“Yeah,” Tom agreed, unsure what he was agreeing with, and took an overlarge gulp of the drink she’d given him. The hot liquid singed his tongue.

“So how about it, Tom? Are you going to be a plebe soon?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“Oh, but I saw how you handled that tank simulation,” Heather went on. “I bet you won’t be a plebe for long. There are promotions twice a year, and I bet you’ll move quickly to Middle Company. After that, it’s Upper Company, and then, if you can network with the right people and get a corporate sponsor, you’ll join the Combatant group.”

“Camelot Company,” Tom said, awed.

“It’s mostly civilians that use the full name. We’re called CamCo here.”

Tom straightened. “We?”

“Uh-huh. I’m in CamCo.”

He gaped at her. He’d probably seen her in action, too. Probably seen clips of her on the internet. “What’s your call sign? I bet I’ve heard of you!”

“Well, I’m a newer Combatant, but maybe you have. I go by Enigma.”

Enigma. He’d seen her! She was sponsored by Wyndham Harks, and he remembered this time on Jupiter’s moon Io … Oh, and that time on Saturn’s moon Titan, when … A half-dozen battles from the last few months flipped through his head. “I can’t believe it,” Tom marveled. “You’re Enigma. You’re one of the best. I remember that time you guys were fighting on Titan, when you—”

Heather laughed, and linked her fingers with his to stop him. The physical contact was something of a shock to Tom, because it was nothing like VR.

“Tom, that’s so sweet of you to say, but this isn’t about me right now. It’s about you. It’s about the choice you’re going to make today.”

“Right. Right.” His attention was riveted to the way her thumb stroked across his knuckles.

“I bet I know why you haven’t signed up yet. You’re freaked out by this, right?” She tapped at her temple, indicating the implanted processor.

“I wouldn’t say ‘freaked out.’ I’m not freaked out.”

Her voice grew softer, her touch still tickling along his skin. “You sure? It’s okay to tell me. I can answer any questions you have.”

And suddenly, Tom knew why she just happened to be here, of all possible people in the Pentagonal Spire. He knew.

He pulled his hand back and grabbed his drink. Globs of whipped cream were melting into the light brown liquid. He could see Marsh’s invisible hand in this: he’d sent Heather here because he thought a gorgeous girl could talk Tom into getting his skull split open. This was more of Marsh trying to play him for a sucker. Well, his maneuver wouldn’t work.

“I know what you must be wondering.” Heather paused and bit her bottom lip. Despite himself, Tom stared at the pink flesh, his mouth suddenly dry. “I worried about it, too. I thought maybe after I got the neural processor in my head, the voice in my brain might disappear and get replaced by some robotic thing, like, ‘Good morning, Dave.’”

Gorgeous and a science fiction geek. Tom’s heart was beating faster. Okay, maybe Marsh’s maneuver was sort of working.

“But I was worrying over nothing, Tom. I’m still me. I’m just a better me.”

“Look,” Tom told her, before she could go on with the pitch, “it’s not the computer itself I have a problem with. I’m not even so worried about being a different person. It’s just that Marsh didn’t mention any of this brain-surgery stuff until after he was pretty sure I was sold on this. It’s the way he did it.”

Her amber eyes stayed fixed upon his. “You feel manipulated?”

“No,” Tom said flatly, “because he hasn’t manipulated me. He’s just trying to manipulate me. I mean, would you be talking to me right now if he hadn’t sent you?”

Heather rested her chin in her palm. “Of course he’s trying to manipulate you.”

Tom blinked, surprised she’d just admitted that.

“General Marsh even ordered me to come here and talk you into it, just as you guessed. Can you blame him? He doesn’t want you to turn this down after you’ve found out the big secret about the neural processors.” She tapped a finger thoughtfully on her lips, studying him. “Good thing you won’t.”

“I won’t?” Tom said, feeling out of his depth with her.

“Mmm, no. You won’t,” Heather said matter-of-factly. “You know exactly what it means if you come here. They stick an expensive, multimillion-dollar computer in your head. They invest tens of millions more training you. Then they give you control of billions of dollars of military machinery and a critical role in the country’s war effort. You’re valuable. So of course General Marsh has an agenda when it comes to dealing with you. But that’s really what you have to put up with if you want to be one of us. The question is, Tom, do you want to be one of us?” She leaned closer, her eyes gripping his. “Do you want to be somebody important?”

And there it was.

There it was.

Tom leaned back in his seat and tipped his drink to Heather—and the man who had just won this match.

Because, more than anything, Tom wanted to do something. Something other than move from casino to casino, something other than turn into his dad.

He’d give anything to be important.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHAT SEEMED A timeless period later, it realized something was different.

It held itself very still and tried to comprehend what was happening.

Its brain was humming at a different frequency somehow, its thoughts meaningless yet logical. It blinked at the strange yet familiar symbols running through its awareness—the periodic table of elements—and recognized through some hazy curtain the chemical configuration of the medication in its system. Dexmethasone.

There was a trail of 1s and 0s, data signals moving through wires, and it followed them into what seemed an endless maze of electric pulses swapping back and forth. It became a security camera in Rio de Janeiro, gazing upon a large Jesus statue with arms flung wide over a vast, rolling city. Infrared sensors alerted the security camera to the presence of organic beings moving around the statue. The 0s and 1s were leaving there, and it followed them to an autonav system in a vehicle winding down a highway in Bombay. A flexure of its will could send this car off the road, but it knew better. The autonav had strict parameters that dictated its actions when it was this autonav.

And then it followed the next stream and settled in the filtration system in a reservoir in Northern California. Through a process of facilitated diffusion, it absorbed organic solutes and then bound them into an inactive compound. Water slapped and dashed at osmotic pressure sensors. But this wasn’t right, either.

It found the Grand Canyon and managed to stay there in the security network, frightened by the knowledge that this wasn’t what it was, either. It remained there, a sensory ghost analyzing the perimeter and linking on and off like firing neurons with the autonavs of the visitor cars. It lurked in the fizzling thermal sensors overlooking the snoring security guard with boots propped up on the desk, watching the creature, analyzing the being’s temperature (98.5° F). Strange to regard this mammal with its vast tangle of chemical processes and the steady thump of the heartbeat (76 beats per minute) and the …