Thread War Page 18

  She really didn’t want to cry. “That’s a beautiful way of looking at things, Krugar.”

  He shrugged. “Nah. People obsess about the wrong details too much. That friend of yours that died back there . . . did he matter?”

  Albert, with Johnny, saving her life . . .

  “Yes,” she said. Apparently, she was going to cry after all.

  The soldier smiled. “Then that’s it. I’m sorry I made you cry.”

  She laughed, shaking her stalks to clear her vision. “That’s okay. Given everything that’s happened, I probably needed it.”

  “I’d offer you a handkerchief, but I’m afraid they didn’t make it out of the jungle.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t know what a handkerchief is.”

  “Well thank god for small mercies,” he said exhaling sharply. “’Cause there’s a ton of things about your world that I don’t understand at all. How the hell can you have a moon but no stars? That just ain’t right.” He looked back at her. “How come you wanted to ask about Laleh?”

  “I was going to ask how long you guys had been in love,” Shabaz said, still trying to blink her eyes clear. “But you answered that already. Have you really been in love for twenty-five years?”

  “Twenty-eight, actually. Why, how long have you and Johnny been a thing?”

  She flushed. “Three months.” It seemed such a pitifully small amount of time.

  “Aww, see,” Kruger said. “You’re just getting started. You’ll figure it out.”

  “Krugar, three months is the longest relationship most skids have.”

  He stared at her. “I swear I don’t get your world at all.”

  “We live fast, die fast.”

  “Right. Five years. You’re all under five.” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “But I don’t want my thing with Johnny . . . I don’t want it to be like that. I want it to last. Can . . . can you really love someone for twenty-eight years?”

  His head curled back, as if for the first time he understood. “Every day,” he said. “And every day until I die.”

  “How do you do it?”

  He barked a laugh and exhaled again. “Ohh, there’s no manual.” He caught the need in her expression and winced. “Uh, I don’t know . . . don’t expect it to be perfect? He doesn’t need to be perfect, you don’t need to be perfect. I’d tell him about the toilet seat, but I guess that doesn’t apply.” He made another face and she almost laughed; it was the first time she’d seen him stymied. She was also hanging on his every word.

  “I guess,” he continued with a shrug, “I guess, I’d say . . . when times are good, don’t take it for granted. And when times are bad, kinda like this—” he made a motion to encompass the whole corridor “—just . . . just cut the other person a little slack. You know, help them get through.”

  She stared at him. “Cut the other person a little slack?” She was thinking of the first place they’d seen him, a warehouse in the jungle. A speech she had made.

  “Uhh . . . sure?”

  Her face broke into a huge grin. “I think that’s beautiful advice, Krugar.”

  “Yeah? I’ll try to remember that one, then.”

  She laughed again. Impulsively, she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “Oh right,” he said, grinning. “And don’t do that in front of him too much. Guys are stupid about stuff like that.”

  “I bet you could take him.”

  He gave her a funny look that said—uh . . . yeah—then shrugged again. “Speak of the devil,” he murmured, as Shabaz swung an eye to find Johnny rolling forward to join them.

  “I think we’re almost back to the safehouse,” he said. Then he frowned. “Did I just see you give him a kiss on the cheek?”

  Shabaz looked at Krugar, then burst out laughing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Johnny rolled towards the front in a puzzled daze. He really wasn’t sure what just happened.

  It was good to hear Shabaz laugh like that. They needed a few laughs. Whatever Krugar had done, it was good, probably deserved a peck on the cheek. No need to be jealous. After all, it’s not like they could hook up.

  He stopped. They couldn’t, could they?

  “The race you’re in,” he muttered, but he surprised himself by smiling. Shabaz had been laughing. And that was a good thing, he thought as he joined Torg and Torres.

  “So what do you want to do when we get there?” Torg asked the purple skid.

  “Oh, you’re asking me now?”

  Torg sighed. “Torres . . .”

  She popped an arm. “All right, fine, we’re here. I get it.” She glanced at Johnny. “I’m not apologizing.”

  That sounded like the old Torres. “I wasn’t expecting one. We’ve all been through—”

  “Don’t,” she snapped. “I’m sorry for what I said, just don’t play the sympathy game. We don’t have time.”

  “Uh, okay,” he said, trying not to smile. So much for not apologizing.

  Torres glared at him, then looked back at Torg. “We’ll go in, sweep the area, see if Wobble reads any hostiles. Then we enter the safehouse.” She grimaced. “Won’t matter. It’s probably rigged to explode the second we go in.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Torg said. “That’s why we’re going to send Dillac in first.” Even Torres had to chuckle at that.

  “Rhi, boz, I heard my name, what goes?”

  And that was that. All the absurdity and tension and pain came to a point and they exploded with laughter as the crimson skid rolled up and stared in confusion at the three skids contorted in the hall.

  After a minute, Torres half-giggled, half-snarled to Johnny, “All right, you win. You’re still a jackhole, but Al definitely would have hated him more.”

  “Hey!”

  “Relax, Dillac,” Johnny said, blinking his vision clear. “Albert still would have hated me more than anybody. A little.” He suppressed another laugh.

  “Oh,” the confused skid said. “True words, then.”

  “What are true words?” Onna said, rolling up with Zen. Shabaz and Krugar trailed, with Kesi bringing up the rear.

  “We were just debating who would be hated more,” Torg said.

  Onna blinked. “So who won: Johnny or Dillac?”

  Which of course set them off again. When Dillac looked like he was going to protest, Johnny reached over and slapped his side. “Seriously, Dillac, don’t worry about it.”

  The chocolate stripes tilted. “Just don’t like coming in second, squi.”

  “Okay,” Torres said. “Since we’re all going spare, the world is literally falling apart and we’re probably vaped anyway . . . let’s get to it. Wobble?”

  They crossed through a broken door—a short, scrapey transition—and emerged into the black and gold grid-space that surrounded the block of the safehouse. “Okay,” Torres said, popping her light-swords, “scan the area Wobble.” She looked like she was hoping for a fight.

  The machine took long enough with his scans that Johnny got nervous. Finally, Wobble said, “Negatory hostiles. All scans-scans are clear. The Cleag must have gone through-through the Crown.”

  “Still probably going to blow up when we walk in,” Torres muttered, sheathing the swords. She glanced at Dillac, then tilted her stripe and went in first. They followed her inside. The building didn’t blow up. “All right,” Torres said, as the hollas sprang to life. “Thread knows what we’re going to do now, but let’s get a look at—”

  A row of Antis rose from behind a holla-bank.

  Even before several doors slid open and more Antis poured through, Torres had re-ignited her swords. “I told you!” she screamed, as Johnny’s heart sank and he reached for Zen.

  “PLEASE STOP. WE COME IN PEACE.”

  They did stop. It was something in the unfamiliar tone of a very familiar voice. That and the fact that the Antis didn’t move once they floated into the room. “They are here for my defense,” the voice said, changin
g its pitch so that it no longer filled the space. “They will not attack.”

  A figure emerged from behind the Antis. It looked a little like Krugar, except it had molded white skin and its legs were inside some kind of floating device that resembled a modified knife.

  “Please,” the figure said. “We come in peace.”

  Johnny stared, not trusting his ears. It was Shabaz who said it first. “SecCore?”

  The figure raised a hand, palm out. “Please. We come—”

  “In peace,” Torres snapped. “Yeah, we got that. What the vape are you doing here?”

  “We require assistance. We will offer assistance. The interloper is—”

  “You mean Betty,” Johnny said.

  “Yes. Betty Crisp is winning—correction: no one is winning. I am in danger of being removed from the Core. We require assistance. We will offer—”

  “Sweet snakes,” Shabaz breathed. “She’s winning . . .”

  The molded white head turned in her direction. “No one is winning. Our battle is damaging the Core. Our battle is damaging the Thread.”

  As if on cue, the ground trembled. Yeah, Johnny thought, you could say that.

  “Why don’t you surrender, then?” Krugar said. “Give up the Core, retreat, stop the damage.”

  The head swung and shaped itself into a look of distaste. “You are not where you should be, little avatar.”

  “No one in this room is,” Johnny said, keeping one eye on the Antis. “Answer his question.”

  “We are SecCore. We cannot defend the Thread if we are removed from the Core.”

  “Then why don’t you let Betty defend the Thread?” Shabaz asked.

  “Like grease she will,” Torres muttered.

  “Betty Crisp cannot defend the Thread. If we do not exist to defend the Thread, the Thread will die.”

  “Rhi, you sure you’re not just saying that ’cause you’re losing, boz?” Dillac said. When Torg, Torres, and Shabaz all looked at him, his stripes swelled and he added, “What? We ain’t allowed questions too?”

  SecCore’s head turned his way. “We are saying that because we are losing. We are also saying that because it is true.”

  “See,” Dillac said, sniffing indignantly. “True words.”

  “If you’re losing,” Johnny said, “then why are you here and not there, fighting her?”

  “We are in the Core and we are here. We exist in many places, as does the Core. You have seen this.”

  They certainly had. “And now that Betty’s gotten into the Core, she can do it too.”

  “Yes. We require assistance.”

  “As much as I’d like to vape that jackhole’s stripe,” Torres said, “why the hole would we help you? You’ve tried to kill us as often as you’ve tried to kill her.”

  And yet the Antis still didn’t move. Whatever was going on here, Johnny thought, SecCore wasn’t trying to kill them now.

  “We will offer assistance in return. We already have done so.”

  “How?” Shabaz asked.

  The head turned again. “We observed your actions in what you refer to as the outer Core. You are no longer allied with Betty Crisp. When you escaped—” The head froze.

  Then remained frozen.

  “Uhh . . .” Johnny said.

  The head came back to life. “We do not understand what transpired there. You fled, then ceased to exist. You chose to cease to exist. Then you returned to existence elsewhere, through a means of movement we do not understand.”

  “When we figure it out,” Torres muttered, “we’ll let you know.”

  “Please do so.” SecCore’s face molded into distaste. “We do not like the failure to understand.” The face returned to its neutral expression. “When you returned to existence, we immediately launched a full scale assault on Betty Crisp.”

  “Huh,” Krugar grunted.

  “What?” Johnny said.

  “Focus her attention,” Krugar said. “Keep it away from us.”

  The head turned. “You are correct, little avatar.”

  “Wait,” Torg said. “How soon did you do this after we . . . returned to existence?”

  “10-25 seconds upon your return.”

  “Snakes,” Torg swore. “So she might not know we survived.”

  “We had not yet focused her attention on us. It is likely she is aware of your return to existence.”

  “Great,” Torres said. “And she knew we were going after Al.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said slowly. “But she might not know what happened there. She might think we’re dead.” He worked it through in his head. “So you’re saying that after that split second we returned, she hasn’t been able to track us at all?”

  “That has a high probability of truth.”

  “So wait,” Shabaz said. “If you’re so busy distracting Betty, how’d you know when we’d get back here?”

  “We did not. After your return to existence and at the moment of our assault on Betty Crisp, we sent a portion of our selves here to speak with you upon your return. We have been waiting.”

  “You’ve been waiting . . .” Johnny breathed. He glanced at Shabaz and Torg and saw the same stunned expression on their faces. Slowly, all three of them swung two eyes in the direction of the creature sitting quietly in the corner of the room.

  Wobble.

  “Ah,” SecCore said, his head turning. “The traitor.”

  One of Johnny’s eyes swung back. “You know, if you’re looking for our assistance, you’d better find something else to call him. Right now.”

  A pause, then . . . “Apologies. We have made . . . errors in judgment.”

  “You’re vaping right you have. And I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

  “You are correct. Greetings, Wobble.”

  Wobble didn’t even twitch. “Hello.”

  “Apologies, Wobble. We have made errors in judgment. With regards to you, they have been substantial.”

  Ever so slightly, the lids over Wobble’s lenses opened further apart.

  SecCore’s head turned back to the room, stopping on each of them. “In defending the Thread, we have made errors in judgment. This has caused damage to the Thread. We find this difficult to say.”

  Johnny was amazed he was saying it at all. SecCore had never sounded like this. And he was pretty sure Betty had never heard him sound like this.

  “These errors have caused a proliferation of the infection you call Vies. It has caused an increase in the corruption you refer to as the grey. It has resulted in a failure to repair areas of the Thread in need of repair. We have failed in our task. We have failed to defend the Thread. With regards to you, Wobble, our errors have been substantial. We should not have destroyed the other of your kind. We should have considered your advice. We should not have . . . we are uncomfortable saying this. We should not have damaged you in the manner in which we damaged you. It was . . . unkind.”

  With each thing SecCore said, Wobble’s lids continued to widen. At the last, a gear whirred and he said: “Thank you, father-father. You spoke-spoke of assistance. The court is frozen. Why-why did they trust the Belarai? Wobble.”

  “I have spoken of assistance and assistance I have rendered.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said, “but that’s not why you’re here. You said you wanted our help, but there’s no way we can take on Betty directly. So what else you got?”

  The head never turned away from Wobble. “We should not have destroyed the others of your kind. We did not destroy the manner in which to create them again.”

  Instantly, Wobble’s shutters snapped all the way open and his head spun like a gyroscope. He rose on his treads and pressed forward. “Coronas on the horizon and Farsi got them home. You will tell me now.”

  “Oh my,” Torg breathed.

  “What?” Johnny said, his eyes swinging, not sure where to land. “What are they talking about?”

  “He’s talking about the Wobble factory,” Torres said, her gaze filled wit
h need and fire.

  “What?”

  “Al had a theory,” Torres explained. “He said it was possible that SecCore destroyed the other Wobbles, but not the factory itself.”

  “The little silver skid was correct.”

  Wobble surged forward. “You will tell me now.”

  The molded head froze. Remained frozen. Unfroze. “Very well.”

  Wobble came to a dead stop. Then, slowly, the lids over his lenses closed and then opened again. “Thank you, father.”

  “Hold on a second,” Shabaz said. “Does Betty know about this?”

  Both machine heads turned. “No.”

  “Oh my,” Torg said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  They raided the stores and geared up to move.

  “Take everything you can carry,” Torres said, strapping ammunition belts and power packs over her torso. “If this doesn’t work, we’re not coming back. If it does . . .” She grimaced. “Vape it, let’s not jinx things. Take it all.”

  “Bam your gears,” Dillac said, hoisting a huge gun that Johnny thought looked familiar.

  “Unless we’re going to be falling,” Torg drawled, “that one isn’t as much fun as you’d think.” He went still, then looked at SecCore. “Please tell me we will not be falling.”

  “It is unlikely.”

  “Good,” Torg and Shabaz said together.

  “There are, however,” SecCore continued, “factors of which you should be aware.”

  “Of course there are,” Kesi muttered, looking for a place to put her grenades.

  “We will not be able to travel with you. Nor provide you with Antis for protection. The probability of either course of action entering Betty’s awareness is too high. If we return our attention to the Core we will be able to sustain our assault, which raises the probability of Betty remaining unaware of your course of action.”