“What is it, Wind?”
“We going to talk about what set you off out there? I’ve never seen you like that. I thought you were gonna try and delete Sawyer.”
“Looked bad,” Slend opines.
I reach for the soap, nothing more than a thin bar of fat and lye, rubbed smooth by countless hands before me. Lather spreads over my body. I examine the shower room, but between the water and steam, we should be safe from eavesdroppers.
“That run. Did anything about it feel… wrong to you?”
“I was a bit more disoriented than usual coming out of the scout, but other than that it was great,” Wind chirps, scrubbing under her armpits. “Felt like I was really in control, in the groove.”
Slend nods.
“Run was good. After sucked.”
I lean back under the water, rinsing the soap off, trying to feel clean.
“It didn’t feel… different? Compared to the Game? Like you were getting sucked into the drone? Like it was weird coming back out into a different body?”
Slend frowns.
“…Yeah. Don’t like scouts.”
Wind raises an eyebrow, water sluicing down her dark skin.
“Now that you mention it, yeah. When I was in, I was in. Thought it was just because of the circumstances, but… yeah. Why?”
“It… made me think of Mom. When we were walking away from Sawyer. Of what she had to go through during the Dubs.” I gently pound a fist against the wall. “We were only ghosting for half an hour. They had her running sixteen-hour days, weeks at a time. Months. Assault drones, recon drones, terror drones, anything they could shove her into. I found her service record when she first came back, before she junked everything. Before she finished breaking.”
I don’t mention the things that weren’t in her record, words the gummies didn’t want committed to paper.
Wind turns her water off and grabs a towel, shivering.
“That sucks, Ash. Ultra sucks. You think it’s going to happen to us?”
“Don’t know. But we sure as shit shouldn’t trust Sawyer. We need to figure a way out of this quick.”
“Jailbreak?” Slend asks, turning her own water off.
“Not yet. Still have to secure a way back to Ditchtown. Based on the sights and smells, plus how Sawyer got me and Jase here, we’re on some kind of petro rig, probably meth-clath, which means we need a boat. Let’s recon first. Figure out how many are on board, what our options are. Then we can move if we need to.”
“Sounds good. Food first?”
“Yeah. Be there in a sec.”
I twist the water off, my other arm leaning against the gritty tile wall. The shower helped a little bit. Maybe some food will help a little more. I towel myself dry and walk back into the changing room, then try to stifle my laughter. Wind is practically swimming in her robe, its arms and legs ending a good half a meter past her hands and feet, extra fabric twisted around her head in a crude covering. Slend is the exact opposite, brown fabric straining to close in front of her chest and waist, elbows and knees clearly visible, other parts nearly so.
“Why—” I cough, still laughing. “—why don’t you two switch robes?”
Wind’s jaw juts out from beneath her makeshift burka.
“I like this one.”
Slend crosses her arms, causing several seams to split.
“Same.”
I shake my head, some cheer returning to my heart. If they want to make the gummies uncomfortable, well, we all fight back in our own ways, and I’m certainly not the one to stop them. With a quick pull, I rip the sleeves off the remaining robe, then put it on, using one of the torn off pieces as a crude bandanna for my still-wet hair, bare arms tingling in the cool air. Hapgloves and glasses slide into place, though I still feel naked without my blade. I motion to my friends.
“Okay, let’s go get some food. Eyes on everything.”
Several minutes later we’re seated at a rickety metal table in a dingy cafeteria, low-energy glowstrips buzzing across the ceiling, multiple trays of food from the printer in front of each of us. The selection wasn’t terrible, but neither was it top of the line. Functional food, designed to keep soldiers functional. We begin the process of refueling, pushing blandly inoffensive proteins and carbohydrates into our guts, the room silent except for our lip-smacking gulps.
At the other tables, uniformed gummie soldiers gawk in our direction, their own food forgotten. All twenty-five of them are male.
Fucking Sawyer. He said we’d be isolated. This another spook game?
I let loose a loud belch, trying to push the discomfort level even higher. Across from me, Slend shifts her weight to one side, then rips a fart that sounds like a machine gun going off. Someone drops a fork. It lands with a tinny clang. Wind nonchalantly tosses a chunk of protein in the air and skewers it with her knife, then nibbles the edges daintily. A chair scrapes across the floor, and a shadow falls over our table.
I look up into the face of a young gummie officer, all rounded curves and pale skin, dull camo not quite loose enough for his softly muscular form. Hesitantly, he lifts a hand in greeting.
“Are… are you…” he stammers, suddenly nervous, eyes darting side to side behind his standard-issue military AR glasses. I stare at him dispassionately, chewing a mouthful of meat and beans, waiting for the questions, the abuse. Are you supposed to be here? What’s wrong with your clothes? How dare you sully our pure space? When will you convert to righteousness? I wait for him to make his move, to force me to put him in his place.
“Are you… Ashura? From the Game? Leader of SunJewel? Sorry if this is weird, I found a picture of you in the real, I know that sounds like stalking, but I love you guys!”
I almost choke, neurons crackling and short-circuting in my brain, food seizing the opportunity to go down the wrong tube. A coughing fit ensues. Wind slaps me on the back, giggling under her breath.
“That’s—” I dislodge a particularly irksome piece of faux-steak in a racking wheeze. “Yeah, that’s me.”
He slides into the seat next to Slend, eyes shining, glancing back and forth at all of us. Slend continues eating, unperturbed, arm muscles flexing with every lift of her fork. The muted hum of conversations starts up throughout the cafeteria.
“Then you must be Wind, and you must be Slend! I stream you guys all the time! Oh man, when that dragon popped up, and I saw it was Hammer, I thought you were screw—” He looks around hastily, then resumes. “Excuse my language… thought you were in big trouble for sure. What a fight! My friends were so mad they missed the livestream.”
“You’re… a fan?” I ask. He nods eagerly.
“Ever since you guys took down Neo-Cthulhu-Ultra in the Kaiju facet. I was in basic then, learning how to ghost. Been watching ever since. Not much to do out here between patrols, and your streams rock. Best teamwork on the ladder.”
“They let you watch our streams?”
“Let us? Heck, they’re practically required lessons by some of the instructors at officer’s school. We spent four days dissecting your tactics during the Mittani event on CCP. The way you were able to split IonSeal’s defensive fortifications without taking a single casualty… it was incredible. I don’t know if it would work in the real the same way, but it was amazing to watch.”
I take a drink of water, still trying to wrap my mind around this unexpected conversation. He smacks his forehead with an open palm.
“Oh, but here I am being rude; I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Skyler Chaddington the Third, first lieutenant, BP second company. We’re off-shift, just finished up a patrol. Nailed a couple silkie auto-smugglers, chock full of contraband. It was my team’s recon drones that spotted them. Call me Sky.”