Elusion(46)

“Mad? Why would I be mad?”

When he flops down into the chair, he seems more like his true eighteen-year-old self than a corporate figurehead. “Because I was kind of a jerk before I left your house.”

“No you weren’t,” I lie again. “I mean, you were just concerned about me, right?”

“Yeah, right,” he says, leaning over so his elbows rest on his knees. “That’s what I wanted to discuss.”

When I detect the disbelief that’s coating his voice, I decide to make a bold move. “Have you gotten other complaints about Elusion?”

Given what I know about Josh’s call to Patrick yesterday, if he denies that there are more flaws in the system, I’ll know he has no problem with lying right to my face.

“There’s a good chance the bad download is affecting your other software too. I really want you to get a new tab. You can pick it out and I’ll pay for it,” he says.

Wow. He’s ignoring the question altogether and continuing to use this downloading error excuse, which Josh said wasn’t possible. He’s lying to me.

I shake my head, my blood pressure rising. “Forget it. I can get one myself.”

He sighs. “I’m just trying to help, Ree. Why is that making you so angry?”

The longer I stand here talking to him, the chances of me slipping up and getting caught with the QuTap continue to skyrocket.

So I deny the obvious.

“I’m not angry,” I say. “I just have to go.”

As I put my hands in my coat pocket and bolt for the door, Patrick springs up from his chair and blocks my path. Now that he’s only inches away from me, I can see how red and irritated his eyes are, like he’s been up for days. And his cheeks are a bit sunken, too, like he hasn’t been eating. My mind jumps to a conclusion—one that paints Patrick as an addict to the invention he so desperately loves. Anything to explain why he’s not the trusting person I thought him to be.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he says, running a jittery hand down my arm. “You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I’ll never let anything bad happen to you, I swear.”

I nod and do my best to give him a reassuring smile as I slowly pull away.

Even though I can’t help but doubt his every word, this is still something I really want to believe.





TEN


“WORK, GODDAMN IT!” JOSH SHOUTS AT his quantum laptop, pounding on the touch screen with two open palms.

I’m watching him as I pace inside one of the insulated glass capsules the city built along the boardwalk of the Inner Sector waterfront a few years ago. After school and my second stint in detention, Josh and I decided to take a ride so we could have a secluded spot to analyze the information on the QuTap, and this was the first place that came to mind. Despite the “comfort” of these antitoxic fume capsules, hardly anyone comes down here to check out the view of the Detroit River—it’s so polluted it could be mistaken for a sewage system.

As a beam of glorious sunshine filters through a lightning bolt–shaped crack in the capsule’s glass, I stop pacing and step behind Josh, peering over his shoulder as he tries to open every file, one by one. I’m really surprised by how fast the tablet-size quantum computer works—strings of infinite number-and-letter combinations blink on the screen in a rapid-fire succession that hurts my eyes. From the way Josh is squinting, I guess it’s affecting his vision too, but I don’t think that’s what’s bothering him the most.

He leans back on the metal bench and lets out a huge groan as he runs his hands over the stubble that’s sprouting on his chin.

“Just like I suspected. They’re encrypted,” he mutters.

“All of them?”

“I’m only halfway through the QuTap directory, but I’m pretty sure that we’re screwed,” he says.

I lean in and stare at the last file Josh pulled up. “It looks like a random selection of symbols, underscores, and slashes.”

“I know, it sucks,” Josh replies. “Every time I click on a file, I find this mess. None of my algorithms are making a dent.”

I don’t like the futility in his voice, so I have to convince him that giving up is not an option. “Can’t we just use some decryption software to crack it?”

“Tried that already,” he says, irritated. Obviously, he doesn’t appreciate being second-guessed. “Orexis probably has a team of grunts policing the latest software so they can plug up any security holes. They’re ten steps ahead of us.”


I walk to the front of the capsule and gaze through the slight film of mildew covering the glass surface, looking out at Detroit’s industrial skyline on the other side of the channel. A sun-soaked day like this only comes a few times a month, so I can actually make out all the architectural details of the high-rises—the antiquated neo-Gothic and art deco designs mixed in with more modern cylinder-style layouts; the narrow spires and old Corinthian columns and pilasters. My favorite of them all is the Florapetro Foundation Building, which has a sixty-floor spiral tower that actually rotates at a speed so slow it’s hardly visible to the naked eye. And yet given how clear the conditions are right now, I feel like if I stand here, concentrating all my focus on the tower, I’ll be able to see it moving.