Threader (26 page)

Aaron leads the way as we hurry along a path towards the tallest bobbly-thingy that has six blinking beacons running down its side. As we travel, I notice our streams of consciousness have transformed into replicas of ourselves, and I wonder if that's something I've intentionally done.

‘
Josie
.'

Aaron's shout is a warning. When I look around to see what's alarming him, I spy something that resembles a mechanical centipede crawling along the thread behind us. I've got enough time to register its multiple spiked legs moving in a wave as it bears down on us, clicking and whirring.

Without putting much thought into what I'm doing, I leap up as it reaches us, then come down hard and smash through the centre of its body. The bug makes a gurgling sound and instantly curls up, some of its legs falling off. And though in real life I'd be on a chair by now, screaming my head off, that's not an option here. Reaching out and mustering all the strength I have, I grab its head and force it to uncoil, then begin tearing off more of its legs. The machine squeals and thrashes about, but I don't stop until it falls silent.

When I look up, I see Aaron's in front of the central data centre, his attention fixed on the code that streams around it. Kicking a twitching centipede leg from my path, I go to join him and wait patiently, quietly elated at my success with stopping the bug.

After our session is finished, Wendell makes a lot of fussing noises when I mention the bug. But Aaron shoos her off.

‘She's a big girl, she had everything under control with that anti-viral attack,' he tells her. Wendell shrugs and then tells us we can go, while she begins to run a diagnostic program on the android.

As we leave, I try not to be sore about the distinct lack of thank yous. The more I get to know Aaron, the more I see a focused narcissist who'll do anything for success. The moment my talent doesn't perform, I know he'll toss me. Which is fine, because after my bug smashing exercise, I know I'm back in a big way.

That night, I join Darsh and Cora for pizza off campus. I don't talk about my threading adventures with Aaron, just murmur that things are going well and change the subject. I certainly don't mention the hollow feeling inside me and the overwhelming urge to find Blake. Just to see him. Just to talk.

Cadets from Helios sit around the restaurant, chatting over food and sodas, and it's a comforting atmosphere. The conversation dances lightly around our schedules and study, pausing when our food arrives. The pizza is delicious, but after a few bites, the food curdles in my stomach. I order some water, lost in thought.

‘Josie?'

I realise Darsh is talking to me, his mouth full of pizza, and I shake my head. ‘Sorry, what?'

Darsh swallows and repeats his question. ‘I asked how you were feeling?'

‘I'm good.' I stare down at the remaining bit of pizza on my plate. Golden cheese oozes over its side, and I swallow back a wave of nausea.

‘You don't look it.' Darsh shrugs, picking up another slice and putting it on his plate. ‘In fact, I would go as far to say you look like hell.'

‘Don't say that,' Cora snaps at him. She gives me a wide smile. ‘You look brilliant. Mostly. Nothing a lick of lipstick can't fix.'

Darsh wipes his mouth with a napkin. ‘Want to study tonight?'

I groan. ‘Maybe. My brain is all mush. I'm never going to be able to catch up.'

Darsh taps his head. ‘Why don't you TP me and see how I store my information for recall? It might give you ideas on how to organise your own thoughts and memories.'

‘I'm pretty sure that's against Helios rules,' I remind him.

‘But he's given you permission,' Cora says.

‘And I know you're coming, so it's cool,' Darsh says. ‘My mental shields are pretty strong, you know.'

‘Okay,' I say, somewhat reluctant. But, intrigued by his comment about organising his thoughts, I let my TP slip out. My mind sparks bright as my talent whirls around Darsh once before slipping inside his mind. Beyond the flittering images of memory, I see that Darsh's thoughts are mostly set in organised chambers and categories that are easily identified. I spy information that I know will help me later, and take mental notes on how I might construct something similar with my own memory. After all, if I can construct a puzzle-chest with my mind, I can do a filing cabinet. Or at least, something like it.

‘Are you doing it?' Darsh sips his cola and closes his eyes, as if he would be able to see me there, tiptoeing around. ‘I've always been able to feel a TP in my head in the past.'

Once I've seen the architecture of Darsh's mind and have stashed aside some good tips, I begin to withdraw, but then a flickering catches my attention. Taking a quick look, I see they're snippets of memories, caught in time. Darsh as a boy with an ice cream. His parents laughing. Past these easy-to-reach memories, I sense something hidden. Something he doesn't want me to see. Pushing past the images, I spy a small shoe box tucked deep.

Darsh opens his eyes. ‘You're done, right?'

I register the sudden nervousness in his voice, but my TP won't be swayed from its course. Prying up the corner of the lid, I spy an image of Cora laughing over something Darsh has said.

I withdraw quick, feeling dirty I've even looked and my face flushes at my intrusion.

‘What?' Darsh looks worried. ‘What did you see?'

I busy myself with sipping my water. ‘Just like you said. Ideas on how to organise my thoughts. I'll give it a go, thanks.'

‘Hope it helps,' he says.

‘Don't worry if you didn't get anything useful from inside that noggin of his,' Cora says. ‘I'm your trusty study buddy and I'll make sure you catch up just fine.'

‘I'll take help from both of you, and it's appreciated,' I say. ‘I can't come this far just to fail.'

‘With the effort you put into breaking your talent lock, I think people will cut you some slack,' Darsh says.

‘You know what happened with my lock?' I look at Cora, frowning.

‘Sorry. Was that a private thing?' She grimaces. ‘It just came out. I figured you wouldn't mind. You were out of it for two whole days. I was worried and had to talk to someone.'

‘You
only
told him about that?' I arch my eyebrows at her, silently asking if Darsh also knows about her falling off the lightpath. Cora gives a small shake of her head; she hasn't told him. I wonder why.

‘I pestered Cora until she talked about what happened to you.' Darsh quickly comes to her defence.

‘It's fine.' I hold up my hands. ‘No problem. It's done and now I can move on.'

I remind myself of my goals. Citizenship. Secure my future. Keep away from that third strike. Stay out of jail.

Simple, right?

My stomach still uneasy, I briefly debate finding Vogel and asking about any side effects from the break, but dismiss the idea almost instantly. She'll just tell Eckhart and then I'll look weak.

Cora senses my discomfort and changes the subject. ‘So, do you know what you're wearing to the game?'

‘Thanks for asking, Cora.' Darsh puckers his lips. ‘I've got this little black number I've been just
dying
to try out.'

She slaps his arm. ‘I'm talking to Josie, moron.'

‘What game?' I search my scattered memories, trying to remember what she's talking about.

‘The basketball game,' Darsh says. ‘Between the Helios Hurricanes and the Albright College Lions. You know, two teams of sweaty guys, running around with a ball.'

‘In little shorts,' Cora says. ‘Don't forget they wear little shorts.'

Darsh's eyes skip over the empty pizza plates and fall on my barely touched slice. I push it over to him. ‘I think I'll pass on the shorty shorts,' he says.

‘But I got tickets,' Cora complains. ‘You both have to come.'

‘Why don't you just take Jeremy?' Darsh asks. ‘You two seem pretty tight these days.' There's no way to miss the trace of bitterness in his voice. I shoot a questioning look at him, but Darsh just concerns himself with eating my pizza.

‘Jeremy's said he's busy.' Cora sighs.

‘Busy doing what?' I ask.

She gives an airy wave. ‘Oh, I don't know. Stuff. Things.'

‘Oh?' Darsh looks up, suddenly interested.

‘You have to come to the game.' Cora elbows him. ‘Josie needs us to cheer her up.'

‘I don't need cheering up,' I say. ‘Besides, I probably need to study, right?'

‘There.' Darsh sounds smug. ‘Sounds like our time would be better spent doing anything but watch grunting guys in tank tops.'

‘And little shorty shorts,' Cora adds. She claps her hands under her chin and grins at me. ‘Archer has the tightest buns in the world. You have to come and watch him work his magic. He does this thing where he jumps and shoves the ball in the basket. I think it's called a dunker, or something. It's incredible and the crowd goes absolutely wild.'

Darsh groans. ‘The guy scores a couple of winning baskets and you only want to go watch his shorty shorts. I'm definitely not going.'

I'm laughing now, watching Cora and Darsh bicker with each other. Cora rolls her eyes at me over something Darsh says and a beam of hope shines briefly over the dark cobwebs of worry that lace my thoughts. I know then, with friends like these, everything will be alright.

The rest of the week passes in a blur of training with Aaron and catch-up study sessions with Darsh and Cora. By the time the week stutters to a stop for the weekend, I've managed to duplicate Darsh's mental organisational methods and am able to retain more information than I thought possible. I also tactfully keep silent about the image of Cora I spied in his mind. If he has a big old crush on her, that's his business.

After a leisurely Saturday morning in my room, I eat lunch on the greens with Cora and we make arrangements to meet later for the basketball game that night. Cora talks about the latest gossip, while I pretend I'm not keeping an eye out for Blake.

When she leaves for a hairdressing appointment in town, I head back to my room, luxuriating in the privacy I've sorely missed since coming to the academy. Sprawling out on the bed, I close my eyes to take a quick nap. But clearly my exhausted body needs more sleep, because by the time I blink my eyes open, the afternoon has passed by and it's time to get ready for the game. After a shower, I dress and am halfway done lacing up my boots when there's a sharp knock on my door. I'm expecting Cora, so it's a surprise to find Olivia standing there instead. My guard instantly slams up.

‘What do you want, Olivia?'

‘I'm calling in my favour.' She steps into my room, forcing me back. ‘And you are going to come through for me.' She walks over to the window and stares out. ‘You're going to the game.' It's not a question.

‘That's right, I'm meeting Cora in a minute.' I pick up my bag from the bed to underline the point.

Olivia keeps staring out the window. ‘Good. Because that's right where I need you.'

‘What is it you want from me, exactly?' I ask cautiously.

She turns and her eyes are bright. ‘Nothing big. Just help from a fellow sister.'

‘I'm not your sister, Olivia.'

‘Aren't we all one big family here at Helios?' When she sees me fold my arms impatiently, she shrugs. ‘You owe me a favour for the dress.'

Alarm bells go off in my head. ‘You mean the dress you ruined on purpose?'

‘It was an accident,' Olivia says with an innocent look. ‘But I didn't need TP to figure out you were going to try and return it.'

‘I don't owe you anything,' I fume.

‘Of course you do, which is why you're going to come through for me.' Olivia dismisses my words with a casual wave. ‘Now, I'm sure you've heard about how Archer is quite proud of his prowess on the court. But tonight he's not going to make any points. He's going to trip over his own feet. Fumble the ball. Look like the fool he is.' She smiles. ‘You can be creative, Josie, I don't care. Just ensure he doesn't score any points.'

‘You're crazy,' I tell her. ‘Firstly, what if Archer never even gets the ball?'

‘Trust me, Archer always gets the ball.' Her smile drops away, leaving behind a nasty look. ‘Don't make me threaten you, Josie. It'll make us both feel cheap.'

My arms drop by my side. ‘Why don't you use your own talent?'

‘He'll feel a TP in his head,' Olivia says. ‘But you're a threader. You'll be invisible. He'll never know you were there.'

‘No.' My refusal is firm. ‘If I'm caught, I'll be thrown out.'

‘You won't be caught. He won't even know.'

I desperately change tactics. ‘I'll find a way to repay you for the dress,' I tell her. ‘But I won't do this for you. It's not right.'