Page 7 of Coldwire
Tamera, suddenly, is at my side, grabbing my wrist. Though I don’t resist, I keep the sharp end down, and when she pulls my hand away, the comb drags across my palm forcefully.
I really do wince this time. The comb clatters to the floor, striking against the tiles with a horribly discordant sound.
For a few seconds, the scratch is only bright red, a raised welt. Then blood beads to the surface, seeping through the damaged membrane. Little dots surround the cut in varying sizes before the red drips downward, landing one drop on the floor tiles.
It’s not much, but it’s something. It means I’m real. I’mreal. StrangeLoom doesn’t encode blood.
“What has gotten into you?” Tamera hisses.
“Nothing,” I answer at once. “Nothing. I had an itch.”
“Anitch!” Tamera grabs a towel, then wraps it around my hand tightly to stanch the cut. “You didn’t need to press so hard.”
I wrinkle my nose, lifting the towel off to peek at the scratch. The bleeding has already stopped. I feel much better. A tension that had been building and building in my chest these twenty-four hours has been allowed a release, a hole punctured through my chest to begin pressurization.
“I’m okay, I swear,” I say.
Tamera isn’t so easily deflected. She frowns, still looking at my hand. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but I’ve gotten a whole head taller than her, so she needs to hold my arm far above her eye level to keep it elevated.
“Come to the kitchen. I’ll give you a bandage.”
“It’s already stopped bleeding. See?” I show her my palm. “A bandage will just get gross if I leave it on for a month inside.”
“Lia.”
I stick out my lower lip. “Tameraaaaaa…”
“All right, all right,” she relents, dropping my hand. “Come on, then. Twenty-four hours are up.”
We walk back to my bedroom. The moment Tamera steps in, she goes to open the side window’s curtains, which doesn’t change the lighting situation. She seems to realize it too, pausing before drawing them half-shut again.
“Are you going straight to school?” Tamera asks, turning around.
I pretend to check the watch on her wrist. “I thought I’d enter on a Button City landing station to do some luxury shopping first.”
Tamera gives me a wry look. “A simpleyes, I’m going to schoolwould have sufficed.”
“Sorry. I can’t deny the urge to be a smart-ass.”
I never miss school anyway, not even when I’m ill. There’s zero chance I’ll miss a minute during this critical week, when final exam postings are expected soon. Each grade I get could change the outcome of the race for valedictorian. As much as I’d love to think I’ve got the title secured, there’s one competitor who’s always been huffing down my neck.
Tamera pushes open the Pod cover. My Pod is installed in the corner of my room so that its wires can be plugged into the port in the wall, which makes the setup look rather sarcophagus-like. We have ports in every room, feeding into the cables that grant upcountry access, provided that Dadcontinues paying the subscription fees associated with our log-ins.
“I checked your nutrient line already, and your level is fine for two back-to-back months,” Tamera tells me. “If you need the entire ten weeks for your posting, though, I’m sure it’ll alert me to replace it too.”
It’s supposed to be my responsibility to make sure the Pod has suitable levels before I log in, but Tamera likes to take care of everything in the household. It’s nice. At the academy, they have emergency nurses on standby in case someone’s Pod falls low on nutrient levels, but cadets can also easily log themselves out, walk over to the nutrient room, and shove a replacement into the Pod. The only time it becomes trickier is during our final exam posting, because if we’re being hacked into another country, we can’t leave until the posting is finished. In this specific case, NileCorp allows us to skip one mandatory reset day, knowing that it’s worth the risk if we want to stay in a foreign server. If our Pods are well maintained, two months in virtual won’t do us any harm.
Tamera tuts, peering into the Pod now. I left the Claw lying on the pillow, not on the hook on the side where it’s supposed to go. I smile sheepishly while I climb in, but I haven’t damaged any of the electrode rods.
The Pod has all sorts of other bits and bobs that make it suitable for long-term stay. Nodes stick out from the sides, attaching to my legs, to my arms, to my torso. NileCorp has had decades to perfect its stasis technology, zapping the body at the right intervals while our minds are upcountry to make sure nothing atrophies in the real world. I slide the nutrient needle into my arm.
“Comfortable?” Tamera asks.
I adjust one of the Claw prongs. The back needs to be aligned with the chip in my head. “Ow. Why is this so tight—”
She reaches in, unraveling a bit of my hair that got stuck on the Claw.
“I’m good. You can shut the Pod.” I pause. “Thank you.”
