by A. L. Davroe
I find myself wishing I’d had better luck with the cards and gotten more mod chips. “If you chose not to use your mod chips to gain experience points, how else can you get them?”
Morden says, “The old-fashioned way, of course. You actually do them. Hence ‘experience’.”
“You can get them faster, though,” Nadine says. “You can read training manuals or take tutorials. That’s how Gus learned a lot of things in the beginning.”
“The beginning?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Nadine replies with smirk. “Gus and I have been playing together since the beginning.”
“Oh.” I look away, an uncharacteristic tinge of jealousy yanking at my chest, and finish my stew in silence.
Chapter Twenty-two
Post-American Date: 7/4/231
Longitudinal Timestamp: 6:30 p.m.
Location: Free Zone, Garibal; Nexis
Not long after we finish eating, Nadine, Opus, and Morden go to sleep, leaving me alone in the cottage. For a long time, I just wander around the room, touching things I’ve never touched before, lifting jars of spices and holding them to my nose, staring at the massive star-spangled blanket of midnight sky and the blue-gray desert of moon-washed earth. And I listen. The fire crackles low in the hearth, the flames having died down to glowing embers. The cottage seems to sigh, settling itself into sleep as the alternating heat from the fire and the cold night air make the wooden timbers groan and creek. Outside, wild dogs are howling, the breeze makes the tall grass rustle, the wind turbines squeak, and the insects chirp and chitter.
I’m aware of a gaping openness. The world is so large and wonderful. Despite it all, I feel empty and alone. I turn from the window and move back toward the bench. There I sit and wait to be pulled back into Real World—a world that I know and understand, a place where I’m never left alone with just my thoughts and the vast mystery of creation.
A door creaks open behind me. I turn to see Dune sticking his head out of Guster’s bedroom. When he sees me he whines low, and his whole body begins to wriggle.
“Hi Dune,” I whisper, happy to see someone in the vast loneliness.
He whines again and prances foot to foot as if uncertain whether to come to me or stay with Guster. Smiling, I get to my feet and go to him, relieving him of the hard choice. I go down on one knee—it seems right to meet him on his own level—and offer my hand. He doesn’t lick me this time. Instead, he gives me a cursory inspection with a wet black nose and nudges my hand with his snout. I scratch him like I saw Guster and Nadine doing earlier, right behind his ears and then down his neck and shoulders.
He opens his mouth, his tongue dribbling absently onto the hewn wooden floorboards as he smiles at me, content. He leans against my hands, directing my attention to places that must itch or feel better. As he moves, his tail smacks against the door, opening it wider.
The air in Guster’s room is cooler, and the only light is the phantasmal square of moonlight leaking through the window. Guster isn’t here. His bed is mussed, as though someone were sleeping in it, but the game must have drawn him out already. I glance behind me, wondering if the others are gone as well. Made bolder by the certainty that Guster is no longer in the room, I stand and creep in.
Curious about him and everything there is to know about him, I turn a circuit around the room. It’s a sparse arrangement. One window, a door to the outside, a large bed, some kind of box at the foot of the bed, a narrow closet, a bank of drawers. There are no pictures or adornments. I slide a drawer open. It’s filled with weapons and vials and purses. I run my hands along the clothing hanging in the closet, press my face into the shirts. They smell like grass and wind. Today’s clothes are thrown over the box at the foot of the bed. I pick up his shirt. It smells faintly like sweat, but more like wind and sand and something that seems like a scent meant only for him. I hold it as I go to the side of the bed where he must have slept. Touching the sheet reveals a warm memory of his presence.
Dune hops up on the bed and stares at me, expectant.
Confused, I cock my head. “This isn’t my bed.”
He whines and lifts his paw as if reaching out for me.
I frown, unable to understand why my ancestors would have thought a companion incapable of speech to be a good idea. “Are you afraid? Of being alone?”
He barks at me, his body language now indicating agitation.
“Shhh.” I hold out my hands to shush him, afraid he’ll wake everyone else even though I’m sure they’ve been pulled out as well. He starts pawing at the blankets, his upper body bounding down and his legs splaying out as if he’s dodging something, and then buries his face in the sheets.
I look back down at where Guster’s body once was and move to the other side of the bed. “Okay,” I say to Dune. “But only until you fall asleep.” I pull off my boots and unfasten the utility belt, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Then I slip out of my vest and my skirt, leaving the shirt and the cutoffs to protect me against the chilled air. Dune prances back and forth behind me, nudging a cold, wet nose under my arm every so often.
When I’m done, I slip between the sheet and the blanket, determined that this isn’t where I’m going to stay but too chilled to remain entirely outside of the promise of the blankets. Dune settles down beside me, his big body snuggling up to mine, giving more warmth. He puts his head on my arm, his eyes intent and staring in a way that I don’t recall ever being looked at before. I smile at him and put my hand on his head.
“Robots don’t get afraid of being alone in the dark.”
He whines low and leans forward, his tongue lapping at my face, but missing because he seems too comfortable to get up all the way.
I scratch him, slow and methodic, working a rhythm that makes his lids droop over his limpid dark eyes, and I think of the song Kiara sang this afternoon in the diner. In memory, her voice isn’t as bad as I thought. It’s as beautiful as she is. Or was. I close my eyes against the idea that her songs and beauty are no longer part of this game, no longer part of the world.
Unsent Letters to Delia
Dee,
His name is Guster. And I still can’t stop thinking about him. I could probably write you ten pages telling you all about how he looks and makes me feel, but there’s part of me that doesn’t want to share that with you. Is that selfish of me? We always liked Quentin together and, as much as you told me you’d take Shadow, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if one of us ended up with Quentin.
That’s nothing to worry about now, of course. Since Quentin thinks I’m dead, I guess it’s up to you entirely to catch his eye. Certainly, punching Shadow did that. I wish I could ask you what you were thinking when you did that…
I’m on a different path than you, destined to love a different boy who will be mine and mine alone. Perhaps it will be Guster who is that boy for me. Even then it’s a bittersweet love, because I can only have him in a dream realm.
When I got pulled out of the game, my stomach sank and I felt this awful depression come upon me, because I knew he wasn’t part of this world. Whoever Guster is in real life, he’s not for me in this world. We’re both a lie. I wish you better luck. I hope you find Real World love, the kind that you can wake up to in both dream and awake.
Forever Yours,
Ella
Chapter Twenty-three
Post-American Date: 7/5/231
Longitudinal Timestamp: 2:25 p.m.
Location: Free Zone, Garibal; Nexis
The breeze is cool and gentle, teasing strands of hair over my cheeks and tempting me out of my dreamless sleep with the scent of adventure. I blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the low, gray light of early morning. Through the open door I can see the world is still not quite awake. Guster is standing in the doorway leading to the outside, his arms crossed against his chest, a steaming cup of something cradled between the cr
ook of his elbow and his large callused hand.
I make an effort to remain still. I don’t want to disturb whatever far-off place his half asleep eyes are visiting in the middle distance, don’t want to break the perfection of his peace, or the low timbre of the song he’s humming to himself. He stays like that for a long time, longer than the warmth of the blankets and the dog curled beside me will allow. Longer than his lullaby voice will allow. I drift back to sleep, dreaming of mysterious, handsome boys standing in the white-light of dawn, watching over the world like angelic sentinels who vibrate with heavenly song.
When I wake again, it’s to the sound of drawers being opened and closed and things being packed away into bags. I sit up, lethargic and slow, realizing that Dune is no longer asleep beside me and that Guster is rummaging through his bank of drawers, looking for something.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice heavy with sleep and confusion.
Lifting his head, Guster glances over his shoulder, his eyes examining me and his mouth relaxing in a gentle smile of reassurance. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
I glance down, the puzzle pieces finally clicking into place and my brain finally waking up. I slept in Guster’s bed. Which means that at some point, Guster woke up and found me next to him…after I told him I wanted to go slow. I feel my cheeks go warm as I try to look at him again.
“I uh, didn’t mean to, um…it was Dune’s fault.”
His smile broadens into a grin, but he turns back to his drawer before speaking. “It’s fine.” He pulls out a small pouch and dumps it on the top of the bank of drawers; coins and small glinting jewels spill across the polished wood. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t please me to roll over and find you beside me. I was hard-pressed not to wake you up and tell you all about it, but I’m a gentleman. For now, at least,” he teases.
I sit up entirely and wrap my arms around my legs, dismissing the coiling feeling between them. Sparks, that tone, that smirk, that glint in his eye… It’s going to be hard to hold off on what my body is practically screaming for me to do.
Guster begins sorting the contents of his pile into smaller “like” piles. “Morden made breakfast if you want something to eat. We’ll be leaving soon.”
I tip my head at his back and then, realizing he can’t see me, I say, “Leaving? For where?”
He swipes a pile of silver coins into the pouch and tucks it back into the drawer. “We’re going to head out toward the jump pad.”
“Jump pad?”
He turns back to me and tosses something at me. I catch it with both hands and when I open my fingers, there’s a small red stone sitting between my palms. “What’s this?”
He leans against the wall, watching me in the heavy way that he does, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “That’s a jump stone. You use it to pay passage through the jump pad. One stone will pay for one jump for you and your party from your current level to any other Free Zone playing field within range.”
I look back at the stone. “You mean this lets you get into other games?”
He steps forward, his movement bringing my eyes up as he comes toward me and sits on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, he takes the stone from me and holds it up so that the light catches the facets and reflects tiny rainbows all over the room. “That’s exactly what it does.”
Confused, I knit my brow. “But how can that be? I thought the game made an effort to prevent gamers from getting into one another’s games.”
He closes his hand around the gem. “Oh, it does. But only the games that we’re not supposed to go to. We have to go to other places. We’re on a quest. How would we solve the mysteries, collect the required magic items, or get to our place of destination without being able to move freely?”
“Good point.” I breathe. I hadn’t really thought about all that. “So, where are we going to tell the jump pad to take us? And why are we going there?”
Guster looks down at the floor, his expression grave. “That, I don’t know.”
“So,” I say, “You’re just going to shoot in the dark until you hit something?”
He shrugs. “Seems to me that the Oracle will take care of it. She’s been good about it thus far, bringing us all together.”
I stare at Guster for a long minute, then back at his dresser where most of the coins and gems are still piled, unsorted. “Why do you want to go to the Anansi Chamber? I mean, it seems like you already have so much wealth. What’s inside that you want so bad?”
His eyes slide sideways, and he reaches out his free hand and traces the outline of my leg, so that shivers run up my spine. “What’s inside that chamber isn’t gold or jewels. It’s a different kind of treasure. Something a little less tangible, but no less valuable.”
I lean forward, and grasp his wrist so that we can both focus. “What is it?”
He looks up then, his face so close to mine that he could kiss me. And I secretly want him to, but he doesn’t. I’ve drawn a line and he’s respecting it—despite my inability to stay out of his bed. He looks into my eyes for what seems like eternity. Then he says, “Look, the Oracle told me to go there, so that’s what I’m doing. I have faith that what I’ll find there will be worth it.”
I draw away. “You mean, you could be on a wild-goose chase and not even know it?” I mentally score a point for myself. I’ve been wanting to say “wild-goose chase” since I read about it.
He smirks.
I look down at the blanket, at my legs underneath. “What’s ‘worth it’? I don’t get it. Just last night you were talking about how wonderful this game made you feel. Now you want more?”
“Yes, I want more.”
I look up and glance around the room. “What else could you possibly want?”
He reaches out, and his palm opens against my cheek, his fingers curling around my hair, and he smiles at me, mischievous and teasing. “Everyone has their secrets, Elle, especially thieves.”
I twist my mouth, annoyed, but I don’t say anything. This is, after all, only a game. I don’t need to know everyone’s deepest desires or secrets; I just need to win. That’s the point, right? That, and seeing my father’s game. If moving from playing field to playing field in search of a sign from the Oracle is what Guster is planning, then I shouldn’t complain. It gives me an excellent chance to explore. But I’d be lying to myself if I thought that Guster didn’t factor into all of this as well. Part of why I’m here—playing this particular game, going on this particular quest—is because I want to be with him. The mere possibility of a future with him is enough to make me follow him.
So, yes, I at least need to know some things about him. “I’m just trying to understand you, Guster.”
“I know. And you will. In time. You were right about yesterday; we should take time and get to know each other. Back home…we don’t get that, do we? We can’t choose.”
He’s right, of course. If the accident hadn’t happened maybe I would have been married to Zane whether I liked him or not. He was lovely, of course, but what if I found him lacking in character? That means something. But then, everything I’ve seen of Guster’s personality so far, I’ve liked. “Just tell me one thing,” I say, trying not to sound desperate or frustrated.
Giving me an indulgent expression, he fiddles with the strands of hair, twirling one curl around his forefinger. “If I can.”
I hold my breath, trying to think of the best way to frame what I want to ask him. “Are you lying? Is this some kind of ruse to get what you want and then you’re going to end up betraying us all in the end?” Betraying me? Lying to me about your feelings?
His hand stills and his brow knits down hard, shocked. “What?”
I look away, feeling like an idiot. “Well, it happens in the stories. Someone always plays a trick, betrays the others in order to get what they want,” I reason. “It’s always the my
sterious one who won’t answer questions, won’t explain himself,” I add, trying to avoid the confusion in his expression. “I just want you to know that I don’t want what’s in that chamber, so there’s no reason to betray me to have it all for yourself.”
His bitter chuckle makes me jerk my head up where I meet his eyes, which have gone hard with hurt. He pulls back, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think me capable of such a thing.” He stands and moves to turn away.
Suddenly aware that I’ve struck a very tender nerve, I grab his hand to prevent him from leaving me. “I don’t,” I blurt out. “It’s just…oh, I don’t know. I’m just being suspicious. I—” I don’t know what to say. I want to say that I wish to stay with him, that I don’t want him to ever leave me, that I feel safe and satisfied with him in a way that I’ve never felt before. But that would be foolish. I just met him. I barely know him. And I really don’t know anything about these kinds of feelings. Instead, I say, “I don’t think you’d betray me. I’m just scared. I’ve learned I can’t trust things in Real World, and I’m used to losing people. I’m sorry.” It sounds stupid and weak, but I don’t know how to communicate with this boy who makes me feel like I’ve spun around in a circle for three days straight. “I really want to trust you, and I’m scared of that.”
I can see the muscles in his back relax under the cream-colored fabric of his shirt. He drops my hand. “I won’t betray you,” he says finally. “I want to trust you, too. I want more than that, honestly, and that kind of scares me, too. And I’m not keeping secrets. I just want to do things in my own time. For once. All I want is to be in control of my own life, just once.”
We’ve both just revealed so much. My insecurities, his inability to avoid the vortex of duty that exists within Evanescence. I slip out from under the sheets and move toward him, touching his shoulder with nervous fingers. “Okay. You can have that. Just like you said, you can have anything you want, within reason. And, just so you know, I don’t intend on betraying you, either.”
