The Skids Read online

  “I haven’t even died once,” Torres added.

  “Trust me, it’s overrated,” Torg said.

  Bian and Betty continued to stare at each other. “Maybe it’s all programming,” Bian said flatly, “but we need sugar.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to hold on without,” Betty sighed.

  Bian glared at her for a moment more. “I’m going to check on Brolin and Shabaz.” Betty watched her cross the room, her expression somewhere between annoyed and amused.

  Funny, but for the first time something Betty had said made sense to Johnny. He knew Bian was feeling it, obviously others were too, but Johnny hadn’t had a single hunger pang. Of course, that didn’t mean he was feeling good.

  He turned to Torg. “Are you understanding any of this?”

  The magenta-gold skid pursed his lips. “There’s a thread . . .” he said slowly.

  Johnny laughed. Trust Torg to make him feel better. “All right,” he said, looking at Betty. “I guess I’ll figure all this out later. The Skidsphere comes first. You said you had a plan.” He grimaced and added, “Involving me and Albert?” He could have sworn he heard Albert snort.

  A quirk played across Betty’s lips. “Well . . .”

  Behind her, every holla went red. In the corner, Wobble’s head came up, his lenses spinning.

  “Oh, kinks,” Betty groaned. “Oh no.” She zipped over to the booth, hollas flashing past her eyes.

  “What . . .” Johnny started to say.

  “Red Alert!” Wobble screamed. “Burgs in the tockhouse! The Ventari slipped the block!” Dozens of probes sprang from his body, spinning and whirring.

  “Bian!” Betty yelled. “Get Brolin and Shabaz, we’re leaving. Torg?”

  “On it,” the Nine said, moving to help Bian.

  “Vies or Antis?” Albert said, staring at Betty’s hollas as if he could read their secrets. Unconsciously, he reached towards Torres.

  “Antis.”

  “I thought this place was safe from Antis,” Johnny said. “It’s a lost node, right?”

  “It was,” Betty said grimly. “However, about an hour ago there was some fairly specific traffic.”

  “Oh, crap,” Johnny said, his heart falling. “Us. We led them here.”

  “Don’t,” Betty said, swiping a hand across the booth. Every holla shrunk and then dove into her stripe. “Don’t beat yourself up. You needed to get here, I needed you here. I was hoping you might arrive unnoticed, but hey, we got unlucky. No one said SecCore was completely stupid.”

  “What’s SecCore?”

  The voice seemed to come from everywhere. “DID YOU THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE ME FOREVER, BETTY CRISP?”

  “That guy,” Betty muttered, pulling out from behind the booth.

  Bian rolled up with Brolin. He looked better, but several spores still ebbed and flowed across his skin. Crisp Betty, Johnny thought.

  “WE ARE COMING FOR YOU, LITTLE SKID.”

  “Figured that out, jackhole,” Betty spat. Her pink stripe blazed. “Wobble, get ready.”

  “Who’s the loud-mouth?” Torg asked casually, holding onto Shabaz.

  “SecCore.” She popped a holla and examined it. “It runs the Antis.”

  “But not the Vies?”

  “Not the Vies.” Betty shuddered. “Nothing controls the Vies.” She swept the holla away and looked around. “Everyone stay tight. Move fast. Do everything I say.” She winked at Wobble. “You want to go shut that son-of-a-snake up?”

  The machine winked back. “Pop the top, let’s show them the circus. The clackers should have stayed in the Hoag. Wobble.” His body rose off the ground and began to transform. Betty pointed at the ceiling. As she did, the surface flared bright gold then vanished.

  Dropping from the sky above: Antis. Lots of them. We’re screwed, Johnny thought, as Wobble roared into the sky.

  “Let’s move,” Betty said, leading them outside. Above their heads, Wobble began to single-handedly attack dozens of Antis, with dozens more falling in the distance. “Wobble,” Betty said calmly, “you have to draw and hold them here. I need time and they can’t see what we’re doing.”

  “Affirmative,” came a voice over the com, as the sky filled with wheels-of-fire. “I-We bring the end.”

  “I know you do,” Betty said softly, a quiet pride gracing her face. She looked at Johnny. “I never thought we’d leave here under fire. We were going to take a Thread Line, but we need to get someplace they won’t see us do it or there’s no point. Stay tight—”

  An Anti dropped from the sky, right between Johnny and Torg.

  Ah snakes, Johnny thought, moving even as he saw Torg do the same. He didn’t have time to warn Torg to stay clear. As it was, it didn’t matter.

  He and Torg were too slow.

  Quicker than Johnny could believe—quicker than he had ever moved—Betty surged forward, popping a Hasty-Arm as she did. In it, she held a long straight blade that glowed with golden light. “Rrraaggh!” she snarled, slashing into the Anti. The white knife peeled in two and vanished.

  “Kinks,” she sniffed violently. “I hate doing that.” The Hasty-Arm popped back into her body, taking the golden beam with it.

  “Vape me,” Torg said, staring at her. “You killed it.”

  “Don’t be amazed and maybe you’ll figure out how to do it too.”

  “What was that . . . that light thing?” Johnny breathed. He’d never seen a skid with a weapon before.

  “Type of sword. I’ve learned a few tricks.” Betty grinned. “Stole a few, too.”

  “Can I get one?” Torg asked.

  Betty winked at him. “We’ll see.”

  The battle above their heads continued to mount. Johnny had no idea how Wobble survived. The sky looked like a snow-globe.

  To his amazement, the streets weren’t alive with creatures fleeing, trying to escape the carnage above. Instead, the traffic continued exactly as it had before. The zippy little boxes continued to zip from place to place, the lumbering hulks continued to lumber. Even more stunning, the flying traffic carried on, even where its path crossed the battle. Johnny watched, stunned, as a glowing yellow box disintegrated as it ran straight through one of Wobble’s fire-disks.

  “What the hole’s wrong with these panzers?” he breathed, as they rushed through a crowded intersection.

  “They’re automatic,” Betty said. “Every aspect of the Thread sees it differently. Those Antis probably don’t see Wobble the same way we do. And most of this clutter doesn’t see that battle at all.” Her trail-eye grew angry. “That’s one of the reasons the Thread gets broken. That transport won’t get where it was supposed to go and the system fails a little more.”

  “THE TRAITOR IS FAILING, LITTLE SKID.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Betty muttered. “Besides, the traitor only needs to hold on for a few more minutes.”

  “Traitor?” Johnny said, glancing at Torg.

  “Beats me.” The magenta skid’s stripes tilted. “Wobble?”

  Why would Wobble be a traitor? Johnny thought as they darted into an alley. Betty stopped at a round door in the surface of the street. Dozens of glowing circlets, connected by lines of light, pulsed on the door’s surface.

  “All right,” Betty said. “We’re going to change locations several times, very quickly in succession.” She looked apologetically at Brolin, hanging on Bian. “This probably won’t feel good for you.”

  The wounded skid tried a game smile. “What does?”

  “Good man,” Betty said. “There should be a number of these doors in succession. After the second or third transition, it’ll start grinding hard, but we’ve got to do at least half a dozen before I can look for a smoother run. Everyone stay together.” She glanced at the sky. “Wobble, we’re leaving. Drop in twenty.”

  “Affir
mative. Tell Ripley to blow the doors.”

  “Stay together,” Betty said, letting an eye run over everyone. “Bian, take Brolin and Shabaz through first, it’ll give them a few seconds to rest between transits. Albert, will you follow, please? Johnny, you cover the rear with me.” Reaching down, she touched one of the circlets. It pulsed once. The door dissolved. “In you go,” she said to Bian.

  The red-yellow skid did not look happy, but she took Brolin and Shabaz by the arm. The doorway flared gold when they jumped in.

  “I SEE YOU RUN, LITTLE SKID. YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE.”

  “You’d be surprised what might happen,” Betty snarled softly. The doorway flashed as skid after skid jumped through. To Johnny, she added, “One day, I’m going to pop that jackhole.”

  Wobble came screeching down from the sky, folding back into his smallest form. “Jammed corsets and ground tremors,” he whirred. “The whole Uug-xhal fleet is right behind.” Half his body was smoking.

  “That’s all right, Wobble,” Betty said. “You did great.” She patted his head as he dropped through the door. “You’re the baddest knife there is.”

  “WE WILL FIND YOU, BETTY CRISP.”

  The oldest skid in the universe flicked a contemptuous eye towards the heavens. “You do that,” she said. Then she gave Johnny a nudge and took them through the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They went through one transit after another, each time emerging into a small hallway with doors everywhere: on the ceiling, the walls, the floor. All covered with glowing circlets, connected by lines of gold. After each transit, Betty would land, turn, and send them through the next door.

  “The first three were completely random,” Betty said after the fifth. “We needed a new start point as best we could.”

  Every hallway had gaps where there’d been doors in the other hallways. Breaks in the system? Johnny wondered, staring at an empty space on the floor.

  After the sixth transition, Bian reached out and grabbed Betty. “How many more?” she said. “We’re killing Brolin.”

  “I’m fine,” the Seven hissed, but his skin blossomed with spores.

  Betty looked down at the hand clasped on her arm and then up at Bian. She held the gaze until Bian let go. “I didn’t choose the number of transits on a whim. And you’re not the only one who cares about Brolin and Shabaz.”

  “You’ve got a hole of a way of showing it,” Bian muttered, rolling away.

  Betty watched her tread over to Shabaz, then sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m going to need a minute,” she said. Her hollas popped up, seemingly from nowhere.

  “Where do those come from?” Johnny said.

  “I carry them with me,” Betty said, as image after image cycled by. “Like I said, it’s all data. We are the program.”

  “Nice,” Torg said.

  “Isn’t it?” she grinned at him. “Technically, I could run these internally. You wouldn’t see a thing.”

  “Oh? And why wouldn’t you do that?”

  “Two reasons. One: this looks sweeter. Two: it gives me a massive headache.” She winced. “Never been able to shake it.” The hollas stopped on what looked like a map. “Finish line,” Betty said as the hollas snapped away. She rolled over to a door in the ceiling, tapped a pattern in the circlets, then double-tapped the centre. The circlets flashed and rotated.

  Turning to the group, she said, “This transit will take a little longer. You might have the weird feeling you’re being stretched.” She looked at Bian. “But it should be easier on the wounded.”

  “Whatever you say,” Bian sniffed. Holding Brolin’s arm, she reached up and was pulled into the door.

  Johnny leaned into Torg. “Notice Bian seems a little sketch?”

  “Who isn’t?” Torg said. “It’s like we’re trying to play ten games at once and no one gave us the rules. Our nerves are shot. Now, Bian’s got a huge heart and stepped up to take care of Shabaz and Brolin . . . but she’s also a Look-At-Me-Girl.” He grinned. “Not going to happen with Betty Crisp around.”

  “She’s jealous? But she’s always hanging around the higher Levels.”

  “Not the girls.”

  Johnny stared at him and then chuckled. Who the hole was going to match up with Betty Crisp, anyway? Shaking his stripes, he reached up for the door.

  It was different this time: as if each side of his body was gently being pulled. Then, for the first time since the weather-mem, they popped into a world dominated by more than black and gold.

  They emerged from a door built into a crumbling building. Rectangular with rounded edges, the door looked solid even though it’s half-ceramic, half-metal surface was red with rust stains. Peering closely, Johnny could still see gold lines, but they were faint. Dirt and detritus piled up against the building.

  “Betty Crisp,” Torres whispered, looking up.

  They were in a vast complex. Far, far above their heads: a ceiling perforated with massive holes. Entire parts of it appeared to be missing. Through the gaps, a hazy white sky cast the roof into a skeletal silhouette. Around them, huge frameworks of machinery stretched up towards the ceiling.

  “Where are we?” Bian breathed.

  “That’s a little tough to explain,” Betty said. Her hollas were up, though they flickered in and out of focus.

  Bian glared at Betty. “I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t say you were stupid, Bian.” Betty glanced away from the hollas. “Are we going to keep doing this? I’m just checking.” She waited a beat then added, “I didn’t say it was tough to explain because I thought you were stupid. I said it’s tough to explain because it’s tough to explain and we need to move. If you’d like, I’ll try to put it into words as we go. All right?”

  This time, Bian at least had the grace to look embarrassed as she bobbed her eyes.

  They rolled down a wide artery that centred the superstructure. Hazy white light streamed in through holes in the roof, the walls; at times, even the floor. The far end of the highway—hazy in the distance—seemed partially open. The wash of light bathed humongous machines, hundreds of metres high. Unlike the roof or the crumbling building, most of the machinery seemed intact, if unused.

  “We call them ghostyards,” Betty said as they tread past an unmoving conveyor belt. “I don’t know what they’re supposed to be called because we’re not sure they really exist.”

  “Looks like it exists,” Torg said, grinning as his eyes swung in every direction. “Imagine the game we could play in here.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny murmured, staring at a bin bigger than the Skates rink. “Some kind of hide and seek. Like the Tag Box.”

  “Why don’t you think it exists?” Bian asked Betty.

  “Whatever was built here, it was physical.”

  “Maybe they built the Skidsphere.”

  Betty nodded. “We thought about that. It’s certainly possible. Except remember, the Skidsphere isn’t really physical. It’s data.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t see it that way,” Bian insisted. “You said that, right? Skids see things different than other parts of the Thread. So maybe this is how we see our own factory.”

  Admiration lit Betty’s face. “Now that’s a hole of a thought. Really. And we’re not counting anything out, so you could be right. We’re gearing toward the ghostyards being symbolic. A metaphor within the metaphors.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “We’ve never found one that’s in operation. While a lot of the Thread is inactive, even the small part that remains is massive. If the ghostyards were a real part of the Thread, at least one of the hundreds we’ve found should have been working.”

  “You keep saying we. Who’s we?” Torg said.

  Betty’s stripe flushed. “Me and Wobble. I always think of him as part of the team.”

  “We’re better than Cuddl
e and Squeak.” Wobble’s head whizzed around and a grin split his face. “Wobble.”

  “I try to think in the plural as often as I can. It’s better than spending ten lifetimes alone,” Betty said, looking at Torg. “Can you understand that?”

  “Yeah,” Torg said sombrely. “I can understand that.”

  A beat of silence passed as Bian watched them with a perplexed expression, then Betty continued. “Anyway, we’re pretty sure this is a representation of factories that exist in the Out There. Which is another reason why we think no one is watching.”

  “So what does it do?” Torg said, confused. “I mean here, in the Thread?”

  “That’s the point. It doesn’t do anything. It’s not even here. In many ways, the ghostyards don’t even scan as part of the Thread. They’re . . . quirky.”

  “Quirky?”

  “Quirky,” Betty said. “In the past, I’ve used them as hideouts because the Antis avoid them, but it was hard getting any work done. Nothing works the way it should. That’s why my hollas are acting spare.” She glanced peevishly at the flickering displays, then sighed and swept them away. “Plus it gets depressing pretty fast.”

  “I could see that,” Torg agreed, as they rolled under a pipe large enough to fit a dozen skids side-by-side. “So where are we going now?”

  “We’ve got to try my original safehouse. I can’t think of any other way to keep Brolin and Shabaz alive. There’s only one problem: SecCore. Ten years ago, he found the safehouse.”

  “The cops-cops are corrupt,” Wobble said from the front of the pack.

  “That they are, Wobble,” Betty agreed.

  “So you’re saying we could be rolling into a trap,” Bian said.

  “Possibly. Or SecCore could be long gone. I didn’t leave a lot of data behind; he may not realize how important that particular safehouse was. I’ve had many since.” Betty sighed. “But most likely it’s a trap.”

  Bringing up the rear, Johnny stayed out of the conversation. He even dropped back a few metres. He knew he should pay more attention, but if Betty was right, then they weren’t in danger here and they’d probably have a better picture once they neared her safehouse.