Thread War Page 11

“Hey,” Johnny protested, but before he could defend himself, Shabaz rolled forward. “Kill that gear,” she snapped. “That’s grease and you know it, Torres. Fighting isn’t going to get us anywhere.” When Torres opened her mouth to respond, Shabaz added, “And if you say I’m only saying this because I’m with Johnny, then fine—that’s part of it. But it’s not the whole thing and you know that too.” Her voice softened. “You’re angry, Torres, I get it. Don’t take it out on us.”

  Torres stared at her, her lips pressed shut. Then her stripe flushed. “What you’re doing in the games . . . it’s good.” Shabaz blinked in surprise. “You too, Johnny, the Combine thing—that’s really cool. But working the talented ones in the games, maybe getting them to Ten? That’s . . . Albert thought that was interesting. And spending time with the five-year-olds, that’s nice.”

  “Thank you, Torres. That’s kind of you to say.”

  Torres chuckled and the orange stripe regained its colour. “Don’t think me too sweet. And you’re wrong, I have plenty of reasons to be angry with you and Johnny.” She looked around the room. “Six to be exact. It’s nice you guys are here, but you brought baggage.” She eyed Dillac. “No offence.”

  To Johnny’s surprise, the crimson skid grinned. “Hey, candy-stripes, if you don’t like the package, don’t take it out of the box.”

  “What does that even—?” Torres shook her stalks. “Never mind. Anyway, we have to figure out what to do with these guys while we go talk to Betty.”

  “We come with you,” Onna said quickly.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “No, you’re not. You might not know it, but you’re really not. The place we’re going is dangerous, so you’re going to stay here and—”

  “This place is dangerous,” Onna said, and the ferocity with which she said it made Torres stop. “You said that, right? On the run, etcetera. This is Betty’s old base—you don’t think she might come and find it again?”

  “We have been expecting that,” Torg said evenly, glancing at Torres.

  “Right. So we’re not safe here. Besides, skids don’t sit out the race.” She poked an eye at Krugar. “We already know he can handle himself. You really think he—I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

  “Krugar,” he replied politely.

  “Krugar. You planning on just waiting here and watching all the pretty pictures?”

  An amused smile crossed the soldier’s face. “Wasn’t my first choice, no.”

  “Didn’t think so.” She looked back at Torres. “This friend of yours, Albert. He important?”

  Torres held her gaze. “Yeah.”

  “He might help keep us alive?”

  “He’ll do more than that.”

  “Fine,” Onna said firmly. “Then he’s my friend too. I’m coming.”

  Torres stared at her for a long moment, amusement battling with exasperation. “How old are you?” she said finally.

  “What? What does that have to do with anything?” Onna jabbed a finger at her stripes. “I’m a Level Four.”

  “No, not levels—age. In years.”

  “Oh,” Onna blinked. “Uh . . . I’ll be two in a month.”

  “Huh,” Torres grunted. Amusement was winning out. It occurred to Johnny that Onna might be physically older than Torres. It was easy to forget that less than three months ago, Torres had been a panzer. “Kinda young to make Four,” the purple skid said.

  Onna exhaled, exasperated. “I learn fast.”

  “I’ll bet,” Torres murmured. “How about that, older than me.”

  “Well, she’s not older than me,” Torg drawled.

  “Wait, what?” Onna said.

  Torres looked back at white-red skid. “You tend to learn fast out here. Live a week or two, you’ll see.” She let the gaze linger.

  To Johnny’s surprise, Onna flushed and looked away. Then she immediately looked back and held Torres’s gaze. “I’ll do that. Let’s start by going to get your friend.” She turned to Akash. “You in?”

  Now that’s not fair, Johnny thought. Of course he’s in if you’re asking.

  “Of course,” Akash said immediately.

  “Me too,” Zen said, although he sounded terrified.

  It really wasn’t fair. Johnny didn’t want to take their decision from them; he’d learned that the hard way when Bian, Shabaz, and Torg had insisted on coming with him and Betty into the Core. Sometimes having friends was a good thing. But by the time they’d made that choice, they’d known what was going on. They’d had some survival experience. Akash and especially Zen were getting thrown right into the ether.

  “Are you sure, Zen?” he said gently. “I’m sure we could find a place to hide you.”

  Zen looked like that was exactly what he wanted to do. “You always told us,” he said in a shaky voice, as if he were testing a theory, “that in Tag Box, if we just hide in the corners then sooner or later we’ll die. No one makes it past panzer playing that way. If you want to survive, you move from place to place.”

  “That’s good advice,” Krugar said.

  Zen’s eye flickered in his direction, then he seemed to steady. “Then I’ll move from place to place with you. Whatever you need, I’ll try to help. You and Shabaz already saved me at least once.”

  “Sure as sugar,” Onna said. She sent a challenging glare at Kesi and Dillac. “How about you two?”

  “I’m not staying here,” Kesi said instantly. Which wasn’t quite the same as saying she’d join them, but it was a start.

  “True too,” Dillac agreed. “Ain’t gonna miss the party, boz.” For the life of him, Johnny had no idea what made him roll.

  “Okay, everyone comes,” Torres said, giving in. “Try to stay alive. And when we get where we’re going, no one talks but Wobble, Torg, or me.” She grunted and poked an eye at Johnny and Shabaz. “Maybe them. Got it?” She gave Dillac a hard look, but the crimson skid was picking at something in his teeth. Torres sighed. “I guess if you’re all coming, we need to get you outfitted.”

  As Torres took the others to the lockers, Johnny rolled away from the group, creating a little space. He could get a weapon later, but for now, he needed the space. Badly.

  Betty was alive. Betty had gone insane. Betty was now a threat to the Thread and was hunting them down. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. For the second time, he wished Albert was here.

  Amazing, he thought.

  His gaze wandered over the hollas, a familiar sense of wonder washing over him. So many different environments, so many unique creatures. The sheer variety. There were highlights of everything, including the skids; every few minutes a holla would flash something from the sphere.

  It took him a few moments to realize that, under the awe, he felt a creeping sense of unease. One of the hollas in the top corner went black for a few seconds before moving on to an image of buildings that rose and fell like waves. Then another scene went momentarily black further down. Then another. A chill went through his stripe as he thought of the blank spots in the hallways where there should have been doors—data that had been broken or lost.

  He tried to remember if there’d been any broken spots in that hallway of hollas they’d discovered, not long after meeting Wobble for the first time. He didn’t remember any. They might have happened—on the wall, another scene went dark—but they certainly hadn’t happened with this frequency.

  Torg rolled up beside him. “Pretty amazing,” he murmured.

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. “What’s with the blackouts?”

  “Noticed that, did you? They’ve been happening more and more. Whatever those hollas where showing, it ain’t there no more.” He grimaced. “It’s breaking, Johnny. And she’s making it worse.”

  Johnny’s eyes came down from the hollas and settled on his old friend. “Why didn’t you go talk to her? She’d have listened to you. She liked you.”

  “I don’t think that matters anymore.” There was a bitterness in his
voice Johnny had never heard inside the sphere. “She sent knives after us, Johnny. She’s obsessed with SecCore—who knows how many times he tried to kill her over the years? She thinks she’s the good guy.”

  Shabaz rolled over. “Torres says we’re ready.” She studied them both. “You okay?”

  “Sure,” Torg said, the bitter still lingering in his tone. “Let’s go.”

  They found Krugar playing with a stick. He pressed a button and the stick emitted a soft hum. With a click the stick extended and sprouted perpendicular bars at the top and the bottom, four feet apart. The bottom bars bobbed off the ground. “Heh,” Krugar said with a grin, stepping onto the bottom bars.

  “We needed to find him some speed,” Torres explained. “We might need it.” She looked at Krugar. “Twist the top for velocity, tilt to turn.”

  “Nice,” Krugar said, hitting the red button again and the stick retracted to its original size. He checked his weaponry. The rest of them all held rifles, looking at the guns with everything from fear to confusion. Torres tossed one to Johnny.

  “You able to create these?” he asked, examining it.

  “You mean like by the Spike?” Torres asked, amused. “Haven’t been able to since Bian.” She looked at Shabaz. “You?”

  Shabaz pressed her lips together in frustration. “No.”

  “Yeah,” Torres said.

  “You have the light-swords,” Johnny said.

  “They’re small enough to store. Stole them when we went on an ammo run. But creating one out of thin air, like we did before . . . we haven’t been able to do it again.” Her stripe tilted. “We put the vaping sphere back in place, but I can’t program a simple pistol.”

  She handed Torg a large gun that looked familiar. “Good to go?”

  “As good as we’ll get. Wobble, are you sure you’re up for this?”

  The machine looked miserable but resolute. “Aff-affirmative.”

  “All right,” Torres said, rolling towards the door. “Let’s go talk to the queen.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  They rolled down a broken hallway, the ground rumbling beneath their treads. Given how often the quakes happened, it felt like the Thread wouldn’t last another ten minutes. They were on their way to one of the nodes that would get them into the Core. The plan was to meet Betty further out, on the plains. Johnny had no idea how that was supposed to work, but he figured Torres, Torg, and Wobble were good for it.

  Or at least, he hoped they were good for it. When Wobble had first reappeared, Johnny hadn’t noticed anything wrong—Wobble had torn through the horde of grey skids as ruthlessly as he’d always dealt with threats. But over the last few hours, Johnny realized there was something deeply wrong with the machine. He’d always looked battered, but he’d always repaired any new damage. Now it was like Wobble had given up. In addition to the hitch in his stride, the one broken lens, and the broken arm he always displayed, one of his treads was loose, and scuffs and scar-marks covered his body.

  More troubling was the expression of pain that kept creeping across Wobble’s face. Johnny still didn’t know how a set of lenses and shutters could be so expressive, but they were. Before, Wobble’s default expression seemed to be one of wonder, with the occasional sadness. Now, it was like every few minutes Wobble saw something awful. It was like he was watching the universe die.

  Once, Wobble had told Johnny about the Thread breaking, and when Johnny had said he couldn’t do anything about it, Wobble had said someone should.

  Given the expression on the machine’s face, someone better do it soon.

  Of course, Wobble wasn’t the only one haunted. Johnny had spent the last ten minutes fastidiously ignoring the flash of pink in his trail-eye.

  Johnny . . .

  It definitely wasn’t Bian this time. Johnny flicked a nervous glance towards the middle of the pack, where Shabaz was telling Onna, Akash, Krugar, and Zen about their first time in the Thread. Kesi and Dillac lingered nearby, desperately trying to appear like they weren’t listening.

  Johnny didn’t want to see Peg. He certainly didn’t want Shabaz to see him seeing Peg. No matter what he and Peg had—and there was always a pang in his centre when he thought of her—it was nothing like his developing feelings for Shabaz. He didn’t want to hurt Shabaz. He certainly didn’t want her thinking—

  What? he thought, suddenly feeling defensive. He wasn’t doing anything. It wasn’t his fault there was a pink flash. “Go away,” he growled, half to himself, half back down the hall.

  The pink flash did not go away.

  He dropped back a touch more and swung his second eye. And there she was: Peg, following just behind.

  Betty had said she was a ghost, something Johnny had created, but apparently Betty had said lots, and the skid behind him didn’t look like a figment of anything. “Stop following me,” he hissed. “I’m busy.” Which was a stupid thing to say, but what was he supposed to say, anyway?

  “You need to show her,” Peg said suddenly.

  Just great. Betty had said she wouldn’t speak, but apparently that wasn’t true, either. Johnny sent another guilty glance at Shabaz. “What are you talking about? Show who what?”

  “You need to show her the map or she’ll never see. And hurry: they’re coming.”

  “Who’s coming?” Johnny demanded. “What are you—?”

  “Everything okay here?” Shabaz said, rolling up.

  Snakes, he’d taken his eye off Shabaz for one second. “What?” he said, glancing at Peg. Gone. He was pretty sure he hadn’t taken an eye off her at all. “Yeah . . . I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” Shabaz said, looking past Johnny. He thought he heard an edge in her voice.

  “Yeah,” he said, defensive again. “I just needed a moment to myself. You got a problem with that?” He saw her gaze widen and realized that maybe there hadn’t been an edge in her voice after all, or, even if there had, his own tone was too much—snakes, why had he said it like that?

  “Nope,” she said, spinning around. “Take all the private time you need. Although you better hurry, Torres says we’re almost there.”

  Then how am I supposed to take all the time I need? he thought as she rolled away, a wash of emotions spilling through him. He was pretty sure he’d just been a jackhole. He should apologize. Except, there might have been a tone, so she’s the one who should—

  He rolled his eyes. Yep: jackhole.

  “Hey, Johnny, care to join us?” Torres yelled.

  “Coming,” he muttered, with one final look down the hall. Getting haunted sucked large.

  “Okay,” Torres said as he rolled up, “some of you know how this works. The rest just hold on. We won’t be going far in. Again, no one who doesn’t know what’s-what speaks. And if things go sideswipe, grab a hand, follow orders and get in between Johnny, Shabaz, Torg, or me.”

  “Glad we could help,” Dillac muttered.

  “What was that?” Torres said sweetly.

  “You gots a smart plan, mama smart boss woman squi.”

  Torres grimaced and looked at Kesi. “I swear he got vaped a few too many times.” She reached forward. “Hold on to your stripes.”

  The world twisted, shimmered with golden light, then settled into a familiar place. Of course, just because it was familiar didn’t mean it was any less awe inspiring. As they emerged onto the outer Core, with its linked squares of golden light beneath their feet and what might have been the entire Core flipped upside down and doming the space far above, Johnny heard half a dozen sucked in breaths. Even Dillac muttered, “Whoa, boz.”

  “Stay close together,” Torres said. “Torg?”

  “Nothing.” His stripes tilted. “Let’s hope they can’t see us yet.”

  “Wobble, you ready if things go upslope?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Johnny rolled over to Shabaz. “Sorry,” he said, trying not to sound sullen. Snakes, he was terrible at this. “I snapped, I think. Shouldn’t have done that.”

/>   She looked at him for a long moment, the distant gold lights from the sky reflected in her eyes. “Okay,” she said, her lips twitching into a smile. “I might have done the same. We’re all a little spare. Everyone’s frightened of Betty, even the new ones.”

  “I don’t think Torres is scared,” Johnny smirked. “I think she’s scary.”

  “Can you blame her?” When he grimaced, she added, “No, think about it. When we left them, the Skidsphere had been saved. The Thread might have been broken, might have been dangerous, but it wasn’t on the verge of collapse. The skid she admired, Albert, was leading them and had stepped up his game. They felt they had a shot at finding Betty, who saved us all, who we all worshipped. Now Betty’s gone spare, the Thread could end tomorrow and Albert’s not there to lead her. She isn’t scary, Johnny: she’s scared.”

  That . . . made sense. After all they’d been through, hope mattered. That’s what had led Johnny back to the Combine, that’s what had made Shabaz start helping every skid she could in the games. And even though they weren’t happy with everything and could feel the pressure of time pressing against everything they tried to do, they’d still had more than a year left to try and do it. The Skidsphere had been saved, it wasn’t going anywhere. The Thread was so large, you couldn’t imagine it collapsing. But now . . .

  As if on cue, the ground rumbled. “Yeah, okay, scared it is. I get it.” Although, Torres still had her manic grin and the light-swords. “Maybe a little of both.” He considered the skid in question, his gaze lingering on her single orange stripe. “Interesting that she ended up in charge instead of Torg.”

  Shabaz chuckled. “Torg’s great, but he’s not going to lead a group of anything.” She sighed. “Poor Torg. It might be worse for him than anyone. I think he really liked Betty.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. An abrupt stab went through his heart. “And then there’s Wobble.”

  “Yeah,” Shabaz agreed sadly, watching the machine. She reached out and squeezed Johnny’s hand.

  “Okay,” Torres announced. “We’re about as ready as we’re going to get.” She took a deep breath. “Wobble, drop the shields.”