Decimation Island

by Damien Boyes

  As much as you love the pulse of the crowd in your head, downtime is the one chance you get to spend a few quiet moments without an audience watching your every move. You let your guard down, just a hair, and that’s all it takes for the fear and the grief to come rushing in. You squeeze the railing as hard as you can, but can’t keep the feelings from crashing over you.

  Every second you’re out here means Rael is one more closer to dying. The doctors said he didn’t have long—there was time, but not much. It could have happened already …

  Then why are you still here?

  You take a breath and squeeze the railing again, clamping down on your tears. Even though there’s no one watching directly through your eyes, the game still streams out a spectator’s view of the camp. You’ve got millions of people watching you right now. Gotta keep up appearances. Think happy thoughts.

  You conjure up a memory of the bug-eyed face Rael made the first time he tried a lemon, and that’s somehow even worse and your heart caves in on itself and for a brief second you consider giving up, running home to him, sweeping him up in your arms and promising you’ll never leave him again, no matter how little time he has left.

  But then what? He’d still be dying. What would you do then, if you give up now? You’d be right back where you started.

  Your spine straightens. That’s what you need, remember why you’re here. You can get through this, just a little longer—

  Someone clears his throat behind you, interrupting your pep talk, and you instantly know it’s OVRshAdo. You’re surprised he waited this long.

  You give yourself another moment to pull yourself together, then jump back into the game. So much for your peace and quiet.

  “You gonna keep to yourself? After that?” he says, his voice loud, buoyant with success and all the drinks he downed in the past ten minutes.

  “You’re welcome,” you say, not turning around. You may have been forced to team up, but you’re not a team.

  Zara-Zee snorts. Great, she’s here too. “We save your ass and now you’re too good to talk to us?”

  “Yeah,” you respond. “No offense.”

  “Offense taken,” Zara-Zee says, posturing. God, people are exhausting.

  You sigh and turn to face them. Zara’s licking her lips, up on her toes like she wants to fight. Probably still mad you killed her boyfriend.

  “Don’t be toxic, Zar,” OVRshAdo says, putting out his hand as if to hold her back from coming at you, but it’s a useless gesture. Camp Paradiso is PVP-free. She can throw as many punches as she wants but they’ll never land. No, it’s a show, a drama for your benefit. He’s taking your side over hers, subtly conditioning you to make you trust him. They want you to join them next game.

  And why not? Even Wood thinks it’ll happen. You three players have the most hours, and that means you’re each other’s biggest rivals. OVRshAdo is going into his late game, of course he wants to keep his most dangerous enemies close. Can’t sneak up on him that way.

  Eventually, when it makes the most sense for his game, he’ll be the first to pull the trigger and off you and Zara both, then solo through his last hundred hours all the way to the Century.

  Teaming with him would almost certainly guarantee you another two games. The lone wolf play has been working, but only just. You almost lost that last round—should have lost that last round. Running solo is a gamble, and each time you play the odds of winning go down. Eventually your luck’s gonna run out. Linker put you off teaming at first, but you know you can’t get to the end alone.

  Not with OVRshAdo, though. He needs to die, and it’ll be easier to kill him if you don’t get to know him first.

  “We helped each other because we needed to,” you say. “Pragmatic, nothing more.”

  “You don’t want to win?” OVRshAdo asks. “I know you don’t trust me, and, sure, I get why, but haven’t I been honest with you? It’s the game, nothing personal. Let’s try it out for one round. After that, you want to walk away and resume doing our best to kill each other, that’s cool too.”

  That math works way better for him than it does for you.

  “I can’t let you hit the Century. It’ll take years for the prize to build back up. I need the money now.”

  The light in OVRshAdo’s dark digital eyes flickers. “It is a lot of money,” he says, then gives you a sideways stare. “Help me win, and I’ll split it with you.”

  “You’re talking three ways, right?” Zara says, turning her attitude on OVRshAdo.

  “Three ways,” he amends, turning to include her. “The pool’s up to near twenty million. Even split three ways that’s more than any of us could ever spend.”

  There’s nothing stopping him from sharing, but nothing holding him to it either. Others have tried this strategy, promised shares of the prize to get to the end, but no one’s ever had to make good on it.

  And while six million and change is a lot of money, even if you could trust OVRshAdo to keep his end, it’s not enough. Rael’s a genie kid, built in a lab, and not covered under the Union’s guaranteed health care. After the re-sequencing he’ll need a lifetime of genetic maintenance, checkups, and probably yearly treatments. Even what you’ll take home from a solo win might not be enough to keep him alive past his eighteenth birthday.

  “Thanks, but no,” you answer. You can’t keep running solo, that’s true, but you’re not about to help OVRshAdo steal the Century from you. You’ve got three games to knock him out and clear the way for your win. Can’t give him the first one for free.

  “What?” Zara snaps. “Why the fuck not? This is real money we’re talking about.”

  For a moment OVRshAdo looks like he might try another stab at convincing you, but that’s not his style, and he shifts tactics. “Fair enough,” he says. “I respect the decision. I’d probably make the same in your place.”

  He swings his chin at Zara-Zee, directing her back to the dining hall, and she glares at him but turns and stomps off.

  “Hey, Shad,” you say as he’s leaving. “Nothing personal. See you out there.”

  You don’t hold any grudges, it’s just the game, and you want to win as much as he does.

  “Not if I see you first,” he answers, then follows Zara up the dock.

  Alone again, and it’s getting exhausting.

  You turn to catch the last few moments of the sunset but you’ve already missed it and the sky is a bruised purple smear. The next game will be starting soon.

  You’re not interested in teaming with OVRshAdo, but you know you can’t do this alone anymore either.

  Looks like it’s time to make some new friends.

  GAGE, FINSBURY

  16:52:41 // 11-JUL-2059

  I know I should call Dub immediately and tell him everything—that I just missed the skyns and have proof Anika’s involved—but I don’t. Instead I catch a hopper back to Baton Rouge in my soaking clothes, dreading the thought of what’ll happen to her after I do.

  This will end her. Destroy her career, tarnish her name forever. Then Standards will get involved and she’ll likely end up in a stock—can I do that to her?

  Anika’s supposed to be on comms blackout, but the second I’m reconnected to the link I send her an invite to my headspace, telling her we need to talk and it can’t wait.

  By the time I get to the skyn rental shop, drop off the loaner body, and cast back into my own skyn, I still haven’t heard back from her. What if she doesn’t respond? How long can I wait?

  Connie’s standing at the front window as I materialize in front of the crackling fireplace. She’s sipping from a steaming mug and watching the icebergs float by, but she doesn’t say anything, just flashes me a smiling glance over her shoulder as if reminding me she’s here if I need her.

  If only it were that simple.

  I plop down on the couch to wait, and Anika gets back to me an hour later. She says can make ten minutes around seven, but only ten. Not enough time for anything good, she adds. But I’ll s
ee what I can do.

  She has no idea her life is about to change forever.

  My stomach skips at the thought of it—if only things were different—but she doesn’t know what’s coming, doesn’t know I know she was involved in the heist. Maybe she’s playing me, maybe she’s not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. After I confront her she’ll never want to talk to me again.

  I know I should go straight to Dub and let him decide what to do, but I can’t just rat her out. She needs to hear it from me first, give her a chance to prepare for what’s coming. I owe her that much at least.

  The next two hours drag by, but right after seven Anika knocks at the front door and I get up and let her in. She’s wearing her default aspect, the one with the athletic figure and short copper hair, and she smiles as she leans in and hugs me, but I think she senses something’s off as I pull away and step aside to let her in.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” she says after she’s given the cabin a once-over. “It’s old fashioned, kinda like you.”

  “Thanks?” I say as I move away from her, back into the kitchen, and put the island counter between us.

  Anika squints at me, crossing her arms. “What’s up with you?”

  I’m not sure how to start. I’ve been sitting here for hours and still don’t know what to say, so I just look at her, take a breath, and launch into it.

  “I know what you’re doing,” I say, keeping my voice neutral, and for a moment she thinks I might be teasing her, but when I don’t follow it up with a joke the smile fades from her eyes.

  “What are you talking about?” she asks, her expression flat.

  “The arena skyns.” I pause for a second and wait for a reaction but she doesn’t give me one. “You said you hadn’t talked to OVRshAdo since DI, but I saw you together. With HuggyJackson and Zara-Zee. You were the inside man, right? You implanted the code that let them override the safeties and walk away with the skyns. I tracked them down to Lost Orleans, but Zara got away before I could stop her.”

  Finally, her face shifts as conflicting emotions dance across her face, but she doesn’t deny it. She turns away, like she’s going for the door, but then changes her mind and spins back to face me, finger raised.

  “I knew it,” she says, anger seeping into her voice. “All that bullshit about your dead wife—”

  “Not bullshit.”

  “Ha!” she snaps back. “You’ve been playing me from the start, from the second we met you had an agenda. Dub put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  I don’t answer, but I don’t have to, she already knows. “What I don’t get is why,” I say instead. “Why get involved? Why throw your life away? It’s not like you need the money. Does OVRshAdo have something on you? Did he force you into this?”

  “Fuck you,” Anika seethes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Then tell me. Help me understand. Maybe there’s a way out of this for you…”

  “I don’t want out,” she says. “I’m not a victim, and I’m not a little girl. I don’t need a big strong man to ride to my rescue. Especially you.”

  “What am I supposed to do then? You tell me.”

  Anika laughs, a short exasperated burst of air through her nose. “I’m not your fucking conscience, Finsbury. And I’m not your dead wife telling you what you want to hear. You’re gonna have to figure this out all by your lonesome.”

  I press my hands against the countertop, fighting through my frustration. I should just give up on her, take it to Dub and let Humanitech and the cops sort it out, but I can’t. Not yet.

  “Don’t you get it? You’re done. Whatever this was you and Shad were planning, it’s over. He may have gotten away with the skyns, but the Gulf isn’t that big a place. I’ve got the boat’s registration—it won’t be too hard to find. Zara will be easy enough to track down, and Huggy is feeding the catfish right now, but they’ll dredge him up eventually. The truth will come out.”

  “You killed Huggy?” she asks, her surprise knocking down the anger.

  “He isn’t dead. Might be hard to find though.” She exhales sharply but throws daggers with her eyes. “He started it. I was just supposed to stand there and let him gut me?” Why am I on the defensive here? I don’t need to justify anything. “Look, I’m doing everything I can to throw you a lifeline—”

  “Keep your goddamn lifelines. I don’t need your pity.” The anger’s completely gone from her face, but her chest is heaving and her hands are clenched into fists.

  “You conspired to steal a few hundred million dollars’ worth of highly restricted biotech. That’s way up there on the Standards Offense scale. They’ll stock you for twenty-five years.”

  “I’ll end it myself before that happens.” Her lips twitch as she glares at me, defiant. “Better for everyone that way.”

  She’s hurting and she’s stubborn and I know exactly how she feels. She’s got a plan, and nothing I say to her will get her to back down, especially now. She’s too stubborn for that. But even if she’ll never trust me again, I don’t think she understands just how much trouble she’s in.

  “They’ll pull your backup out of storage and she’ll get the stock,” I say, my heart raw. I know it’s only been a few days but I’ve grown attached to her, and even knowing she’s been lying to me I don’t want to see her suffer. “I’ve been inside one of those things. It’s torture. They strip every sensation away, every feeling of joy and hope. You’re looking at twenty-five years of grey-toned monotony, and maybe you’re thinking that right about now it sounds like a blessing, the way your head must be wound up, but I promise you you’re wrong. It doesn’t have to go that way though. If you get ahead of this, maybe they’ll be lenient.”

  She just stares at me, working the angles, trying to reach a different conclusion, but she’ll have to see I’m right. There’s no other way out for her.

  Turns out she’s even more stubborn than I thought. Her face settles into a steely calm, and she says, “You do what you gotta do.”

  I drop my palms back down on the countertop and lower my head. What is she into? All this can’t just be about money. That’s the one part of this that doesn’t make sense—she’s already rich, the risk isn’t worth the reward. So what’s it all about?

  I raise my head and she’s still staring at me. “Why does OVRshAdo want those skyns?” If she wanted she could have left by now, I’m not holding her aspect here, but she hasn’t. Maybe I can get her to talk to me. “Somehow I don’t expect it’s the payday.”

  “I don’t give a shit about money.”

  “Right, so what is it then? The only other use for those skyns is killing people—”

  Anika shakes her head. “You’re out of your depth, Finsbury. I know you think you’re some great detective and you’ve got it all figured out, but you don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “What? So you can run to the cops?”

  “So I can help you.”

  “You want to help me?”

  “I do.”

  “Then walk away and forget we ever met. I promise you no one’s gonna get hurt.”

  “One thing I can’t do.”

  She growls in frustration, then screws up her face and leans into me. “What do you want from me? Why’d you even invite me here? To fuck with me before you give me up?”

  “What? No, goddamit. I want to know why. I want you to give me one fucking reason to explain all this, something other than you did it for the fucking kicks—because if the person I just I spent the past week with, the one who had me questioning every fucking thing in my life, can fool me so easily, then I might as well give the world up and watch it crumble from inside the safety of my head. At least in here I know what’s real.”

  I’m out of breath and huffing and she’s just glaring at me.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she says after a long minute, but the fight’s gone and her shoulders slump. “You don’t know m
e.”

  “I know enough. You’re not that good an actor.”

  She chews on the inside of her cheek for moment, then cocks her head at me. “You want to know why? Fine. I’ll tell you.” She takes a long breath in through her nose. “I spent forty days on that island, forty days away from my dying son, and I want to know what happened. Winning meant everything, no way I killed myself the second before I won it all. Not a chance.”

  I’ve been there, watched myself do things I never imagined myself capable of, but it happens. Easier, I think, than any of us might expect. But still, what’s that got to do with the arena skyns?

  “Trust me, it happens,” I say. “A lot can happen in forty days.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I’ve relived every minute I spent there, and I don’t see how I’d ever make that decision.” She hesitates, pressing her lips together. “Even once I knew my chance to save Rael was”—her voice hitches but she keeps right on going—“once it was too late, I never would have given up. Jefferson Wood stole the win from me, that’s the only answer.”

  “He released your skyn telemetry from those last few seconds. The link’s been through it. No question your rithm shows you raising your hand and pulling the trigger.”

  “Which is why I need to know for myself. Either the island cheated me, or it only took forty days for me to become a person I can’t recognize. If you’d done something you couldn’t explain, wouldn’t you do whatever you could to understand why?”

  I haven’t told her much about my previous restoration, when I turned into a monster, so she doesn’t know I did the same thing. He blew himself up to take out Eka. I’ll never know if I would have made the same choice, and it’s just something I get to live with.

  That still doesn’t answer the bigger question. “So what does all that have to do with the arena skyns?”