Endgame (Voluntary Eradicators)

Copyright ©
2012 Nenia Campbell
All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To Kendal Morris, mispelled wurd finder.

To Quizzy McQuinn, uther mispeled werd findur.

To Louisa, pretty-making cover person and plot-bunny collector.

And all the other whoars at PH

for nagging and supporting as necessary.

Thank you.

1.

It is night in the city that never sleeps and Volera Magray cannot sleep. Or she is unwilling to try. If you are unwilling enough, the two situations are essentially the same.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror she keeps in the foyer. Since the apartment contains only one bedroom, this is directly across from her bed. Vol shivers, and her eyes gleam silver bright in the darkness.

She slides out of bed. Her feet move soundlessly across the floor as she goes to her closet, yanks off her dampened nightdress, and pulls on a new one. She wads the soiled nightgown into a ball and kicks it towards the bathroom where a pile of equally soiled clothes await laundering. The pile has been growing steadily larger. Meanwhile, the supply in her closet has been dwindling. Soon, she will have to do laundry: something she hates. It is too domestic.

There was something else I was supposed to do
.

Her eyes flick towards the bed.

Something….

(Someone)

Vol shrugs and puts in her contacts. The clock at her bedside reads 2:01 am. Her first shift of the day is starting soon so she may as well give up on sleep for the night. She knows she should change into her work clothes but her nightgown is too soft, too warm.

She sits on the upturned crates which serve as her makeshift window seat and tugs the dark curtains aside. Light floods through the apartment windows and her mind is fooled into thinking that
daylight
is what she is seeing for several disorienting seconds. Once her eyes adjust she catches glimpses of the black velvet sky peeking through the blinding glare — starless, of course, and singed with browns and oranges. It gets her every single time.

Enclosed by strong stone walls designed as much to keep people in as out, and sealed off from neighboring districts by the hot arid desert known locally as “the shifting sand lands,” the city that never sleeps is as isolate as an island. It is labeled on maps as Karagh, but the only people who actually call it that are the people who live there. The sleepless city is the mildest and least offensive of its many monikers.

Across from the Tower is the Karaghassian bazaar. A sprawling labyrinth of casinos and betting parlors and open air markets, the venders there hawk everything there is to be found under the sun — and if you're willing to pay a bit extra, a few things that aren't, as well.

Someone knocks sharply on the door. For a moment Vol thinks she has drifted off, or worse—blacked out—and done the unthinkable: missing work. But her clock, to her relief, reads 2:08.

The knocking sounds again.

Vol glances down at her bare legs. “Just a minute!”

Cursing under her breath, she prowls around her bedroom looking for something she can pull on quickly. She spies a pair of rumpled leggings slithering out of the floor of her closet like one of the desert asps. “I'm coming,” she adds, tugging them on beneath the nightshirt.

The rapping continues, paying her no mind.

For Regent's sake
. She would have liked to have been able to put on a bra but it looks like she is going to have to settle for keeping her arms crossed instead. Vol yanks open the door. “I
said
I was coming…Kira?” she trails off in surprise, wondering what a game-designer is doing at her door at two in the morning.

Probably selling something
, is her uncharitable thought.
It's what everyone else here does
.

The brown-haired girl flicks hazel eyes over Vol's rumpled clothing. She is wearing a drab green sweater that, at this moment, matches her eyes perfectly. Her hand is still poised for another knock but she seems to realize how hostile this looks because she lowers it.

“
Did I wake you?”

“
No. I was up.” Feeling this sounds too accommodating, Vol adds, “I just woke up.”

Kira smiles, satisfied. “What a relief. I wanted to catch people before they left for first shift.”

“
Well, you caught me.” Vol holds the door open a little wider. “So are you coming in or not?”

“
Thank you,” Kira says, stepping over the threshold and into the darkened room as regally as a queen. Turning her back so Kira won't see her roll her eyes, Vol flicks on the light and suffuses the room with a wavering greenish fluorescence.

The other girl whirls around as Vol closes the door. For a moment, she looks trapped. “Your room is so…” she quickly finishes her cursory inspection. “So spacious.”

“
I don't have much.” It comes out sounding defensive. “Go ahead and sit down — but can we make this quick? I have a game starting in forty-five minutes.”

Kira does not appear to hear. She is staring at the window seat, her lips quirked. “Oh, you are precious, Vol. Are those fruit crates? How very creative.”

Annoyance pulses through Vol, as hot and unwanted as a blush. “Kira — ”

“
I heard you. Game. Forty-five minutes. Sit down, don't get your panties in a twist.” She dusts off the crates although Val knows perfectly well that they are clean, and seats herself gingerly on the edge. “The game is one of mine, anyway, so don't worry about me keeping you.”

She gives a little laugh.

Vol doesn't laugh with her. She grabs one of the hair ties she keeps in a ceramic dish by the door. “What do you want?” she demands through the yellow screen of her hair, separating the strands into three sections for a braid.

“
Well, you're very forward, aren't you, Vol?”

“
I am when I'm in a hurry,” she says bitingly, hoping Kira will take the hint.

She does. “The Tower is hosting a promotional ball tonight to launch one of my new games.”

“
Uh-huh.” Vol concentrates on the braid and staying noncommittal.
I still don't see how this concerns me
. If Kira wants to brag, she has a whole bunch of cohorts to giggle with.
Why come to me?
She wonders, as the other girl prattles on about balls and how fun they are and gosh, aren't you excited, Vol?
This is really weird
.
We aren't girlfriends
.

She doubts that Kira is extending the olive branch. The cutting remarks about her room and appearance are evidence enough of that.

“…
live band…” Kira is waning on the subject of balls, segueing back into entertainment, which means games, and Vol decides it is probably a good idea to start paying attention. “…in addition to that, Marks will be given temporarily free access to the VR lounges in GP1 and GP2.”

Vol is beginning to have a good idea now of how this concerns her. She hopes she's wrong, though. “With an event that big, aren't more staff going to be required to facilitate it?”

Kira blinks. “Oh. I suppose some Players will be needed to work overtime. I guess you're right. I didn't even think about that.”

Liar
. Vol can feel a headache coming on.
At least tell me the truth instead of lying to my face
.
'Vol, I want you to work on your evening off
.
' Simple, right?

Kira is saying now, “I'm not asking you to come — ”

“
Thanks.” Vol studies herself in the cracked mirror and secures the braid with the tie.

“
I'm telling you to come.” Kira's mouth hardens. “This is not optional.”

Vol turns. “I've got news for you, Kira. You're not my boss. She storms to her closet and shoves the hangers aside, looking for the dress she's pretty sure she hasn't worn this week. When she finds it — a washed-out buttercup that, with her yellow hair and rangy build, makes her look like a weedy flower — she folds the garment over her arm and puts her hands on her hips. “I hate events like this. So you tell me, why would it possibly be in my interests to go?”

“
Because Jillain, who
is
your boss, specifically requested that you attend. All Players with available blocks during that time have to go — so don't go thinking you're a special case or anything.”

Vol flushes. Kira smirks and rises from the crates.

“
And because you'll lose a week's worth of tokens if you don't go.”

“
They're giving me a week's pay to go to a stupid ball?”

“
No, Vol. They're taking away a week's pay if you don't go. Normal overtime rates apply.”

Vol lets out a curse. She remembers an old joke about blackmail and Karaghassian diplomacy — it doesn't seem so funny now. “And where am I supposed to find the time to get ready for this?”

“
I'm sure you'll manage.” Kira pauses in the center of the room, putting a finger to her lip. She glances at Vol's stash of instant noodles. “If it's any consolation, the food is supposed to be free.”

Vol sighs. “Then I guess I have no choice — since the food is free.” She gives Kira a dirty look.

Kira laughs and allows herself to be shepherded towards the door. “It's semi-formal.”

“
I'll be sure to wear a dress then,” Vol says, unfastening the bolt on the door.

“
One that isn't made of cotton, I hope.” Kira eyes the dress hanging over Vol's arm. “If you don't have one, which I suspect you don't, come see me. It might be a tight fit, but I'm sure I can find you something suitable.”

“
Do you ever get tired of being such a witch?” Vol asks, holding
open the door.

“
Oh, no. Never.” She smiles. “You have to admit, it's so much more interesting than being nice.”

“
No, I don't. Goodbye, Kira.” Vol begins to push the door shut.

But Kira holds onto the door to keep it from closing all the way. Briefly, Vol entertains the thought of slamming Kira's fingers in the jamb. It is tempting, but not worth the trouble.

“
It's also a masquerade,” Kira adds. “So bring a mask. Anything goes as long as it covers at least half your face.”

“
That's unfortunate,” Vol murmurs. “I guess that means you don't get to go as yourself.”

Instead of being offended, Kira cackles. “See? Doesn't that feel satisfying? You should try being wicked more often, Vol. You're such a button-up.”

“
Goodbye, Kira. I mean it.”

“
Well. I guess I know when I'm not wanted.” She turns and walks away, humming like a girl who thinks everything is going swimmingly. Vol feels that hot flush of annoyance returning, washing over her in a red tide. She is inches away from when Kira adds, “Oh, and Vol?”

“
What?”

“
Good luck with my game today.” She flips her long dark hair over one shoulder and says, “You're going to need it.”

Vol slams the door closed and leans against it, one ear pressed against the wooden surface to assure herself that the other girl really is gone. Her eye snags on the clock, which reads 2:30 now, and she thinks,
Well that was a complete waste of time
.

For the second time this morning she pulls off her nightshirt. This time, she replaces it with the buttercup dress. She leaves the leggings. Despite being near the desert, the coastal breeze makes mornings bitterly cold. It isn't until she's lacing up her boots that Kira's final words really hit her. Kira has never wished her luck on a game before.