Warcross (Warcross #1)(34)

We enter the campus. Patches of green lawn dot the space, and sprinkled between them are individual buildings surrounded by trees. Through my contacts, a virtual layer of bright colors adorns the buildings, painting each one in the colors of their respective team. Team names and logos hover helpfully over each dormitory, along with a cheery Welcome! message that rotates in different languages. Approved delivery drones fly in and out of each dorm, busily dropping off packages.

The car pulls to a stop at a dead end. Someone is waiting for me on the curb as my door swings open.

I find myself looking at Asher’s grinning face. I hadn’t even noticed that his car was ahead of mine. Over his head floats his name, level, and Phoenix Riders Captain. “Hey,” he greets, holding a hand out to me. Behind him, clusters of other players are already making their way down the paths toward their buildings. “I’m Asher, repping Los Angeles. Call me Ash.”

I shake his hand. “Yeah, I know,” I reply, trying not to think about the fact that this is someone I’ve watched in Warcross games for years. “I’m a fan of your brother’s movies. Didn’t think I’d get to talk to you today.”

His expression flickers cold for an instant at the mention of his brother, but then he’s back to normal, giving me a little laugh. “Sorry,” he replies. “I wanted to greet you when we were heading to our cars, but you know—fans first.”

I smile. “Well, thanks for picking me.”

“Wasn’t doing it out of charity.” Asher shakes his head. “The Phoenix Riders have been struggling for years. We need some good fresh blood. There’s nothing generous about wanting the best for my team.” His wheelchair turns away, and he tilts his head at me to follow him. “This is where you’ll be staying for the next few months,” he says as we turn a corner. I look ahead to see a stunning building painted virtually with swirls of red, gold, and white. “I heard Hideo himself approved your nomination into the draft. After the stunt you pulled in the opening ceremony, it’s a pretty interesting move.”

I smile again, a little more hesitantly this time. “I guess I’m good for the ratings,” I reply.

“I guess you are.”

Careful, I remind myself as I hear the curiosity in Asher’s voice. So, Hideo hadn’t forced him to draft me. Or, perhaps he knew that the intrigue he’d create over putting me in the draft would be enough to interest any captain. Whatever the real reason, at least Asher doesn’t sound like he suspects Hideo’s plans, and I intend to keep it that way. The less everyone here knows about what Hideo hired me for, the better chance I’ll have at catching our guy.

“And it looks like it’s good for your ratings, too,” I say, shifting the topic. “The Phoenix Riders are trending online over every other team. I bet the Demon Brigade’s unhappy about that.”

At the mention of a rival team, Asher rests his head back against his wheelchair and taps his right hand against his armrest. He smiles in a way that flashes one of his canines, turning the grin vicious. “The Demon Brigade’s always unhappy about something. Glad it’s because of us this time.”

We reach our building. Asher rolls up the access ramp and spins his chair once in a flourish at the top. He stops at the towering main entrance, a sheer glass door painted with stripes in our team colors, and pulls aside as the panels slide open. “Wild cards first,” he says.

I step inside, into an open space three floors high. Into a dream. The sun pours into this central atrium from a pyramid-shaped glass ceiling, flooding the place with light. Directly beneath the glass ceiling is a heated turquoise pool, perfectly square and ready to be jumped into. Brightly colored couches—all red, gold, and white—and thick white rugs dot the living room space. The walls are made out of screens from floor to ceiling. Even as I take in the luxurious interior, I scan the corners of the building, already searching for how the dorm gets online. I’ll need to find my way into the system and into everyone’s accounts.

Something nudges me hesitantly on my calf. I look down. Standing there, blinking up at me, is a boxy little robot as tall as my knee. Its eyes are bright blue and the shape of half-moons, its body painted a cheerful yellow, and its belly is covered with a clear glass panel, through which I can see a tray of sodas being chilled inside. When it sees me staring, it sticks its belly out, pops open the glass door, and pulls out the soda tray for me.

“His name is Wikki,” Asher says. “Our team drone. Go ahead, take a soda.”

I don’t know what to say to that, really, so I pick a can. “He’s still staring at me,” I murmur to Asher.

“He wants to see if you like the drink.”

I take a sip of the soda. It’s delicious, a fizzy strawberry flavor that tickles my insides. I make an exaggerated sound of joy. Wikki seems to take note of this, and over his head, a virtual set of info pops up:

Emika Chen | Strawberry Soda | +1

“He’ll record your food and drink preferences throughout your stay,” Asher adds.

A robot that tracks everyone’s info. I smile at Asher, but not for the reason he thinks. This is my ticket in. I make a mental note to figure out how to break into Wikki’s system later.

Wikki offers a soda to Asher, too, then pops its belly shut and rolls off to where a boy is sitting on the couches. As I look on, the boy moves his hands in midair as if turning a steering wheel, and every now and then he makes a flinging motion. On the wall is a track winding through candy-colored hills, populated by giant mushrooms. He whips down the path, outpacing other players easily.