Thread War Read online

  There wasn’t any warning. To Johnny it was as if Torres finished her sentence and then, instantly, Betty was sitting in front of them.

  “So,” the oldest skid in the universe said. “The gang’s all here.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  She’d always been in awe of Betty.

  Sure, coming up through the Skidsphere, Shabaz had known about Johnny, who didn’t? And sure, she’d had a couple of fantasies about a grind in the woods with the most popular skid in the sphere, something she was never going to tell him. Although, if she was honest, she’d always thought Albert was the sexier one—that brooding thing, the silver shine . . . yeah, she was never going to tell Johnny that, either. Nevertheless, she’d had her sense of adoration about the two leading skids of the day.

  But Betty . . . she’d worshipped the idea of Betty Crisp. Any time a holla ran about the black and pink legend, Shabaz would stop what she was doing, watching out of the corner of her eye ’cause it wasn’t cool to watch hollas of someone else, even if it was Betty-freakin’-Crisp. She remembered the day she’d stopped during the Rainbow Road—she’d been going to lose anyway—at the exact spot Betty had begun the Leap, the moment she’d been remembered for more than any other, even her record on the Slope, the moment that had been so famous GameCorps had created a game based on the feat.

  Shabaz remembered angling an eye over the edge of the brilliant multicoloured road and immediately pulling it back. Beneath her, nothing but black. Okay, fine, there were the rainbow ribbons of the multi-level track far below, but they were far below, barely a thread in the eviscerating darkness. How the hole could you possibly hit one? And which thread to aim for? And how had she even known that she’d be allowed to do it; how had she known that the space in-between the threads above and below weren’t going to just vape her like the blackness all around?

  To do something like the Leap required a courage and imagination that Shabaz had never possessed. To do something like that . . . she’d never had that in her stripes. You had to be . . .

  You had to be mad, Shabaz thought, years later, staring at her idol, the vast space of the Thread stretching out in every direction.

  Betty sat there, looking as calm and assured as she had that first day they’d met her, in that lost node in front of her hollas. Muttered whispers of awe broke out behind Shabaz, the new skids feeling just like she had a few months ago. Betty sat on her treads like the only solid thing in the world. Why not, she was the skid who’d saved them all, the skid who’d survived ten times longer than any skid ever had, the skid who’d led them into battle and into the Core.

  Of course, she was also the skid who’d put the Skidsphere into stasis to save it. There’d been a madness in her eyes when she’d done that—Shabaz remembered that.

  That same madness was in her eyes now. In fact, if you looked closely, it was in more than her eyes: it was in the tension in her flat-black skin, it was around the edges of her single pink stripe, the edges blurring as if they vibrated at the wrong frequency, as if the stripe were a wire strung too tight.

  On second glance, Betty didn’t look solid. She looked like she was about to explode.

  Shabaz tensed as Betty’s gaze settled on Johnny. “I thought you went home.”

  Shabaz knew if there was one skid in the universe more in awe of Betty than she was, it was Johnny. She had no idea what he was feeling, but her heart ached at the expression on his face. The tension was horrible—she wanted to reach out and protect him from it, just a little if she could.

  A small smile quirked at the side of his lips. It was a new trait, but one Shabaz already loved. “Turns out that’s harder to do than you’d think.”

  The eye on Johnny stayed while a second looked out over the group. A smirk crawled across her lips, a very different smile than the one Johnny wore. “Poor Johnny Drop,” Betty said finally. “Can’t go anywhere without an entourage, can you?”

  Shabaz stared at her, stunned. Before, Betty had teased them, sparred with Bian, even said the hard truths that hurt to be heard. But Shabaz had never heard her be mean before. Without even realizing it, she rolled forward and said, “Hey! That’s not fair.”

  Slowly, the eye swung. “Ah, the complainer. How do you find competing with ghosts, Shabaz?”

  For a second, Shabaz thought she was going to cry. Stunned, she sucked in her breath. She couldn’t believe how cold . . .

  She saw Johnny open his mouth to defend her and instantly all her emotions, warm and cold, coalesced into something hard along her stripes. Once, she’d flinched looking into the void. But she wasn’t that skid any more, and as much as she adored Johnny for the thought, she didn’t need him to defend her. Not here. Not now.

  “Funny,” Shabaz said stiffly. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  It was a dumb thing to say. Even as she said it, she realized that it didn’t make any sense. Nevertheless, the eye on her widened then narrowed. “Fair enough,” Betty said. The eye moved on, sweeping over Onna and the others, to settle on . . .

  “Torg,” Betty said softly.

  “Betty,” he replied.

  She made a soft sound, hurt and disappointed. “You used to call me sweetlips. I liked that.”

  Torg gave her a long look, and then sighed. A little of the old Torg crept into his tone. “I liked that too. I live in hope that we may have an opportunity to do so again.”

  This time Betty’s smile was genuine. “I hope so too.”

  “Do you?” Torres said, rolling forward. “Do you really?”

  Betty’s expression hardened once more. “I was going to say something about you missing someone . . .” She hesitated, watching Torres flinch, then she sighed and added, “But that would have been mean. And I’m not trying to be mean. I’m . . . I’m sorry, Shabaz, for what I said. You too, Johnny.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Betty looked at Torres. “You wonder if I still have hope that we can be friends. Of course I do. Please tell me you’re here to help.”

  “Where’s Albert?”

  “How about you answer my question first, Torres.”

  “All we’ve ever done is try to help,” Torres protested. “Where’s Albert?”

  Betty’s lips quirked at the corners. “How do you know he isn’t working for me? How do you know I didn’t send him on some secret mission?”

  It was Torg who broke the skeptical silence that followed. “Did you do that, Betty? Is that what happened?”

  Betty held his gaze for a moment, then her eye dipped. “No,” she said. “No, that isn’t what happened.”

  “Where is he?” Torres said, her voice strained.

  “That’s not important,” Betty said, drawing in a ragged breath. “We can still—”

  “Where is he?”

  “I AM FIGHTING A WAR!” Betty screamed, and somehow, in that wide open space, her voice boomed and seemed to echo off some far distant wall. The ground trembled. “You have no idea, you—” She stopped abruptly, her stripe hardening into a bar. “I’m not doing this again. If you won’t help, I have too many things—”

  “What happened in the Core?” Johnny said suddenly. He rolled forward. “I mean, after you stayed behind, Betty—what did you do? How did you survive?”

  Shabaz was pretty sure the time for catching up had passed: Betty had that look she’d had when she’d put the sphere into stasis. Worse, there was a madness in her, and yet Johnny was asking for a history lesson. She was so baffled she almost missed it.

  Ever so slightly Johnny’s trail-eye twitched in the direction of Wobble. The one person who knew Betty better than anyone. The one person she’d steadfastly refused to look at yet. The reason they were actually here.

  Wobble was supposed to be scanning Betty for information on Albert.

  Shabaz had no idea how long that might take. It felt like they’d been stuck in this tension for hours, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. They needed more time. Making sure she didn�
�t even glance in Wobble’s direction, Shabaz rolled forward. “That’s right—Betty, we don’t know what happened. Can you tell us, please?”

  “I’d be interested in hearing that,” Torg drawled. The eye nearest her dipped a bit in recognition. “Come on, sugarlips, tell us a tale.”

  Betty drew herself back from whatever emotional precipice she’d dangled. She took another ragged breath. “Fine,” she said. “I suppose you’ve at least earned that.” She looked at Torg. “But only because you called me sugarlips.”

  She took a second, taking in the group, before looking back at the Core. She shivered. “After I closed you in,” she began, “I dived as deep as I could. I wanted to get to SecCore, to stop him from interfering with you. It was . . . a close thing. I took a lot of damage, from Vies, from Antis. But I got through.” She paused, the strain of that battle etched across her face. “I managed to embed myself in a part of the Core, then slowly, I began pushing SecCore out. It wasn’t easy, but he’s got his hands full.”

  Yeah, Shabaz thought, defending the Thread. SecCore might be a grease-bucket, but he was fighting for the same thing they were.

  The tone in Betty’s voice when she continued made Shabaz glad she hadn’t voiced the thought out loud. “He’s a cancer that needs to be cut out of the Thread,” Betty said coldly. “We can’t save the Thread until he’s gone.”

  A long silence.

  Then Johnny sighed. “Betty, I get it. You hate him and I understand why. Hole, he tried to kill you for fifty years. But isn’t SecCore the Thread’s defence system? Won’t removing him make it worse?”

  “Who says he’s even defending the Thread anymore?” Betty insisted. “Didn’t he try to stop you from repairing the Skidsphere?”

  Johnny’s eye dipped. “Sure. He’s got some serious flaws. But Betty, I’ll say it again: won’t removing him make it worse? Isn’t fighting him making it worse?”

  For a moment, Shabaz prayed that she would listen to reason. She had to. She was Betty; she might go farther than any of them would, but she had to see the truth in the end. She’d never hidden from it before.

  Then Betty’s expression hardened and she snarled: “He is a cancer. He’s a Vie. He’s a dictator that wants power and nothing else. Everything he’s done in the last fifty years—hole, maybe the last five hundred—has hurt the Thread, because he won’t let anyone threaten his little corner of control. When someone tries to help, he kills them. Or don’t you remember what happened to the other Wobbles? What happened to him?” Suddenly, a Hasty-Arm popped out, jabbing a finger at Wobble. “You could at least look at me, dammit!”

  Slowly, gears and shutters whirred and Wobble’s head rotated until two lenses faced Betty. The lids over his lenses were angled with a deep sorrow. “Empty beds and hallmarks in the rain-rain,” Wobble said. “I-We am sorry-sorry, friend-Betty. You are hurting the Thread. You are hurting your friends. You are hurting yourself. Please.”

  Betty stared at him, her expression so intent it was hard to look at. They’d known each other ten times longer than Shabaz had lived.

  When she spoke, her voice was raw and stressed each word like it was a bruise. “Why won’t you help me?”

  The lens shutters angled a little more. “I-We are trying too.”

  Shabaz tried not to breathe. Surely, Betty had to hear, she had to understand. Shabaz felt like her heart was breaking; there was so much need in Wobble’s voice—how could a machine sound like that? Surely, Betty couldn’t possibly fail to hear that need? Without thinking, she glanced at Johnny, saw the same raw emotion she was feeling on his face, realized in that moment she might love him forever.

  That was the moment that Betty said in a cold, cold voice, “Are you, Wobble? Is that why you’re here?” Her eye swung towards Torres. “He’s got what you came for. See if you live to use it.”

  A thousand Antis appeared in the sky.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  He’d always been fast, so he saw it coming. He also had some familiarity with rage and betrayal.

  So when Betty popped her Hasty-Arms at Wobble, Johnny very quietly popped his own. He heard the words that Wobble said, saw the look that crossed Shabaz’s face, and wondered how there could be anyone—let alone two people—who cared so much. How could he have any hope of matching that caring?

  Then he saw the look that came across Betty’s face, and he knew that look. He had experience with that kind of rage. They’d come here to find the skid that had once made Johnny feel that angry. So he was already reaching for Onna and Akash when Betty said what she said; her words as cold as the Antis already falling from the sky.

  He grabbed the two skids and pulled them in, even as he backed away from Betty, trusting Wobble or Torres to engage her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shabaz grab Zen and shove Dillac back. Kesi was already backing away.

  “Stay close,” Johnny said sharply. “Don’t let those white things touch you, try to keep me between them and you.” He saw Wobble begin to transform. Torres ignited her light-sword. But neither of them were the first to hit Betty.

  They’d all forgotten about Krugar.

  A grenade landed at Betty’s treads and exploded on contact. The concussion drove Johnny further back, even as a second grenade followed the first.

  “We seem to be outnumbered,” Krugar said, scanning the sky. “I take it those are bad guys.”

  “Depends who you ask,” Johnny muttered. “Torres, we need an exit!”

  “I’m working on it!” she yelled back. “I can’t find it. Wobble, I need a door!”

  “Negatory,” Wobble said, even as familiar mounted guns appeared from compartments in his side, swung upwards, and unloaded on the Antis. “The signal is jammed.”

  “No,” Torres said, her voice edging up to panic. “There has to be a door, there has to be—”

  “Hey!” Krugar barked, bounding over to her in three long strides. The smoke around Betty began to swirl. “Plan A failed. What’s plan B?”

  Torres looked up at him, all three eyes filled with terror, looking ridiculously young. Which, of course, she was.

  “All right, let’s move!” Johnny said, pushing Onna and Akash.

  “Where?” Onna said, frantically staring at the sky.

  “Anywhere but here,” Johnny said. “Everyone, follow me. Krugar?”

  “On it,” the soldier said calmly and fired another grenade into the smoke. He must have caught her by surprise, Johnny thought. He’d seen Betty take far more damage, but right now he didn’t care. They needed space; they needed a plan. “Wobble, can you cover our retreat?”

  “Affirmative,” the machine said as the first Antis touched down. Wobble began to move at an almost unimaginable speed, saw-blades of fire swirling into each Anti as they landed.

  “Right,” Johnny said, and gunned it in the one direction he hoped Betty wouldn’t expect: towards the Core.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Shabaz said, rolling up beside. She tapped an eye towards the Core. “Isn’t that her home base now?”

  “Any idea was a good one,” Krugar said, pulling up on his light-stick. “We needed to move.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said, “but now we need a door. Torres, do you know another one?”

  “No,” Torres said, her voice filled with shame and anger and fear. “I mean, yes, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “We need something,” Johnny murmured. Behind them, a shape moved inside the smoke. The white shapes in the sky began to track them. “More speed, to start.”

  Something slammed him from the side, pushing him violently off course. “Hey!” he yelled, as he saw Kesi rebounding in the other direction. “What the—”

  “You forgot about this the last time we took off from certain death.” The teal-plum skid grinned back at him. “Thought you could use a reminder.”

  Despite the situation, he almost laughed. He had forgotten. Again. If he and Shabaz ever got back to the sphere, he was going to figure out a way to get some rea
l action; he was game-slow, like thick grease.

  “Come on, gear-suckers,” Dillac cackled and rammed into Onna. “Bump and sprint, squi.”

  “You heard the man,” Johnny yelled. “Bump and sprint.” He banged off Shabaz, winking at her as he did. “Try to keep the less experienced skids between us.” They accelerated, forming a winding, twisting snake that raced in the direction of the Core. White shapes landed behind, turned in that clean, sharp way the Antis had, and began to pursue.

  More importantly, a black shape emerged from the smoke and began to accelerate in their direction. Okay, now we need a plan. “Torres, Torg,” Johnny said aloud, “we could really use another door.”

  “The only ones we know about are on the far side,” Torg said.

  “How about ones you don’t know about?” Shabaz said. “It doesn’t matter where we end up right now, it just needs to be not here!”

  “Wobble might be able to find one,” Torres said. “Wobble, we need you!”

  “Affirmative.” The steady voice came over the com. “Incoming in thirty seconds.”

  “We might need him faster than that,” Johnny murmured. They were holding ahead of the Antis behind, but only just. Off to their right, a massive jagged scar cut into the golden squares that sectioned the plain, stretching for miles. Johnny remembered it from the first time they’d approached the Core. Before, the scar had been a curiosity; now it was cutting off one direction of escape.

  Behind them, Betty was gaining. Johnny had no idea how she was doing it without running into anyone; then again, he’d once seen her create jets out of her body and fly. He wondered why she wasn’t doing it now. Maybe she knew she’d catch them.

  Maybe she knew she didn’t have to.

  Far ahead, the light from the Core soared into the upper reaches of the sky. Against that light, shapes began to emerge and head their way.

  “Johnny,” Shabaz said.

  “I see them.”

  “No. Not them. What do you see in the centre of that mass?”

  Squinting, he scoped to his maximum. The white shapes gained definition and shape, gleaming with the reflected light of the Core. And in their centre, a round shape, heading their way.