Thread War

by Ian Donald Keeling

  The grey-aqua skid rolled all three of her eyes. “I told you: stop ripping off Torg.”

  Johnny grinned. “He called Betty ‘sugar-lips.’ This is completely different.” The grin faded when he saw her stripes narrow and her expression flatten. “Uh, okay . . . so you were serious about that, then?”

  “Do you want me thinking about Torg every time we’re together?”

  “Right.” He sighed. “Got it, lesson learned.”

  She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. “The thought is nice. Just see if you can find something a little more original.” She looked around. “Ready to go?”

  “Just a sec. Okay, everyone, good work, keep at it.” He checked the boards to see what was coming up. Tag Box, ouch. “Who’s in Tag Box in an hour?” Most of them put up their hands, and Johnny suppressed a shudder. The games needed their fodder. “All right, do your best. Stay off the third floor, you don’t need the points. And don’t just pick a corner and hide. They get systematically spiked and good players will check them sooner or later. It might be scary, but you have to move. Good luck.” He turned and rolled away. If he was lucky, he’d see half of them again.

  He waved to Shev and Onna. “Okay,” he said to Shabaz. “Good to go. Where do you want to go: sugarbar or woods?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Woods. I want to grease the treads.” They headed for the ramp. “How’d they do today?” she asked, as panzers and squids passed them, staring. The amazing thing was that some didn’t stare, having grown accustomed to the idea of two senior skids coming into the training centre.

  “Onna coached Akash up to Three,” he said, his trail-eye watching as the white-red skid berated a group on the launch ramps. “Got him to hit the safeties off at full in less than three hours.”

  “Nice. He still got a crush on her?”

  Johnny laughed. “Little bit. I think it might be reciprocated. She’s tough on everyone, but she’s awfully tough on him.” A weird smile crossed Shabaz’s stripes. “What?”

  She looked like she might say something, then the mysterious smirk faded as her stripes tilted. “We’ll see.”

  He was already beginning to learn when he wasn’t going to get anything else out from her. He chuckled and changed the topic. “How about you?”

  “A couple of Level Threes made Four today. Both were skids you had in the Combine.”

  “Nice, two in one day.” They emerged from the ramp and headed towards the path leading to the Spike.

  “That’s not the crazy thing.” She paused. “I think Onna might make Five soon.”

  “What? Didn’t she just make Four?”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  “And you think she’s going to make Five anytime soon? Four to Five is one of the harder—”

  “She asked me about mapping.”

  “What?” Every skid had an internal positioning system, able to plot whatever game they were in and track skids around them. But they took a while to access it; mapping was usually one of the skills that bumped a skid to Level Five.

  “She said that she thinks the higher level skids are tracking her at times and they attack the races like they know the turns before they happen.”

  “Huh. What’d you tell her?”

  “I told her it was a great concept.” She grinned. “If they’re starting to guess something, I leave them to figure it out. They might die a few extra times, but the lesson sinks in more.”

  It made sense. Once permanent vaping was out of the picture, Shabaz was able to do a few more subtle things than Johnny. Of course, that might have been because Johnny couldn’t even spell subtle. “Still,” he said, “Level Five would be awfully early. Three levels in three months? How old is she anyway—is she even two years old yet?”

  Shabaz gave him an even look. “Johnny . . . she’s four months from her second birthday. She’ll probably be a Six by then.”

  “What?! A Six? That’s . . . that’s . . . even I wasn’t a Six before my second birthday,” he protested, outraged.

  Shabaz giggled. “There’s the Johnny I remember.”

  “Hey, it’s not that,” he said, although it totally was that. “It’s just . . . where did this come from? She’s just a skid I picked at random, you know that. Now she’s the next me? She’s better?”

  It shouldn’t have bothered him, not after all they’d been through, but it did. He’d spent the entirety of his life wanting to be the best, an attitude that had helped kill his friendship with Albert. Nothing was more important than winning, than doing something that would get him remembered. No matter what happened out in the Thread, he couldn’t just turn it off. Which was stupid, because he wasn’t even competing anymore. If he really gave a gear about results, he could go into every game and destroy it for the next year, obliterating the records.

  It suddenly occurred to him that someone might still catch him in that year. With the way some skids were improving lately, if he competed, would it destroy the system or would the other skids just get better?

  Nah, he thought with a grimace. They can’t be getting better that fast.

  Shabaz watched him with amusement, then her stripes tilted. “Well, something’s going on with the ones we train. They’re not thinking the same old way. Onna more than anyone else—she does crazy things out there. I’ve seen her deliberately get vaped in two games just to try something no one else had tried. I’ve seen her place in three games because whatever she tried worked. She doesn’t think the same way. Results are second to becoming stronger. Results are important, but they’re not the most important thing.”

  Johnny frowned. “Did you teach her that? ’Cause I don’t think I did.” He had tried a lot of crazy things in the games, but always with the hope it would help him win. He never did it just to see what might happen.

  “I think it’s the consequences of what we’ve done. Want to know something really greased-up? Shev’s been following her lead. He did a Drop the other day.”

  “What? He’s a Three, for Crisp’s sake!”

  “Yeah,” she laughed. “He didn’t make it halfway down.”

  “No kidding.”

  “You’re missing the point: he did make it through a third of the race. While it was running.”

  “Wait . . . he started a Drop at the beginning of a Slope?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s . . . that’s crazy.” But it was also a cool idea. Johnny wondered why he’d never tried it, then immediately had the answer: because it wouldn’t have helped him win that race. “I’ll be vaped, maybe—”

  “It ain’t right,” a voice said.

  Nestled up against the outside of the Combine, a group of eight or nine skids. Trist had come back, with a few extra skids in tow. The yellow-black Seven tread forward, a pair of Sixes flanking his side. “I told her the same thing,” he said harshly, eyeing Shabaz and then poking the eye towards the ramp. “What you’re doing in there . . .” He shifted on his treads and spat.

  Johnny frowned. “It’s Trist, right? What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is you,” the skid said, his seven black stripes flaring. He had a blizzard glam along them, which Johnny had to admit was pretty sweet against the black. He pointed at Shabaz. “The both of you.” Behind him, the others all bobbed an eye in agreement. “What do you think you’re doing in there?”

  “Just helping a few squids and panzers find a way to survive,” Johnny said, amused. “Doesn’t really affect you, Trist.”

  “Who the hole gives a tread about the panzers and squids?” Trist protested. “That’s twisted. And it does affect me. It affects all of us.”

  “I’m not sure I see how.”

  “How about the fact that the games are flooded with Threes and Fours now? How about the fact that there’s more skids so the rest of us don’t play as much?”

  Johnny hadn’t known that. He glanced at Shabaz. “That true? Skids are playing in fewer games?”

  She bobbed an eye. “I think it might be.�
��

  “So glad you agree,” Trist sneered. “You’re worse than he is.”

  Now she looked amused. “Really?”

  The teal-plum Six geared forward. “Yes, really.” She had shim around all three of her eye-stalks. “He might be wasting his time with squids and panzers, but you’re helping skids in the games when you should be playing. And you’re playing favourites.”

  Shabaz chuckled. “I seem to remember offering to help you, Kesi. If you want, Trist—”

  “We don’t want your help,” Trist snapped. “Skids don’t help other skids. What the hole happened to you? Fine, he made Ten, okay, whatever. But you? You’re an Eight. Why aren’t you still playing to win? Don’t you want to make Nine? Ten?”

  “Maybe my priorities changed,” Shabaz said.

  “From winning games?” Kesi said in disbelief.

  “Seriously, who got vaped and made you GameCorps?” Trist said, rolling forward. The others followed. “What gives you the right to vape the games?”

  The amused smile faded from Johnny’s face as the Level Seven edged towards Shabaz. He wasn’t worried; hole, she could probably take them herself, but Trist was getting closer than he liked. This wasn’t funny anymore. “Look, Trist,” he said firmly. “We’re not hurting anyone. You don’t want help, fine. You don’t speak for everyone.”

  Trist’s eyes swung and he rolled over to Johnny. Now it was Shabaz’s smile that faded, replaced by a hard look. Thanks babe, Johnny thought.

  “They’re all afraid of you,” Trist said, and that caught Johnny’s attention. “Both of you. You think we’re the only ones that feel this way?” He waved a hand at the rest of the group. “Most skids feel this way; they’re just too in awe of the great Johnny Drop to say anything. Too in awe of the Level Ten.” He glanced at Johnny’s single stripe. “Though, I ain’t seen you in the games recently, so maybe you aren’t a Level anything anymore.”

  That, Johnny thought, wasn’t far off.

  “Don’t vaping smile,” Trist said, and he actually bumped Johnny. Johnny didn’t think it was deliberate, but still . . . “Tell me something,” Trist continued. “I heard you’re calling squids by name before they hit Level Three. That true?”

  He could see where this was going. “Yeah,” Johnny said. “That’s true.”

  “So you’re naming squids,” Kesi said, disgusted, splitting her eyes between Johnny and Shabaz. “Too good to play the game properly, if you play them at all. Naming squids. You both think you’re GameCorps.”

  That wasn’t it, of course it wasn’t. But suddenly Johnny could see how they saw it that way.

  “You know what’s really messed up?” Trist said. “Any panzer born in the last three months is probably going to think that this is the way things are supposed to be. That you show up at the Combine and there’s a bunch of levelled skids there to help you figure grease out.” Johnny blinked. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but it was a possibility. “No one helped me figure out how not to die. No one’s supposed to help me but me.” Trist looked at Shabaz, and then back at Johnny. “It ain’t right.” He backed away, looking at them both. “Not one bit.” He turned back to his group. “Let’s go.”

  They rolled off in the direction of Up and Down, Kesi lingering in the back to glare at Johnny and Shabaz before she turned. Sparks trailed in her wake as she caught up to the others; it reminded Johnny of the glam Bian used to sport.

  “Bian used to have sparks,” Shabaz murmured.

  Johnny grinned at her. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Yeah,” Shabaz said quietly. Her gaze remained on Kesi, a subdued expression on her face. “You know, Bian and I never hung out at all before the Thread. I was beneath her; she only hung out with higher level skids.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. He remembered Torg once noting something similar.

  “So we only were together, what, two days? Three?” Shabaz swallowed, her stripes dimming slightly. “I can’t believe how much I miss her.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said softly. They watched Trist’s group fade into the distance, then he bumped her treads and said, “Come on, let’s go visit some friends.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Shabaz continued to look miserable as they rolled into the path leading to the Spike. “Hey,” Johnny said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “Thinking of Bian just put me in a mood. We might run into Makaha out here. It’s his birthday too. His fifth.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly. He knew that she’d started to spend time with the skids who were about to hit their fifth birthday, but it still amazed him. “Really, if you need to take off for a moment, we’re cool.” He tried to recall the name Makaha, but he couldn’t place it. “Didn’t you just do Patino a couple of days ago?”

  “I did Patino and Slen two days ago. And Grid the day before that.” She sighed. “Not many days go by without at least one.”

  Johnny shivered. “I don’t how you do it.”

  “Someone should. Do you know how most of us die, Johnny? We die alone. I asked around; no one who had more than two months left had even thought about it, unless they were a Nine early. But the early Nines and the ones nearing the hard death? Almost all of them said they were either going to go for a walk in the woods, sit in back of the stands of their favourite game, or find a corner of a sugarbar. And then they’d just . . . go.” A look of anguish crossed her face.

  “Hey,” he said, trying to comfort her. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” Shabaz snarled. “Not vaping close. We all die alone, mostly because we don’t know how else to do it. And why? Because we turn five years old.” She made a harsh sound. “Betty was right: the Out There has some things to answer for.”

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  They arrived at the clearing surrounding the Spike. The giant tower, twenty-one metres high, served as the heart of the Skidsphere. It was funny: he’d been right inside the thing when they’d dived into the Skidsphere to save it, but Johnny still had no clue what the Spike was supposed to be—a memorial, a remnant from an ancient game, a flagpole, who knew?

  A couple of Fives rolled out from one of the alcoves that surrounded the clearing. Johnny smiled. Maybe the Spike really was just a sign to the skids: Come make out here. “Hey,” he said, nudging Shabaz. “You know what we’ve never done? We never came out here for a snug.”

  She gave him a flat look. “We snug lots,” she said dryly. “What, sneaking into Tag Box when it wasn’t being used wasn’t good enough for you?”

  He laughed. “It was plenty good. And I know we’ve gone into the woods, but we never grabbed one of these nooks like everyone else. We should do that. You know, like a date.”

  Now her look softened. “That’s a nice idea. Okay, maybe tomorrow.” She hesitated, then her stripes flushed and she nudged him. “If you were wondering, that was good.”

  “I’ll remember.” He laughed, although he actually would make an effort to do just that. Whatever this thing was between him and Shabaz, there were all kinds of new rules and behaviours that he was trying to learn. Because he wasn’t just thinking about taking her into the woods for a bump and grind and then moving on; for the first time, he was thinking long term. And not just months instead of days—he was thinking years instead of days. Which might have been silly given he only had one left, but still . . .

  Even with Peg, he hadn’t really thought about their future. Sure, there had been an intensity with her that had frightened him, but it wasn’t until she was gone that he realized he couldn’t let go.

  Speaking of which . . .

  Out of the corner of his trail-eye, he thought he saw a flash of pink, far back in the trees. It was hard to tell; the day was bright with a breeze flashing the underside of the leaves, dappling everything with light. But he was pretty sure. With a nervous glance at Shabaz, he adjusted the angle on the eye. Nothing.

 
Shabaz sighed. “Flash of pink?” So much for her not noticing.

  The first few times he’d spotted Peg after returning, he’d told Shabaz about it, even telling her about speaking to Peg right before their attack on the Core. As he and Shabaz became an item and their relationship began to deepen, however, he realized that while seeing or hearing flashes of Peg might freak him out a little, it had a rather more significant effect on Shabaz.

  “Great,” Shabaz muttered. “I can’t decide what’s worse: that you might be crazy and it’s all about your dead girlfriend, or that your dead girlfriend is actually stalking you. If she is, I wish she’d just show up and announce her intentions.” Keeping an eye on the woods, she eyed Johnny with one of the others. “She still there?”

  “Uhhh . . .” It really was hard to see in the trees with the changing light. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. “I don’t think so?”

  She kept the stare on both Johnny and the woods, then sighed a harsh sigh. “Come on. Maybe she’s sitting on her vaping rock.” They rolled to the far side of the clearing as Johnny tried to figure out what he’d actually done wrong. Amazing how he now had a whole new set of ways he could get in trouble.

  In one of the alcoves, a little larger than the rest, a rock garden lined the back of the nook, eighteen stones in all. “Nope,” Shabaz said shortly, glancing at the stone that centred the garden. “Guess she’s got other places to be.”

  Johnny took a careful breath. “Look, you can have all the time you need, I’m just looking for an estimate: how long am I in treadgrease? An hour? All day?”

  She sat there with a look like she might want both Johnny and the stone to explode, then sighed again and said, “Nope. I’m done. It’s your birthday and it’s a beautiful day and your ex doesn’t get to spoil it. Besides, it’s not like you want to see her.” She held the look.

  “Of course it isn’t!” Johnny said quickly. He was pretty sure that was at least half true.

  Rolling her eyes, she nudged his tread. “You’re an idiot.” Then she turned to the stones. “Hmm. Eighteen of them. There’s so many.” She chuckled suddenly.