Tracked (12 page)

“You know how TransCorp laid off Eager's daddy?” Mary says. “How his mother marched against them before last month's strike? Jason didn't want anything to do with a Sixer contract. When he didn't sign, the court recalled him on new charges. They said he resisted arrest and tried to pull a DP's gun,” Mary says. “They shot him, Phee.”

I curl into myself, sinking further into the couch. Poor Eager, my crew-mate, the boy who never said a bad word about anyone, hardly a line of real trash talk. We'll never see his crooked smile again. I think of loyal Bear, who must be comforting Jason's family tonight. I can only imagine how badly he took the news. I need to share this grief with my brother.

Hal says quietly, “Has Benroyal let you go?”

“No, he definitely did not let me go.”

Mary pulls her robe tight. “How did you get here?”

“I walked out. I don't know what's going to happen.” I take a deep breath. Another nervous glance around the room. “I took an all-access flex from Benroyal's wife.”

“Wait,” Hal says. “What?”

“Well, really from a guard, but I scammed my way into Benroyal's study and saw everything. He's using his own fuel runoff to cook black sap and he's shipping it everywhere and now I'm—”

“Slow down. Black sap?” Mary gapes. “You're sure, I mean, absolutely sure of it?”

I nod. There's realness, a feeling of safety in our apartment that gives me a scrap of courage. “Positive. I know what I saw.” I tell them about the cameras and distribution routes I uncovered.

Hal drags his hand through his hair, something I've seen Bear do a thousand times. “Phee, this is . . . Who saw you? Who knows what you saw?”

“I don't know. The flex gave me access, supposedly disabled surveillance, but I don't trust Benroyal. At least a couple of guards know I was in his penthouse tonight. Grace Yamada walked me outside, helped me get past the guards. I didn't tell her anything, but—”

“Oh Phee. Don't you say another word. Not to her. Not to anyone.” Mary presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. “If Benroyal's really behind the black sap, your life's not worth two credits once he finds out.”

“I know. That's why you have to get out of Capitoline. Benroyal's got eyes on the clinic. Just take Bear and get out. Settle someplace outside another city, Dalmark or Mid-iron, maybe.”

“We're not going anywhere.” Hal stiffens, then squeezes an arm around my shoulder. “Not without you. You're our daughter.”

“He'll kill you,” I say. “If I step out of line, it's not just me who'll pay for it.”

Mary sighs, then puts on that deep-thinking face, the one she wears when treating an incurable disease. Her blue eyes are bright with worry.

“I'm sorry.” My voice almost cracks. “If I hadn't taken that race, the DP wouldn't have picked us up and come to shake down the clinic and I never would have—”

“I can't do this, Phee. Ever since we heard about Jason Eager, we . . .” Her eyes flick to the door. “I can't handle losing you or Bear. How could you be so reckless?”

The sharp edge in her scolding cuts too deep.

Tearing up, she cups my cheek. “What's done is done. And now we're just going to have to manage this. Hal and I will think of something.”

“There has to be a way to expose Benroyal without putting you in danger. I have to tell someone.”

Her hand drops. She jerks her head toward the door. “Who're you going to tell? The DP? The feedcasters? The prime minister? Out there, you tell anyone, and you're as good as dead.”

“There has to be someone.”

“You don't breathe a word of this to anyone, Phee. Not to anyone outside of this room. Not even Bear.”

“I can't keep something like this from him.”

Mary turns on me, shoulders squared, as fierce as I've ever seen her. “Anyone who knows is at risk. The less you tell Bear, the safer he'll be. I won't have my son beaten and interrogated by the DP. And I won't see you cut down like Jason Eager. For now, while we sort this out, you're going to forget what you saw and that's the end of it.”

Before I can argue, the Larssens' front door bursts open.

The sight of the flimsy door, torn from its hinges by
six of Benroyal's guards, pushes me into fight or flight. I lurch from my seat, but Hal beats me to the punch. He shoves me back, ready to hold off anyone that advances.

“Get out of my house.”

The guards ignore him. The first two, a hulking pair in black, make a move to toss him out of the way. I fly against them, but my fists are no match for these men in their bulletproof vests. So easily, they pin my arms behind my back while Hal and Mary struggle to fend off the remaining goons. I watch as one of them puts Hal in a chokehold, pressing a deactivated stun stick against his throat.

“Stop it!” I scream. “I'll go! Let them be and I'll do whatever you want.”

The brute pinning my arm relaxes his grip. He nods at the rest of his team. “All right. Let's move out.”

As they drag me away, I dig in my heels to buy one more moment. “I won't be there to pay my respects,” I call back. “But tell Eager's mom I'm sorry.”

I can't keep up with the officers' pace as they hustle me down five flights. Overpowered by their jackboot stomp, I give up, limp and spineless, my feet sliding against the landings. This was a trap. They know where I've been and what I've seen. They let me walk out, just so they could take me down for violating some rule or contract clause.

How long before they kill me? Will there be some pretense of arrest, like Eager's fall? Or will they just haul me into the alley and shoot me in the back of the head?

I stumble on the last riser. I feel the jolt and bounce of my misstep all the way from my heel to my jaw. My teeth clack against the inside of my cheek, and a trickle of my blood lashes against my tongue, sharpening something in me—a last gasp of courage, of desperation, of longing to taste freedom before the bullet's call. In the split second of confusion, I twist and slip the guards' hold. I'm off the leash and through the exit doors, only fingertips beyond their reach.

The spectacle beyond the curb stops me in my tracks. A row of DP speeders. An Onyx from the Spire. Three other armored rigs, lights flashing. A score of silent officers in riot gear. And they are not alone.

Old Mr. Fontanata and his daughter watch from their opposite stoop. Lang Metter stands in the threshold of his shop, Gold Flake Pawn. It's late, but my neighbors hover in their doorways and lean from open windows. Lang's middle son, Rip, makes a move. Even as Benroyal's guards catch up and lay hands on me again, he dares to approach, stepping off the curb and into the street.

“Step back,” a DP barks through a wrist amp. “Do not advance.”

The door to my building clangs open. I twist and catch a glimpse of Hal and Mary. Several DPs have to hold them back.

“All civilians back inside,” the leader commands, but no one retreats. Strangers appear in doorways. Lang moves onto the street to join his son.

“I said get back!” The officer pulls his gun, gliding his thumb to deactivate the safety. I gasp and taste the charge in the air, scanning the taut uncertainty in the faces of my neighbors. Heat shimmers from the sap-stained pavement while we dance on the brutal edge between indecision and resistance, doomed at every tilt.

I think of last month's strike, and the riots that trailed it. One shot fired into a crowd of protesters was all it took to spark a raging fire. So much smoke and south side blood. Tonight, I know my life's not worth the burning. “Please . . .” I collapse into myself, falling pliant and slack. “Call them off and I'll—”

Lights blaze across my field of vision. Another Onyx roars through a gap in the DPs' line and slams to a stop in our path. Its doors fly open, and Hank is beside me. In two blinks, he's flanked the guards and pulled me loose. James is at his side.

“Are you hurt, Miss Vanguard?” Hank asks.

I don't know what to say.

“What in the name of Castra do you think you are doing?” James yells at the guards, then wheels on the lead DP officer. “Stand down and tell me what's going on before I have you all charged and reassigned for desert watch.”

The tallest guard, the one who'd put Hal in a chokehold, shrugs. “She was unescorted and hadn't returned by midnight, so we—”

“They took her,” Mary shouts. “Burst into our apartment and dragged her into the street.”

“Are you insane?” Hank asks the guard. “All this for a girl breaking curfew?”

“Hey, they called us in.” The DP is quick to shift the blame. He points a finger at Benroyal's guards. “Said she broke a contract clause and that they might need some help to bring her in.”

Even though it's not fixed on me, James's sneer is a little terrifying. “Well, aren't you something, Miss Vanguard. You stay out half an hour past curfew and apparently, it takes six grown men and two armored squads to fetch you and bring you back home.” Again, he turns on the DP commander. “Who authorized this . . . constellation of sheer recklessness and stupidity?”

One of the guards owns up, meekly raising his palm.

“Does Mr. Benroyal know about this?”

“No, but we have standing orders to make sure she doesn't go out after her curfew.”

“Then pray I don't regale him with the details.” James pivots. “Hank, flex me this imbecile's contract number. The rest of you jokers say good night and pack it in, before I call Mr. Benroyal and tell him you very nearly damaged one of his most valuable assets, inviting a full-scale riot in the process.”

No one's said anything about the stolen flex or what I saw in Benroyal's study. I sway as the waves of adrenaline panic ebb. They aren't here to silence me. I think. I hope.

There's a long string of “yes, sirs” and half-hearted apologies before James waves everyone off. I give in to the collective exhale as the neighbors retreat. Hal and Mary approach, but James steps between us.

“Please return to your apartment, Mr. and Mrs. Larssen.” He pretends it's a request. “I'll send someone to replace your door, and I promise no further harm will come to you.”

“What about Phee?” Mary asks.

“I'll see her back to the Spire.”

I shudder.

He turns and makes his way toward the Onyx, confident I'll follow. I look back at Hal and Mary.

“Good night,” I tell them at last. “Take care.”

We speed away and I collapse. The driver's screen is up, and Hank drives us past empty blitz ball courts and dim warehouses and trailing flex banners that blink with share prices and circuit odds. Cash's image appears. It's a handsome shot of him at a circuit event, but a tabloid headline's splashed over it, ruining his smolder.

I hardly recognize myself when my picture flashes next to his. It's from today's press conference, and a close-up of our team logo links Cash and me. I close my eyes until Benroyal's lion is out of sight.

I don't know why King Charlie has me on such a tight leash, but this has been the longest rusting night of my life. My lids twitch and my whole body burns with exhaustion. Like an overspent fuel cell, I'm scorched and drained. James can stare and fuss at me all he wants—I've got nothing left to give.

“You can thank Cash,” James says. “If he hadn't guessed where you bolted, I might not have been able to intervene in time. Let's not mention the fact that you defied me outright. I told you to stay put and you didn't. I don't even want to think about what would've happened if I hadn't found you. No one's saying you can't go out, but you can't break curfew like that again, Phee. Next time, take an escort.”

I sigh. “I'm not an ‘asset.'”

“Yes, you are. To Benroyal, everything and everyone is either an asset or an obstacle. And you're one of his most important holdings now.” He thrusts an oversized flex into my face. “Read it. Look what they're saying about you. Phoenix Vanguard: Racing's New Rebel, Circuit Renegade, Applause for Sucker Punch.”

A cold and oily nausea slithers through me as the words sink in, even as I fight the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Inside me, there's a space that craves this approval, but swallowing it whole, it all goes down so wrong.

James must sense I've reached my limit. He pulls the flex away. “You're not just some street rat anymore. Be careful, Phee. That's all I'm asking. Why did you run off like that?”

I can't tell him the truth. James might've saved me this time, but I can't forget he's King Charlie's right-hand man.

“Grace Yamada. I ran into her. She led me outside and told me to get some fresh air. So I did.”

“You've been talking to Grace?” he barks. “Tell me you haven't been talking to Grace Yamada.”

“Stop bugging out. She helped me get out of the Spire and I caught a cab. She was nice.”

James sighs and pinches his forehead. “Grace Yamada is a lot of things, but she is not nice. Furthermore, you cannot just follow her out of the Spire, breaking your curfew every time you feel like it.” There's real fear in his eyes now. All this scolding is just a smokescreen.

“Why do you care so much? What's your play?”

“This isn't a game. I need you to lay low and stay out of trouble. It's crucial you do your job and do it well. I need you to win.”

“Sure.” I turn away, resting my head against the window glass. I'm too tired to make a fist or roll my eyes or even raise my voice. “Shut up and drive. I get it. Your bet's on me. I need to score high so you can rake in the shares.”

“You think you know everything? You see through me so well? You can't even begin to grasp everything that's at play and how high the stakes are for me right now. I am not the villain, Phee. Maybe I'm the one person who's not. I'm trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? Why should I trust you, Mr. Locus Informatics? I'm nothing but Benroyal's property to you. Something you can use.”

“You are my concern, Phee.” James pulls off his frames and the mask slips—I catch the pinch of weariness and alarm. “You'll just have to get used to that.”

“Then convince me you're really not the villain here. You act like Benroyal's errand boy, playing fetch for the biggest lying Sixer on Castra.”

“You think I like taking orders from that—” James cuts himself off, but I'm not fooled. Even his quietest voice presses like a blade against the throat. “While Charles Benroyal's great-grandfather was peddling tear gas and stun sticks, mine was collapsing the space between stars. My family built Locus to bridge gaps. To move information from one world to another. We pioneered interstellar communication, flex tech, infinite data highways. You think I've enjoyed watching Benroyal dismantle the heart and soul of my company, turning Locus into just another cog in his machine?”

“Then why don't you stop him?”

“Four minutes. My sister is four minutes older than I am. The firstborn heir. That gives her fifty-one percent of Locus, and leaves me with forty-nine. Which makes it all too easy for Benroyal to declare his pretty little wife incompetent, take control of her shares, and twist Locus into whatever he wants. My family's company became a rent-a-judge, insta-trial punchline, and I had to stand by and watch. Think you hate King Charlie?” he says through his teeth. “You don't know the meaning . . . No one wants to take him down more than I do. And right now, I'd say that makes me the best friend you've got.”

“Some friend. The kind who offers prison or the Spire.”

“I didn't have a choice.”

“Spare me your act. You don't—”

“Once word got out that Tommy Van Zant's daughter was winning on the streets, it was over and done.” He pauses. “Your father was the greatest driver the circuit has ever seen. People loved him like no other, Phee. Benroyal knows that's in your blood.”

My hands are shaking, but I can't bear to tell James how much it burns to hear my father's name. “Don't tell me about my—”

“Your father was more than a driver for Locus. He was a good man. I couldn't stop Benroyal from forcing you to sign with him, but I'll do what I can to protect you. I owe Tommy that much.”