Nyxia

by Scott Reintgen

  I stare at him, horrified. “So, what, we’re just being used as experiments?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what was that?”

  “We’ve tested it extensively,” Vandemeer says. He gives me a strange look, then reaches for his watch. With a few clicks, he turns it off. “Off the record, we discovered the limitations during the first mission. One of our men tried to manipulate an entire mine. He was devoured.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You felt it, inside of you?”

  I shiver and nod. “Yeah.”

  “Imagine that it’s not a safe, tested amount of nyxia. Imagine what you just went through multiplied by thousands.”

  “Sounds horrible.”

  “The video was difficult to watch. The victim did not die well,” Vandemeer confirms. He turns his watch back on. “My suggestion would be to take it easy. You pushed yourself pretty far today. It might be wise to participate in the exercise and withdraw when you’ve reached a safer point. That way you can get points, but not…”

  “Feel like I’m being killed from the inside out?”

  “Yes,” Vandemeer says. “That.”

  “Great advice, Doc.”

  Vandemeer frowns at that. It makes his face look even more slanted and sharp.

  “Emmett, I really am here to care for you. Kaya’s and your health are my primary concern on this ship. Do you understand that?”

  “I appreciate it, Vandy. But at the end of the day, you’re one of them. Aren’t you?”

  Vandemeer leans back in his chair, glances at his watch, and nods.

  “Yes, Emmett. I am a Babel-employed doctor, first and foremost.”

  I stand up and brush by him as I pass. “Glad we cleared that up.”

  Old habits die hard. I didn’t steal too much as a kid, but I was always looking. Always thinking about how a watch could slip from a wrist or how a pair of shoes might magically disappear from the school locker room. Spend enough time in the same old pair of jeans and everything seems worth the risk of getting caught.

  But aboard Genesis 11 there are some things that are a little more valuable than a fresh pair of kicks. Since day one, I’ve found myself eyeing Vandemeer’s utility belt. He uses his data pad for access in the ship, but he also has a secondary identification card with an identical scanning pattern on it. He doesn’t ever use it; I guess it’s more of an emergency thing. Usually it’s tucked safely into the back of his belt, but now it’s in my pocket. A part of me just wanted to see if I had the chops to do it. But the real reason? I want to explore the rest of the ship. Babel clearly has secrets. Maybe even a handful that Vandemeer doesn’t know.

  I know I need to dig, to find out what Babel’s got in their dark basement. Knowing what’s coming might be the only thing that gives me an edge on the rest of the competition. It’s my one way to pull back the veil on Babel. Answers are waiting. I just have to find them.

  DAY 18, 11:23 A.M.

  Aboard Genesis 11

  Roathy’s presence has haunted my week. He lurks and lingers, but every time I look over, he just walks away. Of all the competitors, we’re probably the most alike. I see so much of myself in him, but one wrong turn’s made him an enemy. I know he’ll try to take revenge, but I have no idea what revenge means for a kid like him. If I were in his shoes, anyone who kept me from getting crucial points would have a target on their back. I get this gnawing feeling that when he does take revenge, nothing about it will be fair. The not knowing is the worst.

  Babel’s been running us through a series of mining tutorials. When we accidentally blew Longwei up in a simulation, the repetition started to make sense. We’re not just learning how to use expensive equipment. We’re learning how to stay alive as we do the job we’ve been hired to do.

  Unfortunately, our team has gone through more growing pains than Kaya’s. Girl’s way smarter than the rest of us and we’ve been losing points each day. Longwei blames us, but he has no idea how to be a part of a team. I don’t get too mad because I know we’ll be racing through digital forests next week. In that competition, Kaya’s strategies work for me. The hit-or-miss points make the individual competitions more important. Our continued battles in the pit are opportunities I have to cash out on.

  As we enter the jungle gym of an arena, I glance over at the scoreboard:

  I’ve slid a little. Kaya’s been making her way back up the scoreboard too. Really, if Isadora and Roathy weren’t so low, I’d be feeling the pressure. But the scoreboard goes both ways. If I push myself, there’s no reason it can’t be my name in first place. The avatar screen loads, and I’m feeling juiced. Deep down, I’ve been looking for a fight.

  Azima and Longwei go first. Azima plucks up her spear and Longwei sticks to his sword. He’s improving, but that doesn’t matter against Azima. She’s a snake striking from high grass. For the first time, I notice how good her footwork is. She slides left and right, pushes off for her strikes, and shuffles away from each of his swings. And her shoulders too. She dips to change the angle of her attack or twists to bring the spear in from the opposite side. It’s musical, almost. Longwei fights for all of twenty seconds before his avatar drops.

  Next up are Roathy and Isadora. Defoe looks curious to see how the lovebirds will handle being pitted against each other. But when he gives the signal, Isadora drops both her daggers. Roathy steps forward and cuts off her imaginary head. They rejoin us on the sidelines and put their weapons away. So much for the dramatic lovers’ duel.

  A digital me flickers to life on the screen. Jaime fills up the other half. I can’t help but smile. Jaime’s not all bad, but our first standoff still looms between us. Deep down, I’ve been waiting for this fight as long as he has. He walks over and picks up the short swords Roathy used. I slip into my knuckled gloves and stand across from him.

  He looks angry. Good. Anger burns both ways.

  Defoe gives the signal and we circle.

  Unlike Roathy, Jaime’s not a lasher. I parry his first testing blow and jab at his rib cage. He swipes my strike away and we turn. My uncle taught me to fight patiently. Let people make mistakes and then press forward. Jaime’s almost too cautious to make any. He tests me with another strike, I test him back, and then he finally overextends on a lunge.

  I crunch down my off hand on his wrist, sidestep his riposte, and rake claws across his shoulder. He staggers back and I press now. Strike, circle, strike.

  “You’ve never been in a fight,” I grunt. “You’ve never had to fight.”

  And I know it’s true. The way his body moves and the way his eyes stay wide instead of going tight. This guy’s never fought anyone. He loses grip of one of his swords, and my killing blow is an uppercut on his chin. Babel’s fixed my weapon so that my real hand can’t hit his real face, but that doesn’t stop Jaime from falling down onto the mat. He looks furious, but by the time he can stand back up, his avatar is dead and I’m the winner.

  “You don’t know anything,” he says, pushing me hard in the back.

  I go from dying embers to fireworks in two seconds. The speed of my turn shocks him. Nyxia snaps excitedly in my jacket pocket like it’s feeding off my anger. I think about splitting open that bottom lip, but I smile instead. This is a long-term game I’m playing.

  “I know I’m going to win again tomorrow. Every time we stand across from each other in here, I’m going to win again, and again, and again. Count on it.”

  Defoe arrives to break up a fight that isn’t going to happen. I take note. He doesn’t usually sweep in to break up competitive banter. He always arrives after the damage is done, like he enjoys seeing how the tasks test and stretch us. But with Jaime he comes in before I can do anything? I file it away under S for Suspicious.

  I set my weapons down and watch the last two fights with the others. Kaya outfoxes Katsu, and Bilal lands a great killing blow on Jazzy. We leave the weapons behind and move on to lunch.

  Eighteen days aboard Genesis 11 and our imagi
nary deaths aren’t bothering us anymore. In fact, we’re all joking about it as we eat chicken sandwiches. Vandemeer was right. It feels unreal. The consequences don’t compute because we know that tomorrow we’ll fight again, that the sword wounds and the throwing stars aren’t going to really hurt us. I wonder if we’ll be able to flip the switch when it comes to real combat or real mining or real anything. Babel’s plan is to make us numb. Execute the task without emotion. Complete the mission.

  Babel’s endgame is a mystery, but there are no secrets when it comes to the scoreboard. I’m in third place and I need to stay there. We finish up lunch and head down to the Rabbit Room. As expected, the lights are dimmed and the white wires are waiting to whisk us away to the virtual reality of virtual Eden. Before we can discuss strategies, Longwei crosses the room and plugs in. His body’s floating before the rest of us can follow.

  “Real nice,” I mutter. “The captain who forgets his teammates.”

  “Dude’s a little intense,” Katsu says. “We should offer him a massage.”

  Jazzy joins us. “He doing it all by himself, then?”

  “Maybe,” I say, “but I’d at least like credit for whatever His Magnificence pulls off.”

  “Me too.”

  The voice is so close that my body goes rigid. Roathy lopes past like a jackal, his eyes never leaving mine, his laugh echoing in my ears. He knows, for just a second, that I forgot he was there. And I know that he could have transformed his nyxia into a knife and tucked it neatly into my back.

  I ignore his crooked grin and take my place beneath the wires. One by one, my senses leave here for there. Our drill’s in the ground and Longwei’s the only one not standing with us. A massive hand slaps against my clear faceplate, and I almost fall trying to scramble away from it. Katsu laughs through the comm and holds up the severed lizard hand from the first day.

  “You should have seen your face,” he says.

  Scowling, I turn back to the drill. “Longwei, are you in there?”

  It’s different today. For the last few simulations we’ve been thrust right into tutorial sessions—all kinds of new lessons and tools—but today looks like we’re picking up right after day one’s progress. Inside the pit, we hear the hydraulics of the drill. There’s no answer from Longwei and no sign of the monsters.

  “Longwei,” I say, louder, “unless you plan on coming in second every time, we’d love to know what’s going on so we can actually help.”

  “I’m coming back up,” he says. “The drill has to retract to start the next step.”

  A glitch opens up to our right and Lieutenant Light ghosts back onto the set. Then the hole in the world closes, he smiles, and it’s like nothing ever happened. He gestures at the drill.

  “Now that you have your drill in place, it’s time for one team to start shearing and for the other team to set up your secondary tunnel. Follow me.”

  We trail him back to the readouts on the side of the truck. He points at the results of Longwei’s efforts. The drill is a white line diving down into a black sea of nyxia. It’s a little crooked here and there, but it looks fine otherwise.

  “Not bad, but your driver has to be stronger on the grips as he goes down. The straighter the tunnel, the easier your job is. That bottom area? That’s where all the nyxia will collect now. Everything your jackjack shears off the vertwalls funnels down to the bottom. The secondary tunnel will allow you to extract the nyxia as the jackjack expands the initial dig site.”

  He holds and presses a blue button. I count off three seconds before there’s movement on the display screen. A blue dot appears along the surface fifty meters away from our original entry point. As we watch, a matching line cuts diagonally into the ground until it connects at the lowest point of our tunnel. The marine steps away.

  “Now all you have to do is press the blue button again. The minirover will initiate, and you’ll have your secondary tunnel under way. Your task today is to begin mining the main shaft, set up your conveyor belt, and extract one pound of nyxia. Oh, and one other thing.” He sets a massive hand on the gun in his holster. “As you’ve noticed, sometimes drilling attracts the tars. You may have also noticed they hit like hammers. Just make sure you activate the defense system on the console whenever you have approaching bogeys. Good luck, soldiers.”

  He walks off into the mists again. Before we can discuss anything, Roathy jabs the blue button. Three seconds later, metal grinds at the back of the truck. We round the corner and almost get decapitated by an extension ramp. It lowers onto the ground, and a seriously souped-up go-kart wheels off on its own. A swirl of dust follows it for fifty yards, and we watch as another miniature drill unloads itself from the vehicle’s metallic back.

  “Katsu,” I say. “You and Jazzy take care of the secondary tunnel.”

  Katsu nods. The two of them jog off in that direction, and I realize I can actually order people to do things. Glancing over, I also realize I’ve left myself alone with Roathy. His expression is amused, like he’s daring me to give him an order. He smirks before saying, “Don’t worry. I’ll go with them.”

  He takes off and I’m left alone. I return my attention to the digital layout. I can see everything. Swirling red pockets underneath the surface, the main drill fully retracted, and even the activated rover hovering over the blue dot on our map. I watch the little blips for as long as I can stand, then turn back toward the main drill site.

  “How’s it going, Longwei?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s stuck.”

  “What’s stuck?”

  “The drill. I’m pressing down like I did yesterday, but it won’t move.”

  I start walking that way, when Katsu cuts through the head comm.

  “Emmett!” he shouts. “Hey. Activate the defense thing. The lizard-gorilla things are back. The tars or whatever! A lot of them incoming.”

  I scramble back over to the control panel and find the switch labeled DEFENSES. I double-check that it’s the right one and flip it. Metal screeches as two turrets unfold atop our truck. It happens as fast and unrealistically as it does in video games. In KillCall, you can set down a gun turret and it just pops to life and starts shooting. Apparently, that’s what happens when Babel designs things. The two guns sweep for a target and start firing. The report is loud, but not so loud that I can’t hear the distant cry of wounded tars. Katsu and Jazzy cheer into the comm.

  I head back over to help with the drill. “Want me to take a look, Longwei?”

  His answer is quiet. “Yes.”

  I start scaling one of the legs of our metallic drill stand. Careful to keep my balance, I tiptoe across webbed metal to the hatch. With a twist and a pull, I pop the top and glance inside. Longwei’s face is streaked with sweat. His mask is completely fogged and his hands are wrapped tight around two black levers. He looks up and presses the levers forward to show me.

  “It won’t go down,” he says.

  “Have you tried the other levers?”

  He shakes his head. “This is the lever to go down. The other levers are for the side drills. There’s no point in using the side drills until I take it back underground.”

  “Just try them,” I say. “Maybe it will reactivate the levers that aren’t working.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” he says.

  I frown before glancing off toward the others. From this height, I can see the rover and their vague shapes in the fog. “Jazzy,” I call. “How’s the secondary tunnel coming?”

  “About halfway down,” she says, accent thicker than syrup. “We’re doing good, but we might need help settin’ up the conveyor. It’s kind of weird.”

  I look back at Longwei. He’s still stubbornly pushing at his black levers. I press the button on my shoulder, and the helmet retracts back into the padding. My comm vanishes with it and I’m breathing in fresh air. “Longwei!” I shout. The helmets were muffling everything. Even though the drill isn’t digging, the engines hum and the pistons snap
restlessly. I lean down and shout louder, “Longwei, let me try. It’s okay. They need you for the conveyor belt.”

  I can see the war happen inside of him. He loves winning about as much as he hates me. Give up and he admits his defeat, but keep acting stubborn and we keep losing to Kaya. After a second, he nods to himself and unbuckles. I give him a helping hand out of the jackjack seat.

  When he’s up top, he presses his own helmet button. Wind tosses his front tuft of hair and he wipes away sweat with the back of his glove.

  “I could have done it,” he says. “I didn’t need your help.”

  “I know. You would have figured it out.” I look back at the truck and decide to tell the lie that Longwei needs to hear. He can’t accept his own weakness, but he’ll be more than happy to use mine as an excuse. “I can’t understand the monitor. You can. We need you commanding us. Call everything out, all right?”

  We both reactivate our helmets. The heat intensifies as I climb into the cockpit of the drill. The seat is hot and the air is hot and I’m sweating balls inside my suit. I take my seat and the world is one vibrating earthquake. I try to calm my breathing as my teeth start clattering together.

  There’s a ton of digital readouts in front of me. I don’t know what they mean, but I know I’ve got to get this thing down and mining or we’re toast. The black levers are useless, so I start pulling and pressing other things. The drill responds when I wrap a hand around the silver joystick on my right. Everything vibrates a little more. I press it forward and metal whirrs. On my display, the right drill spins. That’s a start.

  I take hold of the joystick on my left and turn both at the same time. Both the side drills spin, and Longwei’s trusted black levers retreat into the dashboard. My chair leans back and the display adjusts so that I’m almost lying down to look up at it. Down by my feet, a silver panel lights up like a game of ElectraDance. I punch both feet down and the drill lurches to life. The bottom windows go dark. On my monitor, I can see the tip of the drill moving into the shaft and my side drills a few meters from first contact.