LevelUP: an 8-bit novel by Micah Joel. Author's definitive online edition.
Support independent authors! Scroll to the end for details.
< back | ⬆️ | next >1-4: The Ride of the Azure SUV
INVENTORY:
* COIN
* TROPHY 1
* MYSTERIOUS SCROLL
Max’s aching ribs flare with pain at the sight of the SUV. Somehow the iridescent azure[12] infecting everything inside Hemera's corporate chariot makes everything hurt worse. He pounds against the glass separating him from the bodyguard in the front section. “Hey! You ripped my shirt!” Max screams, but his ursinous captor doesn't react. Maybe the glass is soundproof.
Max crumples against the plush seats. The leather feels cool. Real stuff, not the polymerized synthetic someone would occasionally try to unload as “tent patches” at Max’s once and former mercantile. When he closes his eyes, a wave of tiredness washes over him. A tiny vibration catches his attention. He opens his heavy lids, and startles to find Hemera there, on the other side of the glass. They lock eyes.
When Hemera speaks, her voice is startlingly loud, amplified through unseen speakers. “There’s something you should know about me, Max, Max Root. I really hate coincidences.”
There’s something unnerving about being closed inside a box at her behest.
“You know what else is a coincidence? That a pitiful refugee camp exists only through the goodwill of a single CEO. Would you say that’s a responsible use of investor capital? Would you say that’s moral?” Silence hangs in the air. Max makes a valiant effort not to respond.
“That’s right,” Hemera continues. Something in his face must have given him away. Is there a camera nearby? A microexpression analyzer? Without making it obvious, he looks more closely for where there may be any electronics monitoring him. Nothing stands out, though close to the roofline Max spots an antenna very similar to one in the underground server room. He casually reaches his arms into a lazy stretch, and it feels solidly mounted, like it came as standard equipment on the car, rather than something bolted on aftermarket. An exposed metal trimming buzzes under Max’s finger as if electric. The inventory sound chimes in Max’s ear. He looks around to see if anyone noticed.
Apparently not. Hemera continues, “I could make one call, and before the day is out, bulldozers would raze those filthy tents to the ground. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Max nods.
“Your only purpose in this conversation is to come to terms with my generosity. If I even suspect that you’re lying to me, well, I don’t think anyone appreciates getting lied to, wouldn’t you agree?”
Max nods again.
“Then we see things the same way. I’m talking too much. Your turn. Tell me something I want to hear.”
Ice floods Max’s veins. His entire universe compresses into a tiny dot. He might throw up. He needs to say something significant to satisfy her, but he can’t say too much. More than anything else, he needs to keep Molly out of this.
“You know,” Max croaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “You want to know what’s special about this place…”
Hemera doesn’t answer. She’s patient if nothing else.
“Look,” Max says, “you want me to say something you want to hear. But I don’t know what you know. Repeating information you already have would waste your time, and neither of us wants that, right?”
“Tell me how long Isidore has been coming here,” Hemera says.
Isidore? Hemera knows more than she’s letting on. Worse, she assumes Max does too.
“Nobody in the camp has seen Isidore in—I don’t know—maybe a month.” Max struggles to remember. When did he last see Isidore?
Abruptly, the dividing glass descends; nothing but open air between him and Hemera and her bodyguard, who she turns to. “Leave us.” He immediately complies. “Make sure we’re not disturbed.” The hiss of the gullwing sealing, leaving the two of them alone, somehow seems louder and more final than when he first entered.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?” Hemera says, her voice a whisper. Max resists the urge to lean in closer, just to hear what she says. “Just for associating with Isidore Morris, a known terrorist, I could have you put away for life. The courts are not particularly forgiving these days. Especially…”
Especially what? Max is sure he wouldn’t like the end of that sentence, but leaving it hanging is even worse.
“Look, just tell me what you want. Maybe I can help you get it,” Max says. Again, he weighs his options for escape. He’s quick on his feet. And he gets the feeling that Hemera doesn’t know this neighborhood as well as he does. But even if he got away, it wouldn’t do much good if the whole camp got bulldozed. For too many families, the camp was all they had. And still there’s Molly.
Tap, tap, tap; someone’s at the front compartment’s side window. Hemera lowers the window a crack.
It’s Molly. Whacking the window with…his cartridge.
The golden reflection glints in the vehicle’s interior light. “Looking for this?” Molly says, her voice distant and muffled.
“Let me see that,” Hemera says, unable to contain her blip of excitement. Her hand darts out to grab it, but Molly’s too quick.
‘Why?’ Max silently mouths to Molly.
“Things can be replaced. You can’t,” Molly says, quoting the earlier words of her mother. “Let Max go, and it’s yours.”
“Molly, don’t!” Max says. That cartridge was one of the few things that linked Max to his dad. Now Hemera was going to take it a second time.
“Fine,” Hemera replies, a little too quickly. She mashes a button that hisses open Max’s door the width of a few fingers. Hemera snatches the cartridge out of Molly’s hand. Oh, Molly, what have you done?
Max takes a careful step out, not letting the shaking in his legs show. Hemera’s bodyguard appears out of nowhere, and gets in before the SUV zooms away, squealing around a corner.
“Let’s get out of here, Molly. I think I need a shower after being that close to human slime,” Max says.
“No time,” Molly says. “Not safe.”
And for once, Max doesn’t argue. “Then let’s get you home,” he says.
“Hold on.” Molly pulls out her game console. Dangling from it by wires is the battery from the lock mechanism. She sits. “Just a sec. Need to de-stress.”
De-stress? It had never occurred to Max that Molly’s game-playing might have been therapeutic. Maybe that kind of escapism was the slender thread helping her cling to hope in a dismal world. Not so different than how Max coped with the world. Or used to. But here and now?
While Molly’s occupied, Max checks his inventory to see what he collected from the SUV: A Compact Disc. Max wonders what that could mean.
Suddenly, Molly flips her game off. “OK, let’s go.” She marches off, in the opposite direction of camp.
“Where are we going?”
footnotes
[12] In 2033, LevelUP acquired the assets of Pantone Inc., and immediately trademarked their own particular shade of blue.
ℹ️ Support the author by purchasing your own professionally formatted paperback or Kindle version of this novel. Also, subscribe to get 3 free books.
Got feedback? 👍👎 All humans welcome to send email to my first name @micahjoel.info — put "8bitnovel" somewhere in the subject.
Copyright 2018, 2019 Micah Joel. All rights reserved.