Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
We make our way to the top of the hill and, thankfully, no more holograms spring up on us. As we reach a fallen tree trunk in a thicker patch of the forest, at the top of the hill, Julian’s ART pings.
‘Mission accomplished,’ Stella says. ‘Please accept your quest backpacks.’
Julian whoops. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I cannot wait to get my hand on those rations.’
‘I only dream of coffee,’ I say.
‘I’m hoping for a blanket,’ Allen says dreamily.
Julian reaches the fallen tree trunk and slams his palm against it.
‘Brace,’ Xandra says.
‘For what?’ I ask, but it’s too late.
The trunk glows pink before a hatch opens and huge backpacks are catapulted into our arms. Since I wasn’t prepared, mine smacks me square in the chest and I’m sent sprawling on my bottom.
‘Ellie, look up,’ Mace says, but it’s too late, and Stella’s aim is a bit better this time, because the boots she sends my way land at my feet.
I squeal. My backpack seems heavy – so someone, maybe Stella herself, packed something for me – and as much as I love my golden shoes, I can’t wait to get out of them.
I reach out for the boots. They have the sweet, synthetic smell of stretchy, soft, durable fabric that wouldn’t let a sticky, gooey substance burn my toes.
I need them on. About ten hours ago.
‘Please, let there be socks.’ I frantically open my backpack.
Inside, it’s like a Warrior’s wet dream.
The backpack is divided into three sections.
One holds food rations, which I realise I inconveniently have to carry from now on.
In the second one, I find a little transparent bag with lotions and syrups and pills.
Tucked neatly against the side, there’s a rectangular case.
I open it carefully, my heart thudding. ‘Yesss!’ I do a fist pump as I pull out the Pocket Healer.
Allen, like the nerd that he is, leans in. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘It’s the PH 70.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Julian says. He’s now in full mission uniform, which means high boots, skintight grey trousers, a dark blue T-shirt and a grey jacket, padded around the chest and stomach.
‘This Pocket Healer model was all the rage like forty years ago,’ Allen replies, disappointment dripping from his voice.
‘That’s fine,’ I say, tapping the thing to get it started.
‘I can make it work. The diagnostics function and the tissue-repair function are as good as in any of the resina crystals models. It just needs longer sequences of tapping in commands to get it to do exactly what I want, but that’s not a problem. ’
I’ve spent hours and hours poring over Healing books, so that I won’t make any mistakes.
‘Why are they sending us old equipment on the field?’ Mace has somehow snuck to my side – maybe while I was busy shrieking – and watches the Pocket Healer in my hand with a furrowed brow, as if the thing has already done something to offend him personally.
Probably by not being state of the art, the first in its class, passing all the tests with flying colours.
Which obviously doesn’t give it the right to be a part of Mace’s perfect team.
I want to whisper to the Pocket Healer that it’s not its fault: it’s just that no one can rise to Mace’s impossible standards. I caress the screen to let the PH feel my intentions, and it reacts like a happy kitten, purring with a ping and lighting up.
Stella replies from the ART in my pocket, making me jolt. ‘This is the only device that Healers’ Quarter approved for Ellie to use during this mission.’
‘Fucking Healers’ Quarter,’ Mace mutters.
‘Fucking Chrissy, you mean,’ says Xandra, with an evil glare at Julian.
In the third section of the backpack, I find a little treasure trove: clean underwear, even if it’s mostly comfy boxers and bralettes, but they’ll be gold during the mission. A small, red bag labelled ‘make-up’, that makes my heart race.
And socks. So many pairs of fluffy, thick, soft socks that I want to rub my face in.
I pull out a pair of neon blue ones and proceed to peel the shoes off my feet.
The gold has been smeared with black, oily spots, deep scratches gouge the surface of the leather, and there’s no overseeing the hole burned into them.
Still, I can’t bring myself to leave my shoes here.
I’m pulling up my boots when something draws my attention to Xandra. She’s looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
‘Hey, Julian,’ she says. ‘Can you give me a Firestarter?’
He hands it over and she proceeds to ignite her own shoes with it.
Just like mine, her shoes must have cost a fortune. I’m pretty sure my mouth drops open.
‘We can’t leave any traces for the other teams,’ she says.
Whatever. If she can buy herself a new pair of shoes each month, that’s her business. I find a textile bag in the compartment with the underwear, wrap my shoes in it, then store them in an outer pocket of my backpack. I don’t want them near my food, nor my underwear.
They might be ruined, but I worked hard for them, and they’re mine.
I grab my mission clothing and head for a nearby group of trees.
I slip into the grey trousers – stretchy and comfier than my jumpsuit – then discard my top in favour of the mission T-shirt, which is sleeveless, seems to be made of a durable fabric, and zips at the front.
Well, the zip goes all the way down below my navel, which seems like a weird detail, but who am I to question Stella and her wardrobe choices?
I pull on the mission jacket on top, which is really warm so I leave it open in the front and then return to the rest of my team.
Mace is just pulling his T-shirt on and my gaze lingers on the patch of skin on his abdomen, the V of sculpted muscle that vanishes under the hem of his boxers. Within seconds his T-shirt drops down, but it was enough time for the image to be burned onto my retinas.
How infuriating.
His eyes snaps to mine, and I think he’s about to tell me off for staring, but then his gaze drops, following the line of my zip. I flush to the tips of my ears under his scrutiny. ‘What are you wearing?’ The familiar frown makes an appearance.
Not this again.
‘Mission clothing,’ I say.
‘Why did you pack that?’ he says.
‘I didn’t pack it. Stella did.’
Mace rubs his eyes, as if to banish the image of me in mission-gear-grey from existence. ‘You look like you’re cosplaying in Warrior clothes.’
‘I’m what?’
Julian cocks his head. ‘Yeah, that top does sort of make me think of role-playing.’
‘Not cool, my friends. Not cool.’ Instead of closing my jacket, I pull my zip down, so that a lot of cleavage is on display. ‘What now, Mace?’
Mace’s eyes darken dangerously and I find myself trapped in them.
Then Allen grabs my elbow and swings me around. ‘I don’t think you’ve heard the good news,’ he says with fake cheer. ‘Stella wants us to find a site to camp for the day and rest, before she gives us the next goal at nightfall.’
‘Yay!’ I say. ‘More walking?’
‘It shouldn’t be far now,’ he says, patting my arm.
The others hoist on their backpacks and I do the same, though mine feels like it’s pressing the bones in my spine into each other. Irreversibly. And that I’ll be four inches smaller at the end of the mission. ‘Yay again?’ I say.
‘That’s more like it,’ Allen says, letting Mace and Xandra take the lead, while they point at something on his ART.
Allen walks by my side the entire time, explaining to me what gadgets I can find in each of the outer pockets, and what they’re used for.
I’m not really concentrating – I’m starving, and I haven’t slept all night.
I can only wonder why on Earth every time Mace opens his mouth, he has to make things so weird between us.
We finally stop in a spot, sheltered by the cliffs behind us. I don’t really care anymore. I just want to sleep. When we arrive, Allen helps me build my own tent, which is stored in one of the famed outer pockets, but I only hear about a quarter of his explanations.
I stumble inside and extract from my backpack the fold-out-bedroll and I’m implausibly thrilled to find a protein bar, which I munch on before I lie down.
As soon as I close my eyes, I black out.
I wake up from a dreamless, deep sleep. My entire body is aching and my feet feel like they’re swollen to twice their size. I peer up at the unfamiliar tent ceiling. A rumble of voices comes from the camp, arguing about something. I catch the word ‘Ellie’ more than once.
Rage, icy and cold, flows through my veins while I’m still blinking sleep away. Every undermining remark that was hurled at me last night is at the forefront of my mind, as if my brain pulled them out while I slept, turning them on all sides.
I take a few deep breaths and start to do what usually calms me when things in my life get out of control: I pull out the make-up bag.
The routine, the sequence of steps that I know so well helps me relax.
By the time I add the golden illuminator and notice the little glow in my cheeks I’m feeling much better.
I smile at the curated image of myself in the mirror and decide that if I can look and act like I’m keeping it together, then I might manage not to fall apart at the seams.
A short glance at my ART shows me it’s late afternoon.
I pull on my boots and duck out of my tent. ‘Hey, all.’
The four of them are gathered around a small fire and they have the vaguely guilty faces of people being caught doing something forbidden.
Allen picks up a bowl and extends it towards me. ‘We boiled oats.’
Then Mace opens his mouth. ‘Are you actually wearing make-up? Where exactly do you think we’re headed?’
‘No harm in it, Mace.’ I’m still half-asleep and he’s barking orders at me. I’m so done with this. ‘You take yourself too seriously.’
‘And you don’t take this mission seriously enough.’ His eyes are cooking up a storm. ‘You have no idea of the dangers. As long as you don’t stay put and follow my orders, you will die or get seriously injured. There’s no doubt about that.’