“Yes.” My skin tingles at his closeness, and all I can think of is what happened last night. He’s right, of course, and if the Blackcoats are watching, it’ll help my case for them to see me with Hideo. Again, I find myself thinking of my dream of shattered glass, where Zero was watching us from the other side of the bedroom. It’s enough to make me glance to my side, half expecting him to be here on the yacht.
But it’s just us.
Hideo gives me a half smile, leans close, and presses his lips against my neck. “Kiss me, then,” he murmurs, and pulls me toward him.
I close my eyes at his touch, shivering, and turn my face toward his. I kiss him slowly, savoring the moment. If only things could stay this simple between us.
Finally, I force myself to push away. “We won’t have much time to act during the closing ceremony tomorrow,” I murmur to him. “We’ll need to do it right as your beta lenses update.”
He watches me carefully from the corner of his eye. The fire in his gaze is dark, a seething hate. “Good,” he says. There is a note in his voice that unsettles me. “I’ll be ready for Taylor. I want to see her face.”
The memory of the lines of the guilt-ridden outside the police stations come back to me, all those suicides by criminals compelled by the algorithm. The suicides of some who weren’t criminals at all.
“And what happens if we succeed?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you get your brother back, even an echo of him . . . what then? What happens to the algorithm? Will you keep it going?”
He’s silent. Everything he’s ever done has been to find the person responsible for taking his brother from him and to prevent the same thing from ever happening again to anyone else. Now he knows who did it. He’ll be confronting her in a day.
“You always said that the algorithm is meant to be unbiased,” I say. “But that’s never going to be true, is it? Not when it’s controlled by a human. I uncovered everything I could about Sasuke because I cared about what had happened to him. Because I care about you. But the bigger reason I did it was to give you a reason to stop using your algorithm.”
I don’t add that I’d overheard what he’d said to Mari and Kenn, or that I know he’s been using the algorithm to try to hunt down Sasuke’s kidnapper. But I don’t need to. Hideo knows what I’m talking about.
“Please, Hideo,” I add softly to him. “This is your chance to do what’s right. End the algorithm.”
For the first time since he told me about his plans, I can see him wrestling with the choices he’s made. But he doesn’t reply. He straightens and moves to stand at my side, where he rests his elbows against the railing. Out across the ocean, Tokyo’s skyline is rimmed in light.
I do the same—turn myself toward the city and study the day as it grows brighter. Hideo doesn’t answer me, not directly, but his eyes are heavy. He looks away from the light and toward the shadows that still stretch across the docks, casting the streets in blue and gray.
What will I do, if we succeed and Hideo continues ahead with the algorithm? What if I’ve been wrong about him all along?
The thought stirs in me, dark and troubling. In my files, I quietly bring up the cube that Zero had given me. It rotates before me in midair, invisible to Hideo.
If Hideo doesn’t change his mind, I know what I need to do. And this time, there will be no forgiving. No second chances.
If he won’t give up the algorithm willingly, then I’ll have to take it from him.
24
The Day of the Warcross Closing Ceremony
Late afternoon on the day of the closing ceremony is muted with clouds. Even though I have my lenses on, I know that underneath the bright hues of the official teams coloring the sky, Tokyo is covered in shades of gray, turning steadily darker.
How appropriate. The timer in my vision tells me that I have one hour until the beta lenses patch.
A black auto-car picks me up at my hotel in Omotesando, and once I’m inside, it steers itself in the direction of the Tokyo Dome. Outside my window, the city’s celebrations have taken on the heat of a fever, and everyone is cheering at our line of black cars cutting through the city. As if today were another typical Warcross tournament day.
I turn away from their eager faces and stare down at my hands in my lap. What will this city be like after everything goes down?
A message from Zero cuts through my thoughts.
When the closing ceremony starts, you’ll be in the center of the arena with the other all-star players. Hideo will greet each of you in turn.
Zero has the inside workings of the tournament today down to every fine detail. I imagine his virtual self, hacking into the Henka Games schedules and downloading everything. Then I picture Sasuke, the real Zero, curled in a ball in a corner of that mind. If he’s there at all. And even if he is, how much of all this is he aware of? Would he know what’s about to happen?
I send a reply.
When will I see you and Taylor?
When Hideo finishes greeting you, the new Warcross world for the closing ceremony will open. Hideo will personally announce it to the audience. For a moment, you, the other players, and Hideo will all be inside this world at the same time. That’s the moment right before the beta lenses get patched, and the moment you will be able to hack into his mind.
Zero pauses.
Be prepared. We’ll see you on the floor of the arena.
I will.
Our conversation ends. I bring up the cube in my hand again, letting Zero’s hack hover in my palms. I know Hideo will seize the chance to trap Taylor in the algorithm, hopefully freeing his brother. But the algorithm itself . . . I think back to the image of Hideo’s uncertain face as he stood with me on the deck of his yacht.
I break open the cube to stare at the code, letting the glowing blue rows of text fill the interior of the car, and then close it back up again. I have to believe that he’ll do what he knows is right. End it.
But if he doesn’t, I’ll be ready for him.
I take a deep breath. Then I reach out to Hideo, asking him to Link with me. For a while, I stare at the glowing green halo around his profile, suddenly wondering if he’s changed his mind.
Then, a pleasant ding sounds. I feel the familiar trickle of his emotions into my mind. He’s tense and uneasy. But most of all, he feels ready, surrounded in a dark, sure aura. Neither of us says a word.
I close my eyes at his presence, letting myself stay immersed a while longer in nothing but this glimmer of his feelings and thoughts. Then we reach the grounds of the Tokyo Dome, and I open my eyes to the roar of crowds gathered outside the stadium.
Thirty minutes until the beta lenses patch.
Giant projections of today’s players broadcast against building walls and holograms of our championship highlights looming along the stadium’s perimeters. As the sight of my own footage comes into view, I hear the broadcast paired with it.
“—in the move to allow controversial wild card Emika Chen, originally of the Phoenix Riders, to play in the closing ceremony following her dismissal from the team. Chen, this year’s number one draft pick, had so many write-in votes that—”
For a brief moment, I feel that thrill again of being escorted to the dome for another game of Warcross, of standing with teammates and fidgeting, eager to be the ones to win.
Now I’m heading back into the arena for a different reason altogether.
Soon, I join other black cars carrying official players until there is a caravan of us heading in the same direction. I find myself clenching and unclenching my fists in rapid succession. Stripes of all the teams’ colors adorn the sides of the dome today, and suspended overhead is an enormous Warcross logo in silver chrome, rotating slowly.