“Billions of dollars,” said Sahara. “No more nickel and dime stuff selling djinni drives in dance clubs—his bank account’s got to be enormous, and if you control his body the bank’s biometric security means nothing. You just hacked the unhackable, like what Omar did—skip the software and go for the user.”
“Too small,” Anja repeated, firmly. “Think about it. My father isn’t just a bank account, he’s the vice president of one of the largest nuli companies in the world. Control him and you control Abendroth. Control some of these other kids’ parents, and you control half the major industries on earth.” Her voice was solemn. “This isn’t a drug ring, and it isn’t a bank robbery—it’s a hostile takeover of the world’s economy.”
TEN
As Marisa waited outside the VR parlor, she nervously adjusted her clothes—a black T-shirt with subtle gold tracings in the style of a circuit board, finished with a sleeveless jacket of dark velvet, and a pair of black harem pants tied at the waist with a pale blue cord. It was flirtier than she’d intended—her meeting with Saif wasn’t a date, it was a temporary truce with a dangerous enemy. And yet here she was, wearing one of her most casually flattering outfits. Even her makeup had been a battle of will with herself: she didn’t want to overdo it, but the last time Saif had seen her she’d been done up for a night at a dance club. If that’s how he thought she looked, and she showed up in old jeans and a bare face, what would he do? She didn’t want to dress up for him, but she didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face, either. So she’d dressed up, and now she felt stupid, like she’d somehow betrayed herself.
“It’s okay,” she muttered. “I’m trying to make him think I like him, right? I might be underdressed for that. I don’t know.”
Marisa looked down the street again, not seeing Saif anywhere, and abruptly decided that it was stupid to wait for him here, on the sidewalk, like some kind of lovesick puppy. She went inside and paid for two VR chairs, side by side—a solid week’s wages at the restaurant. The hostess pointed to a pair of chairs by the side wall, a massive panel of blue that shifted slowly from light to dark and back again. Marisa sat down but didn’t plug in, tapping the console restlessly with her metal fingers, listening to the clink. On a sudden whim she sent a message to Jaya.
You there?
A moment later the response came back: You sent that message to a computer inside my brain—how could I not be here?
I mean, are you free to talk?
I can’t play right now, sent Jaya. Some of us have jobs, you know.
Marisa glanced at the time on her djinni display: eight fifteen at night, which meant Jaya would be at nine forty-five in the morning. She winced. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.
You okay?
Just nervous, sent Marisa. I’m meeting a guy, but it’s not a date.
Then what are you nervous about?
Marisa sent her the photo she’d snapped at Anja’s the other night.
Damn, said Jaya. Why is it not a date? He’s gorgeous.
Marisa saw movement in the corner of her eye and glanced at the door. Saif was there, dressed in a simple collared shirt and slacks—far simpler than what Marisa had worn, and somehow completely perfect. She fiddled with the knot on her belt, seized by the sudden urge to hide, but told herself to calm down. She placed her hands on her legs, palms flat, resting instead of fidgeting, but it felt wrong, and she realized that she had no idea what to do with her hands. Did it look stupid to have them resting there like that? Should she move them? At last she simply stood up, resting one hand on the back of the VR chair, trying to look confident and effortless at the same time.
You still there? sent Jaya.
He’s here, she sent back. He saw her and smiled, walking toward her with a cocky spring in his step that made her feel weak in the knees.
I’ll leave you alone, then, sent Jaya.
No! sent Mari. I need you!
I’m working, Mari. I’ll ping you at lunch.
Marisa ran through her list of options, watching Saif get closer; Anja and Sahara were busy trying to root the Bluescreen virus out of Anja’s head, and Fang had no patience for social situations. Bao? Even without a djinni, he could talk to her through his phone. But would he? He’d be more likely to just come in person, and she didn’t want her friends actually with her, she just wanted their support.
Saif stopped in front of her, smiling. “You look great—I feel a little out of place.”
“You look great too,” said Marisa. “Don’t worry about it.” But as soon as she said it she wished she’d turned it into a joke: just don’t let it happen again, or something like that. Something a little more self-assured, to match his confidence with some of her own. She tightened her grip on the VR chair, and thinking about the game she couldn’t help but smile. She’d show him confidence.
Saif slapped the chair cushion. “So—you play?”