Page 36 of Coldwire
8LIA
Warning: Unfamiliar user has picked up speed.
I don’t overthink my strategy: I bolt, sprinting down the busy street. The other pedestrians barely pay me any mind. My feet thud on the pavement to the rhythm of my pulse, flinging me in and out of the crowds as I attempt to find some sort of cover.
How did this happen? I’ve been here for a grand total of ten minutes, and I’m beingfollowed. Maybe I shouldn’t be running away. Maybe this is only going to get me caught faster.
Crap.Crap.At the very least, I have to meet up with Kieren first so we both get docked by this stalker. If I go down, I’m taking him with me.
I make a sharp left, sighting a pair of automatic double doors leading into a particularly round building. I’m hurrying up the steps three at a time before diving through, and then I’ve entered a shopping complex filled with screaming children and the rhythmic clatter of arcade machines lining the center platform.
Think. Think, Lia.
“How do I open this?” I grumble under my breath. I force myself to slow, not wanting to draw the attention of mall security. At random, my display opens a map, triggered by my eye movements.
A small blinking dot enters the shopping complex too. I almost come to a complete halt. I’m not only being followed—I’m beingtracked.
I swerve, avoiding a group of teenage boys. In their chatter, they don’t notice the small dance I do to prevent smooshing into the wall before I pick up speed again around them. The shopping complex descends several levels underground. I take the escalator, glancing over my shoulder. There are too many people, too much activity. It’s impossible to pick out my pursuer.
Suggestion: Make emergency call?
“No, absolutely not,” I mutter, dismissing the alert. What is my stalker going to do, kill me? We can’t die in virtual. The system didn’t encode bleeding, so we can’t even get seriously hurt short of slight bruises—and those don’t last long. They bloom as an attempt to keep upcountry feeling as real as possible. Injuries that are any more severe automatically alert authorities in the system to perform a cursory check. Violent crime doesn’t exist upcountry, and it’s not because of society’s improved character; it’s because all opportunities have disappeared.
It tends to send most of those perpetrators downcountry, where rates will only grow higher.
I hit the lower level, stepping off the escalator into the middle of a food court. The signs declareTASTY TAKEOUT!andBEST CHICKEN EVER, their ordering screens flashing bright to lure customers, and their bots working at high speed behind the counter.
Tempting as it is to sniff around the Medan food and try everything Dad is cautious about letting me have in Atahua, I keep walking, swiping a tray. The repository machine beeps at me, recognizing my user when I reach my hand out, and my display tells me ten cents—We’ve already converted the payment to Atahuan currency for all your tourist needs!—have been docked from my wallet, available for refund upon return of the tray. It’s not worth returning it for ten cents, so I keep moving, weaving past the tables and theirorder codes floating from the screens in the middle, steering clear of the numerous tiny bots driving around the food court to deliver plates.
The restrooms are empty when I push through the swinging door. I check the three stalls one by one. Clear. I breathe in, breathe out, then lift the tray, waiting for the dot on the map to get closer and closer. The Nile Military Academy handbook would advise against this. The handbook for final exam postings also never said that apparently someone would be able to immediately hack my location. What are they tracking? My avatar? My user panel in the system? Is this someone from the academy keeping an eye on me, and Medaluo’s privacy settings have given them away?
The restroom door opens a crack. And as I swing the tray, I’ve entirely missed where I thought there would be someone to strike, because acathas nudged its face against the entrance and trotted in.
“Sh—” I barely stop myself from dropping the tray on the cat’s head. It’s fluffy. Black. My heart slowly starts to beat evenly again. “Hello.”
The cat blinks. The door closes behind its long tail. Suddenly a wave of cold sweat breaks down my spine and squeezes a grip over my stomach because I’m still looking at the map in my display, and the user tracking me has entered the space too. I’m staring at a cat. So why is the map showing me that this is a user?
I just about faint when the cat starts talking.
“Oh. I didn’t think it would be you.”
Then it disappears. Literally. Its body shimmers and blinks out of virtual, leaving only empty space behind. My display doesn’t note an unfamiliar user on my trail anymore. The map closes itself.
A new notification blinks into view.
KIEREN: Where are you?
LIA: bruh you won’t BELIEVE what just happened to me
I push through the doors into Lovers’ Café twenty minutes later, huffing from my exertion. Kieren’s already there, as proven by the multiple messages I have from him pointing out my tardiness.
“Welcome!” the hostess greets. “Can I offer you a menu?”
It’s shockingly pink inside. Not the fluffy, pastel shades, but a metallic sort of fuchsia, painted wall to wall and beaming from the colored bulbs underneath the booth tables. I spot Kieren in the corner, his fingers tapping on the table. He’s the only one sitting alone.
“No, thank you,” I say, pointing over to Kieren. “He should have already ordered what I want.”
It’s absolutely bustling while I attempt to make my way over to the corner. Much as the name implies, the Lovers’ Café only has two-person tables, and they’re all full. Kieren must have had immense luck snatching a seat, especially with the number of customers who are standing around, waiting for a moment to home in on an empty table.
