They’d gone to the Core to steal information about Albert from Betty. What if Betty had given it to them?
He remembered wondering why she didn’t catch them when they were on the plain, why she wasn’t using her jets. How Krugar had taken her out with a grenade—come to think of it, how the hole did she miss Krugar being there in the first place? There’s no way she should have missed that.
What if the whole thing had been a play to get rid of them all? If Torres fought him down in those cells for one minute longer, if those things trapped them down there, with one side of the prison gone to grey . . .
She regrets this most of all.
Peg had said that. He’d thought she’d been talking about Shabaz—he’d just said something about her—but they’d been just outside the sim. What if she was talking about Betty?
Of course, Bian had also said something about how he was waiting but didn’t know how long he could, so maybe Albert had been alive at that moment. Of course, if Al was in a prison, he wasn’t exactly waiting, so why would Bian use that particular . . . ?
“Ugh,” he groaned.
“Everything okay?” Shabaz said, dropping back.
“What? Oh, yeah, I was . . .” He did not want to start a fight again. Then again, not talking about it hadn’t helped before. “Vape it, I was thinking about Peg. And Bian.”
“Oh,” she said warily, her stripes tightening.
“Listen,” he said, “I know this bothers you, I get it, I’m not mad that it does. I don’t know why I keep seeing Peg—I have no idea why Bian started to show up and spout nonsense—but I swear, I’m not creating them myself.”
“Okay . . .”
“I mean it, Shabaz. I miss Peg, sure, I always will. And yeah, the last time we were all here, I was probably still a little nuts about her. But I’m not with her now. It’s like you said back in the prison: I’m here. With you. I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
The edge of her lips quirked. “You know, I know I said I wanted to talk about this, but I wasn’t really serious.”
He laughed. “Sure you weren’t.”
“Not to be caught eavesdropping,” Torg drawled, dropping back, “but did I hear you say that you’re still seeing Peg? And now Bian?”
“Uhh . . .” Johnny said, eyeing Shabaz. This was already a touchy subject; he didn’t want to make it worse.
Shabaz tilted her stripes. “It’s Torg, we’re here.”
Johnny sighed. “Yeah, I’m seeing Peg. And sometimes Bian.”
“And they’re talking to you? As in, you’re having conversations? I thought Betty said that wouldn’t happen.”
“Betty said lots,” Shabaz muttered.
“True,” Torg said. A sadness crossed his face. “It has occurred to me that she might have led us into that prison.”
“I was just thinking that a minute ago,” Johnny said grimly.
“You mean so that we ended up like . . .” Shabaz’s voice trailed off, her eyes going wide. “That’s horrible.”
“One of the things Peg said right before we went inside was: she regrets this most of all.”
“Peg said that?” Torg said. “That’s rather cryptic.”
“It’s not like we have a normal conversation,” Johnny said. “They show up, say something weird, then disappear. They don’t talk like skids; they talk like Wobble. It’s all: She regrets this most of all, and: He’s waiting, but he doesn’t know how long.”
“Who’s waiting?”
“I don’t know, Torg!” Johnny protested. “I don’t understand anything they’re talking about, except the bit about how to fight the grey.”
“Peg told you how to fight the grey?”
“Uhh, no,” Johnny said, glancing at Shabaz. “Bian did. She, uh . . . she told me the grey wasn’t like the black, and that I had to fight slower.”
Shabaz’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Just when was this?”
“When we fell through the grey the first time. It was the first time Bian showed up. Well, just her voice, really. It was the only time she made any sense at all.” His voice trailed off as he saw the look in his girlfriend’s face.
“You said you thought that up.”
“I, uhh . . . I don’t think those were my exact words.”
An awkward silence, then Torg coughed. “Wow,” he said. “You’re really not getting any better at this, are you?”
Thankfully, that got a smile from Shabaz, even as she glared at Johnny. He looked back at her with what he hoped was the appropriate amount of innocence and shame.
It must have been close, because she did laugh. “Fine,” she said. “Here’s the deal, sir. The next time your friends show up, you tell me.” When he started to protest, she added, “I’m serious, Johnny. No more secrets. I won’t be mad at you, unless you keep hiding this from me. Either of those two show up, you let me know.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you won’t want to talk to them.”
“You don’t suppose right,” she snapped. “Seriously, if she’s got some message for us, she can share it with the group.”
“What else exactly did she tell you?” Torg said thoughtfully, looking up ahead.
Johnny sighed. “I don’t know, Torg. Like I said, except the bit about fighting the grey, it was all one liners and cryptic grease. Someone’s waiting. Something about something coming. That’s helpful.”
“You said they sounded like Wobble,” Torg said. “We know that he’s tied into the Thread in ways we can’t even comprehend. There are times when he sounds like he knows everything that’s ever happened to the Thread. Including the future.”
“Okay, that’s a little . . .” Johnny stopped. Wobble did sound like that sometimes.
“What if Peg and Bian aren’t Peg and Bian, but they’re some part of the Thread?” Torg said.
“You think the Thread’s trying to talk to me?” Johnny said. “To me directly—’cause let’s face it, no one else is seeing them. So it’s got to be me it’s talking to.” He laughed. “Crisp, Torg, I’ve got an ego but that sounds like something Betty might have thought.”
“Maybe you’re just the messenger.”
“If that’s the case,” Shabaz said coldly, “then the Thread can vaping pick someone other than Johnny’s ex-girlfriends to do it.”
Johnny considered pointing out that he’d never been with Bian, saw the look, and decided to keep his mouth shut.
Torg’s stripes tilted. “Got our attention, didn’t it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
They found a hub and travelled through it. The entire time, Shabaz kept looking behind her, expecting ghosts and feeling pissed.
Not long after, Torres had Wobble take them through a pulse. However, when the purple skid immediately started taking them down an unbroken hallway, Torg grunted and said, “I’m putting a stop to this.” He rolled towards the front. “Torres?” he called. “Torres!”
“What’s wrong?” Shabaz asked, scanning the corridor. Everything looked fine. She liked it when the hallways were empty.
“We’re travelling stupid,” Torg said. “We might as well be wearing a sign.Torres!”
The skid in question ground to a halt. “What?” she snapped.
“This is dumb. We don’t travel like this and you know it.”
“This is the fastest way back to the safehouse.”
“This is the fastest way to let Betty know where we are.” Torg’s voice softened. “Torres, I know you’re in pain, and maybe you’re right: maybe Betty’s waiting for us back home, maybe she’s watching us right now. But if there’s a chance she doesn’t know where we are, then you know how we roll.”
Torres looked like she was going to explode again, but instead she grew still and growled, “Fine.”
“Thank you,” Torg said. “Wobble, find us a broken path.”
Poor Wobble, Shabaz thought, as she watched the machine’s head rotate back and forth between Torg and Torres. He was getting torn apart by e
verything: the Thread, Betty, and now his friends. Nevertheless, he turned and after a moment found them a door, its edges frayed and sparking. They formed a chain, except for Torres. She glared at Shabaz’s proffered hand, then snorted and plunged through the door. Shabaz was pretty sure Krugar was right, Torres would come around. But it wasn’t going to be any time soon.
Once everyone was through, however, Torres did take the lead again. Torg watched her roll out front. “Could be a good sign.”
“And if she’s right?” Johnny said. “If Betty’s waiting back at the safehouse?”
Torg’s stripes took on a bitter tilt. “Wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong.”
They rolled in silence for a while, Johnny slowly dropping to the rear. Shabaz considered joining him, but given how bad he’d been hurt by Albert’s death, she wanted to give him some space. She had no idea if this was the right thing—all this was screwed-up new emotional territory—but she had to trust her instincts. He’d chosen to create some space, so she’d give him space.
But if he got that look on his face like he had company . . .
Stop it, she thought, angry at herself. Johnny had said he’d let her know if the girls showed up. It wasn’t his fault—she honestly didn’t believe he was creating them out of some kind of repressed love. They were something else, although she wasn’t ready to concede Torg’s theory. Then again, Johnny had said they sounded like Wobble. And Wobble did seem at times . . .
On a whim, she rolled over to the machine, who was drifting off to one side. “Hey, Wobble.”
Lenses spun, and remarkably, the metallic face split into a familiar broken smile. “Friend-Shabaz. Warm and fuzzy. Claw-clacks and press to send-send. Don’t tell-tell Indira she’s my favourite.”
“Right,” she laughed. Snakes, it was nice to see him smile. “I see you cleaned up a little.” He still looked battered, but at least he was no longer coated in dead-matter.
The grin widened, his single loose sheet-metal tooth flapping on its faulty hinge. “Broke-broken doors take the grey away-away. Dillac spoke true words, Wobble looked gross. Wobble.”
“Yeah, he’s a shaman,” Shabaz mused, then bit her lip. She had something she wanted to say, and then something she wanted to ask. But she was afraid the first would take the machine’s smile away and, with the second, she was just afraid. “Wobble,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did for Albert. What you did for Johnny.”
The smile did, in fact, fall away. Gears whirring, Wobble said, “Friend-Betty betrayed us all-all. No-no-no one should die alone. There were no teddy bears.”
“Yes, there were,” Shabaz insisted. “You were there. You saved Torres from herself, maybe all of us as well. Then you put Albert to rest. It was the right thing to do. It was grease you had to be the one to do it, but it was the right thing, Wobble. Albert didn’t die alone. He had you.”
Wobble’s lenses angled into grief and he stared at her for a long moment, no gears whirring at all. Finally, he said, “Thank you, friend-Shabaz. You should ask your questions.”
A shiver right through her stripes. There were times when Wobble didn’t sound broken at all. “Uh, okay,” she said, swallowing. She hesitated—but if she wasn’t going to ask, why had she rolled over? “Wobble . . . can you see the future?”
Immediately, Wobble’s head spun and rotated like a gyroscope. “Danger, danger, Robb became his own son, Yzz-pac sold the clampionship. This is not a safe mode of inquiry. The answer-answers already happened-happened—he is waiting, they are on the way. She shouldn’t have asked, she never did.” As abruptly as his head began spinning, it froze, staring at her. “You will part.”
The shiver became a stab. Unbidden, her Hasty-Arms popped and she covered her mouth, even as tears sprung. Because there was a second question she’d been going to ask.
She’d been going to ask if she and Johnny were still together.
“Okay,” she said meekly, backing away. Her eye-stalks shook and she wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to pass out. She was such an idiot. He was right, that was stupid, she shouldn’t have—why did she ask?! “I’ll just . . .” She wanted to flee, but where the hole was she going to flee to? She started to turn away. . . .
“WAIT!” Wobble cried, arms out-stretched. “Untoward. They don’t know the whole truth, so help you god. The genie fools-fools them all.” He rolled towards her. “Do not give up hope. Clutching the flotsam, Homer came home. He-She saved each other. The Thread is greater than you could ever imagine.” His head spun once, then stopped, staring into her eyes. “There are a trillion suns and each one knows of love.”
She was going to pass out. How do you survive emotional swings like this? Do not give up hope. Her stripes felt like they were burning. There are a trillion suns. . . .
The crazy thing is . . .
She gulped a breath. Then another. Another. “Okay,” she said, looking up into lenses that had no right to convey pain or hope but nonetheless did. “Okay,” she said again. On an impulse, she placed a hand on the side of Wobble’s head. Gears whirred and the machine broke into its broken grin. “Okay,” she said a third time. “I won’t give up hope.”
“Hooray!” Wobble hooted, then rose from the floor, transformed into his knife form, and darted forward through the group. Shabaz stared after him, stunned into bemusement.
“Interesting conversation?” Krugar said, stepping up beside her.
“That’s one way of putting it.” Her stripes were still vibrating. She took a ragged breath.
Krugar cocked his head. “You all right, Shabaz?”
Snakes, she must look a mess. “Yeah,” she said, sucking in air again. She blinked rapidly, her eyes still full of tears. “Just asked a question I probably shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have intruded.”
“No,” she said, reaching out. “It’s okay. Seriously, I’m okay.”
The soldier smiled. “Good. I was on my way to sweep up front, but it looks like he’s got that covered. I’ll just head back.” He turned, then caught the look she was giving him. “What?”
“You’re pretty cool, Krugar.”
“Thank you.” His eyes crinkled in surprise. “What brought that on?”
“You did. You got thrown into this world; I don’t even know what we must look like to you. You don’t know any of us, you don’t know what’s going on more than anyone else, and yet you haven’t complained once.”
Now the smile intensified. “Nah,” he said. “I complain lots. I just do it when you’re not looking.”
“Krugar,” she said flatly. “We have three eyes. We’re always looking.”
“Well, that’s true.” He shrugged. “Could be worse.”
“It could?” she said incredulously.
“Yeah. I mean, sure, the situation is pretty bad. I’m still not sure I understand all of it, but it’s bad. I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Thanks,” she said, her eyes dipping with sorrow.
Krugar gave her a moment then continued. “But the situation is only half the thing. The other half is who you’re with.” He cocked his head. “You want to know what you look like to me? I don’t understand the world you’re from, I don’t get how your lives work, but you all seem pretty cool to me.”
“Really?” she said. “Even Dillac?”
“He the one that talks like he got hit in the head a few times? You should see some of the trubs we get in basic. Besides, he stood up for Johnny. That’s something.”
It certainly was, she thought.
“For all that talk when we first got here about how you all don’t help each other, that yellow guy taking off . . . you all came around faster than I expected. I thought that one over there—Kesi, right?—I thought she was going to be a problem.” He shrugged. “Sometimes people surprise you.”
Sometime they surprise themselves, she thought, remembering what she’d been like, re
membering how useless she’d felt until, suddenly, she’d stopped making excuses. She glanced back at Johnny. She remembered the moment he’d saved her life—him and Albert—and then that moment that she’d helped, that moment when she realized that she wasn’t useless after all. Another thought followed.
Krugar caught the look. For a creature with two eyes, he caught a lot. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, flushing.
“Is this about one of those questions you probably shouldn’t ask?”
Caught way too much. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”
“Shabaz . . .” he drawled. For a moment, he sounded exactly like Torg. “I’m a pretty tough man. If your question bothers me, I’ll choose not to respond. Ask your question.”
She shivered. That was a little close to what Wobble had said. “It’s about . . . you said you had a woman you loved?”
Krugar nodded. “My wife. Laleh.”
Now she felt like an idiot. This was mean; she was better than this.
“You’re worried you’re going to hurt me because of the way I talked about my wife back in that place with all the holograms. When I said I thought she wasn’t real.”
“Krugar, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it. I changed my mind about that.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Laleh, Aden, Huma—that’s my son and daughter—they’re real. I decided that.”
“You decided that?”
“Why not?” He rapped a knuckle off the nearest wall. “Look, I get it now, I think: we’re programs in a giant program. So we could all just curl up and say none of this matters, none of this is real. If you thought about it one way, I never met my wife, she never existed, she’s just a program inside a program. She’s just another layer. Just another thread, I guess.”
Shabaz couldn’t believe how matter-of-fact he was, how quickly he’d come to grips with the Thread. She’d been out here twice and still didn’t like to think about it.
“But the thing is,” he continued, “I got over twenty-five years of memories of my wife. Eighteen years of my son, sixteen of my daughter. And they’re real.” He shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. “They’re real. The way Laleh’s favourite smell was orange blossoms. The way Aden took way too long to learn how to walk—Christ, we were worried. The way my daughter is smarter than I ever will be.” His face scrunched up and for a moment he looked away. “Sure, maybe I don’t get to see them again, and that . . . that’s horrible. But they’re real. They’re alive.” He looked back and tapped his head. “Up here.”
Thread War Page 17