by A. L. Davroe
He nods once but doesn’t turn toward me. “Whatever is in that chamber, I bet it’s something for all of us. I can’t imagine the Oracle sending people who wouldn’t want it.”
I bite my lip. “Maybe some of us are just here for the journey, not the destination.”
He lowers his head and, for a long moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he reaches up, and his hand closes over mine, squeezes. “This journey is turning into more than I bargained for.” He lifts my hand, kisses my knuckles.
I feel a warm sort of cocoon closing over us. Over this moment. And then my stomach growls again.
A breath escapes Guster. “You should go eat. I need to finish packing.” He glances over his shoulder, the fire back in his eyes and the quirk of a smirk back in his cheek. “But you should probably get dressed first. Call me prematurely possessive, but I don’t care to share that with anyone.”
I pull my hand away and glance down at myself. It occurs to me that the clothing I’ve left on my person is quite tight, which, like his, leaves little to the imagination. Blushing, I bend to collect my clothes and redress myself.
Guster goes back to sorting his wealth. “We’ll stop and get you some more clothes. I’m sure you hate that outfit. The Oracle must have a sense of humor.”
I step into the skirt and pull it over my hips. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s actually quite utilitarian, despite being ugly.”
He scoffs.
“Though…” I breathe as I lift my arms to push them through the armholes in the vest and smell my armpits. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of changes.” I sit back on the bed and work on struggling into my boots. “So, we’re just going to go to the jump pad and get spit out wherever it sends us.”
Guster slides the remaining stack of gems into a final pouch. “Yes. And, Oracle willing, we’ll end up someplace useful. We’ll need to collect a couple of things before trying to infiltrate the chamber. Maps, magical items, supplies. And we’ll need to build our skill sets, train—that’s usually how games like this work. Once we get to the Central Dominion we’re going to have to bust through a number of secured areas and find our way to the chamber. I’m assuming we’ll be fighting a large number of Knights, and who knows what else the game has defending the Dominion.”
I stomp into my boot and look up. “What is the Central Dominion?”
He turns to me, face serious. “Honestly?”
I nod.
“It’s home,” he says flatly. “But worse.”
“Worse?”
“Yeah.” He places the purse into his satchel and comes back toward me. He drops his weight on the bed, making me bounce. “Most of the Aristocracy just wants what they already have, plus more. Central Dominion is like Evanescence, but worse. Aristocratic players can have everything they want there. There are no G-Chips, no credit limits, no regulations for Mods and Alts; security is unbelievably tight because they’ve become paranoid that someone will take what they’ve got.”
I wonder if that’s where Quentin is. And I wonder if Carsai ever found him there. “So,” I say, my voice sounding calmer than it should. “This is basically a suicide mission.” It’s not a question, just a certainty. And I’m not afraid. Why should I be? It’s just a game, and I can always come back and see the beauty of this world as a completely new player.
Guster grins. “Yeah, basically. But we’ll have a hell of a time playing until the end.”
Dune pushes into the room, and I hear Nadine call after him. He jumps onto the bed, ignoring her and nudging my hands for attention. I scratch his ears as I watch Guster fiddle with more purses. “What are you gonna do about Dune?”
“Well, I can’t very well take him on the vivacycle,” Guster reasons. “He’ll stay here, keep the vandals away. Just in case we manage to come back in one piece.”
I grimace. “You’re gonna abandon him? Don’t pets need to be cared for?”
Guster glances over his shoulder. “If they’re real, yeah. But, Dune’s just a piece of AI. He doesn’t actually need to be cared for. Players disappear out of the arena, and he just goes back to being code. If another player wanders in, his code will execute and he’ll perform his protocol as a guard dog to protect the base, but other than that he’s just in sleeper mode. I’ve left him plenty of times and he’s fine. Even if he was real, Kathy at the diner knows him, and she’d take care of him.”
I stare at Dune. He stares at me, panting gross-smelling breath into my face. “It’s really creepy how real this stuff is.”
“Yeah,” Guster says. “It’s pretty damn great.”
Part Three:
Ella Plays the Game
Chapter Twenty-four
Post-American Date: 7/5/231
Longitudinal Timestamp: 4:05 p.m.
Location: Free Zone, Canal Town; Nexis
Guster grabs my arm and steadies me against his solid body as the jump pad powers down. The world is spinning and my stomach is doing flip-flops. “First time’s always the worst,” he reassures.
Feeling nauseous, I grimace as Nadine and Opus step off the low platform and turn in slow opposite circles. Guster looks to Morden, who is standing closest to the navigation grid. “This place looks familiar. Where are we?”
Morden looks down, checks against the holo-map displayed over his wrist, and frowns. “I think we’re in Canal Town, but I’m not entirely sure.”
Guster turns away and rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Mister Navigator.” He steps off the platform and walks past Nadine. Pausing at the confluence of two streets, he looks both ways, nods to himself, and then walks back toward us. He steps back up onto the platform and moves to guide his vivacycle down the ramp.
Morden takes a step after him. “Are we staying?”
Guster glances over his shoulder, his eyes mischievous. “No Mord, I just thought my vivacycle needed a walk. You know how antsy she gets.”
I chuckle to myself as I struggle into the arm straps of my pack. Much as I don’t relish the additional labor, carrying a light pack will help me build my strength. Behind us, Nadine and Opus collect the two remaining vivacycles, each a little different than the other. I’m under the impression that the vivacycles will be our main mode of transportation across the different playing fields. That’s fine with me; I don’t relish walking across countless realms.
“So, explain to me why we can’t just tell the jump pad to take us to the Central Dominion?” I ask.
“It’s too big of a jump,” Guster explains. “You need to move from place to place, like a piece on a game board.”
“Like hopping squares?”
He nods. “You can’t just pick up your piece and send it across the board; you need to follow the rules. Jump pads only move a certain number of fields at once. Though no one knows how many or in what direction their destination field is.”
“What about the map?” I ask. “Can’t you just check where you are and where you are going against the holo-map?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Guster says. “The map doesn’t show where the fields are in relation to one another, only what each field looks like once you get there.”
I frown. “That’s an awful design flaw.”
He shrugs. “I suppose Drexel thought it would be too easy that way.”
I stare at him, momentarily derailed by his use of my last name.
Morden says, “We could try to get there by randomly saying various field titles we know and hoping one of them is close enough to the Dominion to hop to it, but the odds of that happening are very low.”
Guster nods his agreement. “I’ve only collected about thirty maps from fields I’ve been to, and even then, I may not be able to get to one from the other because there might be too big of a jump between. Statistically speaking, the likelihood of just letting the game randomly send you somewhere and then trying the Dominion from there is more likely to work, w
hich is why we’re here.”
A little confused, I refrain from asking more questions until I puzzle out the answers to the ones I’ve already asked.
Once the jump pad is cleared, Guster pulls off to the side and waits for all of us to join him. “So,” he says, “it looks like the game sent us to Canal Town. We’ve already tried getting to the Dominion from here and it didn’t work, so the next place we go will also be game’s choice.”
Nadine looks up from strapping her pack on the back of her vivacycle. “But if we’ve been here already, why stay? Shouldn’t we just move on?”
Guster glances at me. “Ella hasn’t been here before.”
“Huh?” I breathe.
“So what?” Opus demands. “What’s she got to do with it?”
I turn questioning eyes on Guster, wondering the same thing. He meets my gaze, gives me a wink, and jerks his head toward the vivacycle, indicating I get on. As I turn to do so, I hear him say, “Don’t know until we know. Must be a reason we’re here, right? I don’t believe the game does anything by chance.”
Opus grumbles to himself, but Guster talks over him. “We’ve got another three hours before pullout. Hit the taverns and the market; try to find some useful information, or search for a special item that may be of use to us.”
Nadine mounts her bike behind Morden. They look awkward, her body barely able to reach around his. “Yeah, and what are you two going to be doing?” she asks.
Guster gets on behind me. “Mind your own business.”
She and Morden exchange a furtive glance that makes me blush because they both saw me trailing Guster out of his room earlier.
“You taking the tavern?” Morden asks Opus.
Opus grunts and rumbles out of the court. Nadine and Morden follow for a short distance and then angle off a few blocks down. Turning, I look at Guster. “Where are we going? Or is that not my business, either?” I ask, my voice a nervous challenge.
The skin at one edge of his mouth crinkles. “You want to go clothes shopping or not?”
I lift a brow, shocked that he’d guess my weakness so easily. “What about the quest?”
He lifts his legs and accelerates out onto the street, turning around a high-wheeled carriage being pulled by two boys in bright blue linen uniforms and then darting between two white buildings with high columns. “You can get answers anywhere, Elle. You want gossip, you go ask a woman. Where do you find women? Around clothes.”
I roll my eyes at the road ahead. “Spoken like a man,” I mutter.
Guster follows behind me, a silent shadow with a self-satisfied smirk, as I walk between aisle upon aisle of bolts of exquisite fabric, lace, and drawers full of delicate buttons. Wide-eyed and overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all, I run my fingers over the cloth, only half listening to what the woman leading me through the shop is saying.
With a bounce of a voluminous satin bustle, she stops at the end of the last row and spins to face me. “So, do you see something you like?”
Unable to decide on just one beautiful thing, I glance at Guster, who gives me a smug expression. It’s as if he knew this would short-circuit my pleasure center and is silently gloating. He may not be able to do what he wants to me with his own fingers and lips, but he’s smart enough to know there are ways around that—other ways to please the person you’ve got your eye on. Seeing that he’s not going to be much help, I turn back to the woman. She’s dressed in a deep ruby dress that frames the milky white of her shoulders, emphasizes a waist drawn in tight by something she’s explained is a corset, and hugs her hips. She steps toward a bank of shelves and reaches for a booklet full of patterns.
On the drive through Canal Town, Guster explained to me that the time period reflected here is that of the late Victorian era. I’ve made a mental note to learn more about the era because it seems entirely like something the Aristocrats back home would like—all perfection and design—and, maybe one day, I might be able to recognize my dream of becoming a Designer.
Suddenly humbled by the thought of never being able to do something as simple as attending another fashion show, I turn toward the large window beneath the seamstress’s workbench. The shop is built on top of one of the many bright red bridges arching over the deep water canals that crisscross the city.
The buildings on either side of the canal are grand and ornate, their symmetry astounding. The water below is a clear bright blue that reveals the white sand and brightly colored fish that dart between the stone pylons. In the middle distance, a great clock tower shoots high into the sky, a lance aiming toward the sun. To the left of that, and nearly as high, are the glimmering golden dome, minarets, and flying buttresses of a great cathedral.
I look down at the people milling through the streets. They’re dressed in bright clashing colors, the cuts of their luxurious fabric ornate and silly. They wear large hats with odd bobbles and feathers. They ride in high-wheeled carts pulled by workers who dress in matching costumes, or they take long sweeping boats down the canals—the dashing men at the helms poling through the waters and singing in sweet, falsetto voices that I can hear despite being indoors. Some people ride bicycles along the roads bordering the canals, others walk little dogs on brightly colored twists of ribbon, and some picnic on the causeways between the main canals.
It’s all so much that I can’t take it in. To come from such a stark and barren place like Garibal or the plains where Guster lives to this lively, luscious place is like waking up in the Utopia Zone all over again. I want to laugh and cry and run around. I want to pull the rainbow bunches of flowers and aromatic roasted nuts out of the carts on the corners and toss them all around me. I want to dive into the water, touch the sand, and swim with the motley assortment of fish schooling around the thin hulls of the boats.
Someone pushes something into my hands. I blink, realizing I’m back in the dress shop with the woman in the bustle. “How about this? It’s iridescent silk taffeta from Durfrey.” She lifts it to my face and touches my cheek with it. “It brings out the gray in your eyes. She’d be stunning in this, don’t you agree?” She turns to Guster for the answer. All he does is stare at me in a way that makes me lift a hand to my throat. Is it legal to stare at someone like they’re the newest Harley Dean jacket?
Bolstered, the woman turns back to me. “This will make a lovely pleat, it will catch the light—make you twinkle like a star. And that swan neck of yours, we must frame that—something low, but not too risqué.” She opens the fabric up and drapes it across my shoulder. “I’ll put buttons down the front of the bodice…mother of pearl? No, onyx.” she adds, building the dress around me with her eyes. “Oh, and a shawl here—along the shoulder—Chantilly lace, I think. And you’ll do best with bell sleeves—”
I gently reach out and pull her hands away. “This is all lovely,” I say. And I mean it. “I’d be fawning over this if I were back home and deciding on something to wear to a ball.” I have to look away from her bright, expectant eyes. I used to be that enthusiastic about brocade and silk, used to be just as torn over what width of ribbon or size of button. Looking at her is like looking at a future me—a me who was able to grow up and follow a foolish, halfhearted dream to be a Designer and not the Programmer I was born to be. Part of me wants to stop right now, ask this woman to take me on as an apprentice. I glance back at Guster then swallow hard. “But we’re going to be doing a lot of traveling. Do you have something a little more…functional? And durable?”
She frowns. “Another Quester?”
I nod, a little sheepish.
Sighing, she hugs the fabric to her chest. “Seems we only get Questers these days.”
Guster seems to perk up at that. He steps forward and puts his arm across my shoulders. “We’re looking for her father.”
My chest tightens at his words. I want to turn around and punch him in the stomach for being so insensitive, but there’s no
way he could know about my father.
The woman’s thin, plucked eyebrows lift. “Oh? Where’s he gone?”
Guster’s hand slides up the side of my neck and pets my hair, as if trying to comfort me. “We’re told he was captured by the Damascus Knights and taken as a slave for those in the Dominion.” I try my best to look tragic and abashed. It’s not that hard.
The woman’s eyes go sad, and she shakes her head. “Horrible,” she breathes. “That’s a terrible fate.”
Guster’s fingers tighten against my neck, pulling me close. I glance up at him, narrowing the eye this poor woman can’t see. He fixes me with a deep saccharine stare that is too intense for me to take anything but seriously, then touches my face, tracing my features as he speaks. “We’re trying to rescue him. We want to be married, you see. And we couldn’t possibly go forward without his consent. It wouldn’t be right. And we want him there. He has to give her away, of course.” He throws an endearing little smirk in before pulling me close and kissing me.
I don’t deny him the kiss. I sense what he’s trying to do, and I’ve been aching to lean in and do the same all day. It’s just as good as I remember. Better. I don’t want him to stop.
When he pulls away I feel my jaw drop in astonishment. Where did this boy learn to kiss the way he does? And talk about icing the cake of this ridiculous yarn he’s spun. But it works. The woman throws her hands up and drops the silk in a blue-gray-purple flutter. “Oh, you poor dears,” she wails. “Oh, that’s just beyond terrible. Poor star-crossed lovers. And you.” She comes forward and clasps my hands in hers, dragging me out of Guster’s grasp. “You brave, brave girl. Here, you come with me. I know just what you need.”
She begins dragging me toward the back room. Guster moves to follow, but she holds up her hand. “Not you, young man. Save your eyes for the wedding night.”
She hustles me through the back room, making sure to lock the door behind her and then herds me down a pair of darkly lit steps in the back. At the bottom we walk through a dry, windowless room stocked with barrels and crates. There is more fabric down here; judging by its quality and the exotic color palate, these are her true gems. I stop to offer them the reverence they deserve, but she rushes past them, and I have to reluctantly drag myself away. She heads to the very back and shoves some old brown paper off a large black box with a rusty lock on it.
