Reclaiming Shilo Snow Read online

  She blinked. And looked at Ethos’s face. It faded to the color of his robe.

  “It’s what I’ve been trying to show you, Sofi,” Shilo said aloud in a voice that echoed light through the dark room.

  Ethos’s eyes widened and he gasped.

  Sofi paused and stared. Then swung back to her brother. Had Ethos heard Shilo too?

  “Good morning, Ethos.”

  “Impossible,” the alien whispered. Then peered back at Sofi. “What’ve you done? What—?”

  Her vision glitched as a set of numbers and algorithms ran across Ethos’s face, like a comp-screen. She peered closer to read them. These were codes and calculations she could unravel. Like sifting through musical notes . . .

  Ethos turned to the ten Delonese. “Finish wiping Ambassador Miguel’s memory and cut hers open if you have to. But get what we need. Don’t let her wake, and if she does? Kill her.”

  Sofi tipped her head and looked past the numbers to Ambassador Ethos’s eyes and cheeks and chin.

  Then reached up to wrap her hand around his throat.

  “Now you see it,” Shilo whispered.

  The very breath of life.

  The break between virtual and reality.

  The realization of what she was.

  The wall machine Sofi was hooked up to suddenly beeped, and a cry of pain ripped from her chest, and her head and neck jerked forward just as a vibration shook the ground and a chasm of light opened beneath Shilo and tore through the room.

  The dancing bodies and domed space evaporated. The numbers and images evaporated. Miguel evaporated.

  The system controlling her mind turned off.

  Sofi opened her eyes.

  And sat up in the Delonese med room with a single, thin cord attached to her body. With those ten Delonese medics staring at her from their position along the wall.

  21

  MIGUEL

  Blink . . .

  Blink . . .

  Blink . . .

  “Ambassador Miguel’s main memory cleared,” a robotic voice said. “The past one year and nineteen months have been extracted along with certain experiences deemed to be problematic. Exactly 2 percent of his history has been erased and will now be replaced with the requested override. New memories will be based upon surrounding years and will continue his status as Earth ambassador. Please wait for the process to finish.

  “Reboot beginning . . .”

  22

  INOLA

  “Put me on-screen with ambassador ethos, and request Jerrad bring the car back around.”

  “Madam Inola, a one-on-one teleconference with him is highly unsanctioned—”

  “I’m aware of that,” Inola snapped at the security tech’s face filling her telescreen. “Don’t tell me how to do my job. Just pull him up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned and poured herself a drink, downed it, and went to her large walk-in closet to find a change of clothes. Flats, slacks, and a gold-embroidered sweater. Understated yet classy enough.

  “Madam, the hovercar’s out front,” Jerrad said over the telecom as Inola emerged from the dressing room.

  “Thank you.” She strode out to stand in front of the living room’s screen and tapped her foot while she waited for Ethos in what she’d decided would be her own sort of Hail Mary. A last-ditch effort to do what she could—to control what she could—before she dramatically moved her pieces in a game that had already been set in motion by all parties playing.

  When the connection lit up and the vid flipped on, Ethos’s eyes filled the tele.

  For a second it looked like he was on a shuttle. Was he already on his way back to Earth? “CEO Inola, what a surprise.” Curiously, nothing in his expression revealed the least bit of shock.

  “Ambassador Ethos, thank you for seeing me.”

  “Of course. It’s not every day—or ever, in fact—I’m summoned to a one-on-one private meeting. Nor is it a habit I would normally agree to. But I suspect this is of a more sensitive nature regarding our previously mutually supportive relationship.”

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “I was just watching, in fact.” He leaned forward. “Interesting developments for you. I must say, you humans have a creative passion for your political games—even taking them to the FanFight arena apparently. Reminds me of your gladiator types a few millennia ago. But if you are calling me up to grumble—”

  She actually laughed. “Don’t insult me. My political drama is not your problem.” She tipped her chin while keeping her gaze narrow on him. “However, the fact that you still have my child, or both of them, is.”

  His lips parted. Closed. “CEO Inola, I believe I’m the one who’s just been insulted here. Are we to repeat the earlier conversation?”

  A text beeped through on her handscreen in front of her.

  You are on the world stage tomorrow, it appears.

  She swiped it off.

  It flicked back on through its own accord.

  They don’t intend you to survive.

  She glanced back to Ethos. It was the same sick person who’d sent her driving to the black markets.

  I might be willing to help.

  She froze.

  Ambassador Ethos inched forward again, until his face was quite near the screen-cam. “Madam, this conversation is tiresome. We’ve already spoken of it—and I’ve given my answer. I’ll ask that you be efficient with my time.”

  “I’m here to humbly ask you to reconsider.”

  Lord Ethos’s impatient sigh was as audible as his annoyance. “I’ll state again that you offered them to us originally, madam. We cured Girl-Sofi’s asthma and Boy-Shilo’s bone disease that would’ve killed him eventually, in exchange for more test subjects. Yet, when your children displayed unique abilities resulting from our Delonese interference, you kept them from us. And now you seek to complain?”

  She sniffed. “My children are gifted—that’s nothing unusual.”

  “Ah, then why else put them in the Games, if not to keep them under your eye and off our radar?” He licked his lips. “When we checked into their history of losing in the Games—imagine our surprise at finding large sums of money paid to outside forces to cause them to do so.” He stared at her. “Now, what kind of mother pays others to ensure her children come in third and fourth place? Perhaps one who knows their abilities exceed what is considered normal. Perhaps one whose daughter was somehow able to access our highly flawless security system from a simple guestroom on our planet.

  “Girl-Sofi and Boy-Shilo aren’t just skilled, their brains are on an entirely different level. And speaking as one leader to another, on that item you should be immensely proud.”

  Sofi had hacked them? Inola refused to smirk. Or swallow. Or blink. Or show that her hands were trembling with the emotions flooding her.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  “I doubt even you have any idea what your children are capable of. We believe their minds can actually commune with our replicated cells and, in effect, switch them on. So I’ll ask you to reconsider your offense with us.” Ethos slid back and spread his hands. “Instead, be grateful that your children are the honored ones. The closest we’ve come to regenerating a race. You would rob that from us? Two humans for an entire species? I’ll suggest again that you fall in line, madam, before it’s necessary to force you.”

  “Those humans are my children.”

  “How very small-minded that sounds. You of all humans understand sacrificing a few for the greater good. Unfortunately, your clarity is clouded by your relationship to them. I will remind you—much of what resides inside them already belongs to us. And I am quickly growing impatient with this regurgitated conversation. It’s the last time I’ll have it with you.”

  She flattened her tone. “Then let me be clear once again—if you do not return my children in full health, I will be forced to publicly expose the practices our group has been participating in.”

  He cocked his head in t
he cushioned seat as the bright lights gave him a yellow glow. “Your ability to disperse sensitive information is overshadowed by our technological superiority. You can either stay in compliance or force our hand in exposing a fake story about you for the sake of protecting our people’s futures. Frankly, as your people say, I’m comfortable with either.”

  “I respect the offer, but those of us who’ve been around a few generations know better than to trust our secrets only to technology. So let me guarantee—whether I’m alive or dead, the information on our business dealings will be released if my children are not.”

  His gaze narrowed. “I believe I was quite clear before that anything you raise against us will start a war with us. You know how that will end.”

  “Perhaps. But are you willing to risk that? You wiped my children’s memories once—you can do it again. Return them to me within two days and we’ll carry on. If not, I believe you’ll have more on your hands and reputation than your people are in the mood to hassle with.”

  “So that is where we stand then.” He pursed his lips and waited for her to nod. “You play a dangerous game threatening us, Madam Inola.”

  “And yet I have every confidence I’ll win.”

  He stayed thoughtful for a full minute. Or more likely silently infuriated. Then, eventually, lifted his hands. “In that case, I have a proposition. It amuses me that you’ve been chosen for the FanFight’s Final Five tomorrow.” He paused. “We truly only need one of your children. So agree to fight in it, and you can consider it done. I’m currently heading to Earth as we speak while wrapping up a . . . situation. Be in that arena tomorrow, and I’ll release one of them.”

  He was a worm lying through his perfect teeth. She could see it. Taste it. But before she could address it, the screen went black.

  And she knew what she would do.

  Because she could never live with herself if she was wrong.

  She strode out without waiting for the security tech to inform her that the call had been discontinued.

  Fifty floors down, she stepped out of the elevator and into the parking garage, where Jerrad had the hover waiting with the door open.

  He looked flushed. Angry.

  “I take it you saw the news.” She climbed in.

  “I did.”

  “Good. Please take me to the i-reality star Nadine. I believe she’s currently at home.” She turned to peer out the window as he pulled the hovercar out of the garage, where it dipped and emerged onto the city-lit streets.

  “I can, but—”

  “The sooner the better. And, Jerrad—”

  He flipped around in his seat. “Inola, you’re not honestly considering—”

  “I am.”

  He stomped on the brake and stayed facing her. “As your head of security I forbid it.”

  She scowled. “You forget your place, Jerrad.”

  “I know exactly where my place is, if you’ll pardon my saying so, madam. It’s the same place I’ve stood for the past eight years, and I’ll be blasted if I’ll move from it now and allow you to walk into a ridiculous game.”

  “We both know this has nothing to do with the Games,” she said quietly. “We’re not fools. Gaines has been fighting for my position, and now she’ll aim to get it in the most ridiculous way, as you say.”

  He turned back to the road but lifted his gaze to glare at her in the mirror. And began to drive. “Why not refuse it? You have that option. Even the fans will understand.”

  Inola chuckled. “As much as humankind adores playing savior to chosen causes, we just as passionately love seeing the powerful fall.” She shook her head. “No, they will relish this. It’s a smart move on Gaines’s and Hart’s parts. If I decline, I’ll be labeled a coward, and that’ll destroy me enough in the public eye to undermine my position anyway. In that way, you have to admit it’s rather poetic of them. Take me down the same way as my children, and in front of a worldwide audience. But, Jerrad, if I succeed? I’ll have the entire human race behind me—not just to secure my continued position, but to command the respect of the other Corps to do what needs to be done regarding the Delonese. And no one would bat an eye.”

  Jerrad chewed the inside of his cheek. “It’s true you’d be untouchable.” He pulled up his handscreen and glanced at her again.

  “Then help me win.”

  He glowered once more before finally nodding. “So we make sure you succeed then.”

  He began verbally giving instructions to his handscreen. Probably pulling in favors to find behind-the-scenes info, arena changes, and all of Corp 30’s latest game gear along with having them assemble the backup gaming team.

  Which reminded her . . .

  She swiped at her own screen for that last text message sent. The person said they could help her. How? When? Except, as she already knew, nothing was left of it.

  Inola went back to looking out the window to the flashing ads and buildings lighting up the dim. The protestors were standing on the street corners, even this late in the evening. Sipping from old coffee cups and waving those signs. One had a pic of Delonese Ambassador Ethos’s head photoshopped onto a baby’s body and read, “Mommy, why don’t I look like you?”

  She snorted and glanced back at her head officer. “By the way . . . in case anything happens, there’s a copy of my life-save files in my box at the Old North Carolina farmhouse, in the basement.”

  “Inola—”

  “Just in case.”

  “It won’t come to that. I’ve already got our people on tomorrow’s sport. For now the question is, what are you going to do here?” He tipped his head to the window. They were on the street in front of Nadine’s house.

  “Give her the exclusive i-reality episode of a lifetime.”

  He nodded and waited a second too long before peering back up at her through the mirror. When he did, there was a mist over his eyes. And without hesitation he said, “You know I would take your place in the arena tomor—”

  Something smacked the hover roof right above Inola’s head. The car’s security siren went off with a loud wail, which would attract the peacekeepers in about 30.2 seconds.

  The window beside Jerrad was hit next.

  “What the—?”

  The front window and side door were shot out at the same time, and a second later Jerrad’s blood spattered onto the backseat.

  23

  SOFI

  Sofi was in a white room.

  She hated white.

  Ceiling, floor, hoverbeds, and machines. Even the suits of the ten Delonese medics standing against the wall were white. She squinted. They were staring at her. The same tan faces, same eyes, same ten individuals she’d seen everywhere else for the past five hours.

  Or rather, fake everywhere else.

  The room had a low vibration coming through the walls along with a soft tinkle of music, like the hum of an engine. Where was Ethos?

  And Shilo?

  “Where’s my brother?” she whispered.

  They stared with wider eyes than should be possible. She didn’t have to be an expert on their emotionless expressions to know the one they displayed now was fear.

  They were scared.

  They should be.

  “I asked you, where is Shilo?” She went to slide off the cot, then screeched when a fiery pain jabbed the back of her neck. Her hands flew up and found some type of electrical cord with five connectors branching off like fingers implanted into her skull.

  Oh gad. Her stomach lurched at the agony shooting down to her spine.

  The Delonese jumped into motion, hurrying to her like bees. “Shh, it’s just a dream. Lie back down.”

  “You won’t feel a thing.”

  Two of them held syringes in their hands, and another a silver scalpel.

  Three Delonese males went for her legs. Like heck they were going to strap her down. Sofi reacted and kicked and writhed. They clamped onto her limbs and whispered with their soothing tongues.

  She screamed and
arched off the table—and suddenly her brain was skimming over it all, through the past few hazy hours of a forest room, and an unreal shuttle ride, and dancing, and laughing kids until it landed on her last clear memory.

  Claudius emerging from the ship in the shuttle bay with his still-fancy hair, asking if they were ready to finish this thing or not, just after she’d escaped the poison fog.

  The soldiers had been standing behind her.

  Wearing ghosting suits too.

  After that . . . her heart dropped. They’d taken the entire group—her memories were flooding back now. How they’d stuck Sofi on this bed amid her screaming, plugging her into in a virtual reality that mirrored and interacted with those of the children and others. Intended to evoke emotion and elicit information.

  More than that—they’d been testing her brain’s ability to awaken others.

  Sofi’s stomach turned.

  The glitching room and faces—and the conversations with Ethos and Miguel. Had all taken place on a mental plane. It was like a FanFight Game, but on a twisted-mind scale.

  Oh gad. Miguel. What have they done with him?

  She kicked out and broke the needles off those syringes and sent the scalpel flying. “Where are Miguel and my brother? What’d you do with them?”

  “We’re fixing Ambassador Miguel to resume his Earth role,” two of them droned. “It will look natural. No need to be alarmed. You have your usefulness.”

  “Fix?” She was having a hard time breathing. The fire in her head was licking her lungs now. How many others had they “fixed” through the years?

  The cord’s fingers connecting to her brain stem and skull were making her woozy.

  She sagged back and shut her eyes as the bodies bustled and poked and prodded around her—holding down her legs and arms and talking in those sick tones as that cord held her neck to a machine in the wall.

  The cord.

  They’d been testing her mind. Meaning she was hooked up to a portal, like a freaking human comp-screen. A comp-screen . . .

  I can access their data.