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Igata had lied about Velos betraying him.
Uncertainty nagged at him. She had invited him to Melathia, a banned planet, and Velos just happened to own a private thorneway in his studio. Space City sims did interface with the Bazij system though, so it made sense that he might need to conduct business with them in person. Except with whom, when all Bazij lived in the sims?
Velos had also convinced him to leave behind his wrist-comp against Space City rules. And his wrist-comp provided the primary means by which his parents or Space City leaders could identify or track him. His family would track his wrist-comp to Velos’s studio and learn where he’d gone. All thorneways kept records of their traffic. And Velos had provided him another wrist-comp for emergencies.
But if Velos had tricked him, he might know how to deactivate the wrist-comp so no one could track it.
Maliek searched the messenger system for his parents. A ‘Contact Not Found’ notice popped into the air in front of him. He dictated a short message anyway, telling them that he was a prisoner and needed help.
Then he checked everyone he knew who used the Bazij sims. Each time he received a ‘Contact Not Found’ error, panic grew a little further, like a plant sprouting in his stomach and rising into his chest.
He sent messages regardless.
Was everything Igata said true? Was he in a closed system cut off from everyone he knew? And why had he trusted her? He should’ve known something was wrong about her invitation to visit. The Bazij all viewed living in the real world as dangerous. And having lived their whole lives in sims, they weren’t accustomed to using their bodies. Igata couldn’t have interacted with him in the real world in that short a time span. He should’ve known better.
When he started to receive ‘undeliverable message’ errors, he crumpled to the ground. After the undeliverable notice for his parents, his heart throbbed in his chest like a dam threatening to burst. He’d lied to them that morning. They thought he’d gone to the Academy. He might never see them again. And they’d never know where he’d gone. For the rest of their lives they’d wonder what happened to their son who vanished one day on his way to school.
He buried his face in his hands. For a time, he lost all sense of the world around him as his thoughts cycled through the day’s events. Igata had no right to do this to him.
He’d never go to the Academy and see his friends again.
No! He’d find Igata and force her to let him go.
He’d never participate in the Games again or explore new worlds.
He shook his head, determined to destroy the sims system if he necessary in order to escape.
He’d never hug his mom again.
Mental exhaustion drove him to his feet. He wandered toward the city, thinking only to escape the darkness. And the bright city lights left no place for darkness, illuminating every bit of the soaring buildings.
Without the limits of physics, the city took on all kinds of unusual shapes. Buildings connected in ways and at angles that would be impossible in the real world. A giant, interconnected Jenga city with so many pieces removed or sticking out at odd angles that it should crumble.
A buzz filled it all. Bazij ate, drank, paraded, scaled the sides of buildings. Some leapt from ledge to ledge at impossible heights, before dropping to the ground with a superhero landing. In the sims, everyone had superpowers if they wanted them. Greasy and sugary aromas saturated the surrounding air.
Maliek approached an old Azzaro man resting in a chair at the entrance to a convenience store. Music with heavy bass blared inside.
“Excuse me, sir. I need some help.” Maliek kept his voice hushed.
The Azzaro sized him up, then lifted a green bottle to his lips and took a deep swig.
“I’ve been kidnapped,” Maliek said. “I’m from Space City.”
The Azzaro diverted his gaze, pretending he hadn’t heard.
“Please, can you help me contact my family?”
Scowling, the Azzaro waved him away with a dirty, wrinkled hand.
“At least point me to where I can get help.”
Eyes still studying passersby, the Azzaro replied, “I’m sorry kid, I can’t get involved. You’re on your own.”
Maliek gaped, unable to believe what he’d heard. The Azzaro shifted uncomfortably, as if Maliek’s closeness unsettled him.
“Get out of here, before I call the authorities,” the Azzaro warned.
Maliek hurried off. The last thing he wanted was for Igata to return. Or a droid.
Among the Bazij he passed, some had horns on their foreheads while others didn’t. Among those with horns, the number ranged from one to three for most, though he spotted someone with six. The horns came in a wide variety of colors, some orange like Igata’s, others purple, teal, or a darker gray than their skin. Was the variety natural? Something from the real world? Or did they just enjoy embellishing their avatars?
He didn’t dare approach any of them for help. Whom could he trust? Igata hadn’t been who she’d led him to believe.
Why had she lured him here? Why lock him in a covum and imprison him in this closed system? His parents weren’t rich. Nor did they hold leadership positions within Space City. What could Igata want from him?
He wandered, avoiding everyone as much as he could. He kept his head lowered. If anyone paid him too much attention, he’d detour along the nearest side street. His caution likely meant very little if Igata wanted to find him. She’d locked him in a sim. If she or anyone else with control wanted him, it wouldn’t take much to locate him and materialize at his side. He was a mouse that Igata had dropped in a maze to study. An endless maze without an exit. Or any cheese. And like a mouse, he had no clue about his captors’ intentions.
Not long after sunrise—a simulated one (he’d likely never see a real one again)—he stumbled on a park deep in the city. In one corner, Bazij played all sorts of games, shoes thudding on the courts. Some games he recognized, like basketball and dodgeball, but many others he didn’t.
Beyond the courts, people climbed through a complex column of bars. Younger kids ran squealing through a series of tunnels, while their parents talked off to the side. In an outdoor workshop, kids of all ages hammered and sawed on wood scraps, which seemed a little crazy. They lived in a sim where they never needed to build anything again. Add a little code to the sim, and they had anything they desired. Why did they need to learn to build anything?
As he reached the park’s far corner, he found a crowd his own age lounging on benches. A Traga, two Bazij, an Azzaro, and a couple other species he couldn’t identify, assuming their avatars weren’t complete fabrications. After all, people could pretend to be anyone online. Until now he’d never quite accepted that. He had always believed the danger minimal, more likely to happen to someone on a questionable alien planet... like Melathia, on the banned Space City travel list.
How could I have been so stupid? I deserve this punishment.
Would it be permanent? His eyes burned, but he blinked to clear them. He wouldn’t cry in front of these strangers. He almost ran from the park, but after so much walking his feet begged him to rest. He didn’t feel hungry or thirsty despite having nothing to eat or drink in... how many hours had it been?
The covum. It fed and hydrated him. He’d never eat or drink anything ever again. Or go to the bathroom? How did that work? Unbidden images floated to mind.
“What’s wrong with you?”
The Traga in the group had spoken to Maliek; they all stared at him now. He realized he’d been wrinkling his face in disgust.
“Nothing. Sorry. Nothing,” he said, averting his eyes. He took a step to go.
“This one has the look of a new root,” an Azzaro taunted. He had a green mohawk and three earrings in his left ear.
“Couple hours planted at most,” a male Bazij agreed. The two horns on his brow shone neon yellow. A color-matching tattoo covered the left side of his neck down into his shirt.
“Root?” Maliek asked.
“Someone newly planted in a covum,” the Azzaro with the mowhawk said.
A chill ran through Maliek. If they could tell, everyone else would, too. Right now was not the time to stand out.
“Definitely a root.”
“Are there many?” Maliek asked, wondering how often this occurred.
“Every one of us,” a Macab said. Instead of the traditional white fur, this one possessed neon blue.
“Even them?” Maliek asked, gesturing to the couple of Bazij.
“What do you mean, even us?” the Bazij with the yellow tattoo demanded. He flexed sinewy muscles.
“Calm, Rikus,” a Bazij female said, slapping Tattoo Boy on the chest. She possessed green horns, four of them. “He’s in shock.” She offered Maliek a smile. “Everyone in this sim is a prisoner.”
“Everyone?” Maliek asked. “Why would the Bazij imprison their own here?”
“Because we’re sympathizers,” Rikus said.
“We don’t agree with capturing and forcing others to live here against their will,” the Bazij female clarified. “Those of us here tried to do something about it. As punishment, they threw us in here, too.”
“Why me?” Maliek tapped his chest. “I’ve done nothing.”
“None of us have,” the Macab said.
“For the same reason we Bazij live in the sims,” the female Bazij explained. “Safety.”
“Safety?” Maliek asked. “I’m not a danger to the Bazij.”
“You live in the old world. To many Bazij, that presents a danger, to them and to yourselves. Imprisoning you here is viewed as a public good.”
Maliek pictured the huge covum room with millions stored together. “Aren’t they worried about putting us in the covums near you? Aren’t contaminations possibly passed through them?”
Rikus snorted. “That facility is for outsiders only.”
“You mean they kidnapped everyone in that facility?” Maliek rocked back on his heels.
“Some might have come on their own,” the female Bazij said.
Maliek doubted many of them had chosen. Which meant that what had happened to him was a widespread problem. How did no one know?
“Is there any way out? Any way to get help?” Maliek asked.
No one met his gaze before the Azzaro spoke.
“If there were, none of us would be here.”