Chapter 9- Locket

  The moment Qonni leaves the car, barely injured with the moon in her hand, I didn’t expect my team to win.

  I stepped on the brakes the second I landed on the boat, miscalculating the toy car’s friction against the plastic dock. The crash blew out my organs. The most I could manage was to open the car door and fall to the side, clawing at my last attempt. It’d been Raven who found the paint gun hidden in the backseat and saved the game.

  Even back in the lobby, I’m still clinging to my organs. The pain has miraculously vanished as if I’d woken up from a dream. Raven, besides me, her forehead on my shoulder, panting.

  “Victory,” she breathes. A ghost of a chuckle slips from her mouth. “We won.”

  A handful of the class, their gears shedded, velms off and unbuckled, congratulate us. Bison gives me a hand to pull me up and shake.

  “I need a replay on what happened,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I blacked out at the last second.”

  Cerena claps loudly, congratulating all of us for completing the drill. “It went better than I expected. You all put up a great fight. Refreshments are prepared in the dining hall. Exchange shakes with your classmates and join me at the first door to the right.”

  I shake with every player, especially those I eliminated, adding a compliment. Good fight. Nice shot. So none of today’s brawl will carry over to the next drill. Water under the bridge. It’s only Qonni who refuses to shake hands with anyone.

  When she’s pissed off, there’s only one of two reactions—screaming and demanding a rematch or a redo that results in Cerena threatening to deduct more points. Or the way she is now, on the ground, her face still velmed, too shocked or exhausted to process what had just happened.

  She swats me away when I offer a shake.

  “Bad sportsmanship,” I say.

  “Bad defeat.” She stands to get away from me. Furling her velm and ripping the band off the base of her neck, she heads toward the dining hall. “What did you even do this entire drill?”

  A lot of manual labor. But she doesn’t care for that.

  “I chose the right partner,” I simply say. “The reason I won.”

  She barely stays in the cafeteria for a minute before vanishing into another corridor.

  The dining hall has five round tables seating six, with a food counter in the corner serving pork buns, dumplings, Peking duck, egg drop soup, and mineral water. Standard lunch for the Arena testers Dr. Breena hired for her trial runs.

  Above us are the long panoramic screens, wrapping around the room, showcasing our statistics from today’s drill—eliminations, damage dealt, damage taken, stuns, chest openings, and even steps taken. We can get into specifications as the data syncs to our chips, showing in in-depth numbers like heart-rate spikes—moments before a fight, during, and after. Mainly, everyone is focused on the SNO infliction and what parts of the body were damaged in the game.

  For Falcon, his heart stopped when he crashed headfirst. A broken radius for Raven. A concussion for Bison.

  “I don’t even remember hitting my head,” Bison says, putting his tray of food down. “And isn’t the velm supposed to protect me from that?”

  “That’s not how a concussion works,” Viper says. “I saw the crash. It was a pretty bad hit.”

  Bison sighs and takes a large bite of his dumplings. “One thing I’ll never do again is get in a car with her.”

  “Well, she is the reason you almost won,” Raven says. She shrugs off her outer layer and rubs the spot where her forearm broke.

  “Keyword almost,” Viper says. “It was satisfying seeing you take the moon from her.”

  Raven grins. “I’ll be honest, I had no idea where to put the piece. If it weren’t for little Miss narcissist, it would’ve taken us much longer to find it.” Raven turns to me. “Unless you knew where it was.”

  “I didn’t,” I admit, unashamed. “But I trust that she did.”

  We never mention Qonni’s name. It feels like a bad omen speaking her name. Her omnipresence is enough to keep her name out of our mouths, even when she’s not in the room.

  She’s probably somewhere sulking or taking her anger out on a poor punching bag. Probably alone. Probably the perfect time to take my next step.

  I excuse myself from the table.

  *

  After returning from my studio, I find Qonni lying on a bench adjacent to the dining hall doors, an arm over her eyes.

  My footsteps are loud, echoing down the hollow and sterile corridor, so she’s not alarmed when I pause before her. Her coat is off, folded into a pillow, tucked under her head. Her icy blonde hair spills over the side, hovering inches above the floor.

  She takes a quick peek and groans. “Are you here to gloat?”

  “Just making sure you’re not wandering into places you don’t belong, again.”

  “You can leave then.” She flips her back on me. “You smell.”

  I sniff the barren air. “Hmm. Smells like victory to me.”

  “Eat shit.”

  I reach into the white Govon bag I brought up from my room, pull out the lilac travel-size perfume, and spray the air over us.

  “Don’t worry, I brought some air freshener.”

  Within seconds, Qonni springs up, her boots on the ground, her eyes on the perfume in my hand, then darts to the bag on the other.

  “My purse,” she says.

  She snatches it quickly, like a cat swatting a fly. She checks both the interior and exterior, listing the items inside—lip gloss, compact mirror, hairpins, and everything I found under the rubble. But from the disappointment on her face, she didn’t find what she was looking for.

  “Is this everything you found?” she asks.

  “I also found dirt and rocks, and some ripped leather on the side. However, my mother knows a sales associate who handled everything for me. So you’re welcome, by the way.”

  She closed the clasp on her bag. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” she says in a hostile way.

  The audacity of this girl.

  “Like you’ll go back to the Void to retrieve it yourself,” I scoff. “But I’m not here for your gratitude. I need a favor.”

  She casts me a weird expression as if she can’t decide if she wants to laugh or scowl. “What can I do for you that Lotus can’t, Rha Zeng?”

  My full name. How formal. Seeing as she’s ready to reject me from the gates of her pursed lips, I didn’t want to be too straightforward. I need to go about this another way.

  “You’re not hungry?” I ask instead. “There’s plenty of hot food inside. We can talk about it over food?”

  She leans back, her spine touching the wall, surveying me from head to toe. “Food? That reminds me.” She takes out a thin cylinder tube and pops out a bright blue pill. SEM. Then, in her grandmotherly voice, she says, “Won’t you get me a glass of water, sweetheart?”

  I dial for Tour-guide Andra since he’s the only one close by. He comes within the minute, a small tin cup of water on a tray.

  “Is the pill enough? Doesn’t look too filling.”

  “Weren’t you listening to my speech? One pill provides enough essential—”

  “I know. I was there.”

  “Uninvited.”

  “I was out of your way.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. And yes, the pills are fine. I’ve eaten nothing but these for the last few months, and look at me.”

  Yeah, look at her twig arms, her hollow cheekbones. This diet can’t be good in the long run.

  “I’m sure you can use some more protein,” I say. “Don’t you miss the taste, the enjoyment of food?”

  She sweeps her blonde hair over her shoulder, brushing it with her fingers. “And waste my precious time sitting down and waiting in restaurants for my cook when I can produce the next groundbreaking product? I have better things to do. It’s why I made SEM in the first place.”

  “What a terrible way to live,” I mumble to myself.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing. So, what did you use to make it?”

  She shuts her eyes and meets me with a glare as they peel open. “Should I tell you the process and each ingredient and where to get them so you can run to your great uncle and tell him exactly how to recreate my product?”

  “Hmm. That’d be great, actually.”

  She stands and flips her hair, hitting my chest in the process as she strolls away with her purse. “Piss off.”

  “Weird way to thank someone who went through all that trouble saving your bag.”

  “I have a warranty. They’ll replace one with a newer model. But thanks, I guess.”

  “That’s nice.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a chain. “But can they replace this?”

  She takes a glimpse over her shoulder. Her eyes grow wide at the recognition of the brass locket dangling from my fingers. She comes to snatch it, but I beat her to it and raise it above her head where she can’t reach, even if she tries.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Not so fast.”

  She seizes my collar. With her fist, she slams me against the stone wall. Hard. I let out a grunt from the impact. God. She’s strong for someone on a pills-only diet. And she won’t budge either. Her arm presses against my collar, her breath hot on my neck, her face under my chin. A pair of large doe eyes stares back at me. She’s not wearing her usual eyeliner, only a coat of mascara that smudged beneath her lashes. Or maybe it’s the years of sleepless nights hanging over them. This is the first time since the annulment of our engagement that I’ve seen her up close, or even stand face to face at all.

  “Either you hand it over,” she says, cautiously. “Or I send a knee between your legs.”

  Her hips dig into my thigh, tightening her grip on my shirt. I swallow. This isn’t how I imagine it would go. I should be terrified; Qonni’s not known to make empty threats.

  “Or,” I start, clutching her hand with my empty one, “you can give me your research paper and we’ll call it even.”

  The hall is silent. The hums and low murmurs of the dining hall miles away. My heartbeat is hammering against my chest; I wonder if she hears it too. When she makes any movements, I steel and embrace the kick to my groin.

  Qonni steps back and releases my collar.

  “Just the research paper?” she asks, backing away and fixing her hair.

  “Yes, the one you give to your investors.” It doesn’t include the specific details on how the creation is made, only the biochemistry and bioengineering, and all that sciency stuff I can’t name. None of the secret components she’s keeping hidden.

  “I have no intentions of accepting any proposals from Lotus,” she says.

  “Who says it’s for Lotus?” I tuck the hems of the charcoal-gray shirt back into the waistband. “Maybe I’m just interested in your work. I’m a big fan, by the way.”

  “Fine,” she sneers, and opens up her panels. “But just so that you know, it’s not papers. It’s a textbook, at least.”

  I pop on my wristlet to open up mine. She swipes the files my way, and a loading bar pops out on my end.

  “It’ll take a bit,” she says, shoving her palm in my face. “We’re even now.”

  Do I trust that she won’t take the locket and run away? No. But she’s probably had enough nonsense for today. I untangle the dainty chain. She wore it many years ago, before it got too small for her neck and too wide to wear as a bracelet. A charm now, I suppose. I open the locket one last time to reveal the three people inside. Two parents and their daughter in her father’s arms, smiling at the camera.

  “Look how innocent you used to be,” I say. “No shoving people out of your way, no cursing people out for chewing too loudly.”

  She plucks the pendant from my hand. “Thanks, but that’s not me.”

  “What?” I do a double-take, but it’s too late. “Those are your parents, no?”

  Though the girl in the photo can’t be older than five, her black hair, black eyes, small nose, and milky skin all resemble Qonni.

  “That’s my sister,” she says.

  A furrow crease between my brows. Of all the years I knew Qonni, this is the first time I’m hearing of a sibling.

  “How come you never told me you had a sister?”

  “She died four months after I was born,” Qonni explains. “I never knew her. And my mother was pregnant with me when this was taken. So this is the only photo of all four of us.”

  She lets me in on one last glimpse, a photo I’ve seen plenty of times, and never questioned who the girl was. But this is the only time I've noticed Dr. Leina’s swollen belly.

  “Sorry for bringing it up,” I say. And toying with her trinket. “I…didn’t know.”

  My wristlet dings ready, and the file is sent. Qonni spins on her heels and walks back to the dining hall. “You don’t know a lot of things, Rha Zeng.”

  *

  This weekend, Vikson and I arrive early at the open shooting range. Trees and grass are veiled from the blue morning mist. I see my breath in the air. It’s cooler and dimmer at this elevation, and especially as we head toward winter.

  We’re a mile from Lotus HQ, on an open plateau where I can see the Aquarium and the Nebula in the distance. Here, there’s no one to disturb us as we begin our weekly target practice.

  Assistant Andra sets up a table, arranging the antique guns from the laser rays and laser pistols. Drunes on stand-by in tree branches, carrying target marks—ceramic plates, water balloons, paper targets with a red circle—between their beaks, prepared to dash out into the open, glide, or even loop in the sky, mimicking the smooth motions of real crows.

  The two of us shoot for a couple of hours or until we run out of vials and bullets. Andra comes back from tallying the scores, and as usual, none of my shots went to waste.

  Ever since the day the academy taught us how to use a gun, both the new and old models, I realized I had a knack for precision. I missed a few shots at first, but by the end of the month, I had the best score in the class. The hand-to-eye coordination came naturally to me, and it was always satisfying to hit my targets, so I practiced daily in the shooting range after school until my nostrils were dusted with gunpowder, ears numb and ringing, hands painted with in colors, and nothing else in my field of vision except for the searing neon on the target papers. Until the weapon in my grasp felt as natural as operating my own fingers.

  “Perfect precision, as always,” Vikson says. He takes off his ear muffs and velm, then gives me a handshake. A good game. “Let’s head back.”

  The second he sits on the hovercraft, his wristlet is flooded with his daily agenda, and he immediately gets on a call with Dr. Breena and his assistant to coordinate his next meeting. Lavoran Vikson, I should be so lucky as to snip an hour from his packed schedule. After our weekly routine, I won’t see him for another week, so in between his calls, when he has a second to spare and drinks his oolong tea, I ask about the footage I found in the Void.

  It’s been weeks since, and I’ve heard nothing, waiting for him or Dr. Breena to bring it up, but as usual, they leave me in the dark. So I couldn’t even give my prying classmates an answer when they inquired about the last few weeks.

  “Did you find anything interesting?” I add.

  The grave guise on his face tells me he did, but the silence that follows as he puts his cup of tea aside tells me the information is unsafe for me to learn. There are several confidential things in the HQ that someone of my caliber is prohibited from touching. So I won’t be surprised if he tells me to drop it.

  As the craft doors rise to open, he says to me, “Meet me in Dr. Breena’s lobby in an hour. First, I need a shower.”

  After a shower, I arrive at the lobby ten minutes before the arranged time. Dr. Breena comes to get me; her poofy brown curls bounce with each step. She scans the door console with her chip, and the portal entrance splits open, a door that never opens for someone of my caliber.

  Inside is a private lounge reserved for major clients, where Dr. Breena explains her new creation in depth. A large booth sits in the center, with burgundy leather seats, facing the wide screen that covers the entire wall.

  I hear the recording of my voice the moment I step in. Vikson watches the replay of my drill from yesterday. He grins at me.

  “My favorite part in the whole drill,” he says and rewinds to the moment my bullet collided with Qonni’s. “Great shot.”

  I thank him, hiding my wagging tail, and present him with a thick booklet, letting it drop onto the counter. The moment Qonni left my sight, I sent the research paper into Vikson’s inbox, but that tiny drop must’ve gotten lost in the ocean of his notifications, so I printed all four hundred pages for him.

  After SEM was announced, he came to me for the first time, knocking on my door that night, inquiring more of what I knew—if we should worry about competition. Had it been Lotus that made the announcement and not Valtor, the product would be flooding the market. The fact is: SEM is groundbreaking. He wanted to know more about the pills and if Qonni had said a word of it in school.

  Unfortunately, Vikson left my room disappointed since I hardly paid any attention to Qonni’s Q&A. Other than our usual bickering, we hardly exchange a word during class.

  But now, all the answers he wants are in front of him.

  He skims over the title. “Is that…”

  “Yes,” I reply confidently. Though I wish I could summarize it all for him, I couldn’t get past the first paragraph without searching up half the terms on the page.

  Not that any of it matters now as Vikson cracks a smile at me, and I earn a spot on the booth beside him. He and Dr. Breena scan the first few pages as Andra fetches me a can of energy drink.

  “I’m impressed,” Vikson says. “Especially when you snubbed Yun Qonni of her win yesterday, if I were her, I would’ve given you a fist to the guts.”

  “Well, Raze does have his ways with the ladies,” Dr. Breena teases.

  I pop open my drink and try to ignore their statements. If only it’s as easy to swoon Qonni as they say. Our interaction yesterday nearly cost me my family jewels.

  “Yes, who can resist that face?” Vikson pinches my cheek, the way he did when I was younger, then gives me a full-body assessment, his fist knocking my shoulder as he feels the rigidity of my biceps. “What are you, like six feet tall?

  “Six-two, the last I checked,” I reply.

  He tsks me with his tongue and shakes his head. “If I were you, I’d find an agent and debut in a movie or show while you’re still young and handsome. The media will love you.”

  Ama and my classmates have said the same thing: that I could end up like a few of my cousins who have become idols and celebrities. I’ve been approached before, outside of school and at the Aquarium with my friends. After much nagging and coaxing, I’ve tried to model in front of cameras and read a few lines when I was fourteen. I didn’t like it—the bright lights, the showbiz industry, the exploitive eyes. I tried again last year with the same results; not how I imagined myself.

  My cousins, who are successful in that industry, no longer have any involvement with Lotus other than their name. The people I admire the most are in this industry, like Viskon, Dr. Breena, Dr. Lena, and those who have made their mark in history. I’m sure the celebrity path will bring me love and admiration, but what I want more is what Vikson has.

  It’s unclear what it is, specifically, but I believe I have more to offer than just my visage and physique.

  *

  When Dr. Breena dims the lights, the rest of the staff working in the room leaves, even Andras wheel out of sight. Other than us three and two of Vikson’s assistants, no one is authorized to view the footage.

  The projector blinks. The footage is broadcast in a grainy quality, which is worsened on the wide screen. The night vision and the sea-green tint don’t help either. I can barely make out the back of the mall and the parking lot. It’s odd to see the mall in one piece again, when it no longer exists.

  “Watch carefully,” Vikson says to me.

  The video plays. I note the timestamp in the corner, dating back two weeks before the drill. Nothing happens except for the brush of the trees at the edge of the screen, until it hits a quarter after midnight. A figure appears from the bottom of the screen. Too tiny and pixelated to identify. It resembles a human walking on two legs, in dark attire, with a velm over the head, carrying two full duffel bags on each shoulder, stopping at the back door of the mall beside two large trash containers.

  The culprit checks the door to find it locked. I eye the bottom of the screen to see if any of his or her accomplices might appear to help. Instead, the figure gingerly places the bags on the floor and knocks on the door. Is someone inside? My eyes are glued on the footage, hundreds of theories flooding my head, but none of them is close to the answer.

  The suspect takes a step back. Is he going to kick it down? I scoff silently. It’s a steel door, idiot. He raises a leg and puts a dent in the door right before the entire frame pops off its hinges. The surrounding brick wall crumbles down, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

  My eyes widen. “What?”

  Dr. Breena nods at me. “My reaction exactly.”

  I continue observing the…man? It seems too inhuman to be categorized as one of us humans. He effortlessly picks up the duffel bags and carries them inside. Roughly an hour later, he comes out empty-handed and walks off-screen. We don’t see him again.

  Dr. Breena allows me to replay the footage frame by frame to the exact moment the suspect demolishes the door, zoom in, and adjust the lighting, but nothing can explain what I’d just witnessed.

  According to the forensic report, the remnants of explosives found at the mall match the ones they saw on other demolished properties. We’re likely looking at the same culprit from the video. Who are we searching for? A terrorist? A rebellion? How can a person possibly hold such prowess?

  “Drugs?” Vikson casually tosses out. The warm chandelier lights come back on, and Andra immediately pours Vikson another cup of steaming hot tea. “Bionic limbs? My guess is as good as yours.”

  “We’re thinking it might be a component made by those street cybermedics from the Abyss,” Dr. Breena says, switching the screen to the latest Lotus ads.

  Cybermedics, or cyber bioengineers. I’ve heard of them before. Ever since Vikson presented the world with Lotic-fuel, it didn’t take long for someone to inject it into their system as a last resort to save a dying pulse. It worked for the next hour, until the person’s heart rate reached 500 bpm, and the heart exploded the next minute. Within the same year, someone in the Abyss did succeed in connecting a mechanical part to save a hand. Still, the success rate is as low as 10%, and it has been outlawed.

  So far, they only function to lift 200 pounds with one cybernetic arm, and the quality of the material is at best. No one has ever seen a force like this. In the video, it appeared so natural, without any limping or signs of discomfort.

  While I’m on Dr. Breena’s control panel, playing the footage two weeks later when our class enters and abruptly leaves, the property explodes, dusting the camera with ashes. Vikson remains calm in the booth, sipping on herbal tea. He’s never touched the cybernetics department, and he even disdains the idea of it.

  “My energy is for inanimate objects,” he once said to me when I suggested he research it. “Not humans.”

  There’s a spark in his eyes now as he stares at the culprit on the side screen, like he finally sees the potential of cyber bioengineering, or rather, the amount of money rolling in. More revitalized than I’ve seen him in years. A newfound purpose. And I want to be a part of it.

  “You want to find this person?” I ask. “I think I know how.”

  It’s a shot in the dark, but I’ve never been known to miss my mark.

  Vikson sets his empty porcelain cup down, an intrigue in his eyes. “Go on.”