Allies, Page 4

“You’ve adjusted?” He wiped a towel over his face. There was a great V of sweat staining his shirt. “It’s a significant transition for you. I imagine it’s rougher for you than the other trainees.”

  Wyatt peered at him, torn between the impulse to run, and the question she’d had ever since that day in the infirmary. Finally it just burst out. “Why did you say I was fine the way I was?”

  He stared at her mutely a moment, like she needed to clarify the question.

  “In the infirmary. Before I got the processor. You said there was nothing wrong with my brain the way it was . . . but there was. You know that.”

  He slung the towel over his shoulder. “Intellectually, you weren’t impaired. There was absolutely nothing that would’ve prevented you from living a full, independent life. You didn’t have a disability. Your brain was simply different.”

  “But I couldn’t relate to people. How can you exist like that? There’s something wrong with me.” There still was. She was sure of it. “People can’t just be alone.”

  He shrugged his large shoulders. “There are millions of people in this world surrounded by friends and family who spend their days feeling lonely, Enslow. Aloneness is just another part of the human experience. There are others who are completely isolated and utterly satisfied with their lives. You don’t need other people to validate you or fill in the blanks you’re missing; you just need some faith in yourself.”

  “Faith?” she echoed.

  “If you’re satisfied now, feeling the same social impulses the rest of us do, then more power to you. If you were satisfied before without those needs, then that would’ve been fine as well. I don’t believe in fixing something that doesn’t need to be repaired, and you’ve never needed to be.”

  For a moment, as the words rested on the air between them, the reckless impulse to blurt it all out to him, to confess to being the hacker, almost drove her into disaster. Then voices rang out as more people trickled into the Calisthenics Arena, and Wyatt remembered all those classes when she’d said nothing after Blackburn tried to get the hacker to fess up. So many times, she’d sat there silently, and those were terrible marks against her.

  So she did the only thing she could—she hurried out and kept her secret.

  “AVAST, YE SCURVY knave, prepare to meet yer maker!”

  Wyatt sighed and turned to glare at the avatar of Tom Raines, wearing a big stupid grin in the doorway, sword in hand. Of course he’d come here. Apparently he’d confused Arthurian England with a pirate ship.

  Something irritated her about the new plebe already, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was already fast friends with Stephen Beamer and Vikram Ashwan. When he’d strolled into the training room today, Tom had spun around and leaped backward up onto his cot, then settled there, looking more at ease his second day of Applied Scrimmages than she’d felt in months at the Spire. He couldn’t simply scoot up onto it like everyone else; he had to do things in some big, dramatic manner, then just sweep his gaze restlessly around the room, like he knew some private joke no one else did. He just seemed intent on bringing an element of disorder to everything.

  She wasn’t the only one he rubbed the wrong way. In Programming class the day before, Tom must’ve done something to aggravate Lieutenant Blackburn, because Blackburn called him up for a demonstration, the way he always did to trainees giving him trouble, but never before to a new plebe. Tom and Blackburn went through computer virus after computer virus, and Tom could’ve stopped it anytime by showing the slightest bit of humility; instead he set his jaw and faced Blackburn in a willful, stubborn manner, always plastering on this lopsided smile and inviting something else onto himself like he’d win a prize digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole. It ended up taking up the whole class.

  She would’ve died of embarrassment if she’d been programmed into thinking she was a dog in front of everyone, but Tom began laughing about it afterward like it was funny. That’s when she realized he still hadn’t learned anything from it.

  And then he did the same kind of thing this afternoon, in Applied Sims. Their group leader, Elliot Ramirez, always liked to give them a pep talk before their simulations, but today, Tom had subtly disrupted everything. It started innocuously with him sitting there, legs spread wide, boots dangling toward the ground, kicking first one foot, then the other. Then he shifted restlessly to the front of the cot, then to the back. At one point, he nearly tumbled off the side to the floor, and grinned sheepishly when Wyatt shot him an exasperated look. He raised his eyebrows at her in silent question, and she cut her gaze away.

  She had not been staring, if that’s what he thought.

  He wasn’t handsome at all—not with his light blue eyes, wide apart and pale-lashed above broad cheekbones that gave way to hollow cheeks, a wide mouth, and a stubborn jaw. When Wyatt first saw him trailing Vik in the mess hall, he looked small to her, almost defenseless. He struck her as someone the Pentagonal Spire would devour.

  She’d genuinely wanted to help him, especially when Vik told her Yuri was requesting she do this. She might be staying clear of Yuri right now, but she felt like she owed it to him to do a favor for his friend.

  So she hacked one last profile, and tweaked one thing—the N/A under his accomplishments. She asked Tom what he wanted listed under his accomplishments instead.

  Tom’s eyes met hers, and she saw there was nothing shy or retiring there, just an electrified sort of animation that gripped his every moment, his quick, flashing grin. He wasn’t like Heather or her friends—he didn’t ask for grandiose or amazing accomplishments.

  No. Instead, he treated it all like a joke.

  “Champion lawn bowler. Founding contributor to the world’s largest ball of earwax.”

  It was all Wyatt could do to type them in, embarrassment flushing through her. He obviously hadn’t even cared about the risk she was taking on his behalf. Sure, he’d breezily assured her he’d cover for her if Lieutenant Blackburn asked him about it, but she didn’t believe for a second he’d have her back if trouble rained down on her head over this.

  He’d even refused to participate in the ritual of fealty—a part of today’s simulation—and gotten himself relegated to the Guinevere character, therefore trapped in the castle. She’d stayed behind, too, because she was too overwrought today, worrying about whether Blackburn had detected her in the system, to really focus on a dumb, simulated battle.

  She’d hoped surrounding herself with reading material would repel the other occupant of the castle. Out of curiosity, she’d unrolled some of the scrolls, wondering what had been programmed in. Amusement flickered through her when she realized every simulated scroll in the library was Le Morte d’Arthur.

  But Tom found her, anyway. And it became clear within moments that he intended to stay. Right there. In the same room. Talking to her. Anxiety twisted through her at the very idea of giving Vik’s new friend reasons to tell people how weird she was.

  “Feel free to go somewhere else,” she tried desperately, but he ignored her and just hoisted himself up onto one of the tables.

  “Look,” he told her, his eyes sparkling with good humor like he knew he was annoying her, but had decided to do it anyway, “Blackburn did that whole dog demonstration on me because I wouldn’t tell him who changed my profile. The least you can do is tolerate my presence for a bit.”

  Shock sprang through her at the confirmation of her worst suspicions. “Blackburn asked you about me?”

  Oh no. Oh no, I knew it was a mistake!

  “About the person hacking the profiles, yeah. I didn’t tell, though, so don’t worry.”

  Then the implications of his words sank in, and Wyatt felt a flicker of doubt, remembering the humiliating confrontation Tom and Blackburn had in front of all the trainees the day before. Her brain tried to wrap around the idea that he’d done that to keep his promise to her. She’d just thought he was being stupidly stubborn.

  She eyed him uncertainly, wondering what the proper thing
to say was, wondering if he was going to point out her ingratitude, but Tom was busy shifting around again just like he had on the cots. “Man, this girl stuff is throwing me off. A wolf is a completely different body, so you expect to move all differently, but a girl’s close enough that I keep trying to move the way I do normally.”

  Even if she hadn’t known whose avatar it was, she would’ve guessed it was Tom, the way he spread his legs and sprawled there like he felt some pathological need to take up more space than his body naturally would. That, and the complete unselfconsciousness of his every movement. She tried to imagine sprawling out like that in front of someone and felt herself blanch.

  “You won’t notice after a few more sims.”

  He said nothing, and her eyes skittered back to his face. He was staring with openmouthed amazement and joy at his avatar’s breasts. To Wyatt’s disbelief, he began to examine them hands-on, right there in front of her. She felt compelled to clear her throat, and remind him she was actually still in the room with him.

  “You aren’t just planning to sit there groping yourself in front of me, are you?” she asked him. “It’s kind of rude.”

  To his credit, Tom looked a bit sheepish. She hadn’t been sure before whether he was even capable of feeling embarrassment. “What, come on, you’ve got some new equipment, too. You’re not curious?”

  She was going to sink into the floor; she swore it. Yes, perhaps once, just once, she’d been slightly curious and looked in her male avatar’s pants. For two seconds. That was all. Just two seconds. She’d never done it again.

  “It’s not like I haven’t played sims as men before,” she mumbled.

  Tom flashed his teeth in a big, brazen grin like he knew exactly what she was thinking about, his eyes dancing in the flickering light of the nearby torches. “Right. So you’ve already done the groping thing.”

  The words caught her throat in a sudden stranglehold, because she hadn’t meant him to take it that way. Her ears grew hot. “That’s not what I said!”

  “You have to have wondered . . .”

  “I am not having this discussion!” she burst out, frantic. Heat burned all over her face—over the back of her neck, even—and she tried moving to another spot in the room to escape his relentless pestering. She’d really only looked once, and she’d die of embarrassment if he figured that out.

  She was spared, luckily, by the sound of a commotion from outside, thousands of voices and footsteps, then the first indications of a battle. She glanced back at Tom, and saw the expectant gleam on his face as he gazed out the window, like he knew exactly what was about to happen.

  “Wait,” she called to him before he could leave. “What’s happening?”

  His eyes found hers, almost absently, and then he explained to her what was going on, and she realized with dull surprise that Tom had just pulled off the most clever maneuver she’d ever heard a trainee pull off in a simulation. Elliot had forced him to stay in the castle rather than go off to battle the Saxons with the rest of the enemy group, so Tom was taking advantage of his role as queen.

  “Queen Guinevere can lower the drawbridge and order the castle sentries to stand down. Just like this Queen Guinevere did about ten minutes ago.” His grin grew fiendish. “Oh, and she can also send a messenger to the Saxon king to let him know Camelot’s defenseless.”

  Wyatt stared at him, at this boy who she’d dismissed out of hand as Vik’s new friend, someone sure to call her Man Hands and treat everything she did like a joke. She still found people so puzzling, yet it could surprise her when they surprised her.

  She’d assumed the N/A in his profile meant he was like Heather, someone who’d manipulated or cheated his way into here. Especially once he treated the profile thing like a joke. Suddenly she understood that someone didn’t need achievements on paper to be frighteningly clever.

  He really had told her he’d have her back with Blackburn because he meant it. He’d gone into that with eyes wide open. And she’d judged him so quickly.

  Wyatt wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t know how people handled stuff like this. “Sorry you looked stupid to me,” or “Sorry I thought you were like Vik” wouldn’t seem to cut it.

  And for some reason, as Tom grabbed her unused sword and headed toward the door, she suspected that it wouldn’t even matter to him that she’d thought badly of him. She was the one who got pierced by others and felt the sting deep long after. She’d bet arrows just glanced right off him.

  But she still felt compelled to say something. “Tom!”

  He stopped and swung back around to look at her, eyebrows arched in question.

  Wyatt felt strange, nervous somehow. “Thanks for not telling Blackburn. I’m sorry I got you turned into a dog.”

  It seemed a paltry offering, but Tom took it with a cheerful wave of the sword. “Hey, I was a dog for you, and now you’ve given a glorious instrument of death to me, so I’d say we’re even.” And then, without a second thought, he charged off to fight the Saxons. Wyatt settled at the window as the sounds of battle drifted through the halls, as arrows rained down from the castle walls onto the attacking soldiers, as a gleeful Guinevere appeared over one of the nearby battlements, waving for hot oil to be poured on the attackers, throwing a torch down on them herself.

  In less than an hour, Tom had transformed the dignified queen character into some crazed, psychotic warrior woman. Wyatt had a last glimpse of him before he disappeared back inside, Guinevere’s hair hanging undone and wild in all directions, dress in tatters, oversized armor hanging oddly off his body, a maniacal grin on his lips.

  She wondered what it was like, being able to totally abandon oneself like that. Ever since getting the neural processor and becoming aware of others, she’d felt a virtual hostage to their eyes, to their judgment, to their opinions. She tried to imagine for a moment feeling so utterly impervious to people. It was like he was larger than her somehow. It was like he was invincible.

  She pulled the curtain over the window, suddenly filled with a longing for even an inch of that invisible armor of confidence he seemed to have, the shield she felt like she lacked. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like an open wound walking around the world, chafed by the slightest breeze.

  But she didn’t even know where to start. She didn’t even know if she had that sort of strength inside her. All she could do was find some way to pay Tom back for keeping her a secret from Blackburn.

  HER CHANCE CAME sooner than she expected.

  Tom had somehow managed to make another enemy in Karl Marsters, a large Combatant who frightened most people with common sense into staying clear of him. As soon as Wyatt emerged from the elevator that Sunday, she found Tom in Karl’s death grip in the middle of the plebe common room, Karl’s friends encircling them. She felt a ripple of sheer happiness, because this was her chance, finally! This was her opportunity to pay him back for covering for her—and accomplish with a program what her attempts at saying thanks never could.

  When her computer virus hit Karl and his friends, Tom jerked to his feet. She realized with some surprise that he was as tall as her now. He threw a frantic look around, obviously trying to put the pieces together about where his attackers had gone.

  Then he saw Karl and his friends on the ground, and Wyatt explained, “They’re chickens.” She’d tried to mimic the computer virus Blackburn had used on Tom a few days earlier, the one that convinced the victim they were a dog. She’d modified it a bit, and just for fun, changed it to a chicken, but she hadn’t had the chance to test it out on anyone yet.

  Tom looked at her with an amazed smile, like she’d just offered some present he’d always wanted but never expected to obtain.

  “Wyatt, you seriously helped me out there. Thanks, I owe you big-time.”

  She squirmed inwardly, uncertain how to handle genuine gratitude. Some part of her was soaring; another part of her knew she’d say the wrong thing from here and just wanted to flee. She settled with, “I just wanted to tr
y the program. It’s not like I went out of my way to save you.”

  But when she raised her eyes, expecting Tom to have cooled, she found him laughing, still gazing at her like she was something incredible. “This is where you say, ‘You’re welcome.’ It’s okay to take credit.”

  The situation grew better when Heather Akron strolled out and tried to play innocent, even though she’d apparently handed Tom over to get beaten up by Karl. Wyatt stared on, amazed, as Heather spun the situation, claiming she’d actually tricked Karl by agreeing to help him grab Tom for beating-up purposes, but planning all along to call some of Tom’s friends to come help him.

  She even had an excuse for not letting Tom in on her grand scheme beforehand. “You had to look all hurt and betrayed for Karl to trust me,” Heather simpered, gazing at Tom from under her lashes. “I didn’t know how good of an actor you were.”

  Wyatt couldn’t stand to listen to another word; she couldn’t stand here and just watch someone get suckered by Heather the way she had once.

  “That’s so easy for you to say now that it’s all over,” Wyatt cut in, “but if you were going to call one of Tom’s friends to tell them he needed help, why didn’t you do it at the same time you called Karl so they’d be ready to come help him? For all you knew, they weren’t even in the Spire today.”

  There was something so satisfying about the anger flashing over Heather’s face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really know you . . . Wyatt, isn’t it?”

  Wyatt’s blood felt like it was going to boil into steam and come shooting out of her ears, because Heather was really going to do this. She was actually going to treat her like she was such a nonentity that she didn’t even remember her name, much less sit next to her in Programming every day for weeks, wheedling one profile change out of her after another. She was only half-aware of Tom looking blankly between the two of them, and Wyatt remembered then a scrap of what she’d told him the day before.

  He knew she’d changed the profile for someone who’d gotten into CamCo, someone who’d never bothered talking to her again. Let Tom know the truth, she decided. Let Heather try to fool him once he hears about that.