The Evaporation of Sofi Snow Page 6

  A few seconds of digging brought up the text’s origin. He paused.

  Corp 30 was calling it.

  He frowned and shut the screen down before other messages could erupt from news releases and friends who’d been flooding his in-box for the scoop.

  “Well, you look ready for a snooze fest.”

  Miguel turned to find Claudius standing in the living room, wearing what appeared to be a cougar-print bodysuit and a fake dolphin coat from next season’s “Save the Mammals” line.

  Miguel raised a brow.

  “I mean your face—” Claudius waved a hand at his cheeks. “It’s all tense and pale. Well, tan really, but pale compared to your usual. You look stressed or in need of food.”

  “Gracias. I think.” Miguel eyed the bodysuit. “I assume you didn’t get the text about tonight’s meeting.”

  “Just got it on your elevator. I went home to feed the parrot real fast and change so you and I could go out, but . . .” The twenty-four-year-old, Euro-born, three-year ambassador looked down at his clothes and shrugged before he walked over to the wall drink dispenser and helped himself to a glass of manufactured club ice. “You know why they’re calling the meeting tonight?”

  “Corp 30 requested it.”

  Claudius spun around, his blond hair hardly moving from its gelled peak. “Oh.” He stared. “Man, I’m sorry.” His loss for words about mimicked Miguel’s. He opened his mouth. Shut it. Finally. “Good gad, that’ll be a disaster. That woman will be out for blood. Who in their right mind agreed?”

  “The other Corporations, from what I can tell. It’d be worse if they didn’t. It’d look insensitive at best. At worst, suspicious.”

  His friend groaned and wandered to the desk beneath the giant window. “Such a shame, seeing as I was coming by to drag you out. Figured you’d need some fun in light of the whole . . . thing.” His gaze extended sympathy to Miguel. “And clearly I—Hello.”

  He halted in mid-lift of his drink and leaned over the note the blackmailer had given Miguel. Claudius’s expression widened, then darkened, and he let out a low whistle before looking up. “That’s not pretty.”

  Miguel snorted. “Agreed.”

  “Any idea who it’s from?”

  Miguel shook his head. “They slipped it to me right before the explosion.”

  “So, what are we going to do? I mean, besides find the fool.” Miguel cracked his neck. “I’ve got Vic running traces.”

  “But if they leak it? Miguel, you’ll be finished.” Claudius’s voice lowered. “As will the rest of us.”

  “I know.”

  Claudius took a sip of his drink and stared at him. “I’ve no idea what they’ve got against Corp 24, but if it comes down to one or the other, you’ll need to pin Corp 24 to the wall for all our sakes.”

  “Except that doesn’t stop them from using it in the future.”

  “Okay, but what about tonight? You think they’ll bring it up at the meeting?”

  Miguel rubbed his forehead. “I think they’re playing a bigger game.”

  His friend coughed and set down his drink. “A game in which they’re trying to make you their pawn.”

  Miguel looked away and locked eyes on the tele, staring at the screen without seeing it—until at some point he became aware the news was plastering up pics of Sofi and her brother along with their childhood home, school, dead half sister, and everything else the interweb had pulled up in the past hour.

  “Shilo and Sofi’s father, a Professor Snow from Old Canada, married CEO Inola just before her corporation took off,” the tele narrator said. “With the birth of their two children, followed by the loss of her firstborn from a previous relationship, some say CEO Inola disappeared more into her work—leaving her husband to manage the farm and kids. And once the professor died of a heart attack, she never pulled back out of it—leaving ten-year-old Sofi to raise her young brother. Tragically, those lives ended all too soon today.”

  Miguel’s gaze hardened and his lungs burned. The next moment his handscreen buzzed. He looked over. “Open.”

  Vicero’s face appeared. “Okay—the audience vids I’m still filtering, but the names, I got. You ready?”

  “Vicero, my lady. Hello, you beautiful being.”

  Vic furrowed her virtual brow and turned until she saw Claudius. Her gaze narrowed. “Um, nice man-suit. Your mom know you’re out like that?”

  “Whatever. My mom would’ve begged me to wear this suit. I mean, you know—if she hadn’t died in a fiery car accident when I was nine.”

  “Looking at it makes me want to die in a fiery car accident.”

  Miguel waved a hand between them, his mood prickling. “Okay, enough flirting with the AI. What do you have, Vic?”

  “Hey, just cuz I’m Artificial Intelligence doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy some attention.” The AI patted her auburn hair self-conscious-like and smiled at Claudius.

  “It’s because of the suit, isn’t it?” Claudius mouthed at her. “You think it’s hot.” Then aloud, “See, Miguel? She thinks it’s hot.”

  The AI rolled her virtual eyes, but the blush that lit up her cheeks looked exceptionally real.

  Miguel glared. “Vicero, focus.”

  “He hasn’t eaten recently,” Claudius said by way of explanation.

  “Ah, explains it.” Vic nodded. “Right. So I, uh, got some stuff for you. Still running scans, but here’s the initial gist. Corp players 1 and 24, gamers 2, 24, and 10 and their techs are all dead. My sources are also saying techs from Corp 30 are goners as well, although there seems to be some confusion, especially the three Ns—which may have to do with the fact they’re identical.”

  “And Corp 30’s head gamer?”

  The AI pretended to shuffle virtual notes. “Oh, right. Her. She’s alive. Well, at least for now.”

  The air left the room. Left his lungs. Left any aspect of its natural state, sending Miguel’s chest imploding. His gaze flickered. ¿Qué? He leaned in. “Did you just say Sofi’s alive?”

  “Yep, suave man, she is.”

  The inhale he’d been holding came out in a rush of relief and unreasonable ache. He blinked and refused to acknowledge the heat tightening his throat. “How? Where? Is she hurt? Wait, what do you mean ‘for now’?”

  “I mean someone’s taken a vested interest in the fact that, for all intents and purposes, the explosion should’ve killed her. But super weird—it didn’t. And from what I can tell, they might be planning to fix that or something. And the only way I know this is because I”—she smiled proud-like at both of them—“tapped into Corp 30’s sound system and ran word patterns over the voices until I found people talking about Sofi. At least until they found my bugs and kicked me out.”

  Miguel whistled. Even he was impressed.

  “Also, another bizarro thing—the firewalls surrounding all online info regarding Sofi, Shilo, and a few others are tight.” Vic paused and fastened her stare meaningfully on him. “Like tighter than they should be, if you get me. My comp-worms are on it, and I’ll let you know. But in the meantime, there seem to be some weird vibes coming off the Corp’s systems.”

  “Which systems?”

  “Still tracing ’em.”

  “Okay, and what about Shilo?”

  “Again with the firewalls being hindering or glitchy. Because it’s like all trace of him after four thirty this afternoon went missing. And the only vocal convos I heard regarding him were that there seems to be a lot of confusion as to what happened to him.”

  Miguel raised his brow. Missing?

  “Oh, and your Corp 24 player who was actually a murderer and bombed half the arena? His file’s been faked, although only a few like me could recognize it.” Vic batted an eye at Claudius, which looked weird but Miguel didn’t have the patience to tell her people usually bat both lids when flirting. “And even fewer could’ve pulled it off.”

  “So was the player even a legitimate replacement?”

  “No.”

 
; No surprise there. “Then who put him in the FanFight?”

  Vic’s mouth went still even as her hands fidgeted. “That’s the other thing. The, uh, initial code points to your girl as having set him up.”

  Miguel froze. “¿Qué?”

  “You know. The gamer chick, Sofi? It looks like she was the person controlling the bomber dude right before he went boom.”

  11

  SOFI

  SOFI WAITED FOR THE DOOR TO CLOSE BEFORE KICKING THE sheet off her ankles. She coughed and brushed the dark hair that’d loosened from its ponytail from her eyes. Fool. If the man had known anything of her med history and drug tolerance, he never would’ve unplugged that IV. Rather, he would’ve checked to ensure the fluid bag hadn’t run out five minutes ago.

  Sliding hands beneath the barely there medical gown, she felt down her smooth arms, torso, and legs. From the sensitivity in a few ribs and a shin, those had likely been broken and would’ve been repaired in the hover. Thank you, medics.

  Now for Shilo.

  Climbing off the tall bed, she strode to the IV machine, yanked the tube from its box, and coiled it loosely around both hands, then popped open the machine’s lid and snapped off the thin metal prong used to transmit fluid before she spun toward the exit.

  The door handle turned with ease. She edged the thick titanium open and held her breath so as not to alert the guard. Cripe. He was standing right there, his back to her, looking at his handscreen.

  Sofi flattened her lips. Sorry, pal.

  In one swift motion she slipped the IV tubing over the man’s head and pulled it across his neck like a garrote, then yanked him backward into the room.

  His noises were soft, muted—full of awkward choking and feet flailing as his hands attempted to shred the brown skin from her arms. She kept her face passive and pulled the tube tighter. She’d watched the Corp trainers coach Shilo often enough to know how it went—she’d even let him practice on her wrist until he got it right.

  The guard’s body writhed and twisted, his fingers drawing blood before grasping and nearly tearing off her gown, until . . .

  He slowed.

  Then slumped at her feet.

  Sofi calmed her thick breathing and checked his pulse—not dead, but he’d be out for a while. Tucking her stray hair behind her ears, she re-coiled the tubing around one arm and moved to the door to peer down the hall. More doors. Red. Numbered. All sterile looking against white walls, white floors, and white ceilings. All shut.

  She closed hers and headed toward the end of the hall where a lone elevator faced a tiny window through which shafts of nighttime city lights were splaying out across the tile, giving the eerie sense of warmth.

  “Hey! You! Stop!”

  Crud. Sofi tore for the elevator as a female guard rounded the hall from the opposite end.

  “Patient Snow is in the hall,” the lady yelled. “I repeat, in the hall headed for the elevator on floor fourteen.” From the sound of the heavy boots, the woman was plowing full speed for her.

  Sofi dropped to her knees in front of the elevator’s card-swipe box and pried the base open using the metal prong. The footsteps were pounding closer. It took two seconds to find the wires and pull them to shove one against the card reader’s wiring, igniting sparks that flew up in Sofi’s face as the door slid open. Sofi jumped in, then shoved her foot against the sealant button just as the guard reached her. The woman’s hands nearly got crunched as the heavy metal shut and clicked.

  Sofi exhaled. So far so good. At least I’m in the elevator.

  Now for the hard part. She glanced up at where the cameras should be—and five seconds later hoisted her body to balance on the elevator’s silver handrails to reach them while the guard pounded on the door from the outside.

  Using the prong again, she pried away the metal around the first camera and yanked it out, wires still attached.

  “Patient Snow,” the elevator speaker said. “You are in violation of your clearance. Please return to your room.”

  Not likely.

  She tore the head off the camera’s lens and smashed its glass face against the ceiling before proceeding to do the same with the others. Once finished, she knelt at the elevator’s control panel and went to work accessing the simple computer behind it. It wasn’t much, but it was connected.

  Using the internal drive, she rewired the thing to give her control, then pressed level three. The elevator shifted and began its descent. Rather slowly, compared to most modern lifts—giving Sofi the chance to exhale and rock back on her heels. Until a moment later when an old-timey saxophone song clicked on over the speakers and began playing what Shilo liked to refer to as “old people’s lovemaking music.”

  Sofi winced. Good grief, Mother, get with the century.

  While the eternity of crooning sax continued, Sofi uncoiled the plastic tube from her wrist and tied it around her waist to keep the black med gown she was wearing in place. At least without gaping holes. She hoped.

  Mercifully, eventually, the elevator arrived at the third floor. With a soft ding its door opened and Sofi stepped out into the unnaturally bright, familiar hall and ignored the startled faces suddenly looking down the corridor at her.

  She strode past two rooms to the “lab,” a patchouli-scented office nicknamed by Shilo and her years ago, when Mom had forced them to start “visiting” a Corp 30 therapist. Whether to tame Sofi’s behavior or convince them their mother’s actions were in Shilo’s best interest, Sofi’d never been sure. But they’d had one too many extended visits here—to “monitor her level of crazy,” the doctor had actually stated. Although in truth, they felt less like “monitored therapy” and more like a study of her tech skills and physical health. Like a small rat under a microscope.

  Usually in the wake of her rebelling about something.

  She despised it.

  After tugging open the door, she walked in to find Dr. Yate not there. Thank heck. Sofi dead-bolted the door behind her before heading for the inner glass office just as the startled voices in the hall turned to angry tones and running feet. “Which way?” she heard a guard say.

  “Room 33.”

  “Sofi,” Ms. Gaines called. “Open up, dear. We want to talk with you.”

  Dr. Yate’s inner office was locked. Sofi grabbed the metal chair from behind a desk and threw it against the glass, only to have it bounce off and nearly smack her in the arm as the door to the hall behind her shrieked from something hitting it.

  Come on, Sof.

  She tried the chair again. Nothing.

  Feeling around the doorjamb, she searched for a way to pry open the locking mechanism. Nothing. The next moment a sound crinkled close to her ear. She twitched a finger to brush the noise away and proceeded to pick up the chair again. Maybe if she held it while hitting the glass rather than throwing it . . .

  “Sofi,” a voice said loud and clear beside her.

  She jumped and spun around just as a gunshot rang out. Were they seriously shooting at the door?

  Cripe. Not just shooting. They’d put a hole in it.

  You’ve got to be kidding. She ducked, then waited a half second before shaking her hair away from her ear and turning to hit the glass again. If only her doctor kept a computer out here, she could open the room with their systems. Which was exactly why he didn’t keep one, he’d once cheerily informed her.

  It now made sense why all the Corp’s main doors were still in the Dark Ages with old-fashioned lock-and-key systems—hence the shooting out of the dead bolt behind her. Advancements in technology like the door in front of her had forced them to re-embrace the old security for a reason. She’d have to remember to thank her mother’s paranoia and Sofi’s own helpful motivation in that area. Ahem.

  “Sofi, you there?”

  She slowed. Frowned. The air next to her ear crackled again.

  “Sofi, psst.”

  She looked around. Heller?

  “Please say yes if you are.”

  She reache
d for her ear. Her com from the arena was still in. How in—? “Heller,” she breathed. “You’re alive? Where are you?”

  “Mom’s Basement. You?”

  “What? I’m in Corp 30. I—”

  “I know. Are you still in the elevator?”

  “No, third floor in the office that leads to the fire escape. The door’s locked and the idiots are shooting through the one behind me.”

  “Two seconds.”

  She could hear tapping in her ear as another bullet pierced the lock. She dropped to her knees and kept her head low. “Heller, they’re through—I gotta go now.”

  “Okay, got it. Go, go, go!” Dr. Yate’s glass office door in front of her clicked and slid open.

  “Heller, remind me to hug you.” She rolled through the doorway and scrambled toward the dark window. Vaguely aware that behind her the glass door slid shut again even as the outer metal one exploded all over the room.

  Heller cleared his throat in Sofi’s earcom as the men entered through the smoke. “You’ve got about seventy seconds. I shut down the cameras on the outside of the building and sealed all the ground-floor doors, but it’s going to last maybe a minute before they reactivate them.”

  “Got it.” She was already climbing out the window and onto the sleek emergency ladder. The thing shuddered with her weight. With a single inhale, she kicked it and hung on as the ladder shot down through the dim night air to the ground, then jerked to a stop just before she hit the damp pavement.

  Without glancing up, she ran for the yellow-lit parking lot across the street, clenching and unclenching her hands to ease the shocking pain from the ladder. “I’m out,” she breathed to Heller. “Heading into the parking garage.”

  “I’ll find you a ride.”

  “No need, I got it.” She eyed one of the pay-by-mileage public transport hovers three rows down. “But do you have any credits on you?”