Eventually they emerged in another makeshift clearing, a bit more spacious than the first. He went to the far side and then, with a sigh, lowered himself to the floor. There was a weariness about him that matched her own—not merely physical, but spiritual. “We’ll be safe here, as long as we keep our voices down.”
She followed his lead, lowering herself to the floor opposite him, stretching out her legs in front of her with a soft groan. It felt good to sit. “I guess it’s time for introductions.”
He chuckled weakly. “Y’think?”
“I’m Ru Gaya, outrider.” She paused, wondering how much she should add to that. “The locals think I’m a bounty hunter, but there doesn’t seem to be much point to that story anymore.”
He took a green bottle out of his pocket and twisted off the cap. “Micah Bello, game designer. Specializing in multi-player virtual immersion reality transposition programming.”
“Virts?”
“That’s not nearly as impressive sounding, is it?” He took a deep drink from the bottle. “But yeah, virts.”
She smiled slightly. “Make-believe worlds.”
“Hey.” He glowered. “It pays the bills.”
She pulled her own bottle out, opened it, and sniffed. Looked like water. Smelled like water. She glanced at the Sarkassan for confirmation, and when he nodded, dared a sip. Water. For all its staleness, it was blissfully refreshing. She drank deeply.
“So,” he said. “Names are all taken care of. Is this when we talk about why we’re really here?”
She hesitated. She trusted him as much as she trusted anyone on this station, but that wasn’t a very high bar. “Someone wanted data from Shenshido,” she said at last. “Since the station’s independent, I was paid to come here and retrieve it.” She sighed. “If I’d known what that entailed, I would have charged more.”
“Not an outrider’s usual work.”
“I’m between assignments.”
“And the bounty hunter part?”
“Fewer questions that way.” She took another drink. “Your turn, now. And I do hope you’re not going to stick with that ‘I took a wrong turn’ nonsense.”
“Hey! It’s the truth. Granted, I was trying to get away from someone who was trying to kill me . . . and no, I don’t know who he was or why he was doing that. Shenshido was the nearest station, so I came here seeking refuge. Apparently the security system doesn’t like visitors.”
“Spiders got you?”
He nodded. “I evacked, just in time. Didn’t stick around to see what they did to my ship, but I expect it’s gone now.”
“Yeah, spiders are pretty thorough. Was that your jet suit tethered to the ring?”
He nodded.
She whistled softly. “Impressive evac.”
“It’s amazing what you can do when the alternative is death in deep space.” He took another drink. “Now. Please. Tell me you have a ship that can get us off this godforsaken station. Because if you don’t, nothing else really matters, does it?”
Again she hesitated, but only for a moment. She’d avoided telling Ivar anything about her real situation, but this wasn’t Ivar. And if this man was going to help her get back to her skimmer, he needed to at least know it existed. “I have a ship.”
“Praise the Ancient Ones!” he proclaimed. Then, seeing the surprise on her face, he added quickly, “Sorry. Industry joke.” He grinned sheepishly. “I usually hang out with people who would get the reference.”
“It’s okay. I’m getting used to not understanding things in this place. Speaking of which,” she bit her lip for a moment, “what was up with those boxes?”
For a moment he said nothing. Finally he asked, “What did you see in them?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
She spread her hands.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What did you see?”
“Rotting provisions. Moldy, liquefied. Disgusting. You didn’t see any of that?”
“Not so much as a mold spore, I’m sorry.” Puzzle pieces were coming together now, and she didn’t like the picture taking shape. “We weren’t seeing the same thing, were we?”
He whispered it: “No.”
“And the lack of smell? What was that about?”
“Virt programs can create sensory illusions, but they rarely include smell. So the fact that I was seeing something that should have a strong odor and didn’t, suggested that what I was seeing wasn’t real.”
She blinked. “You’re thinking . . . what? That we’re in some kind of game?”
He shook his head sharply. “Games don’t inload. They’re controlled by the headset. Once you remove that, all sensory feed should terminate.”
“But yours didn’t.”
“No. It didn’t. And I don’t know why. I should know. This is my field. I should understand it.”
“I think . . . something similar might have happened with Ivar.” She told him about the door that Ivar hadn’t seen, the warning light that everyone thought had turned green, when it was still really orange. “They told me down in Bio that everyone up here was disfigured. But all the people I’ve seen looked perfectly normal. Were the bios seeing something that didn’t exist? All of them?”
“They told me everyone from below was mutated. But that part at least was true. I saw it myself.”
“Where?”
“The two bodies in the warehouse. Their faces were covered in some bark-like growth. Didn’t you see it?”
“Micah.” She said it softly. “They looked perfectly normal.”
“Ah, jeez.” He looked away. “Don’t tell me that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How can we be sure that anything here is real? How are we supposed to function if we can’t trust our own senses?” Suddenly he looked back at her. “You seem to be immune.”
“What do you mean?”
“The door you found was real, right? The orange sensor light probably was, too. You saw the truth of those things, when no one else did. And you weren’t affected by the illusions in the storeroom just now. Jeez, maybe everyone on this station looks totally normal, but you’re the only one who can see their true faces.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “Why you? What’s different about you? It’s not just that you came from the outside; I did too.”