Thread War

by Ian Donald Keeling

  “Hey, Johnny. ’Baz.” A beam of light, matching her stripe, appeared in each hand like a sword. “How’s tricks?” She turned and attacked the nearest grouping of grey, orange blades flashing like the blades in Tunnel.

  “Well, all right then,” Johnny growled, a huge grin lighting his own stripe, as fire-saws from Wobble took out another group. “Okay, skids,” he yelled. “Let’s go!”

  He and Shabaz tore into the gap created between Torres and Wobble, with the others right behind. A single grey skid remained in their path; Shabaz plowed through it with ease.

  Stopping about thirty metres away, they watched Wobble and Torres decimate the grey skids. Torres in particular was a dervish of movement, tearing through the swarm, her orange blades everywhere.

  “Who’s that?” Onna murmured.

  “That’s Torres,” Johnny said. He couldn’t stop grinning.

  “Looks like she learned Betty’s light-blade thing,” Shabaz said, her eyes alight.

  Wobble descended from the sky, transforming from his sleek Anti-like knife look. Four arms emerged, one broken. As he touched down onto treads like a skid—one damaged—his head spun with a mechanical whir. “Actors in togas and hooray-hooray-hooray! All is Teddy Bears. Except the monsters-monsters. Wobble.” His head spun again, as Torres dispatched the last of the grey skids behind him. “Hello, friend Johnny, friend-friend Shabaz. I-We are warm and fuzzy.”

  “You are?” Akash said, stunned.

  “Yeah,” Johnny said, his heart filling. “Yeah, he is. It’s good to see you, Wobble.” The machine’s head spun with mechanical glee as Torres rolled up.

  “So . . .” she said grimly, as the light-swords in her hands continued to glow. “What’s new?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Snakes, it was good to see Torres, Shabaz thought.

  When they’d fallen into the Thread the first time, Johnny and Albert had had their thing. They took turns leading in their own way; they took turns hating each other. Torg had been Torg. And as for Betty . . . maybe Johnny had been able to relate to her, but the black skid had skills and experiences far beyond anything the average skid could comprehend.

  Which had left Shabaz with the others: holding on, desperately trying to survive, and then, desperately trying to contribute. Because if there was one thing a skid hated, it was feeling useless. She could have just whined and complained like she had her entire life, like she had when they’d first fallen through. But then skids had started dying. Permanently. And Torres, a panzer, had never complained, not once. She’d latched onto Albert, sure, but mainly she’d geared up and decided no matter what happened, she was going to figure it out. It had shamed Shabaz, but it had helped her realize that if a Level One could do it, maybe she could too.

  Plus, Torres was just . . . Torres.

  “So,” the purple skid said, “whatta we got?” She examined the group. “You two, a couple of Sixes, a talented Four, a barely Three, a One and . . .” One of her eyes settled on Krugar. “Huh,” she grunted. “Interesting. Still . . . not much of a group.”

  “Hey,” Johnny snapped. “We lost a few too.”

  A stab in Shabaz’s heart as it hit her: Shev. One of hers.

  Torres stopped, her stripe flushing. “Sorry, it’s been a rough week. Of course you did. We’ll grieve when we get safe.” She spat. “Safer. Wobble?”

  The machine folded into his battered knife shape and spun. “Rub-rub the bars together and watch out-out for gas giants.” His point stopped and he sped off through the trees.

  “Let’s go,” Torres said.

  Johnny glanced at Shabaz with a look that asked a thousand questions. She tried to return the gaze with a reassuring smile, tilting her stripes. Johnny held the gaze a moment, then turned to follow Torres. As they caught up with her, Johnny asked, “Where’s Al and Torg?”

  “Torg’s at our safehouse,” Torres said curtly. “We’ll get caught up there.”

  And Albert? Shabaz thought, as Johnny glanced at her again. What about Betty—had they found her?

  They didn’t go far before Wobble pulled up at a tree. “One broke-broken door. Wobble.”

  “That’s how we roll, Wobs,” Torres said. “All right: you and you and you and you.” She pointed at Kesi, Zen, Dillac, and Akash. “You’re in a chain with me, lowest levels on the inside. The rest—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, sister-say,” Dillac said, popping his Hasty-Arms. “I’m not holding anyone’s hands! I roll—”

  A hum as one of the orange light-swords popped free. Torres rolled up to Dillac, bumped his treads, and held the sword near his stripes. “Listen to me very closely. I don’t give a bucket of grease who you think you are in the sphere—out here, I tell you to hold someone’s hand, you hold their hand. I tell you to pop an eyeball and eat it, you do that too. Otherwise, you can go back and hang out with those grey things that vaped your friend.”

  Dillac stared at her, then swung an eye at Johnny. “Who the hole is this?”

  Shabaz tried not to laugh as Torres grinned. “I’m Torres. The machine’s Wobble.” Wobble waved a rickety arm and smiled a gap-toothed smile. “Now grab a vaping hand.”

  Dillac managed to hold her glare for a second, then his eye-stalks slumped. He rolled over to Akash and sullenly stuck out his hand.

  “It’s all right,” Akash said blithely. “I washed today.”

  Torres ran her gaze over Onna. “You pair up with them,” she said, pointing at Johnny and Shabaz.

  “Oh,” Onna said, staring at Torres and flushing. “Sure, no problem.”

  Torres turned her attention to Krugar. The soldier shrugged and raised his hands. “Wherever you’d like me,” he said casually. Torres grunted with what was probably approval. “All right, red stripes with Johnny, you take Shabaz.” She grinned. “I take it you’ll survive not holding Johnny’s hand, Shabaz?”

  So they were aware of what had happened back in the sphere. Shabaz rolled her eyes and replied, “Stuff it, squid. Where are we going?”

  “Question of the millennium,” Torres muttered. “Wobble?”

  One of the lenses on the machine’s frame whirred and the tree opened to reveal a door of black space. But inside the black . . . familiar golden lines.

  “What the hole?” Kesi said.

  “Oh, boz, no way, boz,” Dillac whined, making a sound like a jammed gear.

  We told you this wasn’t the Skidsphere. “You can trust Torres,” Shabaz said aloud. Kesi didn’t look like she felt like trusting anyone, but she kept her grip on Zen as they went through the door with Torres and the rest. “Don’t worry,” Johnny said to Onna as they approached the door. “It’ll be weird, but okay.” Although as Shabaz and Krugar approached the dark hole in the tree, she wondered if that was true.

  Because one of the lines inside was broken.

  She felt a familiar sensation of being stretched and then snapped back into place. But under that, another feeling: like barbed wire scraping along her skin. Then the world snapped back into place and they were in one of the Thread’s black hallways, lined with straight golden lines. Round doors of golden light—circles within circles—appeared on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Like most of the Thread’s hallways, there were blank spots where circle-doors should have been, but had been lost to the Thread’s damage.

  Unlike the other hallways, some of the golden lines were frayed and torn.

  “What the hole was that?” Dillac protested, tearing his hands away from Akash. “It felt like the wire in Up and Down, rhi!”

  “Hey!” Torres snapped. She released Zen and Akash and grabbed Dillac. “You do not let go until I tell you to let go.”

  “Get off’a me!” Dillac said, trying to yank his hand away from Torres. “Don’t squeeze my karma—yeeeeeeeooow!”

  Torres popped a light-sword and brought it against Dillac’s stripes, instantly filling the hallway with the smell of burning flesh. “Listen to me, you treadmark,” she hissed, bringing one of her eyes right up to o
ne of his own. “I am trying to save your life. But I’ve had a really crap day to go with a really crap week to go with a vaping fabulous month, so I don’t have time for squid treadgrease. So shut up, hold my hand, and then shut up some more.” The light-sword hissed and disappeared. “Let’s go.”

  “Whoa, hold on,” Johnny said. When Torres glared at him, he held up the hand that was clasped around Onna’s. “Still holding hands. But Dillac’s not completely wrong—what was that? That door wasn’t clean.”

  “We don’t travel clean,” Torres spat. “We travel broken. And we have to move.”

  Shabaz could feel the frustration rolling off his skin as he glanced at her—she felt it too. But it was still Wobble. It was still Torres. It sounded like Torg was waiting for them somewhere. “We don’t know the race yet,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “They do.”

  Where the hole was Albert?

  Johnny stared at her as if sharing the same thought, then bobbed an eye.

  Torres grunted. “Glad that’s settled. Now, gimme a minute.” She reached into one of the blank places on the wall and closed her eyes. Slowly, a set of four circles within circles appeared. Three of the four were frayed and the fourth barely glowed at all. The circles retreated into one another to reveal another door.

  “Crisp Betty,” Shabaz breathed. Every line of glowing light looked damaged.

  “Don’t say that vaping name,” Torres snapped. She sucked on her teeth, making a tsking sound. “All right, this will suck grease. We all hold hands in a line. I go first, Wobble comes last. Johnny, Shabaz, you anchor the middle with the panzer between you.”

  “My name’s Zen,” Zen said in a peeved voice, then flinched. “Don’t burn me.”

  The orange stripe flared, then softened in the broken glow of the door. “Zen, huh? Already got a name.” Torres glanced at Johnny and Shabaz. “Cool.” She took a long ragged breath. “We need to get through this and then one other door like that first one. Then we’ll all talk and be polite. Is that okay?” For a moment, the tough exterior slipped away and she looked exactly as young as Shabaz knew her to be.

  “All right,” Johnny said, slowly. “If you think this is best.” They all took hands and went through the circular door.

  It did suck. The tearing sensation reminded Shabaz of the time they’d dropped into the Skidsphere; unable to find the core, barely holding on, attacks from all angles eating them alive. She poured colour into Zen’s hand, sending the One’s name pulsing out like a prayer.

  Thankfully, the journey was short. A broken golden line moved towards them through the black and they emerged into a hallway.

  “Snakes,” Dillac snarled, glaring at Torres. “Can I let go now?”

  Smiling, Torres released his hand. “Don’t go far. Second I say, back with your partner. Don’t touch the frayed lines of light. Might bring trouble. Follow me.”

  “Torres, wait,” Johnny said. “We’ll follow you, but where are we going? Why did we just go through a broken door? That’s crazy. Where’s Albert? Did you guys find anything about Betty?”

  “Don’t say that name,” Torres spat.

  “What name? Albert? Betty?”

  Wobble let out a deflated metallic sound. Shabaz had never seen him look so sad—and Wobble often looked like he was filled with a profound sorrow.

  “We can talk when we get to the yard,” Torres said.

  “No,” Johnny insisted, reaching out and grabbing her Hasty-Arm. “We can talk now.” Torres slowly and deliberately eyed the hand on her arm. “Oh,” Johnny said, “you going to burn me too?”

  Torres held the look, then jerked her arm out of his and started to roll down the hallway. “You want to know why we’re travelling through broken doors, Johnny? Because everyone’s hero has gone spare. Congratulations: turns out Betty’s alive.” No sooner than she’d started to move, Torres ground to a halt. “And she’s destroying the Thread.”

  Beneath their treads, the floor rumbled.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Betty was alive.

  Johnny felt his heart soar. If Betty was alive then everything would be all right.

  Then the ground rumbled and he caught the second thing Torres said. “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah,” Torres snarled, jabbing an eye at him and Shabaz like it was their fault. “About two months ago we realized Betty survived the Core.”

  “That’s amazing,” Shabaz whispered.

  “You’d think. Except she didn’t just survive. She did better. Somehow, she latched into it, became part of it—we’re not exactly sure what. And then she went to war with SecCore. She’s trying to kick him out.”

  “Out of where?” Johnny said.

  Torres stared at him. “The Core.”

  “She’s trying to kick SecCore . . . out of the Core?” Shabaz said in disbelief.

  “The cops-the cops-are corrupt-corrupt,” Wobble said miserably.

  “Vaping right, they are,” Torres swore. “Betty’s taken control of some of the Antis. SecCore’s geared up to get rid of her. Which means there are far more Antis fighting each other and far fewer fighting Vies.”

  As if on cue, a black sphere of spikes-inside-spikes emerged from between two broken lines near Akash. The mint skid jumped back with a startled squawk, as Krugar’s rifle came up. But before the soldier could fire, Torres popped a light-sword and—almost as an afterthought—sliced through the Vie. She stared at the spot, then extinguished her sword as if it were routine.

  “What the hole was that?” Kesi protested.

  “A Vie,” Torres said flatly. “They’re supposed to be the bad guys.”

  Johnny couldn’t wrap his mind around it. This world felt crazier than the one they’d fallen into the first time. He didn’t know where to start. “If there’s more Vies than before, why are we going through broken spaces? There’s more Vies here.”

  “There’s more Vies everywhere. And the broken spaces are the hardest places for Betty to scan. We’re pretty sure she’s looking for us and she’s better at it than SecCore. Ever since she captured Albert.”

  “What?”

  “When we realized where Betty was and what was going on, Albert went to try and talk sense to her. We haven’t seen him since. But not long after he disappeared, we got a message from Betty to come and speak with her. We would have gone if not for Wobble. He didn’t like it.”

  “The cops-the cops are corrupt-corrupt,” Wobble said again, but with a different intonation than before. The machine actually looked more miserable than he usually did.

  “Yeah,” Torres said softly. “When we didn’t go right away, more Antis started showing up. We’ve been on the run ever since.” She sighed, and the exhalation seemed to drain her completely. “Look, we’re almost . . . we’re almost where we need to go. Can we just please just get there and then we’ll talk?”

  The need to ask questions was overwhelming. It occurred to Johnny that this was exactly how Trist must have felt when they were in the woods. He glanced at Kesi and Dillac. “Okay,” he said. “I guess I can wait.”

  “Thank you,” Torres said. They rolled a bit further, then stopped in front of a ring of circles in the floor. Torres looked at Dillac. “Holding hands again.” The skid, who had now been silent for longer than any time Johnny had known him, was staring at the broken lines of light. “Yeah, sure,” he murmured, taking Torres’s hand.

  This time the journey was short and painful. They emerged into a wide black space filled with golden grids of light: embedded in the floor beneath their feet, floating in a sky that seemed to stretch up forever, and even submerged below the floor—layer upon layer descending into the depths. In front of them, a massive black block, the thick golden lines around it bright and complete.

  Kesi stared at the open space behind her. “Where the hole is the door we went through?” Her voice was strained, but she was holding it together. They all were, even Dillac, although the change from familiar woods to the weird black-gold glow of the Thread had
shocked most of them into silence. Johnny glanced at Krugar; the soldier hadn’t spoken recently. He caught Johnny’s look, nodded once, then went back to studying the environment.

  “We’ll talk in here,” Torres said, “but it probably won’t make your head any less messed up.” Raising her voice, she said: “Hey, open up, we’re here.”

  The golden lines moved and formed into a door. They rolled into a room filled with hollas. They lined the walls and ceiling, dozens and dozens of them, flickering with a bright light that filled the room. By a bank on the far side, a familiar shape.

  “Torg!” Shabaz cried, gunning forward.

  “Nice to be recognized,” Torg drawled, spreading his arms wide before bumping treads with her. “You, sweetheart, are a sight for sore stalks.”

  “Sweetheart,” Shabaz beamed. “I like that.”

  “Great,” Johnny said, rolling forward. “I’ve been looking for a cute nickname for weeks and you come up with one in ten seconds.” He stopped in front of Torg. If he’d been forced to quantify the feelings coursing through his stripe at that moment, he doubted he could’ve done so. “Old panzer,” he said simply.

  “Dumb squid.” Torg held the gaze, then a huge smile split his stripes and he spread his arms. “Speaking of skids I’m glad to see.”

  “We can get caught up later,” Torres said shortly. “How are we doing?”

  “No,” Kesi said firmly. Two of her eyes wandered over the hollas, wide with amazement. The third was hard and stared at Torres. “We can get caught up now. Reunions can wait.”

  “Straight snakes, squi,” Dillac said. “It’s answer time.”

  Torres looked like she was considering the light-sword again. “Listen—”

  “No, you listen,” Kesi said. She rolled forward and stabbed a finger at Johnny and Shabaz. “It’s great that you all know each other and are going to tell each other stories, but we’re not with them. They don’t speak for us. You said we’d get answers when we got somewhere—well, this looks like somewhere.” She poked an eye at Torg. “He’s been here for a while, so it must be safe enough.”