Endgame (Voluntary Eradicators) (12 page)

There is
, she thinks.
You
. “What safety or protocol infraction was I in danger of committing?”

Catan blinks. His surprise seems genuine enough now. “I beg your pardon?”

“
What you said. Earlier.”

“
I don't recall saying you had one.”

Vol swings her legs out of the chair, measuring the distance. He is still standing close to her, but not so close that she won't be able to squeeze by. “You said that's why we saw you before the game.”

“
Ah, yes.” He walks past her and begins to tidy up the various cables and wires, restoring the machines to default settings. Vol wastes no time scrambling out of the chair, and he turns around, just in time to catch her in the middle of her graceless flight, and smiles. “But if you'll recall, I never said that was the only reason, did I?”

“
Then what was your reason? I doubt it was because of incorrectly fastened electrodes.” She spits the excuse he gave her earlier as if it tastes bad in her mouth.

“
My, but you're very defensive.”

“
You know nothing about me, or what I'm like, Catan Vareth.”

“
Perhaps I know more than you think.” His response is quiet and mocking. He bundles up the cords with a pointed fastidiousness that makes her even angrier than she already is.

“
I think you enjoy messing with people.”

“
That's a purely hypothetical supposition on your part,” the bastard says. “I'm very particular about who I mess with, why,” — a strange light passes through his dark eyes — “and where.”

She sets her teeth. “You made me lose the game.”

“
Now that,” he says, “is a very serious allegation indeed.”

Vol forces herself to hold her ground as he walks back in her direction. Her head is throbbing, blood pulsing behind her eyeballs and at her temples, and she feels as if she might faint. Behind the tinted lenses, her eyes are parched and sore. “I know.”

“
Then I'd like to know,” he says, walking closer still, “what makes you so certain? Do you have proof?”

“
I notice things.”

“
Oh?”

He's so close now she can make out the scent of his aftershave. “You smell like sage,” she says, without thinking about how intimate this sounds. “I think you were watching me in the desert.” She looks at him, giving him time to respond, but he stays silent. “There was
sage there, too,” she says lamely. “The smell of it. But I don't understand why.” Or how.

Odors shouldn't carry over to the gamescape.

“
Even if that were the case, nobody would believe you. Not with such thin evidence.” His smile returns — the warm, engaging smile he used on the Marks — and if she weren't so frightened she could convince herself that she's imagining the ice in his gaze. “Fortunately for you, my darling, that isn't the case.”

Vol stares at him. Her heart is a hummingbird in her ribs, fighting to break free from its cage. He doesn't know. He doesn't know about the algorithm Ariel added to the game.

She has an ace up her sleeve — but it might not be enough.

“
Is it?”

His face is inches away. She finds herself pressed against the wall like a flower, wishing she could melt right through it. Another inch and he will be close enough to kiss. The thought terrifies her, especially because a part of her seems to want him to. Slowly, she shakes her head.

“
Why do you fight me?” His voice is soft again, as textured as velvet. “Can't you see I'm doing everything I can to help you?”

“
Help yourself off the edge of a cliff,” she growls. “I don't need your brand of help.”

“
Yes, you do. You're in terrible danger.”

His act might even convince her if not for the molten glow of his eyes. “Only from you.”

“
No.” He shakes his head. “Not from me. I would never hurt you.”

The way he says that, he seems to believe it.

“
From who, then?”
I can't believe him
.
I can't take that risk
.

“
From yourself.”

Vol inhales sharply. “I don't need your psychoanalytic bull-crap.”

They glare at each other. His mouth quirks. “Yes,” he muses. “I think I rather like you better this way, after all, with fire in your blood.” His fingers caress her cheek. “It's so much more entertaining.”

“
Don't condescend to me, you bastard.”

She punches out. He catches her wrist.

“
Don't hit me.”

His voice is calm, that's the scary part. Vol flinches, squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for a blow to her face that never comes. “Don't ever hit me.” He brings her hand gently, but firmly, to her side, and says, “Violence isn't the answer.”

Then why do you keep killing me? What are you trying to prove?

“
I think perhaps it would be best if you run along,” Catan adds, and steps back, giving her just enough room to do so.

And feeling as though she has just escaped from something
terrible, Vol does. But not to her room.

She goes to the reception area, searching for Ariel. Ariel isn't there. Suryan is, though, and she smiles tiredly at Vol. “Suryan?” Vol halts in surprise. She hasn't seen Suryan for several days. There are dark circles beneath the God Mod's eyes. “How are you? You look …” terrible “… exhausted.”

“
I am. I just started my shift.” She runs pale fingers through her fiery hair, which is hanging limp. “Didn't get much sleep.”

“
I heard you were in trouble with Jillain. How did that go?”

Her smile grew still more tired and a touch resentful. “I'm in trouble. That boy is apparently a relative of the Regent. He didn't appreciate being banished from the premises and complained to you-know-who.”

“
Gods.”

“
It could have been worse.” She tries, and fails, to sound flippant. “So much worse.” Vol wonders what threats Jillain held over her.

“
Suryan, I'm so sorry.”

“
If that girl hadn't filed a complaint as well, I would have lost my job.”

Vol's eyes narrow. “What the fuck? That's completely messed up.”

“
The argument was that since it's just a game, no actual harm was done. I overreacted and am not fit to perform my duties
unsupervised, apparently. Now all my decisions must be ratified and signed off by both Catan and Ariel before I submit them to my superiors —and Jillain is docking the inconvenience of having Ariel and Catan work extra hours from my paycheck.”

“
Bullshit,” Vol says explosively, flinching inwardly at the mention of Catan's name.

“
I appreciate the sentiment, Vol. Really, I do. But I don't feel like talking about it. Or thinking about it. The whole situation just makes me so angry. I might say …” Suryan closes her eyes, draws in a deep breath. “Never mind. Now. Did you need something?”

Vol looks away from the miserable attempt at a smile. “Do you know where I might find Ariel?”

“
Ariel? Why?”

“
It's kind of important.”
And private
. “Have you seen her?”

“
She just left. I think she's in the cafe, though she might be at the bazaar with Tash. Those two are getting on like a house on fire.”

Ariel isn't in the cafe. Nor is she in her room or in any of the lounges. Finding somebody is surprisingly difficult, especially if they don't want to be found. She wonders how Catan manages it so frequently and efficiently. The bastard.

Vol draws the line at prowling around the bazaar. If Ariel is there with Tash, it's almost certainly a date. If she's going to ask for the Meridian girl's help at all, Vol doesn't want her pissed.

Meanwhile, her body buzzes with impatience. Every minute that passes is another minute that the archives could potentially become contaminated. Vol stalks the halls, too wired to eat or sit. She passes others, Tower residents and Marks alike, both of whom give her a wide berth. Drove passes her, too, does a double take, and says, “Hey — did ya lose something?”

“
No.”

He hesitates. “I heard they've got great footage of you kicking Bastien's ass on the holladrama.”

“
Yes.” Her head is still throbbing. She doesn't mind Drove but each word he speaks is an ice pick in her ear. The thought of Bastien isn't helping. Vol grits her teeth and walks faster.

“
Be careful,” Drove cautions, doing a little hop to keep up with her. “He's none too happy with you, and neither is Cori.”

“
I don't care,” says Vol. And in that moment, she doesn't. At all.

Drove catches her shoulders, keeping her still for a  moment. Sparks play on the back of her neck, aggravating her headache further. “You should. They're professionals. Bastien, especially. Selmaireans take honor seriously. You made him lose his.”

“
Thanks for the advice.”

“
It isn't advice. It's a warning. Watch out for those two.”

“
Have you seen Ariel?” she asks abruptly.

He stares at her, clearly startled by the non-sequitur. “The God
Mod? No, not recently. Are you all right? Your eyes are a little wild. Maybe you should lie down, get some rest.”

“
I don't think so,” she says, stepping away. “Thank you for your concern.”

“
I know it's none of my business, but whatever you're on, you should stop. While you still can.”

She wants to laugh. He thinks she's on drugs?

(It is the drug that will turn her into a monster.)

The skin on the back of her neck prickles in alarm. Where did that thought come from? She has never done drugs before. Has she? The smile on her lips disappears. The fugues. During the fugues, anything is possible. Vol does not believe in many things, but in this, she possesses utter faith.

Drove is staring at her, awaiting her response. She looks at him, then away. “Later, Drove.”

She half-expects him to stop her as she walks away. If they were closer, perhaps he would. But he doesn't know her, and they aren't close, and so he takes her curt dismissal at face value. He lets her go.

(It is the drug that will turn her into a monster.)

An image of a hypodermic needle filled with some kind of golden fluid pops into her head. Why does that thought keep coming back to her? She can't think of any drugs that are gold in color. Bliss Blossom is yellow, but it isn't used in needles. You stir it
into a drink — preferably an alcoholic one — for an added buzz. Bliss can make you act a little crazy, and sometimes users do hurt themselves by attempting feats from the ensuing hallucinations, but it doesn't make you into a monster.

Vol rests her forehead against the full-length glass windows overhanging the plaza. Outside, Marks wander about as busily as ants, seeking oblivion in one form or another, or else selling it. In Vol's current state, the prospect of imminent satisfaction seems preposterous, mystical even.

She watches a group of teenagers years younger than her, hating them, envying them, and yet feeling affectionate towards them all at the same time. Happiness is such a fragile thing, isn't it? So easily burst, like a bubble blown by a child, and always on the verge of being carried away.

(All she can do now is pretend.)

As she watches, two of the ant-sized teens peel away from the group. Vol straightens. She recognizes them. Ariel and Tash. They are walking up to the Tower, hand in hand.

Vol dashes to the elevator, slamming the 'down' button so hard her palm stings. On some level, she is aware that her behavior is borderline-unacceptable. Never a social butterfly, Vol feels like what little social skills she possesses are rapidly deteriorating in a reverse-metamorphosis.

To say that Ariel and Tash are surprised to see her is an understatement. As Vol spills out of the elevator in her haste to greet them, their faces are priceless. “Ariel,” Vol gasps, “I've been looking — all over — ”

“
For me?” the brown-haired girl asks incredulously.

“
I had — another run-in. I was wondering — if we could check — the algorithm?”

“
Um, sure, I guess.” Ariel glances at Tash. “Do you mind waiting in the cafe?”

Tash shakes her head. “Nah. I'm still hungry, and I think Aron is working in the kitchen today.” She grins evilly. “He kicked my ass yesterday; and I'm feeling a bit like being a nasty customer.”

Ariel sighs. “You're incorrigible.”

“
Good luck, you two. I hope you nail the bastard.”

So does he
, Vol thinks, before she can stop herself. A dark blush colors her cheeks. Oh, gods.