Page 72 of Down to One
Terrible Timing
Titan
People aren’t even trying to be subtle. None are actually on Altair’s property, small as it is. There are a few on the street in front of the house, and a few down the small residential street that heads toward a main thoroughfare.
Of course, they’re all wearing red.
“This must be why Altair’s fingers were flying,” Blaze says. “He must have put the call out. Looks like we’re going to get an escort from here to the flag.”
“If one of our opponents fires on us with all these civilians around, they’ll be immediately terminated by their collars,” she says. “Or at least, that’s what the rules say.”
I’ve lost any belief that this is going to be a fair fight or that the network will follow its own rules. They’ve shown no interest in civilians other than parting them from their hard-earned credits.
We hurry to the edge of Altair’s weedy lawn and are swallowed up by the small crowd when we reach the street.
A few of them call our names as if we were celebrities.
“Where’s Red?” a woman calls.
“We wanted to keep him safe,” Blaze tells her even as someone says, “On his shoulder.”
I swivel my head and sure enough, the little fellow is gripping the thick plating on my shoulder. He’s perched right where Blaze made a cut so I could wear this small, uncomfortable shirt. I wore the red shirt for Sprout, but now I see how important it is.
We’re blending into the crowd, which is growing as we walk. There’s safety in numbers.
If Blaze weren’t wearing that fucking slave collar, I’d have her fade away into the mob and never be seen again. I could go to the flag, do whatever needs to be done, and win or lose, this nightmare would be over for both of us.
That won’t happen, though.
A tiny, blue four-armed Mordite elbows her way through the crowd, a small loaf in her hands. When she gets to us, she bows her head and offers it to us.
“Anathen cake,” she says. “I made it myself. Would either of you like a slice?”
“I’ll just toss it up,” Blaze admits as she leans close to the female. “I’m pretty nervous.”
“Oh. I didn’t think,” the female says, biting her bottom lip in embarrassment.
“It was very thoughtful,” I say as I reach for it. After grabbing a slice, I ask, “Can we share with the crowd?”
The female looks thrilled that her cake will be distributed to the others. I pass the cake back among the throng.
“I always wanted to be a celeb. This is surreal,” Blaze says as she grabs my hand. “We need to discuss our strategy before we’re close to the flag.”
Blaze
If I were a different person, it would be easy to get carried away in the exuberance of the moment. I could imagine we were in a mob at Disney, or waiting at the finish line for the New York Marathon.
But I’m me, Blaze, with no last name because I didn’t give myself one. I didn’t give myself one because I have no family, no allegiances, no belief in any system.
That’s not exactly true, though. I’ve become attached to one person. Xzavic.
I glance over at him. Even though his features are tight and worry is etched into the folds that bracket his mouth, he’s the most handsome male on this or any planet.
Look at him. So serious, so determined, yet he lets little Red ride his shoulder as if he belongs there.
I’m going to die today. I need to tell him I love him before that happens. I owe him that.
Instead, I say, “We need a computer pad. We need real-time feedback about where our enemies are, or at least where we are in relation to their last known whereabouts. That’s assuming the network gave us accurate intel.”
