Thread War

by Ian Donald Keeling

  Johnny thought about Makaha and for the first time since the day before felt a little better. Things were changing, maybe they could eventually do something about—

  “You have got to be joking.”

  Johnny swung an eye in the direction of the ramp in time to see Trist and his group roll into the Combine. Actually, his group was quite a bit larger than yesterday—there had to be at least twenty of them. “Please tell me I’m not seeing this,” Trist said, parting a sea of squids and panzers like they weren’t even there.

  “Seeing what, Trist?” Johnny said, smiling. He decided he’d try smiling and being patient for as long as possible. Hey, it had always driven him treads-up.

  “You’re letting more people in here?” Trist looked at Akash with contempt. “When did you get that third stripe, yesterday? Roll away, panzer.”

  “Akash,” Johnny said firmly, letting the smile fade a bit, “you can stay if you want.”

  The overwhelmed Akash stared as Trist rolled up on Johnny. Trist bumped Johnny, and this time it was definitely deliberate. Apparently, the numbers were making him braver. “What the hole’s he gonna teach these idiots? Please tell me what a Three’s got to teach anyone?”

  Inside his head, Johnny clicked on his com. Babe? You busy?

  It took a moment before she responded. Watching Tilt. Why?

  One of the things they’d discovered after getting together was that they could now use their coms without speaking aloud. Johnny had no idea if it was because they were in a deeper relationship than other skids—they couldn’t do it with anyone else—or if it was because they’d been forced to do similar things every time they’d fallen through the black. Either way, it was useful. Although, there had been moments when he was afraid that she might be able to read his mind.

  I might need a little help here. Trist just showed up and his posse got bigger. Another voice of reason can’t hurt.

  I swear you’re becoming a diplomat, came the amused reply. Be there soon. Stay patient, try not to vape anyone.

  He keeps bumping me . . . Johnny thought to himself as he shut down the com. Aloud, he said, “I have no idea, Trist. We’re sort of figuring it out as we go along. You guys should join in,” he added lightly. The looks he got in return were not light. Okay, not going to see the funny then.

  “This isn’t funny,” Trist snarled. “I thought I told you to cut this out.”

  Very slowly, Johnny swung a second eye at Trist. He was legitimately amazed at the size of the Seven’s stripes. Johnny couldn’t remember the last time a skid had gotten in his face. Probably Albert. Not a comparison likely to help him keep his temper. “Actually,” he said, no longer completely controlling the edge in his voice, “you said it upset you. Are you now ordering me to stop?”

  For the first time, the group behind him shifted nervously on their treads. They might be pissed, but Johnny was still Johnny. They didn’t back down, though. A squid heading for the pressure paddles started to cut through the crowd, realized who they were, took one look and zipped away in terror.

  Trist didn’t even flinch. “I respect everything you did in the games. You got a second name, we all aspire to that. But this . . .” He waved a Hasty-Arm. “This is treadgrease. There’s a way things are. Stop messing with that.”

  “Trouble, boss?”

  Onna had rolled over from the far side of the Combine, Shev in behind her. Shev looked uncomfortable as hole, but Onna had a combative look.

  “Get vaped, squid,” Trist snapped, barely glancing at her.

  Onna studied him, then settled onto her treads. “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t see that happening.”

  “It’s okay, Onna,” Johnny said. “We’re just talking.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Trist insisted. “This has got to stop.”

  “What are you hoping to accomplish?” Kesi asked suddenly, staring at Johnny with a combination of curiosity and anger.

  Trist flickered an annoyed glance at her direction. Which wasn’t that surprising; he wanted to control the conversation. Most skids would. What was more surprising was that the group was letting Trist speak for them at all. Johnny would have expected every one of them to have something to say; after all, if they were in this group, they weren’t shy. “Kesi . . .” Trist said, impatiently.

  “No, Trist, I told you, I want to know.” She stared at Johnny. “You’re the greatest skid who ever lived. You could have set a record that would never have been broken on the Slope.” The reverence in her tone made it clear it was her favourite game. “Why would you stop playing? What are you hoping to do here?”

  Johnny’s stripe tilted. “Like I said, we’re still trying to figure that out.”

  “Why would you want to, boz?” a crimson-chocolate Level Six protested. “Why would you need to figure anything out?”

  Trist rolled his eyes. “Snakes, Dillac, will you let me—”

  But it was too late. A burst of protest came from the group, frustrated and confused and filled with a far deeper rage than Johnny anticipated. He realized he was in a room full of skids who, if they got vaped, were going to stay vaped. If this anger at Johnny turned on the panzers and squids . . .

  “All right!” Trist barked in voice loud enough to echo. Around them, the central bowl of the Combine went silent; thousands of Level Ones and Twos suddenly noticing the group of high level skids in their midst. Trist ignored all of them. “I told you we wouldn’t get anything done if everyone talks. You told me your problems, I’ll get to them.” He glared at Kesi and Dillac. “Let me handle this.”

  Johnny stared at him. He’s trying to help other skids and he doesn’t even realize it. He hoped Shabaz got here soon, this could get ugly fast. They weren’t listening to Johnny, maybe they would listen to her. He turned on the com. Babe?

  Almost there, stay frosty.

  He was trying to. Out loud, he said, “Look, guys, if you want to talk about this, we can talk. Why don’t we go hit a sugarbar and . . .” His voice trailed off.

  There was a creature standing on the ramp.

  “What are you looking . . . ?” Trist said, adjusting his trail-eye before his voice fell away as well. Slowly, the whole group followed Johnny’s gaze, staring at the ramp.

  The creature was wearing a strange, mottled glam, like the woods on a sunlit day, but darker. Two bright blue eyes centred a ridiculously small head, and it stood on legs, not treads. There was a rifle in its hands.

  Johnny recognized him.

  Apparently, the creature did the same. The rifle came up. “You,” the creature said. “I know you.” The creature took two quick steps forward—everything about him tight and in control. Except for the eyes. There was panic in the eyes.

  He stopped and stared at Johnny. Then in a voice that combined confusion and fear and rage, he asked, “What is happening to me?”

  “What the hole . . . ?” Trist said.

  “Trist, I need you to shut up now,” Johnny said sharply.

  “Now, just a—”

  Johnny swung all three eyes. “Trist. Shut. Up.”

  No one three-eyed another skid. “Okay,” the Seven said, frowning. “We can do that.”

  Johnny swung two eyes back towards the creature, no, soldier—Betty had said they were soldiers. His gaze swept the crowd along the way. He didn’t think that rifle could do permanent damage in the Skidsphere to the Level Threes, but it could probably vape the panzers. Fortunately, everyone appeared to be staying back. Which was good, because none of them knew what they were looking at.

  Johnny wasn’t even sure he knew what he was looking at. “Okay,” he said, spreading his Hasty-Arms wide in what he desperately hoped was a universal gesture for don’t vape me. “It’s okay, no one here is going hurt you. Let’s all just stay calm.”

  “I am calm,” the soldier said, and Johnny had to admit, except for the eyes and the edge in his voice, the guy did seem calm. Except for the eyes. “I’m a lake with no breeze. Now what the fuck is going
on? Who are you . . . people?”

  “Skids,” Johnny said. “We’re called skids. And you’re . . . Krugar, right?” He was pretty sure that was what Betty had said, desperately trying to remember everything she had told them.

  “How do you know that? Who are you working for?”

  Johnny frowned. “I’m not working for anyone. No one here is. Listen, can you put the gun down? I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  “Then don’t do anything stupid,” the soldier said, his voice getting calmer, as if this conversation was a familiar one. “Talk first, then I’ll decide about the gun.” He paused, his eyes darting left and right. It must have been annoying not to have them on stalks. “Getting people to back up will help.”

  “Okay, everyone roll back a tread,” Johnny said.

  Trist didn’t move, an eye on Johnny, an eye on the soldier, and the third swinging between the two. “What is this? Some kind of stunt?”

  Crisp Betty. “Trist, I swear if you don’t stay out of this until you know the play, I’ll start playing the games again and I’ll spend every second vaping you before you even find second gear. You want to talk about the Combine after, fine, we’ll talk, but for now . . . back up.”

  Trist glared at him, then without turning, rolled back exactly one tread length. The rest of his group glanced at Trist then did the same.

  Johnny eyed the soldier. “All right?”

  “It’s a start.” Although he didn’t lower the gun. “But I better start getting answers.”

  Johnny didn’t even know the questions. “How did you get here?”

  Krugar jerked his head back towards the ramp. “I walked out of that forest that surrounds this place. Followed you and your girlfriend yesterday.”

  Johnny hadn’t seen anything, but he’d also been a mess after Makaha.

  Johnny, I’m by the ramp. Is that Krugar? How the hole . . . ?

  No clue, Johnny thought, one eye briefly flickering towards the ramp, just hold tight until—

  In one smooth motion, Krugar pivoted and pointed the rifle at the ramp—at the exact spot Johnny had looked. As he did, he released one hand from the barrel, pulled a pistol out from a hidden holster, and pointed it back at Johnny. “Whoever’s there,” he barked, “come out slow and hands up.” Angling his head so he could keep the ramp in his sight, he said to Johnny, “Believe me when I say I can take you both.”

  Okay, Johnny thought, that was impressive. Before he could speak, he heard Shabaz say, “Okay, I’m coming down the ramp. Let’s all just stay calm.”

  To Johnny’s surprise, the soldier chuckled. There was an edge to it, but for a second, Krugar was amused. “I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon.” He didn’t lower the rifle or the gun, but his grip seemed to relax.

  “Probably not,” Shabaz said. She rolled down the ramp and stopped at the bottom. “Where do you want me?”

  Another chuckle and this time the pistol went away. Keeping the rifle on Shabaz, he said, “Over with the rest. I don’t have three eyes.”

  Shabaz started to join the others, then stopped. A second eye joined the first and squinted at the ground, following something to the base of his feet. “Uh, Krugar, is that always there?”

  Immediately, his hands tightened on the rifle. “Nice try. Do I look like an idiot? Now stop—” His voice trailed away as he quickly glanced down and up. Then back down. “What the fuck?”

  It took a second for Johnny to see what Shabaz had seen: a faint jagged line, running from Krugar back out the Combine.

  Then, as he scoped it, the line widened ever so slightly into a fissure. “Oh snakes,” he breathed. The crack didn’t just run from Krugar’s feet up the ramp—it probably ran all the way back to the Spike and then out into the woods. His eyes came up and he caught Shabaz’s expression and realized that she’d figured it out too. “Everyone back away!” he yelled, rolling back from Krugar. The fissure grew a little bigger.

  “What’s happening?!” Krugar yelled. The panic was back. He tried to step away from the gap, but it followed him, growing wider.

  There was a loud, sharp crack that filled the Combine. Oh no, Johnny thought, fear and dismay filling his heart. Not again. Not here. “EVERYONE GRAB EVERYONE ELSE!” Without thinking, he rolled towards Shabaz, his hands coming up, reaching out towards her. “EVERYONE NEEDS—”

  He didn’t get to finish. The world roared, the crack split wide open, and the entire Combine fell into the dark.

  CHAPTER SIX

  This seems familiar, Johnny thought.

  As the black began to tear at his stripe, he remembered the sensation after falling through the Pipe: a thousand teeth with a thousand teeth. Lovely. I’ve sure the hole missed this. A familiar anger surged through him and he attacked the black.

  Because it wasn’t the Pipe; for a lot of reasons. He knew what was coming. He was stronger than he’d been, far stronger. And he wasn’t alone. He didn’t even need to feel Shabaz nearby, he could see her grey-aqua shape. Hey, you . . .

  I’m fine, she sent back immediately. Worry about the others, grab as many as you can. I’ll work this side. He felt her attention start to shift away before briefly flicking back: But it was sweet of you to ask.

  A surge of affection and pride; he couldn’t believe how far she’d come from being the skid who complained all the time just three months ago. Another surge of warmth, then he focused. The black was definitely getting to him, but he could hold for a while. They’d almost certainly break through before—

  A white-red smear, bright and strong, to his left. Onna! He screamed her name into the centre of the smear, backing the name with her colours.

  Ohsnakesohsnakes—her thoughts cleared but stayed frantic—oh, vape me what the hole is this?!?

  Hold on. Think of your stripes and your name. Grab who you can.

  How am I—wait, is that Trist? Without any hesitation, he felt her reach out in the direction of a yellow-black shape.

  Johnny could almost feel his stripe tilt. Ah hole, if you rescued Albert, she can rescue Trist. Although, I didn’t rescue Albert. Maybe Trist can fend for himself. Another flash of colour and Johnny forgot about the angry Seven.

  The flash was green, but it was wrong—the green wasn’t bright like a skid’s colour, if anything, it was deliberately not bright. Krugar? He reached out for it and felt his grip slide away. Snakes. He tried again and failed again. He was trying to grab the mem like a skid, but this was different. He could feel Krugar fighting the black, but Johnny couldn’t connect to help. Colour did nothing. He tried screaming Krugar’s name.

  Wha . . . e fu . . . s this . . . The voice was weak and faint, like it was being screamed through a sieve.

  Shabaz, get over here, I need help.

  I’m kinda busy. . . .

  Shabaz, it’s Krugar, I can’t grab—

  Are you thinking the right shape?

  He could have slapped himself in the eye. Immediately, the colours grew sharper. He pictured reaching out for hands, smaller than his own, with an extra finger. He screamed Krugar’s name again and reached out.

  What? He felt the soldier mem grab hold. What the hell is this?

  No time. Just stay tight to me, I’ve got others to grab.

  He had no idea how many fell into the black this time, but he and Shabaz were able to grab a mass of abandoned skids. They still lost some, but they were going to be okay. The black was bad, but he and Shabaz could handle it, provided they found a way out sometime soon. He saw a smear of light and headed for it. See? We’re fine. Piece of—

  It wasn’t until he was about to break through that he realized the light wasn’t white.

  What?!

  The skids plunged into a world of grey and it all went spare. It felt like hitting a wall of mud. They still fell, but not nearly as fast. The grey seeped into everything. What is this? The black was a constant stream of teeth and knives, but this . . .

  I don’t like this at all.

  He suddenly r
ealized he’d lost the other skids. The grey had crept between them, wet and slimy and deceased. He reached out to find them again, but it was like reaching through old grease. How was he going to—?

  From out of the grey, a voice. Johnny?

  A shiver down his stripe. Peg?

  A beat, and then . . . Snakes, you know how to make a girl feel special.

  Bian?!

  From his left, what might have been a smear of red and yellow. Second place will have to do. You’re in trouble, Johnny.

  Bian, what the hole? The grey was seeping into his skin, he could feel it, it was getting hard to think. He felt hungry.

  There’s no time. We have to get you out of the grey. It’s all breaking, Johnny. It’s all gone spare. They’re coming for the Thread, Johnny. They’re coming.

  Bian . . . He felt a wave of nausea, then his rage flared and he attacked the grey like he had the black.

  Not like that, Johnny. The grey’s different. You have to think slower. Her voice became faint and the smear of red faded. Keep your mind open. It won’t end with Betty. A pause. I’m sorry about Albert. I miss him too.

  Albert?! Bian, I—

  She was gone. If she was ever there at all. But how could that be Bian—unlike Peg, he had seen Bian die. Could she have somehow survived? Could—

  Another wave of nausea hit him and he ground his teeth in disgust. It felt like the grey was in his mouth. Run the race you’re in. Instinctively, he tried to pull his skin back from whatever it was that surrounded him and was surprised to feel it work. Okay, she said slower. It wasn’t easy; slowing down was not his style. But there were games where that mattered—The Pipe, The Skates, Up and Down—so skids could do it.

  Torg could have done it, Johnny thought. Snakes, he missed Torg.

  Stabbing didn’t work; so instead he tried imagining a wall inside him, surrounding his core, then pushing outwards, slowly. Several times he went too fast and felt the grey seep through. He reset and went slower. Snakes, this was taking—