hours, helping around the Pentagonal Spire while Blackburn searched for the cause of the hijacking (and fended off inquiries about his competence at his job), then perhaps she might have noticed what Vik was up to sooner.

But she hadn’t noticed, so Vik pulled it off.

Tom made a show of shielding his eyes as they stepped inside, because every surface of Wyatt’s bunk was now filled with pictures of Vik: Vik shirtless and flexing his muscles; Vik pointing and winking at a camera; a graphic of Vik flexing one pec, then another very rapidly with a big cheesy grin on his face; a giant marble statue of Vik holding his arms up in the air like some mad dictator. After showing off his handiwork, Vik and Tom leaned against the wall around the bend in the corridor to await her return.

Within minutes, Wyatt strolled into her bunk. A resounding shriek split the air. Tom and Vik collapsed to the floor, convulsing in laughter. They heard rapid footsteps beating toward them. They tore to their feet and dashed out of Hannibal Division, then collapsed in the Middles’ common room.

“Wow, did you hear that cry of horror?” Tom marveled. “Good job with the shirtless pics, man.”

“You think it was horror?” Vik mused, rubbing his chin. “I thought it sounded like a shriek of delight.”

“Sure. We can ask her tonight, buddy.”

Vik sighed tragically. “She’ll lie. Face it, Tom: Enslow will never admit she finds me enticing.”

“I
T’S NOT TRUE,”
Wyatt told Yuri urgently later, when they were all hanging out. “I don’t find Vik enticing.”

“Vik says you do,” Tom countered.

Since Tom had stomped Yuri at VR games so many times, Yuri insisted on a game he was better at. That’s why tonight, he and Tom were hunched over a chessboard, with Wyatt observing them.

Vik wasn’t sitting with them; he was sprawled on the floor of the plebe common room. As soon as they’d driven out the plebes, Vik made a big show of dying of what he called a boredom seizure, with convulsions and gargling sounds and everything, because he thought playing chess was the most boring thing in the world, second only to watching people play chess.

By silent but unanimous compact, Tom, Wyatt, and Yuri had said nothing and pretended they didn’t notice the dramatics going on behind them. Vik committed to the theatrics, though. He’d thrashed hard enough to upend a table, and now he was lying mock dead on the floor.

“I mean it. I really don’t find Vik enticing,” Wyatt said, louder, and the three of them waited for Vik to break character and argue with her.

When he didn’t, she raised her eyebrows, reluctantly impressed.

“He’s determined,” Tom said.

Yuri cleared his throat, and Tom remembered to place his next piece on the board. He ignored the sad
eep
sound Wyatt couldn’t help making.

“Check,” Yuri said, making his next move.

Tom examined the board, then plucked up his bishop.

“No, Tom!” Wyatt cried. “Don’t.”

“Wyatt,” Tom exclaimed, “you wanna play against Yuri yourself, that’s fine, but stop telling me where to move things. He and I are doing this mano a mano, not a womano.”

“And no computero,” Yuri added.

“Computero?” Wyatt echoed.

“No computero, because Thomas and I have agreed that chess must be played between two human brains,” Yuri explained to her gently. “We do not let the neural processors do the work, or it will become two computers playing each other, which will not be rewarding.” He took Tom’s bishop.

Tom’s pawn was stuck, so he moved his knight. Wyatt made a sad
eep
sound again.

“Wyatt!”

“I can’t help it, Tom,” Wyatt said. “That was a bad move.”

Tom focused on the board. No computero. That meant no downloading anything from the Spire’s databases about chess strategies and no allowing the neural processor to calculate the merits of every move and the ramifications from there. Since Wyatt’s brain was already as close as a human brain would get to a superprocessor, she kept seeing his mistakes as he made them and making that annoying sad noise.

Sure enough, Yuri took Tom’s knight with his queen.

Wyatt grew very sad and shook her head tragically. “Tom, you lost the game. You don’t realize it yet.”

Whether she intended it or not, Wyatt was doing a fantastic job of psyching him out. Three moves later, her solemn pronouncement came true.

“Checkmate,” Yuri said, moving his rook into position, pleased with himself.

“I saw it coming,” Wyatt said. “And that’s without using my neural processor. No computero. Just braino. My braino.”

“You have a magnificent braino,” Yuri murmured. Wyatt beamed at him, and Tom suddenly felt like he was spying on a private moment.

“Are you guys done?” Vik launched himself up from the floor. “Oh, thank God. Let’s go do something else. I’m so bored right now, I feel like I’m in Connecticut.”

Wyatt leaped to her feet. “Vik, no! I thought you’d stopped using that.”

“Why? It’s great. All I need is you in earshot and a word with negative connotation, and there, I’ve got a Connecticut joke.”

She sputtered for a comeback, then threw a pillow at him. It bounced off his head, and he made a show of staggering back. “Ow, that hurts! It hurts like being in Connecticut!”

Wyatt began chasing him in earnest, but Vik snatched a cushion from the couch and shielded himself with it. One thrust of the cushion nearly sent Wyatt sailing back to the ground. Yuri surged upright, and declared, “This will not end well for Vikram.”

“VIK, RUN!” Tom bellowed.

Yuri launched himself into the fray. Vik shrieked in fear and bolted into Alexander Division, the massive Russian boy barreling after him.

Tom was doubled over laughing after the door slid shut behind them, and Wyatt muffled her giggles, too. Then she started smoothing her hair. Her gaze strayed over to him. He knew she was going to bring it up now. He knew it.

“Are you okay?” she said. “You seemed weird and kind of strange earlier in the cell.”

“Thanks, Wyatt.”

“I don’t mean in a bad way.”

“Just in a weird and strange way, huh? Well, I’m fine.” He tossed a chess piece into the box. “I’m A-OK.” He looked toward the door where Vik and Yuri had gone, half expecting them to pop back and hear this. When they didn’t, he said urgently, hoping to get this over with, “I was okay earlier, too. Ms. Ossare was overreacting, okay, and I didn’t wanna tell her I didn’t need her there or anything. I mean, you know how no one really goes to her. I think that gets to her, right? So, yeah, that’s what that was about. And, sure, maybe it was a bit unsettling, being back there, but that’s because I know Blackburn would tear my mind apart in a second if he could.”

“He’d never choose to do that.” She frowned at him. “You’re being a bit paranoid.”

“I’m not paranoid!” Tom burst out. “Blackburn’s paranoid. He’s the paranoid schizophrenic.”

“Not anymore. He controls all the symptoms. If he’s paranoid, it’s his regular personality.”

“I still think you shouldn’t have forgiven him for acting that way to you.” Tom clenched his fist around a chess piece. “I won’t forget what he did. Not ever. He would’ve done it, you know. He would’ve driven me insane. I would be crazy now, if it had been up to him.”

“He had to. He thought you committed treason.”

“He didn’t have to.” He opened his aching fist, and saw that the chess piece he’d been gripping had left red marks in his palm. “Just forget I said anything. You don’t wanna believe me, that’s up to you. Do me one favor.”

He waited until she dragged her gaze back over to meet his.

“Don’t ever talk about me around him, Wyatt. Not ever. If he asks you anything about me, don’t answer him. I don’t care how harmless the question seems. Don’t tell him anything.”

Wyatt stared at him a long moment. Then: “It’s not exactly like we sit around talking about you all the time. Not everything’s about you.”

“I know that.” And he did know it. Intellectually, at least. He knew he was all self-centered and arrogant here, but he couldn’t help thinking sometimes . . . well, ever since that first day he met Heather, really, that a great many things—perhaps a disproportionate number of things—tended to become about him. Maybe he
was
a bit paranoid.

“Blackburn has never even brought you up to me,” she assured him. “Except once when we were joking about writing table etiquette subroutines, and of course, you came up. Oh, and when I told him a trainee had gotten banned from all the companies and he said, ‘Let me guess. Tom Raines.’ That was it.”

Tom tossed in a last chess piece with a sigh, and changed the subject. “So, think Yuri’s murdered Vik yet?”

She smiled wickedly. “No, I think he’s making him suffer.”

And then the door to the plebe common room slid open. Tom’s gaze jolted up. It was Heather Akron.

This was trouble. He’d given Wyatt away over the thought interface and Heather had threatened her.

Heather’s smile grew voracious like a hungry predator’s at the sight of Wyatt. “Enslow!” she exclaimed, voice dripping with sweet poison. “How great to find you in here. I really want to talk with you.”

Wyatt threw an uncertain glance toward the door to Alexander Division, where Yuri and Vik had gone. Heather slinked across the room to loom right in front of Wyatt. Her eyes raked her up and down, and she said, “I hear you’ve been spreading some nasty slander about me.”

Tom kicked the chess box under the table and reared to his feet. “Heather, hold off. That stuff I was thinking—”

“This isn’t your business right now, Tom,” Heather told him, never taking her sharp gaze from Wyatt’s. “Wyatt and I are chatting.”

Wyatt raised her chin a bit. “No, I didn’t do that.”

Heather cocked her head, propping her hands on her hips. “What’s that? Are you saying
you
didn’t spread slander about me?”

Louder, Wyatt said, “No. I didn’t. After all, slander’s
not true
.”

Heather drew a step closer to her. Seeing two girls in a passion of anger, ready to tangle, made Tom strangely exultant and filled him with excited anticipation, but he knew he had to step in. He shoved an arm in front of both of them.

“Hey, cut this out, both of you—”

“This isn’t about you, Tom!” Wyatt snapped this time.

“Yes, mind your own business,” Heather hissed.

Intimidated, Tom backed off.

Heather’s amber eyes were glittering. “I’ve never really liked you, Enslow, but I haven’t had a problem with you. No reason to make your life miserable . . . until now. I really don’t appreciate being stabbed in the back, so I’m not going to do that to you.”

“Why am I the lone exception?” Wyatt said blandly.

“I’m here to warn you that you made the wrong enemy. You’re on my radar now, Enslow, and whatever you might think, I have a lot of influence in CamCo, more every single day. I can make sure you never become a Combatant. Not only that, but I will make your life seriously suck around here.”

Wyatt’s face had gone very blank, her gaze stony. “Glad we had this talk,” Heather said, and whirled around, dark hair swishing as she pranced back toward the elevator.

Tom needed to fix this. He started after Heather, not sure what he’d say but hopeful he could come up with something.

Wyatt caught his arm before he reached Heather. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll talk to her for you.”

“Why?”

“She’s threatening you, I’ll threaten her. Somehow.” Tom shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

“No,” Wyatt said, irritated. “I want to threaten my own enemies.”

Tom looked her over and detected the same resolve in her face he’d only seen a few times—but he’d learned to fear it. “Okay. But threaten fast, she’s gonna be out of here, soon.”

Wyatt turned to her forearm keyboard, quickly typing something in, launching a program. The elevator door slid open, but Heather jerked to a halt before she stepped through. For a moment, she stood there in the doorway, her back rigid, then she whirled around and blazed back over to them.

“What did you do?” she demanded, getting back in Wyatt’s face.

“Oops,” Wyatt said, glancing at her keyboard. “Was that your firewall I knocked down? I think it was.”

Heather gaped at her. It took her a moment to recover and shoot back, “No need to worry, I have a secondary firewall I can put in its place.”

She jabbed at her forearm keyboard. Then, as Heather restored her firewall, a tiny smile crossed Wyatt’s lips, and her fingers danced over her forearm keyboard again—and executed another program.

“Hey!” Heather cried, her palm flying up to her head, as though to shield her processor with her hand.

“Whoops, did something disable your secondary firewall, too?” Wyatt said innocently. “I don’t know how that keeps happening.” She pressed a finger to her lips like she had to think about it a moment. “Oh, wait, I do. It’s me. I’m doing it.”

Heather opened and closed her mouth, then sputtered, “Is there some convoluted little point you’re trying to make?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Just that I can’t help noticing I can disable most any defense you erect around your processor, and it’s incredibly easy for me. I mean, that took me mere seconds, both times, and you probably worked on those firewalls for
months
. Now that I think about it, if you don’t have a firewall protecting your neural processor, I could probably do anything to you. With that consideration in mind, you’d be wise to write a stronger program to defend yourself before trying to ‘make my life seriously suck.’ At least, if you’re still stupid enough to try it.”

“Are you threatening me?” Heather whispered.

“No,” Wyatt said flatly. “I’m stating the obvious.”

Heather hovered there, fists clenched, frustration on her face. Then she seemed to make a decision. She batted at Wyatt’s shoulder playfully. “Oh, come on, Enslow, you’re taking this way too seriously.”