by Harper North
What will it be like there?
I’ve already crossed The Binding in-game and now I’m about to do the equivalent in real life.
The moving track slows as I near the station. It’s a trading station and official ICC territory. Most of the transports are underground magnetic subways with hovering drones displaying holographic images of their destinations. Beaches. Lush blue jungles. Even the Wohora Desert and the gambling city of Farza in the far south. Apparently, the workers in this station like to take pleasure trips on occasion.
A pang starts in my chest, begging me not to leave. But I must, even though it might not be possible to return. Leaving my friend to die would weigh on me for the rest of my life, if I don’t leave.
I walk past the mostly empty subway stations—it’s mostly traders and workers here—until I find a doorway labeled “Officials Only.” Behind these doors are spacecraft. I stare at the handprint sensor near the handle. TheBigGuy says I’m his assistant, and assistants are allowed to use these doors. He might have forged my information to give me a new identity. Checking to make sure no one’s paying attention, I press my hand to the sensor.
And the lock clicks open, allowing me access.
On the other side of the door is a large, carved stone chamber with a closed metal door on top. And in the center of the cool chamber, a ship waits on a platform. With curved black wings and a logo on the side in one of Earth’s languages—which I assume stands for ICC—the ship waits with a side door open. Two drones hover on either side, collectively projecting a hologram that says, “Chloe Vera.”
This goes to Earth.
I stop and stare. Until now, I’ve dreamed of a new life there, but now things are dark and unknown.
But honor first. There’s nothing left for me here other than hiding under an underwater dome. If I stay, the ICC will ensure that I never see the stars again.
And Atlas is a good friend, just like Coco_Dream. Plus, the people connected to the game are at risk if The Detached acquire The Hermit’s code.
“Chloe Vera?” a woman asks from inside the vessel. “Come in. We depart in five minutes.” A Meran woman with silver hair leans out and I’m glad to see that I’ll travel with someone who speaks my language. She smiles, friendly enough.
“That’s me,” I say, throwing all caution away and boarding. “I’m the new assistant.”
“Oh, yes. Mike told me about you,” the woman says. “A transfer to Earth is exciting, right? Not many Merans get the opportunity.” She closes the door behind me and my eyes adjust. The seats appear to be made from tanned skin. Earth decor is strange.
Mike sounds like a strange name, but so does Chloe. They sound like clicks, lacking the complexity of Meran names.
“And I’m Kiriana,” the silver-haired Meran says. “I’ve been Mike’s other assistant for, oh, forever.” She smiles. “He has many. Nan will be meeting you once we reach the ground. And we need to fit you with a translator before you reach Earth. It’s a lot different there and will take some adjusting, but at least their atmosphere is very similar to ours and you won’t need a respirator.”
I thank her. The logistics of this are complicated. I sense that Mike has many female assistants. I’ll fit in.
Kiriana directs me to take one of the skin seats. It feels like skin, too. I don’t ask if it is. The pilot tells us to remain seated since we’re taking off. My stomach drops as the ship rises into a black sky with dancing colored lights, and the barren, gray land stretches out below, dotted with an occasional station. This may be my last view of Mera, and it’s the ugliest part.
“How long will this take?” I ask.
“Not long.”
Mera vanishes below. Our star shines through the window and I squint. We rise for what feels like minutes and that’s when I spot four more ships through the window. These are Mera-side ICC ships, because I can read the logo on the sides of these. Two float on either side of a giant ring with glowing lights around it. They’re guarding what looks like a portal.
Before I can ask if this is standard procedure, Kiriana speaks. “I can tell you’ve never seen this before. These ships can tear a hole in space and give us quick transport from planet to planet. They don’t explain this to anyone who isn’t from the top levels of the ICC.”
“They tear space?” It sounds like something that the Golgans had done in The Binding. But this is real.
“It’s more that they fold two points in space together, but the tearing analogy works as well,” she tells me. “Here. Put your translator on so you can function once you get to Earth.”
She hands me something, but I watch as our ship stops and a red laser shoots at the center of the ring. The stars on the other side vanish and rip away, revealing pure darkness. We sail toward it and I close my eyes. There’s a jolt and I grip the skin seat.
“Your translator,” Kiriana repeats.
Opening my eyes, I reach for the tiny ear implants and something else similar to a silver pill. “What does this do, exactly?” I ask, keeping my composure.
“Swallow the pill. It will lodge in your throat and translate your speech to one of the various Earth languages, if it’s needed. I’m not sure how it works, but it works.” She smiles at me.
I don’t want to do it, but to speak to Atlas in real life, I must. If the ICC has set a trap, I’m already in it. So, I swallow the pill and feel a twinge in my throat as it does whatever it does. Then I place the tiny implants into my ears and feel the same. This machinery is lodging itself into my body. Swallowing, I look out the window, expecting darkness but, instead, I find a blue, green, and white ball below. And we’re descending toward it.
Earth.
Sparkling oceans and vast landmasses spread out, promising a variety of geography. We descend toward one of the browner stretches, and the lower we get, the more evident it is that we’re heading toward a city with towers. It’s not unlike a Meran city, except the buildings have more corners and sharp edges than Meran towers. The skyscrapers rise around us as we land on a pad, surrounded by glass, concrete, and metal.
Kiriana smiles. “Nan will meet you on the platform.”
The door rises and I sniff. The air here has a slightly different smell than that on Mera—more metallic—and it’s slightly thinner, but I think I’ll adjust. Standing, I shoot off the skin seat faster than I expect, as if the gravity isn’t as much here. My body’s confused as I slowly step toward the exit and take my first steps onto the concrete platform. Slight nausea sweeps through me, but vanishes as I take a few more steps. My body is already adjusting.
Nan is a young Earthen woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. She wears typical ICC garb: a suit and tie with a lapel that depicts a strange flower. She smiles and holds out her hand. I take it, assuming this is a way for Earthans to greet one another. I’m taller than her and, judging from the way she grimaces ever so slightly when I grip her hand, a little stronger. Perhaps it’s from spending my life on a higher-gravity planet.
“Nice to meet you, Chloe,” she says. “Welcome to City 17.” Her words come out in my language though I know she’s speaking an Earth tongue. “Mike is happy to have you on board.” On that last line, she lowers her voice in a way that tells me she has something secret to say. Nan eyes Kiriana and glances off the platform. We’re to speak over there and away from pad.
The two of us walk down a set of steps and onto a concrete street as Kiriana retreats into the craft.
“I have something for you,” Nan says. “Do not tell anyone about this, or you will be hunted and killed by the ICC. If anyone asks, you are still Mike’s assistant.”
So, Nan is in on TheBigGuy’s plan. “Something?” I ask. “Can it help me find my friend?”
“Yes.”
I think of Sector 14, wherever that is. That’s where I need to go to find Atlas. This planet is confusing. Do they label everything with numbers? The ICC does.
Nan draws close to me and places a metallic object in my hand. I close my fingers around it and shove
it into my pocket. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Now go,” Nan says. “We can’t be seen speaking to each other for long. The ICC tracks everything here. The device you hold can access files on everyone on Earth. It’s very illegal for you to have and only used by the top-level ICC. It will show your friend’s last recorded location, whoever he is.”
My translator doesn’t show me Meran text when I use it, but there’s an option for it in the little touch screen’s upper corner. Sighing in relief, I retreat to an alley and away from the Earth foot traffic. The metallic smell is stronger here.
The handheld computer is easy to figure out. I look up Atlas_Reign’s username and it leads me to one Morrow Adams, employee number 4987622, last logged into The Binding a few Earth days ago. Scrolling with my finger, I’m able to look at his performance reviews from his former job—all given a flat average and no raises—and then I find a warrant for his arrest in red text. No reason is given, but I already know why.
He dared to try to get ahead in life.
And then I scroll down to his photo.
Morrow looks amazingly like Atlas, tall with dark blond hair and deep, soulful eyes that refuse to get crushed. Heat rushes to my face as I look at his photo. If he were Meran, he would be a proud member of society.
And he appears to be eighteen rotations old, though I know that Earth rotations are only half as long as Meran ones.
I click on a tab that promises location info. A red dot appears on a map of City 36 where his apartment must have been. He hasn’t been there for days. There’s nothing beyond that, but I zoom out the map and see other labeled regions surrounding the ring of apartments and downtown structures.
And my gaze lands on Sector 14. It’s labeled in red and full of crumbling buildings, some of which are obvious in the satellite imagery. It’s where I need to go.
I eye the foot traffic and wait for it to thin. It does, slowly, as blue-uniformed people make their way home from work shifts. Flying vehicles that look like gray pills land and take off again. I assume they’re taxis. I’ve seen plenty of similar vehicles on Mera.
One lands and drops off two blue-uniformed women. I run to it and open the door on a droid pilot who waits with its metal hands on a steering wheel. Great. I’d rather deal with a droid who won’t care which planet I’m from.
“City 36,” I tell it. “Get me as close to Sector 14 as you can.”
CHAPTER 11
THE HANDHELD DEVICE turns out to have more uses than Nan told me. The taxi droid rises above traffic and flies me first to City 36. Earth cities are circular, with downtown regions in the center, factories making up the outer rings, and apartments somewhere in-between. The new cities on Mera are much the same, although some of our older cities still exist and not conformed to silly shapes. The ICC corrupted Earth first. In less than a hundred rotations, I imagine Mera will look like this, too. It’s sad.
After an hour taxi ride to reach City 36, a ring of factories appears on the horizon, sprawling out as far as I can see into smog. But the droid doesn’t take me into downtown.
“My map doesn’t allow me to drop you off in the Outskirts,” it says in a lifeless voice. “I will drop you off in the factories. Your payment will be fifty credits.”
I balk, remembering that there are no credits left in my account. But a thought hits me that TheBigGuy might have prepared for this. He changed me to Chloe Vera in the system. Maybe he also lent me a few credits to get around, knowing I’d be looking for someone.
It turns out I have at least some credits in my account, because when the droid holds out a finger pad so I can pay, I swipe and the pad turns green, indicating a successful transaction.
“Thank you,” the droid says. “You are on your own from here. The ICC recommends against venturing into the Outskirts of any city.”
I thank the droid as the door lifts. My eyes widen, and I gnaw the inside of my lip when emerging out of the taxi and into a jungle of decaying factory buildings. The gray and brown structures are coated in grime and rust; several buildings sport broken windows. Chunks of cement rubble coat the path where sidewalk meets factory walls. I hear clanging noises in a factory nearby while a brown transport shuttle drifts overhead. This is an area that still has workers, but not many. I’m on the edge of official territory.
I get out my illegal hand computer—whatever it’s called on Earth—and pull up the map of City 36 next. Though I’m sure the ICC doesn’t have official names for the parts of the Outskirts, they must have gathered intelligence on these areas, because Sector 14 is labeled and perhaps a half-hour walk away for a Meran. Taking in a metallic-aired breath, I face the direction I need to go. Atlas’ words in the game come back to me. Those from Sector 14 want to take down the entire in-game Binding world by disconnecting all innocent players suddenly which, according to Atlas, can cause brain damage if not done in a certain sequence. That’s all I know, but it’s all I need to know. With an operation like that, Gen_W and those in Sector 14 won’t let me get close if I look purposeful.
And these people want The Hermit. They think he can help them figure out how to do all of this. Atlas will know more about this disgusting plan than I will but, to get him out of his mess, I must reach their headquarters first. Maybe I can bargain with Sector 14’s people. I do have a chip I can use. If they have any honor, they might be open to negotiations. My mind spins. I and Sector 14 have a common enemy. Perhaps I can extract a promise that no harm will come to innocent players, no matter how they plan to defeat the ICC. I could offer The Hermit in exchange. But what kind of warped mind doesn’t care about hurting billions on two planets? That detail doesn’t bode well.
So, I walk in the direction my map tells me to go. The factories quiet quickly. The taxi droid dropped me on the very edge of the safe zone. The droid reminds me of the male who had fled the desert temple, whatever his name was.
I pass a busted credit station with dusty windows. Is everything on Earth so dusty? At least in these parts, yes.
“Well, what do we have here?”
I turn and face a muscular, balding man in ripped blue pants, made from a material I haven’t ever seen. He emerges from behind the old credit station. Tensing, I back away.
“What kind of welcome is this?” I ask. The translator lodged in the flesh of my throat vibrates as it changes my words to ones he can understand.
“Are you Meran?” the man asks. He’s holding a board with a nail sticking out. “Seriously? What’s a legit Meran doing on this wonderful part of Earth?”
Maybe it’s a start. This man must be Sector 14. He’s curious. But as I face him, his gaze flicks behind him and I hear someone shuffling out from behind another structure.
“I’m lost?” I ask, not wanting to reveal why I’m here until later. Balling my fists, I ready myself for the worst. Merans don’t go down without a fight. Doing so means you’re an ICC slave.
“Obviously,” the guy says with a smile. “Any Merans who visit are typically ICC cronies.”
The shuffling increases behind me and I whirl, throwing a punch at the woman’s midsection. She swings a metal pipe at me, striking me in the side. Pain flares as I let out a grunt, but the woman also backs away, grabbing her stomach. My strength may be a bit better than theirs, but my numbers aren’t.
“So, we have a fighter,” the balding man says.
The clomping sounds of shoes on concrete increase as more people leave the shadows to join the fray. I grasp my side and force my face into a neutral expression. A human male shoves me back. There are five Sector 14 people now, all circling me and all holding blunt objects.
A woman with a tattoo across her face sneers as she swings a wooden board at my face. My jaw snaps. My head flings to the side. Pain flares and I hold in a gasp. My breath releases in a tight hiss as I clench my teeth. I didn’t travel all the way to Earth to die. Anger burns in my gut and I spit blood toward the woman. Then, in a surge of strength, I shove her back, watching as she falls.
&
nbsp; But the others close in too quickly to enjoy the small victory. Swinging a punch at the bald man, I strike him on the forearm. He swears with the pain and stumbles back a few steps. I lift a taunting smile just as something hard cracks against my spine. The air escapes my lungs and I fall forward from the shock, landing on my knees and in a not so very dignified manner.
“Bind her wrists,” the bald man shouts. “General Willis will be interested in why a well-dressed Meran has wandered into our territory.”
I try to rise, but the name General Willis rings a bell.
Gen_W.
They must be the same person—the one who has Atlas here in real life.
I stand and pull against the rough hands grasping my forearms, and then pull against the rope tightening around them until I cut off my circulation. But it’s no use. I’m going to see Atlas and not in the way that I had wanted.
The Sector 14 guards take me deeper into the Outskirts, toward a large, yellow building with spray-painted symbols on the side. Creatures make loud yipping sounds somewhere that I can’t see, and I don’t want to meet them. I’ve heard stories about the people of Earth using vicious animals with sharp teeth to guard their homes in the past. These animals might be some of them.
A woman sits behind a computer just inside. She performs a scan over each individual as the guards hold my wrists from behind, leading me as if I’m a trophy. My jaw is beginning to swell and ache. I must have a developing bruise. My mid-spine also protests with the same burning intensity. I hate that Atlas will see me this way, should we meet in real life, but I’m sure he will understand why I don’t look the most dignified.
The woman at the terminal waves us through a gate and into the main building. It’s large and must be a hollowed-out, abandoned factory. People work in rows of computer terminals. A few look at me as I pass. I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and straighten my back as much as possible, all to appear tall and not vulnerable.
