Wildcard (Warcross #2)(95)

But he just looks at me now. “She’s smart to tap you for it. You know as much about it as anyone who has ever worked on developing the system.”

“I’ve been tasked with putting together a team to help rebuild the NeuroLink.”

“Have you picked this team yet?”

“I didn’t come here today just to see you.”

Silence. He lifts a skeptical eyebrow at me.

I nod without a word.

“Emika, I’ve been sentenced for what I did. You were hunting me yourself.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t think you still made something remarkable.” I lean forward against the table, then glance toward the black screen that sits flush against the entire side of the wall. “Play the footage.”

As Hideo looks over at it, the screen turns on.

It is a sequence of videos, news and memories from years past.

There’s a snippet from a documentary about an old woman trapped in an unresponsive body who was able to use the NeuroLink to communicate with her family. There’s an interview where a journalist travels to a war-torn border, where young refugees are using the glasses to continue their school lessons or talk with separated relatives. There is the inside of a children’s hospital that Hideo had once visited, where kids could travel down corridors that looked like fantastical worlds instead of white halls, where their rooms were filled with magical creatures that made them laugh. Alzheimer’s patients able to rely on the NeuroLink’s recordings of their memories. People trapped in a burning building who could use the NeuroLink’s grid to find their way out. The videos are endless.

Hideo watches them without a word. Maybe there will always be a weight on his shoulders, the guilt of what he’d done wrong, the loss of his brother. But he doesn’t look away from the videos, and when they finish, he doesn’t speak.

“Hideo,” I say gently, “you changed the world forever when you created the NeuroLink. And even though no one is perfect, it doesn’t mean we don’t listen. Become better. There are a million good things left to do, and they can be done responsibly, with thought and respect, without taking away from what’s wonderful about the world.”

He looks at me. “I don’t know if I still deserve a part in all of this,” he says.

I shake my head. “It doesn’t mean you won’t be closely watched. Or carefully guarded. You won't be able to work directly on anything, or write code, or be an official part of the company. There are going to be a lot of rules. I can promise you that.” I meet his eyes. “But you know the NeuroLink more intimately than anyone does. Before it was the world’s, it was yours. So I still believe there’s value in your advice, that we can benefit from your knowledge and your help.”

The spark in Hideo’s eyes now is the one I recognize from his early interviews. It’s the creator’s gleam, that magical thing that keeps you awake at night, wide-eyed with potential and promise.

“You once said that you were tired of the horror in the world,” I say. “Well, so am I. We can still find a way to fight it, the right way. We can find a way to do this together.”

Hideo doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, he smiles. It’s not his secret smile or a suspicious one. Instead, it’s everything I could have hoped for. Genuine, honest, full of warmth, like the little boy he’d once been, sitting by lamplight in his father’s repair shop and piecing together something that would change everything forever. It’s the smile I used to have when my father waved me over and showed me how he stitched delicate pieces of lace, one by one, onto the train of a dress. The same smile from when I stayed hunched over my laptop in the foster home, feeling in control of my life for the very first time.

Maybe we can find a way to move forward, on the same page. We can find a way to be together.

I lean forward into this looking-glass version of our very first meeting. My steady gaze meets his.

“So, I have a job offer for you,” I say to him. “Would you like to hear more?”





Emika Chen has accepted the role of CEO for Henka Games. She has pledged the majority of her fortune to a trust dedicated to funding the creations of young women from difficult circumstances. . . . Chen was seen holding hands with Hideo Tanaka as they left a local restaurant early last week, fueling speculation on their relationship.

—TOKYO LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE





Acknowledgments



If Warcross was the easy child, Wildcard was the one who always managed to end up in the principal’s office. I stayed up many a late night and predawn morning to wrestle this story into shape. It turned into a book I’m deeply proud of, but I could never have done it without the help of an entire team of brilliant people.

Kristin Nelson is always the first person I think of for all my books, but particularly so for Wildcard and Warcross. I will never forget how enthusiastic and encouraging you were for these books from day one, and given how close Emika’s story is to both my heart and my interests, I’ll forever be grateful to you. Thank you for believing.

To my incredible editors, the inimitable Kate Meltzer, Jen Besser, and Jen Klonsky—thank you so much for your wisdom and your brilliant feedback, for pulling me through this book’s murky waters, and for being such a joy to work with. Anne Heausler, I truly don’t know what I’d do without your sharp eye and guiding hand. I dedicate the yacht scene to you!