Thread War

by Ian Donald Keeling

  She put her hands on Zen. “What do we do?”

  Snakes, he loved her. “Follow me,” he said and dove into Zen.

  He’d been terrified Shabaz was still infected, but she was a strong wave behind him. They dove for Zen’s core together, where they found him barely holding on. Given the extent of the infection, it was a wonder he was alive at all. For a Level One, he had crazy fight. First Dillac, now him. Like Shabaz the first time, there was strength in the most unexpected skids.

  And none of them wanted to die.

  He had a brief flash of Makaha, vanishing in the woods without a chance to fight. The race you’re in, he thought, banishing the image.

  Taking one side of Zen’s core, Shabaz took the other. It took two tries, but Shabaz learned fast and, on the second attempt, Johnny felt Zen join them as they pushed the black out. “Whoa,” Shabaz said, rolling back from Zen as they emerged. “So that’s what that feels like on the other side.”

  “Come on,” Johnny said grimly. “Kesi next.”

  “Hold on,” Torg said, rolling over. “Take a tread, Shabaz. I want in on this.”

  “Me too,” Torres said.

  “Okay,” Shabaz said, sounding a little relieved. “Johnny, are you okay to keep going?”

  “However long I have to. Okay, Torg, you help with Kesi; Torres, you’ll help with Onna. Onna? Can you hold on?”

  “I think I sprained something,” the Level Four groaned weakly. “I’m good for five. Maybe don’t make it ten.”

  Torres moved towards Onna. “Maybe I should—”

  “Wait for me,” Johnny said firmly. “We won’t need five.” He hoped that was right.

  Kesi wasn’t in great shape, but she was in better condition than Zen or Dillac and, like the others, she had lots of fight. Johnny might have been able to handle it himself; instead, he backed off and let Torg take the lead to learn more. Torg instinctively supported Kesi and after a few attempts they pushed the virus out.

  As they emerged, Kesi’s eyes went wide. “I am so sorry. If that’s what you’ve been doing for other skids, that was incredible. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” Torg drawled, although it was an exhausted drawl.

  “Johnny!” Torres cried, and he swung an eye in time to see Onna collapse into her treads.

  Oh, snakes, Johnny thought, gunning it. Torres already had her hands on the completely black skin. Not a shred of white or red left. “Her name and her colour,” he said to Torres. “Hold on, Onna.”

  Somehow, Onna was even worse than Dillac. Of course she was, Johnny thought, furious with himself. She’d held up an entire side of the formation alone, for Crisp’s sake! Who knows how many times she’d been tagged. And she was only a Level Four, why the hole had he allowed—

  Hey! The race you’re in! The thought came clear and angry as a purple streak passed Johnny, heading for Onna’s core. Johnny swallowed the guilt and followed Torres down. They arrived to find a white core already covered with black spores, the red stripes in shreds. Johnny could feel Onna fighting, but there was so much damage. One of the stripes tore away . . .

  ONNA! Torres screamed, plowing into the virus. YOUR NAME IS ONNA! Then she stunned Johnny by diving into the core.

  A second where everything went still: the core, the stripes, even the black. Then the stripes reformed like a whip and two voices roared—ONNA, ONNA, ONNA!—and tore into the black. Johnny, suddenly finding himself along for the ride, slipped in behind to support, but the virus never really had a chance.

  They emerged and Johnny rolled back from Onna with a bemused expression. Her white skin was flawless, her four stripes thick and strong. Torres grunted, as a bloom appeared and vanished from her skin. “You all right?” Johnny asked, amazed.

  “Yeah,” she said, spitting. “My stripes feel like they’ve been scraped, but I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  “That was incredible,” Onna said, staring at them. “Thank you so much. Both of you.” Although she had two eyes on Torres. “Thank you.”

  Torres caught the look. Despite the grimace on her face, her stripe flushed. “No problem. You . . . you would have done the same for me.” She coughed awkwardly, then swung an eye at Johnny. “So that’s how that’s done.”

  “Uhhh . . . yeah,” he said. Torres had gone right into Onna’s core. “That’s how we do that.” He backed up a tread, studying Onna. “Glad you’re good.” Rolling away, he chuckled.

  Right into her core.

  Shabaz rolled up. “I’m fine,” he grinned, reading the look on her face.

  “Are you sure? You just did four skids, one after another, including Dillac by yourself. You’ve never done that many before.”

  “I’m a little nauseous, but I’ll be okay.”

  Krugar walked over. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but whatever it was, it was impressive.”

  Johnny’s stripe twitched. Right into her core. “Torg and Torres did most of the heavy lifting on the last two. I just helped a little.”

  “Helped a little,” Shabaz said in disbelief. She bumped his treads. “You’re an idiot.”

  “Hey, I just saved four lives, I think that makes me heroic.”

  “Except Torg and Torres did the heavy lifting.”

  “You helped too.”

  She smiled at that. “Good answer.”

  Krugar was looking at Onna with one of the most intense expressions Johnny had ever seen on the soldier’s face.

  “What?” Johnny asked.

  Pursing his lips, Krugar said, “If we’re all programs in a giant program, then didn’t you just do some programming?”

  Johnny barked a laugh. “Wasn’t it you who said you can’t think that big?”

  “No,” the soldier said, examining the other skids. “I said there are times when you can’t.”

  “Like when there are an unknown amount of Antis out there trying to kill us?”

  Krugar chuckled. “Fair enough. A thought for later, then.” He looked towards the door, as the pounding sounds of battle continued outside. “I’d offer to help Wobble . . .” The pounding stopped and one of those full-mouth smiles split Krugar’s face. “But it appears he might have it under control.”

  A moment passed, then the door slid open and a battered Wobble rolled in. Johnny had seen the machine damaged before, but this was ridiculous. His whole body smoked, charred black in dozens of places, twisted and scarred in a dozen more.

  “Snakes, Wobble,” Torg breathed. “Maybe you should have let us help.”

  “Negatory,” the machine said, and his face broke into a huge shattered grin, multiple teeth dangling. “Max-Max told the story. One thousand men enter-enter, one man leaves. Wobble.”

  “Well, at least you managed to shut them down,” Onna murmured, staring at the smoke rising from Wobble’s carriage. Remarkably, his twisted parts were slowly moulding back into shape. The charring slowly faded.

  “Negatory. Antis gone rogue-rogue. Too random to shut down, no one jumps that-that worm. I-We eliminated the problem. Wobble.”

  “Eliminated?” Johnny said, staring. “You mean you wiped out all those Antis?”

  “Affirmative. You-We know what we bring.”

  Johnny leaned over towards Torg. “Is it me or were there an insane amount of knives out there?”

  “One would have thought. Although machines count a little different than we do.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. That was one way to put it.

  “Come,” Wobble said, spinning on his treads. “We-I will find the lights.” Even though he still had his stutter, there was a purpose behind Wobble’s words Johnny had never heard before. Wobble was always excited, but Johnny had never seen him driven.

  As they rolled out into the still darkened factory, Johnny tensed, half-expecting an Anti to loom out of the darkness. But he began to relax after they rolled down corridor after corridor in peace. The light from Wobble and Krugar lit off brilliant white surfaces, sometimes disappearing into the darkness. W
herever they were, the space was huge.

  Dillac rolled over. “Hey, boz. Thanks for the save back there. Tight game, rhi.”

  Johnny’s stripe tilted. “No problem. You did a lot of the work. And the way you survived falling out of the formation, that was . . . that was something.” He chuckled at the memory of Dillac, from the storm of Vies, screaming, “This is treadgrease!” When most skids ate a Vie, they died. Dillac must have eaten dozens.

  “True words.” Dillac held up a splayed hand, fingers pointed out. Johnny blinked and stared at him.

  Dillac rolled his eyes. “Tap’em, boz.” When Johnny awkwardly tapped his middle finger against Dillac’s, the crimson skid rolled his eyes again. “Squi’s got moves like bam and still don’t know the know.” He rolled away, shaking his stalks.

  “Looks like you disappointed him,” Shabaz murmured, rolling up.

  “Apparently I got moves like bam but still don’t know the know.”

  Her gaze narrowed and then, abruptly, she burst out laughing. “That might be the best description of you I have ever heard,” she giggled.

  Bumping her treads, he said, “Shows what you know about the know.” A gleaming white loomed out of the darkness. “I wonder how far we have to go to find the lights?”

  “We-We are here,” Wobble announced.

  “Well . . . all right then.”

  “Warning, warning,” Wobble said, his head spinning with barely contained enthusiasm. “The Sim could not chill. This— this may be . . . impressive. Wobble.” A gear whirred and the lights came on.

  It was impressive.

  “Vape me,” Kesi whispered and Johnny couldn’t blame her for cursing. He’d expected big. After all, they’d already rolled a fair distance and it was a factory.

  He just hadn’t expected this big.

  The pentagonal space they occupied was larger than the central hall of the Combine, rising up, level by level. Everything gleamed a smooth white, like the surface of an Anti. On each of the five sides, a corridor extended into the distance.

  “It’s like a ghostyard,” Shabaz breathed, rolling towards the centre of the space, her eye-stalks stretched out in three directions.

  “It can’t be that big,” Johnny murmured, but he wasn’t certain. He tried to scope to the end of a corridor and failed.

  Pods lined each of the five corridors, presumably for the creation of other Wobbles. Just how many had been made? Johnny had been thinking in terms of hundreds, but now that he saw this space he realized that he’d been thinking way too small. He’d seen thousands of Antis before—hole, he’d felt like there’d been that many waiting for them in the unlit factory. If SecCore had tried to make as many Wobbles as there were knives . . .

  “Agendas and departure windows,” Wobble said. “I-We must repair-repair before We-I can return the hub to active-active status.” His head never stopped spinning. “This will require time-time.” He started towards one of the hallways.

  “Whoa, hey,” Johnny said. “What will take time? Time where?”

  “Follow.” Wobble didn’t even break stride.

  Johnny stared after him, then looked at Torg and Shabaz. “I guess we follow,” Torg said.

  Not far down the corridor, they came to another, extending off to the side. More pods lined the walls. Wobble reached out and one of the chambers opened: an empty, glowing space about twice the size of the machine.

  Wobble’s head spun as Johnny and the others pulled up. “Pit stops and lasers under light. I-We must repair.” Johnny had never heard the machine so excited. “We will be some time.”

  “How much time?” Johnny demanded, not even sure what Wobble was going to do. Was he just going to shut himself inside the chamber for—what? Hours? Days?

  “Uncertain. But repairs must-must occur if more Wobbles are to be created. Do not fear, We-You found the map. Try the one on the left. All will be Teddy Bears.” Without any other warning, he rolled into the chamber. A clear cover emerged from the top and turned opaque as it sealed shut.

  “Huh,” Krugar chuckled. “Well, I guess if it’s all going to be teddy bears, it can’t be that bad.”

  Johnny slowly swung a skeptical eye. “You know what a Teddy Bear is?”

  “Sure. I’m pretty sure Huma still has mine from when I was a kid.” He ran a hand over the chamber, which softly pulsed with light. “Still . . .”

  “Still what?”

  “Well,” Krugar said. “He was pretty much our big gun. What happens if something other than a teddy bear shows up while he’s inside this thing?”

  “Uhhh . . .” Johnny said, staring at the softly pulsing chamber. “Hope it’s willing to wait?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Shabaz watched Wobble’s pod seal tight with mixed feelings.

  She was thrilled he was finally getting a chance to repair the damage that had haunted him for so long. But Krugar had a point: he was their big gun. Shabaz had gotten so accustomed to having the machine cover their stripes; now that he was gone, she felt exposed. Not only that, but Wobble was the only one who knew anything about where they were.

  “So,” Onna said, staring at the pulsing chamber. “What just happened?”

  “It would appear Wobble will be indisposed for a time,” Torg drawled.

  “He couldn’t have waited a bit?” Kesi said. “He could have at least shown us around first.”

  “Hey!” Torres barked. “Wobble gets to decide whether or not he plays tour guide. If he wants to get repaired first—you got a problem with that?”

  Kesi sighed. “Look, I’m not shredding your friend. That guy saved us all a crazy amount of times. But Krugar’s right, what are we supposed to do now?”

  “We look around ourselves,” Shabaz said, rolling back to the main hallway. She understood Kesi’s concern, but Torres was right. Mixed feelings or not, after everything Wobble had been through, he could do what he wanted.

  “Is that safe?” Zen said, glancing at Krugar.

  “I’m pretty sure Wobble wouldn’t have left us if he thought there was still any danger. He took care of the Antis, Betty doesn’t know we’re here, and I doubt any Vies are getting in. Look at this place, it’s spotless.”

  “Yeah,” Kesi said, “but Wobble didn’t say we could look around.”

  “Didn’t say we couldn’t, rhi,” Dillac said, nudging her tread as he rolled past. “Let’s go see where at’s at.”

  Shabaz led them back to the main hub. She couldn’t believe the size of the factory—how were they supposed to get something this big up and running? Could Wobble do it all by himself? If he could get it going, could they create enough Wobbles to clear the Vies that surrounded the facility? Could they create more?

  For the first time since falling back into the Thread, Shabaz felt a surge of hope. They’d had disaster after disaster, but this place was so immense and it was untouched by Vies or corruption. No black, no grey. Nothing looked broken. It might not be working yet, but when it did . . .

  “We could win,” Shabaz said softly.

  “Well, we’re due,” Johnny said, rolling up and giving her a nudge. “Right, Krugar?”

  “Amen,” the soldier said, his gaze sweeping the entire factory. “This is a good idea. We find out what else is here; maybe find a place to defend, if necessary.”

  “Why?” Onna said. “Betty doesn’t know about this place, right?”

  “Yet,” Krugar said. “But SecCore sounded like that wasn’t guaranteed forever.” He pointed up. “I’ll see if I can’t get to the upper floors, find some lines of sight.”

  “All right,” Shabaz said. She looked at Johnny. “What do you think?”

  A grin split his face. “Hey, this was your plan. Point me in a direction.”

  She loved cocky Johnny, she really did, but some things deserved a response. Which is why she said, “All right, we’ll go in pairs. Stay in touch. Find anything, report it over the com.” She pointed at one of the corridors, and added in her sweetest tone, “Why do
n’t you and Dillac take that one, Johnny?”

  The grin faded a bit, then, remarkably, intensified. “Absolutely, boss-mama-sir.” He jerked an eye. “Come on, Dillac, let’s go see where at’s at.”

  Okay, she was definitely going to get him later for the boss-mama-sir thing. That and the smug whatever-you-can-dish-out look in his trail-eye as he rolled away. She tried to ignore the way her heart seemed to be accelerating as his eye remained on her.

  “Shabaz?” Torres said, but there was a little smile on her lips. “Any other pairs? Or was that it?”

  “Shut up,” Shabaz murmured, although it was good to see Torres smile. On a whim, she said, “Okay, why don’t you and Onna take that one?” The two skids glanced at each other and their stripes flushed almost in unison. Thought so.

  “Sure,” Torres said.

  “No problem,” Onna said, with the same flustered edge. Together they rolled off.

  “That was nicely done,” Torg drawled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shabaz grinned. “How about you and Zen go together?”

  Torg gazed at the Level One. “You promise to take it easy on me?”

  “Okay,” Zen said, his eyes a little wide.

  After they left, Kesi said, “So I guess that leaves us. Didn’t trust Dillac and me together?”

  “Not at all,” Shabaz said easily, studying the remaining skid. “I just thought Johnny had it coming.” She was pleased Kesi laughed at that. “And besides, we haven’t had a chance to spend much time together.”

  “No,” Kesi said, hesitating. “I guess not.” She considered the two remaining corridors. “So which one do we take?”

  They both looked the same: gleaming white and impossibly long. She was going to let Kesi pick as a peace gesture when Shabaz remembered something Wobble had said, just before he’d entered his repair pod. “Let’s try the one on the left.”

  The hallway was lined with pods, stretching up into the heights. Shabaz counted thirty levels before she finally gave up. At a certain point, the uniform white and the haze from the glow made everything blend together. Same thing with the corridor: if it had an end, she couldn’t see it.