They rolled down a broken hallway, the ground rumbling beneath their treads. Given how often the quakes happened, it felt like the Thread wouldn’t last another ten minutes. They were on their way to one of the nodes that would get them into the Core. The plan was to meet Betty further out, on the plains. Johnny had no idea how that was supposed to work, but he figured Torres, Torg, and Wobble were good for it.
Or at least, he hoped they were good for it. When Wobble had first reappeared, Johnny hadn’t noticed anything wrong—Wobble had torn through the horde of grey skids as ruthlessly as he’d always dealt with threats. But over the last few hours, Johnny realized there was something deeply wrong with the machine. He’d always looked battered, but he’d always repaired any new damage. Now it was like Wobble had given up. In addition to the hitch in his stride, the one broken lens, and the broken arm he always displayed, one of his treads was loose, and scuffs and scar-marks covered his body.
More troubling was the expression of pain that kept creeping across Wobble’s face. Johnny still didn’t know how a set of lenses and shutters could be so expressive, but they were. Before, Wobble’s default expression seemed to be one of wonder, with the occasional sadness. Now, it was like every few minutes Wobble saw something awful. It was like he was watching the universe die.
Once, Wobble had told Johnny about the Thread breaking, and when Johnny had said he couldn’t do anything about it, Wobble had said someone should.
Given the expression on the machine’s face, someone better do it soon.
Of course, Wobble wasn’t the only one haunted. Johnny had spent the last ten minutes fastidiously ignoring the flash of pink in his trail-eye.
Johnny . . .
It definitely wasn’t Bian this time. Johnny flicked a nervous glance towards the middle of the pack, where Shabaz was telling Onna, Akash, Krugar, and Zen about their first time in the Thread. Kesi and Dillac lingered nearby, desperately trying to appear like they weren’t listening.
Johnny didn’t want to see Peg. He certainly didn’t want Shabaz to see him seeing Peg. No matter what he and Peg had—and there was always a pang in his centre when he thought of her—it was nothing like his developing feelings for Shabaz. He didn’t want to hurt Shabaz. He certainly didn’t want her thinking—
What? he thought, suddenly feeling defensive. He wasn’t doing anything. It wasn’t his fault there was a pink flash. “Go away,” he growled, half to himself, half back down the hall.
The pink flash did not go away.
He dropped back a touch more and swung his second eye. And there she was: Peg, following just behind.
Betty had said she was a ghost, something Johnny had created, but apparently Betty had said lots, and the skid behind him didn’t look like a figment of anything. “Stop following me,” he hissed. “I’m busy.” Which was a stupid thing to say, but what was he supposed to say, anyway?
“You need to show her,” Peg said suddenly.
Just great. Betty had said she wouldn’t speak, but apparently that wasn’t true, either. Johnny sent another guilty glance at Shabaz. “What are you talking about? Show who what?”
“You need to show her the map or she’ll never see. And hurry: they’re coming.”
“Who’s coming?” Johnny demanded. “What are you—?”
“Everything okay here?” Shabaz said, rolling up.
Snakes, he’d taken his eye off Shabaz for one second. “What?” he said, glancing at Peg. Gone. He was pretty sure he hadn’t taken an eye off her at all. “Yeah . . . I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Shabaz said, looking past Johnny. He thought he heard an edge in her voice.
“Yeah,” he said, defensive again. “I just needed a moment to myself. You got a problem with that?” He saw her gaze widen and realized that maybe there hadn’t been an edge in her voice after all, or, even if there had, his own tone was too much—snakes, why had he said it like that?
“Nope,” she said, spinning around. “Take all the private time you need. Although you better hurry, Torres says we’re almost there.”
Then how am I supposed to take all the time I need? he thought as she rolled away, a wash of emotions spilling through him. He was pretty sure he’d just been a jackhole. He should apologize. Except, there might have been a tone, so she’s the one who should—
He rolled his eyes. Yep: jackhole.
“Hey, Johnny, care to join us?” Torres yelled.
“Coming,” he muttered, with one final look down the hall. Getting haunted sucked large.
“Okay,” Torres said as he rolled up, “some of you know how this works. The rest just hold on. We won’t be going far in. Again, no one who doesn’t know what’s-what speaks. And if things go sideswipe, grab a hand, follow orders and get in between Johnny, Shabaz, Torg, or me.”
“Glad we could help,” Dillac muttered.
“What was that?” Torres said sweetly.
“You gots a smart plan, mama smart boss woman squi.”
Torres grimaced and looked at Kesi. “I swear he got vaped a few too many times.” She reached forward. “Hold on to your stripes.”
The world twisted, shimmered with golden light, then settled into a familiar place. Of course, just because it was familiar didn’t mean it was any less awe inspiring. As they emerged onto the outer Core, with its linked squares of golden light beneath their feet and what might have been the entire Core flipped upside down and doming the space far above, Johnny heard half a dozen sucked in breaths. Even Dillac muttered, “Whoa, boz.”
“Stay close together,” Torres said. “Torg?”
“Nothing.” His stripes tilted. “Let’s hope they can’t see us yet.”
“Wobble, you ready if things go upslope?”
“Affirmative.”
Johnny rolled over to Shabaz. “Sorry,” he said, trying not to sound sullen. Snakes, he was terrible at this. “I snapped, I think. Shouldn’t have done that.”
She looked at him for a long moment, the distant gold lights from the sky reflected in her eyes. “Okay,” she said, her lips twitching into a smile. “I might have done the same. We’re all a little spare. Everyone’s frightened of Betty, even the new ones.”
“I don’t think Torres is scared,” Johnny smirked. “I think she’s scary.”
“Can you blame her?” When he grimaced, she added, “No, think about it. When we left them, the Skidsphere had been saved. The Thread might have been broken, might have been dangerous, but it wasn’t on the verge of collapse. The skid she admired, Albert, was leading them and had stepped up his game. They felt they had a shot at finding Betty, who saved us all, who we all worshipped. Now Betty’s gone spare, the Thread could end tomorrow and Albert’s not there to lead her. She isn’t scary, Johnny: she’s scared.”
That . . . made sense. After all they’d been through, hope mattered. That’s what had led Johnny back to the Combine, that’s what had made Shabaz start helping every skid she could in the games. And even though they weren’t happy with everything and could feel the pressure of time pressing against everything they tried to do, they’d still had more than a year left to try and do it. The Skidsphere had been saved, it wasn’t going anywhere. The Thread was so large, you couldn’t imagine it collapsing. But now . . .
As if on cue, the ground rumbled. “Yeah, okay, scared it is. I get it.” Although, Torres still had her manic grin and the light-swords. “Maybe a little of both.” He considered the skid in question, his gaze lingering on her single orange stripe. “Interesting that she ended up in charge instead of Torg.”
Shabaz chuckled. “Torg’s great, but he’s not going to lead a group of anything.” She sighed. “Poor Torg. It might be worse for him than anyone. I think he really liked Betty.”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. An abrupt stab went through his heart. “And then there’s Wobble.”
“Yeah,” Shabaz agreed sadly, watching the machine. She reached out and squeezed Johnny’s hand.
“Okay,” Torres announced. “We’re about as ready as we’re going to get.” She took a deep breath. “Wobble, drop the shields.”
There wasn’t any warning. To Johnny it was as if Torres finished her sentence and then, instantly, Betty was sitting in front of them.
“So,” the oldest skid in the universe said. “The gang’s all here.”