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by S. B. Divya

  When she made it as a big-time embed racer, she could get her brothers in on the game. T’Shawn, too. They could be her legit support team. Maybe Felix would grow up to become an embed developer too. They could live in an actual house with separate bedrooms, and she would never have to share a bathroom again. Or worry about someone eating her food. She wouldn’t even have to think about food, because she would hire someone to keep their fridge well stocked.

  Best of all, if she were rich, she could have moot surgery and maybe convince her younger brothers to do the same. Jeffy was a lost cause, though he didn’t hate moots like their mother did. And what would Amihan say about Marmeg’s success? She would have to take back every nasty, negative comment she’d made about Marmeg’s looks or smarts. She might even get licensed grandkids. Marmeg would gladly gift Jeffy the fees if he could stay with one girl long enough.

  Her cuff beeped. She was off course by a quarter mile. She stopped running and traced a corrected path. Her sweat cooled. She shivered and looked up at the gray skies. They’d grown darker and more swollen with rain. Keep moving, stay warm.

  She headed toward a mountain pass, the first of several on her planned route. The pass had looked smooth in the satellite images, an easy way to cross the first range. Maybe she’d meet another contestant there, though the pros preferred a challenge. Their sponsors paid for drama. This route did not promise excitement.

  Marmeg was damp, chill, and borderline miserable when she arrived at the rock pile marking the climb to the pass. The rain had eased to a sprinkle. Cold had settled in its place like a determined, unwelcome houseguest.

  Someone stood at the cairn. Marmeg was momentarily relieved at the sight of another human being, but she hung back, out of zir line of sight. Would this person be a friend or a foe? Given her mixed reception at the staging area, zie was as likely to scoff at or even sabotage her as zie was to be helpful. If only she could look up zir ratings on the grid, she would know the answer in seconds.

  The person was staring at the space in front of zir face. Looking at maps, Marmeg assumed. She gathered her courage.

  “Hoy,” she called, coming forward.

  Zie turned and focused on her. Zir eyes were almost black in the gloomy afternoon light. They were framed by long, curving lashes. This one definitely looked moot, with dark brown skin and curly black hair much like Marmeg’s, though zie wore it to zir shoulders. It hung damp and limp in ropy waves. Zie had the slightest hint of curves at chest and hip, enough to be alluring but not enough to give away what zie was born with. Zie showed little sign of wetness and no signs of cold, wrapped as zie was in an expensive-looking smartskin.

  “Hello. Are you headed up to the pass too?” Zie had an accent that Marmeg couldn’t place.

  “Firm.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes. Up the pass.”

  “Great. We can walk up together if you don’t mind the company.”

  Zie was rather cute. She wouldn’t mind spending an hour with zir, and they’d have plenty of time to split up and get back to racing on the other side. All or nothing, she thought.

  “Let’s go.”

  They walked along something that resembled a path but was more of a clearing between scraggly bushes, boulders, and twisted trees. They made a course correction whenever one of them spotted the next stack of rocks that marked the way.

  “My name is Ardhanara Jagadisha, but that seems to be a mouthful for Americans. You can call me Ardha.”

  “Arda,” Marmeg repeated, trying to shape the unfamiliar sound.

  “Close enough,” zie said with a friendly smile. “So, what brings you to this contest?”

  Chatty sort. Not her type after all.

  “Prize money,” Marmeg said.

  Ardha let a few beats of silence pass. Zie must have been expecting more from her.

  “I see. My father works for the Lucknow branch of Minerva, and the division there sponsored me to enter the contest. I’m mostly here to field-test their new technology, but the division wants publicity, too. If I win, they’ll be able to push for an expansion of the design center there. I’m studying electrical engineering. I might even work there someday.”

  “Where’s Lucknow?” Marmeg said, trying to keep up with zir words and strides. Ardha’s smartskin was much lighter than Marmeg’s old exoskeleton frames, and zie wasn’t carrying a pack.

  “India,” Ardha said, sounding surprised. Zie waved at zirself. “You couldn’t tell where I’m from?”

  Marmeg shook her head.

  “No tells on you. Full moot, full embed, right? It’s good.”

  Ardha looked pleased.

  “My grandparents are very progressive. They funded the sex surgery. For the embeds, I only had to pay for the implants. My sponsors donated the rest. So far, everything is holding up quite nicely. And your gear? Where is it from?”

  Marmeg flushed as she thought about what to say. The truth wouldn’t matter now, out here with no grid access and no way to update their ratings.

  “Gear’s filched, mostly,” she confessed. “Got some legit chips—arms, legs, body.” She tapped the base of her skull for the last one.

  “What’s ‘filched’? I’m not familiar with that term.”

  “From a Dumpster. What some loaded embed threw out.”

  “So, you picked up your gear from . . . a garbage bin?” Ardha’s face wrinkled in repulsion and then smoothed into neutrality. “We’re very careful to recycle all of our used gear so that it doesn’t fall into criminal hands. Of course, there’s so much corruption back home that the real criminals are running the country. That’s a different problem. So, isn’t this filched gear broken?”

  “Fix it. Rube it.” Marmeg shrugged. “Been doin’ since I was eight.”

  Ardha’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been repairing embed gear since you were eight years old? You must be very bright. How many sponsors do you have?”

  “Nada.”

  Ardha turned and stared at Marmeg.

  “Zero,” she clarified.

  “Yes, I understood that. I was simply speechless. Unusual for me, I know,” zie said. “But how is this possible?”

  “Born unlicensed. Bought my own later, but sponsors don’t like that. Amnesty parents, kids—too much contro. Can’t use us to sell their stuff.”

  “Ah, yes. I had forgotten about the new American caste system. If you’re racing without any sponsorship, what will you do if you can’t finish? There’s a heavy fine for being extracted mid-race. You know that?”

  Marmeg shrugged again.

  Something small and white drifted by. Then another. And another.

  “Snow?”

  “So it seems. I didn’t see that in the weather forecast. Did you?”

  Marmeg shook her head.

  “This should make the race more interesting.”

  Ardha reached back and pulled up a snug-fitting hood around zir head. Only zir face was exposed now. Tiny white flakes landed on zir brows and eyelashes, glittering there for a few seconds before melting away. Zir breath came in gentle puffs.

  Marmeg, working much harder, exhaled clouds of white. She wished she had thought to pack a warm hat. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would need winter weather gear in late spring, especially in California.

  The snow smelled incredible, somewhere between iced vodka and fresh rain. Bare mountain rock surrounded them. They’d left the trees behind and below. Up here, the only colors were wet cement, gunmetal grays, and white. The clouds hung heavy and close. Wind batted down at them and tossed tiny snowflakes into demented, gravity-defying spirals.

  Marmeg squinted, trying to see how much farther they had, but the slope and weather combined to make that a challenge. Ardha saw what she was doing and did the same.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” zie said.

  “What?”

  “You’ll see in a minute. Come on.”

  Ardha must have enhanced zir distance vision. Zie broke into a run as the granite surface
flattened into a gentle incline. Marmeg followed. They stopped abruptly just before the ground turned white. A field of ice stretched before them, all the way up to the top of the pass. Sheer vertical walls of stone rose up on either side. All Marmeg could see through the gap was sky.

  “Can you believe it? A glacier! I studied the satellite images extensively. This pass was supposed to be completely clear.” Zie kicked at the ice. “We’ll have to go back and take a different route.”

  “Nah. Let’s rube it,” Marmeg said.

  She sat and pulled out every metal item from her bag, spreading them on the ground until it looked like she was surrounded by shrapnel. Ardha stared as if she had lost her mind. Marmeg ignored zir and examined one item after another. Most were spare parts for her leg and arm exos—screws, pistons, actuators. The screws were too small, but the multi-tool with screwdrivers and blades? That had potential.

  Marmeg showed Ardha the small device. “Cut this up. Strap on the sharp bits. Could get us over.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’d help me through the pass?”

  “Sure. Splitsville after.”

  “That’s . . . very sportsmanlike of you.”

  “Got a prob, though.” Marmeg looked at the rest of the debris. “No metal cutters.”

  Ardha held out zir left hand as if zie wanted to shake. A sharp, two-inch-long blade pushed out of zir palm, just below zir pinky finger. Blood welled around the base of the blade, then congealed quickly into a brown scab.

  “It will cut through metal like butter, or so they promised me. I didn’t think I’d need it, but one of the engineers insisted. Give me the army knife.”

  Marmeg placed the multi-tool into Ardha’s right hand and tried not to look envious. As the engineers had predicted, Arhda’s blade sheared the hinge off with no effort. The various tools slid out and fell to the ground.

  “Got a drill, too?”

  “Yes. Right here in my index finger.”

  Ardha retracted the blade, and Marmeg watched in fascination as zir skin speed-healed over the wound. A small drill bit poked through zir right index finger. Marmeg pulled off her boots.

  “Drill here and here,” she said, pointing.

  The drill made the barest whine as Ardha punctured the reinforced carbon steel lining of her boots. Ardha’s boots were much thinner, and zie put holes in them to match hers. While zie worked on zir boots, Marmeg attached the tools—one screwdriver tip and one short blade for each foot. It was a poor substitute for crampons, but their enhanced balance could make up for it.

  “The pass must have been in shadow for the latest satellite images,” Ardha grumbled as zie worked. “I don’t see how else we could have missed the ice. Do you?”

  Marmeg nodded. “Sure. Image hack. Get a high-rater to post it. Fooled us, yeah?”

  Ardha frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Marmeg pulled on her boots. Her toes were stiff with cold, and she wiggled them against the interior to get back some warmth.

  “I should have asked them to include a routine for walking on ice. If only we were allowed grid access, I could download one.”

  “Could code one.”

  “Here? Now? Write an ice-walking routine?”

  Marmeg had her screen out and was scanning the subroutine that handled slip and balance. “Needs a few adjustments. Tweak the numbers in here. Might help.” She blew on her fingers to warm them up and typed in an option to run with lower friction. If it didn’t work, she’d need a quick way to return to her normal settings.

  “Can I use your software?”

  “What chips you got?”

  Ardha didn’t carry a screen—zie didn’t need one—so Marmeg waited for zir to read her the information. The verdict was a no. Ardha’s chips were a new design with a new instruction set. She didn’t carry compilers for it.

  “Sorry,” she said, downloading the new routines into her legs. “You got a compiler?”

  Zie shook zir head. “I don’t even have source code. It was worth a try, though. I can’t believe you can write code on the spot like this.”

  “Did contests in school. Gotta work fast.”

  Marmeg was happy to have come this far without having to fix any equipment. Her cuff showed three hours and eleven miles, well below the record-setting pace, but she wasn’t after a record. Even fifth place awarded enough cash to buy one semester’s tuition and Felix’s license.

  “Are you ready?” Ardha said, standing gracefully on zir cobbled boots and holding out a hand.

  Marmeg quirked an eyebrow and pointedly ignored zir as she pulled on her pack. She crawled over to the ice field and cautiously stood. She slipped a bit with the first few steps. Then her gyros, chips, and brain figured out how to dance on ice.

  Ardha was now holding out both zir arms as if to catch her. It reminded her of a live ballet performance she’d seen years ago with her mother.

  “Wanna dance?” she said with a wide grin.

  Ardha laughed. “I’d rather race.” Zie took off up the snowbound slope with rapid but choppy steps.

  “Cheat!” Marmeg called after zir.

  Then she tried leaping, inspired by the thought of ballerinas. She reached down mid-jump to one leg, then the other, increasing the spring tension. In less than a minute, she leapt past Ardha. The software routine worked beautifully.

  Exhilaration soared when she arrived at the top. A glance back showed Ardha jumping but also slipping and counterbalancing as zir smartskin failed to accommodate for rubed crampons. Zir face was drawn with concentration, eyes scanning the ice for the best course.

  From the peak of the pass, Marmeg caught her first view of the vastness ahead. Waves upon waves of sharp, rocky peaks continued out to the horizon. Many were shrouded in clouds, and the valley itself was obscured by the haze of falling snow and rain. Somewhere, on the far side of it all, lay the striated columns of Devils Postpile and the finish line.

  Ardha stopped next to her, admiration clear on zir face. “Thank you for the assistance. That saved me at least thirty minutes of rerouting.” Zie reached down and snapped off the blades from zir boots.

  “Keep them.”

  “I would, but I have no pockets.”

  They both laughed. It was true: zir smartskin was smooth and almost featureless. Marmeg took the blades back, snapped off her own, and stowed them in her pack. When she straightened, Ardha wrapped her in a brief but gentle hug. Her friend—because it seemed that’s what they were now—had a warm, smooth cheek that smelled subtly of roses.

  “See you on the other side. Good luck!”

  “Luck,” Marmeg replied.

  The embrace had startled her, but she didn’t mind it. As Ardha pulled away, Marmeg caught a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye.

  “Did you see—” she said, but zie was already running down the slope.

  Marmeg looked around but didn’t see any signs of life. Odd, she thought. Perhaps an animal, though anything big that was up this high was not something she wanted a good look at. She recalled the story about Mountain Mike. A tingle of fear ran through her. Then a sudden gust of wind almost knocked her over and loosed the feeling from her head.

  There was no one there but her, and she had to move. Marmeg flicked her wrist and pulled up the route map on her cuff. It headed in a different direction from the way Ardha had run. Zir silver form shrank in the distance. Good. She didn’t want to spend too much time getting friendly with the competition.

  * * *

  The weather worsened as Marmeg traversed the undulating wilderness. Down she went into the quiet of trees, green and gloom, damp earth and soggy pine needles. Up, through scrub and rock, over a small rise with a local view. Down again. Her steps treacherous as ice crystallized in the shade. She climbed and descended until the repetition became mind-numbing.

  Three hours and thirteen miles passed by with no company but an occasional squirrel dashing for shelter. Once in a while, M
armeg heard a rustling sound—usually when she’d stopped to catch her breath or tweak her leg settings—but she never spotted the source of the noise. Deer? Bear? She didn’t have any weapon but the broken multi-tool blades, and those would offer poor protection against an angry or hungry animal. Better that the creature stayed hidden.

  She was leaping cautiously up a rock-strewn ridge, now speckled with patches of invisible ice, when her right arm froze in mid-swing. That threw off her already delicate balance. She came crashing down into a nearby bush.

  Marmeg winced as she tried to stand. Her left hip was bruised, and her arm was locked into a right angle. She got up awkwardly and walked to a sheltered rock under a tree. Using her working arm, she tried to pull off the right sleeve. It was completely rigid. She took her screen out of the pack, unrolled it, and pulled up the diagnostic software.

  A quick check of the sleeve showed everything reading normal. With a grimace of annoyance, Marmeg called up its controller chip next. Every register read back an ominous set of zeroes. She tried sending the reset code, but it made no difference. Either the chip or its communications was fried.

  Marmeg looked up into the feathery dark-green needles and let out a stream of curse words that she’d learned from one of her stepfathers. Now what? She could try to keep running with a locked arm. She could cut the damn sleeve off, though it would be worthless forever after. Or she could give up, turn on her grid access, and quit.

  The third option wasn’t a real choice. Not yet, though the likelihood of her placing in the top five was looking a lot lower than it had ten minutes before. Fixing the sleeve would take too much time, but she might as well preserve it as long as possible.

  Her hip throbbed, probably from landing on a rock. Her right shoulder ached from the weight of the frozen arm. She chose the first option.

  Marmeg grabbed the stim pills out of the backpack and downed two. Then she pulled out an old leg sleeve that she’d brought as backup gear and used it to make a sling. She shivered as she stood. The cold had seeped in quickly while she sat still. She headed onward in a slow jog, wary of every obstacle.

  * * *

  An hour later, the weather went from bad to worse as rain turned to sleet and intermittent hail. Marmeg’s plastic hood grew heavy with ice crystals. Her leg motions became sluggish. The temperature must have dropped low enough to thicken the hydraulic fluid.