Assault or Attrition (21 page)

I squinted
hard, feverishly trying to rub the sting from my eyes. Through a
dotted haze, I saw Steve racing towards The Beast with a glowing
weapon in-hand. It was a sword: a massive medieval broadsword,
forged from the light he’d captured from the flash. It was nearly
twice his size, but he swung it in large swooping circles, wielding
it with effortless ease. It appeared completely weightless.

The Beast
bellowed when McGarrity’s weapon sliced its chest. A vertical swipe
tore open a gash that spewed muddy red liquid. It was thick and
smouldering, like molten lava. Careful to avoid being spattered by
the creature’s blood, Steve spun and rolled, diving through its
legs.

With surprising
dexterity The Beast pivoted, flailing its fist in an attempt to
catch his significantly smaller foe with a backhand. A step
quicker, Steve parried with his glowing sword, meeting the
creature’s forearm. The blade’s edge was impossibly sharp, slicing
stone like a scalpel through flesh.

The Beast’s
hand separated from its body and splashed into the lake. The
extremity, spewing red-hot liquid, hissed as it sank into the
darkened pool. The creature flailed its mutilated arm and let out a
disturbing noise – a howl so thunderous it forced us to cover our
ears.

As the slashes
continued in rapid succession, the light pouring from McGarrity’s
sword only intensified; the battle became almost painful to
observe, though fragments were visible between strikes. The
creature was being reduced to a steaming pile of charcoal with
every stroke of the broadsword, and amidst the carnage I caught
something that troubled me: McGarrity’s expression. It wasn’t
anger, or determination, or any of the emotions I imagined one
would need to summon in order to fight a living nightmare. He was
happy
. Beaming with hubris and youthful energy, the crooked
smile never left his face. McGarrity’s green eyes glowed with a
confidence nearly as powerful as the light from his weapon. It was
a recklessness that I’d seen in Kenneth back in Arena Mode –
moments before a blade penetrated his stomach and burst out of his
back.

With a final
leaping strike, McGarrity ended the creature, in a long, downward
slash that drew a vertical line between the Beast’s eyes, opening
it up from sternum to groin. It split in two even pieces, causing a
small tremor as the crumbling remains crashed to the earth. It was
such a powerful and calculated strike that I wondered why McGarrity
hadn’t done it earlier – it’s as if he’d been enjoying the battle
so much that he extended it willfully, savoring each stroke of his
blade.

When Steve spun
around his weapon winked out of existence. Without his glowing
sword the darkness returned, leaving the artificial constellations
as our only source of light. As he approached he blew on his
fingertips; they had a faint red hue, and were fading like the
embers of a dying fire.

Peyton, Mac and
I looked on, completely dumbfounded, as the brash, young man
strolled back towards us. He was as calm and collected as the
moment he emerged from the forest. He pulled his feet together and
extended his arms, taking a deep bow as if he’d received a standing
ovation. I wasn’t sure if he was doing this for our benefit, or the
simulcast viewers whom he claimed were watching our every move.

“Wow, tough
crowd,” McGarrity laughed, noting our apparent lack of enthusiasm.
It’s not that we weren’t relieved that The Beast had been
destroyed; we just weren’t sure how to react. “Well,” he shrugged,
“you can hold your applause until later. Because you ain’t seen
nothing yet.”

***

It was
forty-five minutes of awkward silence
, interlaced with the
occasional attempt at small talk. McGarrity appeared more or less
sincere, and seemed like he could be a very powerful ally – if not
a slightly dangerous one.

I had no
superpowers of my own, as Steve was quick to point out, but my
ability to determine if someone was lying wasn’t far off. During my
stint at the casinos, an aptitude for making complex calculations
in my head was a helpful tool – though it was my ability to read
physical signs and ‘tells’ that made me unstoppable. Ticks.
Gestures. Vocal cues. Even pupil dilation. I read every single one
and stored them in my internal hard drive, and if I spoke with
someone for long enough, their fabrications would almost seem to
appear in giant floating bubbles that hung over their heads. As
Steve went over his back story – where he was from, what led him
here, and his motivation for coming to The Spiral – I never
detected an irregularity. If he was a liar he was one of the best
I’d ever met.

Peyton was
convinced of Steve’s sincerity almost immediately. She always saw
the best in people. She smiled politely and laughed at his jokes,
and even took the time to tend to a small burn he’d suffered on his
shoulder when a drop of The Beast’s blood seared a hole through his
t-shirt.

Mac, on the
other hand, wasn’t so sure. He was as laid back as anyone I’d ever
met, but I could sense his distrust when it came to McGarrity. He
wandered over towards Chandler and sat next to him in the tree
line. Their conversation had a conspiratorial tone; their hushed
words were being kept purposefully quiet, leaning close to each
other as they discussed what I could only assume was the convenient
timing of our new teammate’s arrival.

Eventually, and
to my considerable relief, Brynja, following the sounds and
flashing lights from the battle, emerged from the dense forest
across the lake. She arrived with our chef, DuPont, whose luminous
red armor was fully intact.

When they
arrived at our makeshift camp McGarrity was quick to introduce
himself. “I can’t believe it’s really you,” he said excitedly,
racing towards her with a little too much enthusiasm. “I
loved
you in Arena Mode! Your ghosting thing was pretty
cool, even though it isn’t that helpful...at least against
electricity. And the mind reading? You can do that too, right? Do
you have any other powers?”

Eyes widened,
she glanced at me as if asking for assistance. I just smiled and
shrugged my shoulders.

“Yeah,” she
said flatly, pressing her palm against McGarrity’s shoulder. She
gave him a gentle nudge, forcing him back a few paces. “I’m
magnetic. I attract crazy douche bags.”

He paused for a
moment, furrowing his brow, and then let out a boisterous laugh.
“That’s it! That’s the dry wit I remember from Arena Mode. Man, I
was
so
bummed when you died.”

She pressed her
lips into a thin line and nodded slowly. “Well, it didn’t last,
so...it’s all good.” A beat passed before she calmly added, “And
who the fuck are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He repeated the
same gesture as when I’d asked him that same question, smacking his
head as if to jog his memory. He introduced himself while I gave
Brynja and DuPont a summary of the last several hours: Chandler’s
injury, Ortega’s death, the arrival of our annoying new ally, and
his battle with a twenty-foot rock monster. Just an average day in
Arena Mode.

Brynja had
wandered the dimly-lit forest ever since her arrival, hoping to
locate anyone from the group, and she recently discovered DuPont.
Our chef had somehow managed to climb a tree (no small feat
considering his bulky armor) and was convinced that being in an
elevated position would provide a measure of camouflage. Of course
an outfit made of cherry-red plastic wasn’t doing him any favors
when it came to stealth, but he finally explained that he was
afraid that he’d be too vulnerable without it. Luckily she came
across him before The Beast did, or he might have been the second
GoBot to sail over the lake.

Brynja hadn’t
recovered any weapons, though she’d arrived with some good news:
she discovered a treasure chest in close proximity to her pod, and
inside it was a map. A crudely-drawn diagram scrawled on a crinkled
sheet of manila paper, which outlined the entire level. It was
roughly to scale, and featured every major landmark that we’d
encountered. An exaggerated black ‘X’ marked a spot just a
half-mile from our location, with a single word written beneath it:
‘escape’.

We made our way
through the jungle, using the lights from our gauntlets to
illuminate a path. Mac offered to assist Chandler, lending an arm
for support as he stepped gingerly onto his injured leg. It was as
thoughtful as it was surprising, considering I’d never seen my
pilot go out of his way to help anyone unless the possibility of a
free drink or a college co-ed were the reward. They led our group,
followed by DuPont (who wasn’t in the chattiest mood), and I lagged
behind, flanked by Brynja and Peyton. I’d forgotten that our new
arrival was just a few paces to my back until he opened his
mouth.

“So,” McGarrity
called out, addressing no one in particular. “This is awkward,
huh?”

I continued to
plod forward, brushing low-hanging branches aside and swatting at
the insects that were drawn to the glow of our suits. “Being
stalked by thousands of angry, brainwashed dissidents with machine
guns? I guess you could file that under ‘awkward’.”

He blurted out
the caustic laugh that I’d only heard twice, but already sounded
like rusted nails in a blender. “Naw, I mean
you three
, here
together. You, your ex, your current, all—”

I stopped him
dead in his tracks, cutting his words off with an exaggerated wave
of my hands. “Whoa, let’s take a step back, Braveheart. There is no
‘ex’. I don’t know what they showed on the simulcasts, but Peyton
and I...we were apart, but we never
really
stopped...I
mean—”

“Right,” Peyton
added briskly. “We never split up, not officially. It was like a
break. No big deal.”

We continued to
march through the trees, though Brynja was now intentionally
leading a few steps ahead.

Steve rushed to
keep pace with me and shook his head, wedging his mouth to one
side. “Mmm.”

“
Mmm?
” I
repeated the nondescript sound he’d made, which technically meant
nothing, yet clearly implied
something
. “What is that noise
supposed to mean?”

“Well,” he said
after a short pause, “I was just thinking about last summer, when
my girlfriend Tess caught me having coffee with a chick from the
comic store. This really, really hot piece of...” he wisely paused
and re-phrased when he caught a glimpse of Peyton’s narrowed eyes.
“Well, she was attractive – let’s just leave it at that. Anyway,
Tess stomps up to me, grabs my latte and dumps it over my head.
‘It’s over, asshole!’ That’s what she shouts in front of everyone
at Starbucks. Can you believe it?”

“
You
,
being called an asshole?” Brynja replied without turning around.
“Shocking.”

“I know,” Steve
shouted, throwing his hands up. “So I’m thinking,
my
ex goes
ballistic over coffee – a freaking
coffee
– one time, in
broad daylight, with some girl that I hadn’t even slept with yet.
And I’m watching the simulcast, thinking that Mox is shacking up
with Brynja,
and
having picnics with her every day in this
romantic dome while a servant brings them food...I can only imagine
what Peyton must be thinking.”

I was quick to
correct him. “The dome is
not
romantic. It’s a terraformed,
climate-controlled habitat.”

“And you were
up there doing science experiments?” he asked innocently.

“Well not
really,” I mumbled. “Right, well I can see where that could be
confusing when you see it out of context...but I don’t have a
servant. Chandler helps run the fortress. And yes, sometimes he’ll
bring me food or the occasional drink.”

I just realized
that I’d accurately described a servant.

“Look,”
McGarrity continued, sounding somewhat apologetic, “I’m not the
only one discussing this. It’s already a huge topic on the
holo-forums: the whole ‘Team Brynja versus Team Peyton’ thing.
People are voting on who you’ll end up with.”

“Who the hell
would start a poll like that?” I asked.

“I was bored,”
McGarrity admitted. “And it was a long flight from Texas.”

I was going to
reply but all I could muster was a groan.

“Look,” he
continued, “I’m just saying Peyton must be the coolest girlfriend
in the world, because if she’s gonna let her guy hang out with some
chick dressed up like Catwoman, with the whips and the sexy
leather, and—”

“Anyone not
heard of cosplay?” Brynja shouted. “It’s a thing! Millions of
people do it.”

“Matt and
Brynja can play dress-up all they want,” Peyton sighed, rushing
several steps ahead of us. “Like I said, we were taking a
break.”

We remained
silent for the rest of the trek, and by some divine act of god
McGarrity was able to keep his mouth shut for the duration. I spent
the next twenty minutes hoping that he turned out to be evil – that
way I could kill him without feeling guilty about it.

After a short
hike over uneven terrain we arrived at a wide clearing, which
seemed to be significantly more illuminated than the rest of the
level; it was as if the stars were casting a spotlight on the
field, signifying the importance of the location. The area was
unnaturally symmetrical, as if it had been landscaped into a
circle. In the center of the clearing was a flat grey obelisk,
surrounded by knee-high grass, jutting from the earth like an
oversized tombstone. It had no inscription, but as we approached a
faint outline became clear on its surface – it was the vague
outline of a handprint.

After a moment
of inspection I removed my gauntlet and pressed my palm into the
stone, extending my fingers and thumb until they fit inside the
shallow grooves. My action triggered a hologram projector; Cameron
Frost’s head appeared, hovering overhead like a massive, pompous
blimp.