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.”