Frags

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "It was a big risk. He could have slipped a trojan in your system," said Milton. "They could be tracking us right now."

  Gabby shook her head. "I'm not as buffed at security as you, Milton, but I know my business, I'm fine." And the Coder said something about other ways of tracking, anyway.

  "He offered me amnesty if we turned ourselves in. He even said 'I'd even give you a chance to get your friend Zaela back,'" she said.

  "So we know she's not dead," said Michael plainly.

  "And we know they don't have her anymore," said Gabby. "Otherwise he would have just offered her in trade. And why even offer her? When we won the Final Raid, I asked for Zaela, but he didn't want to give her up. He was being spiteful at the time, because I had defied him. But now they need us, or me, or something now. Why?"

  In the silence between, the hunting cry of a hawk drew their gazes upward. The hawk dipped its wings behind and dropped out of the sky. Gabby's heart soared as she watched it dive. Right before the hawk hit the ground, it spread its wings and landed claws first.

  "They're always talking about a war with the Southlands," said Michael. "Maybe it's actually going to happen and they need help."

  "Why would they need help from the likes of us?" Gabby said.

  "It still doesn't help us figure out what to do next," said Michael.

  Gabby contemplated their predicament in the intervening silence, until Mouse spoke up, "We just need to find other people that hate the GSA, too."

  They collectively nodded. "There's a big Freeland near the border of Southlands called the Double Eagle," said Milton with a shrug. "Supposedly, they take on all kinds, thought it’s a bit of a wild west mentality. There are some Frags there, ones that left the GSA years ago. They have information but have never been willing to give it up without meeting in person. They might be able to help us."

  "It's a long way south," said Michael.

  Gabby stood up and dusted off her legs. "Then we best get started."

  Michael's attention faded away for a moment and then he spoke up, "Celia says there's a group headed near this way from the southeast. They might just be coming to the spring, but we should probably get going."

  Gabby tugged on Mouse's shirt. "Let's fill up the water bottles."

  "We'll get the Caterpillar ready. Celia and Drogan are on their way back. They foraged a bucket full of berries."

  Gabby and Mouse gathered the water containers and jogged to the spring. As they were dipping the bottles into the chilly water, Gabby brought up a question that had been nagging her.

  "Hey Mouse," said Gabby. "Do you remember when we were sneaking into the hovercraft tower?"

  Spring water was flowing into the bottle Mouse had submerged. She was using her non-bandaged arm. The other was a long way from being completely healed. Mouse nodded, indicating Gabby should continue.

  "What was in that red box you grabbed?" she asked.

  A flicker of concern moved across Mouse's face, before she buried it in a look of confusion. "What box?"

  "You went into the room and came out with a red box and you put it in your backpack. I even remember seeing your lumpy backpack when Drogan pulled you off the hovercraft," said Gabby.

  Mouse shook her head. "I never grabbed a box." The slight girl's lips were pale with tension.

  Gabby recalled the Coder's words: other ways to track you. Even during the Final Raid back in LifeGame, she'd never determined what the Coder had offered Mouse in return for betraying the group. They'd been so busy trying to escape the GSA she'd forgotten to ask.

  Before she could press Mouse further about the mysterious red box, Michael's projection appeared between them. His normally brilliant eyes were gray and worried. "Come quick. It's Milton."

  Chapter Five

  Milton lay on the ground with the wooden rod between his teeth. His body convulsed and spasmed as if he were possessed. Michael held him by his shoulders. Milton clutched handfuls of grass and dirt.

  "He knew it was coming on," explained Michael. "We were talking and then his face went blank and he sat on the ground and put the rod between his teeth." Michael paused and said after a moment of contemplation, "It's getting worse."

  Gabby had nothing to say, so she pulled Mouse to her, squeezing her in a half-hug. Milton squirmed in the grass. His jeans were stained green on the hips and heels.

  "He won't be happy about ruining another pair of jeans," said Gabby. "We're a long way from the nearest Fashion Plate."

  Michael had a pained smile on his face. Milton was always the first one to joke about his condition. Gabby wished he could have heard it. She knew he would have laughed.

  Michael's face drew serious lines. He turned his head and began speaking sub-vocally, to Celia she assumed.

  "...can't move him," he said shaking his head, "we have to wait it out."

  She couldn't hear the rest of their conversation, but Gabby knew what they were talking about. That group of men was getting nearer.

  "Celia says she doesn't like the look of those people coming this way, but she wouldn't say why," said Michael.

  "I can see them," whispered Mouse. "Eight men and a horse-drawn wagon."

  "Any weapons?" asked Gabby.

  Mouse shrugged. Gabby glanced over her shoulder. They were definitely coming their way.

  "Celia and Drogan are going to stay back until they know what's going on with these people. And no one say anything about the Caterpillar," said Michael.

  "I wish we had weapons," said Gabby. Drogan had his make-shift crossbow, but he would never hurt anyone with it. It was more a toy than a weapon. It was with him on his berry picking expedition anyway. Drogan liked shooting trees.

  The approaching men were dressed in eerily similar clothing. Each wore brown dungarees and a simple white loose-fitting shift. They all had facial hair except for the youngest of them, a blond boy that would have been a couple of levels lower than her in LifeGame. He had a healthy coating of blonde fuzz on his chin like a newborn chick.

  Gabby waved to them and only the boy waved back. He shoved his hands into his armpits when the nearest gave him a telling glance. A stone formed in her stomach. Milton had been settling into a calm twitch until the men approached. Then he started back up as if someone had revved his engines.

  Either they hadn't seen Milton on the ground before or had thought he was resting, but when he started convulsing and making grunting noises, they reacted as if they'd walked upon a nest of snakes.

  "Der Angle, we see thy will," said the oldest of them. He was tall and bone thin, full of elbows and knees. He made a sign as he approached, touching his forehead and then kissing his fingers. Gabby thought he looked like a stick bug.

  "He has epilepsy," Gabby said by way of greeting.

  Michael and Mouse followed with cautious 'hellos.' The others appeared to be waiting for the stick man to speak.

  Instead of acknowledging their presence, the thin man held his hand over Milton's convulsing body and began speaking in a booming voice she didn't expect from his meager frame. Gabby caught a glimmer of silver on his palm.

  "Der Angle, thy enemy hides in this boy, full o' promise, one found by your grace, we fear nothing, save the demons beyond our lands, and only when we do not act by your hand."

  To Gabby's horror, Milton's body rocked and jumped as if it were being pulled by puppet strings. Stick man's companions looked to their leader in awe.

  "He's got epilepsy!" Gabby got down onto the ground and helped Michael hold him down.

  "Is der really a demon?" asked the boy to one of the other men, a stout fellow with a wicked scar across his face. The scar started on his forehead, kissed off his nose and split his grimace in half. Gabby wouldn't want to meet him alone.

  The scarred man made the forehead and finger kissing sign and nodded. "Der Vernon was told to come here by der Angle. His Sight is infinite."

  "There's no demon!" yelled Gabby. "It's just epilepsy. We didn't ask you people to come here."

 
; Vernon nodded towards them and then men surrounded them. When the boy moved with them, Vernon shook his head. "With me, Daniel." Daniel stayed with the leader, Vernon, as each Frag had to fend off two attackers.

  As scar face lurched toward her, she spun around and kicked him between the legs. He dropped to his knees, his face screwed into a pain-filled scowl. The other moved cautiously to flank.

  Michael fought off his assailants with jabs. The two men came on despite his landed blows. Mouse had a knife out and when one lunged in, she sliced his arm. Gabby hoped Celia and Drogan were hurrying towards them. With their help, they could possibly fend them off.

  Gabby circled her remaining attacker, while the other was still struggling to gain his feet, when Vernon stopped his chanting over Milton. With a deliberate intensity, Vernon stepped toward Michael. The two men surrounding Michael forced him into confrontation with Vernon. Michael shuffled forward in a fighter's stance, readying a right hook. Vernon held out his hands to Michael as if he were going to embrace him.

  "Submit, Michael," said Vernon. Michael reacted visibly to his name. "Der Angle, wishes you to join his Flock."

  The two men surrounding Michael stopped trying to strike him, instead they seemed to be herding him toward Vernon. Gabby had to dodge a blow from her attacker, but was focused on Michael's encounter with their leader. Everything about it worried her.

  When Vernon took a step forward, Michael made his move and spun in for an attack. Vernon did not flinch and merely reached out to touch Michael. When Vernon's outstretched hand connected with Michael's arm, he fell to the ground as if he'd been hit by a great blow.

  Rage filled Gabby's vision and she drilled the man in front of her with a vicious roundhouse. Gabby heard Mouse cry out. She was on her knees holding her injured arm. It'd only been days since she'd been shot.

  Gabby moved to attack Vernon and the others formed a circle around her. Vernon moved in like the tide, flowing toward her with an outstretched hand. Gabby caught the hint of silver on his palm.

  Seeing the odds against her, Gabby decided that joining up with Celia and Drogan might be better than fighting a valiant last stand. She spun into a sidekick and knocked scar face to the ground, moments after he'd finally recovered.

  The way was open. She could get free and lead them on a chase while Drogan and Celia picked them off one by one. She opened up her interface as she turned, readying a message to send to Celia, when she felt an overwhelming presence.

  Vernon extended his bony arm, brushing his hand across her shoulder. His touch was colder than winter's kiss and her body betrayed her, seizing up. The ground reached out and slammed into her.

  Gabby pushed through the pain and struggled to her elbows. The men were picking up a now stilled Milton. Vernon stood near, judging her with his cold eyes. She couldn't believe she didn't see it when they first walked up.

  Then her vision was filled by the scared man who she kicked in the groin. He made their sign, a brief touch of the forehead and kissed fingertips, and said, "Der Angle, forgive me," and punched her in the face.

  Chapter Six

  Submitting had been easy. Sure, she'd resisted at first. Spitting in their faces. Swinging wildly. Making them pay for getting within kicking distance.

  She'd expected them to get angry, to lecture her or call her names. The Flock, as she learned they called themselves, was a cold and dispassionate lot. The man she'd kicked in the groin, Abrahm, she hadn't seen since their abduction. Anyone who'd shown the least bit of emotion to her, anger or even rare pity, had been removed. Abrahm had taken relish in bringing her back to the town, punching her two more times in the wagon. Her jaw still ached in memory.

  Then they'd tied her to a chair and somehow hooked up her sense-web to a cable. Men in white shifts and brown dungarees asked her to submit with all the emotion of a dead fish.

  "Submit girl, let der Angle into your soul."

  Each time she denied them, or refused to answer or just shook her head, her body convulsed in a spasm of unrelenting pain. To the Flock, she was being punished for her sins. To Gabby, she saw a white haze floating before her with the word "submit" wavering in the middle. They wanted her to accept their program, see the world as they saw it, literally, as the Flock would control what she saw and heard and felt through her eye-screens and sense-webs.

  The sameness of their clothing was all Gabby needed to know about the Flock. The women wore brown button-filled dresses and stiff habits that covered all flesh and hair, except their faces and hands. The men wore dungarees and white shirts.

  When the fuzz-faced man-child Daniel took his turn watching her, she finally decided to relent. As much as she wanted to believe that she could resist them forever, she knew it was pointless. Eventually she would wear down and accept the program and by then her mind might actually be warped to their message. Better to give in while she could still fight.

  "Submit girl," he said while digging his shoe between two boards on the floor. Gabby had been left on a wooden platform on the edge of town.

  "Submit girl." Daniel practically ate his words, he mumbled them so incoherently. He'd gotten his boot toe into the crack and was wedging the board up. The wood groaned and whined.

  "Okay," said Gabby smiling.

  "Submit girl," he said again. The plank was twisted in the middle under his boot.

  "I'll submit, Daniel."

  Slowly, realization dawned on his face. "Really?"

  "Yes, really," she said.

  "But you haven't yet," he said. His boot was trapped under the board. He was idly trying to remove it, but it wouldn't budge.

  Gabby shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you first, Daniel. You remind me of a kid I had in class back a few levels."

  His face screwed into a knot like he'd smelled something awful. "Levels? Class?"

  "LifeGame. You know." He shook his head. "Really?" Then it was Gabby's turn to shake her head. She really didn't want to get into it with him. She needed information.

  "Do you know where my friends are?" she asked.

  Daniel glanced behind him. "I'm not supposed to tell you anything until you submit."

  "If you tell me, I'll do it."

  "I...I don't want to get in trouble," he said.

  Gabby flashed him her most disarming smile. One she'd seen Avony do a million times in school. "I would be so buffed if you did."

  Gabby saw a couple of women approaching to relieve Daniel. They came from the town. It was a cluster of one story buildings made from rough hewn wood. The walls were painted a dull brown with white roofs.

  "Come on, Daniel. I'll submit with you here. It'll look good for you. Just tell me where they are," she said, keeping her gaze on him, though she wanted to watch the women approach.

  Daniel bit his lower lip. Gabby thought he might be cute if wasn't so timid. His blond hair was shaggy and sun-bleached. "I'm not sure."

  "Please, Daniel."

  He grimaced with indecision. "I want to." He glanced back to the women. "Vernon doesn't like it when the Flock disobeys his or der Angle's commands."

  "They won't know," she said.

  "He always does," he said and it occurred to Gabby that he didn't have the same accent as the others.

  The woman walked up on the platform. They weren't much older than Gabby. They giggled derisively behind cupped hands at Daniel's boot stuck in the planking.

  Gabby sighed.

  "You're right, Daniel," said Gabby. "I'm ready to submit."

  The two girls in their brown dresses looked to her incredulously and then back to Daniel confused. Even Daniel appeared confused. Before he could ruin her offering to him, she accepted the Flock's program.

  The world flashed blinding white. Daniel, the two girls, the platform and the town all disappeared. Her body vibrated with a faint energy. She could no longer feel the earth's tug. It was as if she floated in a vast, empty void of white. Even her body was not visible.

  She moved her mouth to speak, but her lips and tongue were
molasses. A dissonant hum began to fill the space. At first, it sounded distant, like a train over the horizon. Then it grew, like a thousand cicadas revving their noise makers. Then it was a hundred-thousand cicadas. Then a million. She thought her head might implode from the noise.

  The hum concentrated, dialing down in volume and forming into words. She began to understand them. Realized it was two words being repeated slowly.

  "Gabriella DeCorte," said the humming voice.

  What? she wanted to answer in her most sarcastic voice.

  "Do not mock me," it said.

  If she had a stomach, a pit would have formed there. The Flock's program had taken complete control of her system, even more insidiously than LifeGame. This new program couldn't read her thoughts directly, like words on a page, but it could detect her emotions.

  "My will cannot be denied."

  Far beneath her, a tiny dot formed. The dot grew larger as Gabby watched. Then she realized the dot wasn't growing larger, it was getting nearer. She was hurtling rapidly toward the ground.

  The vertigo she'd experienced on the hovercraft was nothing compared to the sheer terror of falling. Gabby knew the vision was a trick. Whoever controlled her system had painted a white world on her eye-screens and blew the feeling of air across her sense-web to simulate falling. Like a dream, she knew it wasn't real, but she had to resist the urge to scream as the ground approached.

  If she'd really fallen from that impossible height, she would have been dead. She didn't die when she hit but the vision didn't pull any punches. She slammed into the dirt, feeling the impact reverberate through her bones.

  She lay prone for a while, catching her breath. She might have been screaming the moment before she hit. At least the white expanse of nothing had disappeared. Gabby tasted dirt. She started spitting. As she put her hand to her mouth to scrape out the grime, she realized she was clothed differently.

  She wore the brown dress the other girls had worn. Her fingers brushed her head, hoping to feel hair, but instead found a hard habit perched on top. The material for both the dress and the habit were scratchy.