“Sure, sure, there's something wrong with your craft,” Cori snickers, full of schadenfreude.
Vol grows. “Look — ”
“Okay,” Drove cuts in, “I'm watching the map. Go ahead and deploy the flare.”
“Thank you.” Vol hits the flare button, located on the ceiling by the blue button that activated the computer's obnoxious running commentary. She's going to lose points for this, she knows. It's like abusing the 'hint' button in kiddie puzzle games. You aren't supposed to get assistance. And Players are supposed to be above assistance. She's paid to be an expert.
So much for unique problem-solving.
“I'm ready for you to deploy the flare,” Drove says.
“I did.”
“Oh.” He sounds uncertain now. “That's funny. I didn't see anything.”
“Did anybody see anything?”
“Nope.”
“Just the bogey.”
Vol starts to feel a twinge of — not fear, exactly, not yet, but something close. “Is this a bug?”
At the word “bug,” there's a crackle and a beep. “Vol, this is Suryan. Are you reporting a bug?”
“I — I think so.” She stares at the alien vessel that no one else can see. “I don't really know what it is.”
“Catan is accessing the data files. If something is messing up your ship, he'll find it.”
Or make it worse.
“Try firing another flare,” Drove suggests.
“I don't have any more flares. Each ship is only equipped with one flare.”
No response.
“Drove?”
Silence.
“Anyone?”
She's never realized how — dead — space is before.
“Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”
Static crackles. She hears something, caught in the white noise like a burr, but it doesn't sound human. The aliens? Vol thinks, wildly. She stares at the dash. I wonder … “Computer,” — she bites her lip, — “translate incoming transmission?”
She realizes her mistake a second too late.
(Error. Request must be made in the form of a command.)
She opens her mouth to correct herself and is cut off by a tinny voice saying, “Greetings, Volera Magray.”
He programmed it with my name. It's another one of Catan's tricks.
Except…
Except this isn't his style. He prefers getting close and personal.
“We come bearing a message.”
Did the aliens in this game have quantum powers? She has the bad habit of skimming the archives. Maybe the aliens dragged her into a space ship. Vol presses the button on the speaker, hesitating. Fear makes her bold. “What message is that?”
“You have three days to decide whether you wish to live — or die.”
What?
“Should you choose the latter, this is but a small demonstration of our power.”
With a hum, her spacecraft powers down, leaving her in total darkness.
“That's not funny,” Vol says.
Silence.
“Catan?”
Green light floods the small compartment. Vol chokes as the safety restraints tighten, her eyes wide with disbelief. The aliens are firing at her stalling spacecraft and without the shields, without any defenses whatsoever, it's going to blow apart. With her inside.
An then — the green turns gold, tinged with tongues of ocher and spurts of crimson, and she is falling, falling, falling through the darkness, away from the kaleidoscope of flames, and the stars begin to look like sinister eyes, blurring around her, merging to form a single, familiar pair, in a color formed by an icy spectrum of silvers and blues.
Deadly eyes.
Killer eyes.
The eyes she sees in the mirror every morning.
Consciousness leaves her before the scream can and then Vol sees nothing more.
“I don't know what to make of it,” Suryan is saying. Her voice sounds like it's coming through vast amounts of water. “The system looks perfectly fine.”
“That remains to be decided.” Catan. “You noticed nothing? No blips? No anomalies?”
“Nothing. Not so much as a single zero as out of place. I don't know what could have happened.”
“Keep protesting like that and some might wonder if you've something to hide.”
You'd be the expert in that quarter. Vol opens her eyes. Catan and Suryan are kneeling on either side of her, arguing across her prone body. Suryan notices that she is awake first and her face saturates with relief. “Vol! Oh, praise the gods!”
“Briar Rose awakens to grace us with her gentle presence once more.”
“Shut up,” says Vol.
“Your thorns are showing.”
“Vol, what happened in there? Nobody could find you on their maps,” Suryan says.
“Why don't you tell me?” she directs this towards Catan.
“I may be many things, but omniscient isn't one of them.” He exchanges a look with Suryan. “We were as surprised by this as you.”
Suryan eyes him back with suspicion and Vol loves her for it. “She should see a doctor.”
“Frankly, I don't believe the Tower will go for that — and neither will I. It's an unnecessary expense. But she does need rest, I wholeheartedly agree with you there. Someone should take her back to her rooms.”
“Unnecessary expense? She passed out in her chair. It's anything but unnecessary.”
“Ah, but you forget, Miss Lafever; you no longer have the clearance to make such decisions.” He smiles at Vol. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Screw you,” she mumbles, knocking the hand he's extended out of her face.
“She seems feisty enough.” Catan chuckles. “I'm sure she'll be perfectly fine.”
Despite Suryan's protest that Vol shouldn't be moved, Catan tugs her to her feet. Her legs are as shaky and unstable as a newborn colt's, and she's forced to grip his arm to keep from falling. Beneath his shirtsleeves, his biceps are extremely well defined. Her face grows hot and she hates herself for it. He glances down at her and she thinks she sees a hint of a smile on his lips.
He faces Suryan. “If I take her to her room, do you suppose you can manage without upsetting any political figures or their relatives in my absence?”
“If she gets hurt, I will give you no shortage of hell,” Suryan says coldly, scrolling through the archives on her virtusketch. And Vol gets the feeling she means more than she's saying.
“Fair enough.”
Catan turns his fierce eyes on the crowd peering through the door. His face creases with annoyance and the sharp angles of his face turn lethal. “What are you looking at? This isn't a holladrama. And you — no refunds,” he adds to an irate-looking boy who has stepped forward to complain. “Go away.”
The crowd disperses enough to allow them through. Vol feels their stares like needles in her skin. “You are such an asshole,” she says quietly.
“My ears must be deceiving me,” he says in the same tone, “because I could swear you just called me an asshole.”
“How could you say that to Suryan? She nearly lost her job.” Because of me.
“Suryan can take care of herself.” He hefts her up in his arms as easily as if she were a bag of rice. “Unlike certain others I could name. Do you attract trouble, or seek it out? At this point, neither would surprise me.”
“Trouble stalks me, just like you. I'm beginning to think the two affairs are related.”
“Instead of showering me with compliments, maybe you should tell me what happened.”
“Why don't you tell me what happened? We both know you did it.”
“It sounds like you're accusing me of trying to harm you.”
Vol remains pointedly silent.
Catan shakes his head. “I thought I made it clear that harming you isn't high on my list of priorities.” He shifts her in his hold so that while he is speaking, he is looking directly into her eyes. “And even if it was — whi
ch it isn't — I certainly wouldn't go about hurting you in such a half-cocked way, nor would I do it when your back was turned. As with most other things, I'd do it face-to-face and with finesse.”
The smile he gives her suggests they are no longer just talking about the game glitch.
When she swallows, it sinks to the bottom of her stomach like hot, golden honey — and it feels the way his eyes look. Stop that, she tells herself. You stop that right now.
“If you didn't do it,” the words are sticky in her mouth, “then who did?”
“I'm as interested in finding that out as you are. Activate voice command — fourth floor.”
As the elevator doors slide closed, Vol sees Bastien and Cori walking down the hall. Bastien looks up and their eyes meet from across the room. His eyes flick to Catan and he nudges Cori. The two of them stare at her. Vol rubs at her head self-consciously and Catan glances down at the movement. She feels his arms tense as if he's expecting a blow. Well. She did try to hit him in the cubicle room, after all — but he deserved it then.
But not now?
“What are you looking at?”
“I thought — I thought I saw something,” she said. “It was nothing.”
“Hmm.” The doors open; he walks out. “Do you have your room key?”
“Yes.”
There is a pause.
“Give it to me, then,” he says. “So I can open the door.”
Vol struggles to get out of his arms, her hand clutching the key so tightly that it leaves red marks that won't fade for some minutes after she puts it down. The old suspicions return full force. “How did you know that this is my room? I never told you where I lived.”
“Yes,” he says, very softly. “You did. In fact, you made a point of telling me.”
Her face turns red. “I would never do such a thing,” she says, even as that voice in her head, as all-knowing as a God Mod in its own way, hisses, Liar.
“The key, Vol. Unless you're an exhibitionist, we might want to take this inside.”
“I can open it myself,” she says tightly. “Put me down.”
He does.
Vol turns her back on him as she slides her key card through the lock. She walks into the room and tosses the key into the tray that holds her hair ties. She keeps her head high, as if she doesn't care that the man who may or may not be stalking her is inside her private domicile, and not by her choice.
Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling so she misses the shoe on the floor. She stumbles and has just enough time to think about how painful it will be when her face mashes up against the floor and whether she will have to see a doctor after all and oh, God, why does she have to do this in front of him?
To her astonishment, instead of hitting hardwood floor, she falls on Catan. “I've had women fall for me before,” — his voice is a little breathless from the dive, — “but you, you take things to a whole new level. If you keep this up, you will get hurt — and it won't be by me.”
Vol growls and pushes away from him. She is surprised when he lets her go. And does this disappoint her even the teeniest, tiniest bit? No. Not at all. She collapses on her bed face down so she won't have to look at him. She hears him, though. Hears him as he gets up from the floor. Hears him as he paces around her room, restless as a caged leopard as he studies her belongings. Once or twice, she hears him make an amused sound, low in his throat. Not quite a laugh. She wonders what he glimpsed that amused him so and then hates herself for wondering and hates him more for making her wonder.
“You're a curious girl, Volera Magray,” he says. “Very curious.”
She doesn't answer but her mind is all abuzz. What does that mean?
His footsteps sound closer. They stop by her bed and she stiffens. “I'm going to assume that you don't feel as terrible as you look, but just in case,” — his voice is gentler than she ever remembers hearing it, — “is there anything I can do for you?”
Yes.
“You can go away,” she says.
She doesn't expect him to obey her — he never has before — but the door shuts with a click. Vol looks up from her pillow. She's alone. He did as she asked for once.
She wonders why this makes her feel so guilty.
9.
A knock sounds at Vol's door. She doesn't remember falling asleep; for once, it was dreamless. Her head is still throbbing, though, and she doesn't even bother checking the time. The answer is bound to be disappointing either way.
“Who is it?”
“Tash.”
Oh. “Just a second.”
She unfastens the deadbolt and immediately finds herself trapped in a bear hug. “I heard what happened during Space Crusaders. Suryan told Ariel who told me. Holy shit, are you all right?”
“I'm fine. I have a hard head.”
Tash looks at her bumpy bruise.
Vol smiles awkwardly and pretends to scratch, neatly hiding the bruise from sight. “So I hear you and Ariel are together.”
Tash's face lights up. Then she frowns. “Don't try to distract me, Vol. Don't you dare. I heard the exact same thing about you and Catan.” At Vol's silence, she says, accusingly, “That's a pretty extreme change of heart.”
“It's nothing like that. He was just carrying me to my room.”
“Really.”
“Who did you hear that from? Wait — let me guess. Cori and Bastien?”
Tash's eyebrows shoot up. “Good guess.”
“It wasn't a guess. They saw me earlier today, and I guess they've got a bone to pick with me.”
“Ah. Because of the ass-kicking.” She relaxes a little, though she still looks concerned. “So you're okay? You're sure? He doesn't have some kind of pull with you? Because a few days ago, you were acting like you thought Catan was going to kill you.”
“Not kill me.” She isn't very convincing, and she knows it. “I don't know what I think.”
“Well. Maybe you should figure that out. You know. Before you do anything reckless.” Tash gives Vol a final hug, then leaves looking incredibly disappointed.
That look haunts Vol all the way to GP2. Having people around to disappoint is a new feeling, and not a pleasant one. She does not like having so many obligations to other people; it makes her feel weighed down, weak. In fact, it is almost enough to make her long for her solitude. At least it was free from complications.
Program: War_Games_1.exe
Class: Chose your class…
I actually get to choose this time? Vol arches her eyebrows as she scans the available classes. The choices make her feel giddy. Archer, magi, warrior, druid — the stats are listed beside each basic character template, alongside their strengths and limitations.
Archers are agile, but can only attack from afar and with limited accuracy. Magi attack from afar with decent accuracy, but have very poor defense. Warriors have fantastic strength and good defense, but can only attack at close range and are vulnerable to magic. And druids — Vol frowns — well, she isn't quite sure what they do. She gathers that they have neither defense nor offense, and can only heal others beside themselves. In other words, not worth looking into.
Celtos, a colony of Arath, is in the midst of a revolutionary war. The Celta have grown tired of living beneath the Arathians' oppressive reign and have vowed to kill any invaders as a sign of their nation's independence. The Arathians have chosen to respond in kind, killing all revolutionaries who break through their fortress walls.
Mission objectives: This game is timed. The side with the most kills at the end of the round will be considered the victor. The fate of two kingdoms lies in your hands.
The Marks probably eat this crap up the same way they would if it were Selmairean delicacies served to them on a silver plate. The gamescape is nowhere near as opulent or grandiose as the summary; Vol appears in a dungeon-like chamber constructed from large, squat blocks of dark stone that glitter oddly in the flickering torches set in sconces at even intervals throughout the room.
Severa
l other Players are already present. Jade is here, though without Kira. Vol also recognizes the March twins, Kayla and Caleb, easily identified because of their freckled skin and blonde hair. There are some other Tower residents whom she remembers seeing in the cafeteria or around the bazaar but whose names escape her at the moment. All the rest are Marks.
She sidles over to Jade. He doesn't back away and Vol takes this as a positive sign. “Are Weavers even allowed to participate in the games?”
“They are if they don't make them,” Jade responds, looking around.
“Oh. I thought — ”
“Our little rogue's work.”
Vol's mouth drops open. “This is all bootlegged? Wow.”
“Mm-hmm.” Jade nods. “I'm impressed — don't tell Kira. I'm only here because I promised her I'd check out the competition.” He glances at the Marks and lowers his voice. “She's not happy. Whoever our new Weaver is, his or her games are beating Kira's and mine by a two to one margin and climbing. The Marks are eating it up.”
“Those are impressive stats,” says Vol.
It's a terrific understatement; they both know that such hype is extremely rare in a district as jaded and world-weary as Karagh. Vol can't remember the last hit sensation, though she suspects it was something sex-related.
“I keep telling Kira to up the ante a little. Branch out. But, well, you know how she is.”
Vol doesn't, actually.
As if realizing this himself, Jade falls silent.
“What do we do?” one of the Marks whines. “When do we fight?”
“This game requires a certain number of people to start. When both teams have satisfied the minimum capacity for party numbers, the portcullis opens and the fight begins.”
“What's a portcullis?”
“The gate,” Kayla says pettishly. Her twin brother elbows her in the ribs, and she elbows him back, harder. Kayla is decked out in metal armor, and from the wince on Caleb's face, the gauntlets perform their task well.
“it should begin soon,” Jade says, glaring at the twins.
And Vol hears a male voice saying, “Players ready. Countdown in five … four … three … two …” the words burn in her ears in an intimate whisper she knows too well. “One.”
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