Endgame (Voluntary Eradicators) (11 page)

“
No. Just me — and my brother.”

Which means her parents are in the casinos, then, leaving this kid in a collapsing mine. Okay, a virtual one, but still. The Dying Moon game is darker than most. Not exactly one a minor should be playing unsupervised. Though at least she had her older brother with her…

She remembers that girl in Bounty Strike and frowns.

“
Is it true that they record the games on the holladramas?”

“
The what? Oh, yes. Yes, they do.”

“
Cool! Do we get to watch them after?”

“
They don't usually air until the next week. You know, because of editing.” Kavi's crestfallen face makes Vol add, “But I'm sure if your parents spoke to the receptionist at your hotel they could arrange something.”

Especially if it involves arranging tokens into the Tower's coffers.

The two girls hike up the stairs. Both drop down, clinging to the rails when the building begins to sway like a serpent as the ground
beneath t he building roils. Vol tries not to think about the moon's core bursting like an overfilled balloon. The metal continues to groan as it bends. Kavi's hands tighten on the metal bars until her knuckles are bone-white. “Volera?” she whimpers.

“
Yes?” Wary.

“
You're a Player, aren't you? Have you — have you ever died in a game before?”

Vol bites her lip.

(I'm afraid you've lost this round.)

“
A couple times,” she says.

The girl stares up at her with huge eyes. “Did it hurt?”

Oh, shit. “Not usually,” she says carefully, knowing her response will most likely be monitored. “Everything just kind of goes black. And then you wake up in your gaming cubicle, perfectly okay.”

Kavi eyes her skeptically.

“
Sometimes,” Vol adds, “if the Weaver in question has a sense of humor, you find yourself in — well, it's almost like purgatory. They sometimes call it the Afterlife.”

What Vol doesn't say is that a few of them are called “hells” and filled with all kinds of tricks and traps meant to punish those who are eliminated early on. She also doesn't add that a game as dark and sadistic as this one will almost certainly be a member of the latter group.

Kavi doesn't look particularly comforted. Vol doesn't blame her.

“
Come on. The building's stopped shaking. The sooner we get out of her, the better.”

A draft blows through the stairwell but it's a hot, dead breeze and tinged with dust. Kavi covers her mouth with both hands and Vol tightens her hold on her kerchief. Through her stinging, watering eyes, Vol can make out the blurred form of a shuttle craft.

Thank the gods
.

“
Okay,” Vol says. “Let's see if I can fly this thing.”

Kavi stays rooted to the spot.

“
Come on, Kavi — unless you want to see what dying feels like?”

She regrets the words as soon as Kavi fixes her with a torn expression that she has seen more mornings than she can count in her own bathroom mirror.

“
Oh, I think that's going to happen anyway, morbid curiosity or no,” a drawling voice says. “Don't you agree, Cori? Our fellow Player seems a little outnumbered.”

Cori grins, revealing even teeth, blindingly white against her tan skin. “Just a tad. Hello, Vol. It's been a while. You made quite an impression last night.”

“
Yeah,” says Bastien. “You almost looked hot for once.”

Vol grits her teeth. “Can we skip the trash talk? There are children present. Stick to the script.”

“
I'm not a kid!” Kavi snaps from her daze. “I'm sixteen!”

All three Players ignore her.

“
What the hell do you think you're doing?” Vol demands. “The moon is about to blow us all sky high. If it's about the shuttle, there's more than enough room to share. Or are you just posturing for the holladramas?”

“
I should think that's obvious,” Cori says, glancing at her male partner. And there is a touch of irony in her voice that casts the solidity of their alliance into doubt.

Bastien doesn't catch it. Or pretends not to. “We're keeping you from leaving this planet, sweet cheeks.”

“
Why?”

“
Didn't you read the archives? The Dolorian government ignored their scientists because they only sit around looking at things through microscopes and reading books. It's not as if they actually know shit. Except, apparently, they did.”

“
Men,” Cori says knowledgeably. “The lure of Ephemerium was just too strong, I guess.”

“
Losing all sense over shiny rocks? That sounds more like a chick, if you ask me,” says Bastien.

Vol grabs Kavi's arm and tugs her towards the shuttle.

“
I didn't ask you, Bastien. And you stop right there, Vol. I wasn't finished.”

“
What, talking us to death?”

Kavi giggles, nervously.

Cori glances at Bastien. “Where was I?”

“
Clamoring for the rocks.”

“
Right. Most of the population was evacuated. At least, the parts that mattered — and only after their silence was guaranteed. I should say bought.”

“
But riffraff like you two need to be silenced. There are two options, though.”

“
Slow and fiery, or quick and painless,” Cori says, without missing a beat. “We're compassionate like that.”

“
So only the riffraff are being executed…”

“
That's right, very good, Vol. Gold star.”

Vol ignores Cori. “How do you propose to manage that, exactly? Stand here and watch us die? You'll die, too — and we all lose.”

Bastien's face goes blank. Cori immediately begins accessing the archives. Vol reaches for her gun but Kavi is faster. Vol realizes what she intends to do only when she's almost upon the other girl. “Kavi, no!”

An electrifying zap lights the air as Bastien blasts her in the stomach.

Kavi disappears, gone for the count.

Vol shoots Cori in the face. She disappears, too.

“
Well, the bitch and the brat are gone,” says Bastien, cocking the gun in her direction.

Vol does the same. “That's a terrible thing to say about your own girlfriend.”

“
She's not my girlfriend, sweet cheeks. Not for long. Maybe even less, if you're vying for the position.” He leers at her over the muzzle. “Look around you, Vol. Warm cozy fire, mood lighting, joint death — it's practically romantic.”

Except she has no intention of dying this time. “You wish.”

“
Not really.”

“
I can't believe you. That little Mark? You killed her brother and then you killed her.”

“
Oh, her brother was the freak with the tattoo?”

“
Is that an example of the famous Selmairean diplomacy?”

“
You saw him, didn't you? You have to admit it's pretty damn gauche.”

She has to admit nothing, least of all to him. “It symbolizes strength.”

Bastien snorts. “It certainly doesn't provide any.”

The building quakes again and the screech of tearing metal is louder this time. Vol feels the roof sink. Large, fiery tornadoes are moving closer. Both Vol and Bastien are knocked over, blasted by a tempestuous sand-filled wind. Bastien loses his grip on the gun and
it falls to the ground ten stories below, quaffed by the lake of magma engulfing the building beneath them.

“
Shit—” he begins, and that's as far as Bastien gets before Vol shoots him.

Points will be detracted for casualties
.

The rule pops into her head a second too late, and Vol winces. Oops. She's in the negatives, then, because she hasn't managed to save anyone. She's killed two, or three, depending on how you keep count, and if she doesn't get moving it's going to turn into four.

Vol gets inside the shuttle craft, which is beginning to slide across the roof as the uneven ground causes the surface to slide and tilt, and buckles herself in. The craft has only two buttons — a stop button and a go button — and flies by joystick.

She slams her palm down on the green button and hits the back of the seat as the shuttle craft surges forward. She fights for control as the craft begins a slow, downward nosedive. The plaza is no longer navigable by foot. The lava lakes have oozed forward and are consuming everything in their path. The lower levels of the tower are already submerged and sinking fast.

Vol's stomach feels as though it is doing the same. The destruction of an entire city, even a fake one, is horrifying, and certainly nothing to sneeze at. Culture and technology are eradicated, in addition to human lives. It's the ultimate crime, and
one Vol can relate to all too well: the murder of an entire civilization.

She brings the craft skyward and the screen goes black the moment she breaks through the atmosphere. For a moment, Vol thinks she's in space — except it's too dark, and she sees no stars. When she opens her eyes, she half-expects to find herself in the cubicle room. But no.

Instead, she's standing in a gray, metal room that reminds her of the Tower lobby. About twenty other players are already here, looking around in confusion or examining their limbs for nonexistent wounds. Vol feels ill. Is this the Afterlife? Has she died, even after going through all that?

Kavi is standing in the corner, arguing with the boy with the tattoo. He seems to be losing. Vol can guess what they're talking about because the brother sullenly points to Bastien. Cori looks mad, too. She rakes her hair out of her eyes and scowls at the Selmairean boy, and Vol wonders if she heard his derisive remarks about their relationship status. Bastien has a lot of explaining to do, posturing or no. If Suryan were God Mod, she wouldn't stand for this behavior.

But Suryan isn't the presiding Master of Games
.

Then who is?

“
Now that everyone has arrived, allow me to welcome you to Delos. The planet Delorian orbits, for those who didn't read the archives.” The voices is deep, sonorous, and harbors the faintest
traces of the guttural Arbatian accent. Vol can only stare in shock, unable to believe he would dare approach her here, of all places.

“
Excuse me,” he says, pausing to brush imaginary specks of lint off his clothes. He looks absolutely terrifying — black leather, a cybernetic eye, and some kind of gas mask. “The planet Dolorian
used
to orbit. I'm afraid the moon imploded very shortly after your arrival. The core boiled out, and the crust fell inward. The moon essentially turned itself inside out before exploding.

“
Some of you made it.” His eyes — one gold and organic, the other silver with a blinking red light — scan the crowd. “And some of you did not. I'm your presiding Master of Games. If you saw me before the round began, it was because you were in danger of committing a safety or protocol infraction.” He's looking right at her. “For most of you, however, this is our first meeting. I'm Catan Vareth. At your service.”

He actually bows.

“
Now for the part I'm sure you're all dying for — literally and figuratively, depending.” The mask gives his chuckles a raspy edge.

A smattering of nervous laughter follows his remark.

“
The winner of this round was Serena Dai, Class: Civilian, who managed to rescue an astonishing seventeen people by impersonating a government official and commandeering her craft.” An olive-skinned girl with black hair flushes and walks up to Catan
to receive her applause.

“
Second place winner is Bastien Thackeray, Class: Soldier, who managed to prevent six people from being rescued by killing them.” This time, there are boos. One girl gives him the finger and a dirty look. Vol supposes she is one of the unfortunate six.

“
The third place winner was Veera Nichols, Class: Bandit, who killed a soldier and stole his craft to save four people and,” he pauses. “A cat. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure how to count that, so I awarded her half a point. Most people don't pay much attention to the wildlife, anyway.”

Veera blushes to the roots of her strawberry-blonde hair. One of her friends high-fives her.
Marks
, Vol thinks.

“
That's it for the high scorers. It's now safe to disengage from the program.”

And at his words Vol's relief at surviving and disappointment at not placing merge seamlessly into fear.

7.

When she opens her eyes, the God Mod — Catan Vareth — is disconnecting her from the sensory equipment. Vol knocks his hand away. “I can do it myself. Don't touch me.”

He looks at her with feigned surprise. “I'm sorry. Is there a problem?”