Nic and Perri were the last ones in the Simnasium after everyone else had cleared out. Perri was still trying to climb out of her SimSuit; Nic was having similar difficulties.

The legs were always the hardest part for him to escape.

“It helps if you pull from the tip of your boot,” Perri advised him. “At least... usually.” She grunted with the effort of peeling the adhesive suit off her skin. “Hey, I just wanted to say that if I was abrasive earlier, or like I was putting up a fight with you... I was just annoyed because I really wanted to win. But then I realized... come on, almost there!” She yanked her right leg free of the right half of the suit, which still clung to her left half. “Um, I realized that you do, too. That’s, like, your whole thing, right?”

“So I’ve been told,” Nic answered, pulling his last leg free of his suit. “But if you don’t want to win something, I personally don’t see the point of playing.” Ordinarily, the support cords dangling from the ceiling would retract the SimSuit into its overhead compartment, where it would be given a quick auto-detailing and basic cleaning, but the time between rounds was too short.

Perri wriggled her fingers free of her left SimSuit glove, yanking and flailing her left arm to pry the rest of it free. “Ugh... Sorry. Well, yeah. I just, it made me realize how much progress you’ve made. Planet Gwher Nic would have just sent us full throttle forward and we probably would have lost the whole thing to Tyrian, you know?” She opted first to yank her left leg out of the suit instead, leaving only her left arm stuck. “Sorry, this is really crazy. I think I’ve just... spent too much time in this thing the past few days. Kinda sweaty. Sticky. TMI?”

Nic shook his head and shrugged. “Uh, no, that’s normal. JEI.”

“Huh?” Perri looked up at him from beneath her blond bangs.

“Just enough information. JEI.” He watched her brow furrow as she continued to wrestle with the ensemble. “You know, as opposed to—”

“Oh,” she giggled quietly when it clicked. “Gotcha. Hey, do you think you could help me with this?”

“Of course. Here, pull.” He held onto the left arm of her SimSuit as she leaned with all of her body weight in the opposite direction, tugging hard. She wasn’t exaggerating, Nic thought. This sucker’s really attached! Perri gave one last powerful yank and stumbled backward, hitting the wall behind her at an odd angle.

Nic rushed to check on her. His eyes noticed a detail that his brain needn’t focus on, but it did—the left strap of her tank top underneath came loose, falling halfway down her upper arm. It revealed her self-inked tattoo, the one he remembered reading about in her PPI Student Profile: an extinct Earth bird, the peregrine falcon, her namesake. It was beautifully done.

He met her gaze. Stole a glance back and forth to her naked shoulder and collarbone twice before he could stop himself. Then he felt his face flush beet red. It all happened in the span of three seconds, and yet it felt like a private little eternity between them.

Nic cleared his throat and looked away while he held out his hand to help her up. “Sorry, didn’t, uh—”

“Thanks, yeah, I’m good,” Perri chuckled distractedly, clearing her throat as well for no reason.

“You’re good. Good. Then, uh, yeah, just let me know if there’s any other help you need, Scarlet 3.”

“No, no, I’m good, I—yeah, I’m good. Sorry.”

He didn’t dare look in her direction again. “No need to be sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he walked away to the living room, and when he got there, he’d forgotten where he was going or why.

***

A little while later, Team Scarlet reassembled in the Simnasium. Nic’s laser focus returned.

“We’ve got to win two Wargames in a row to win the planet,” he reminded his squad. “That’s a tall order, but it is possible. These other squads may have more experience under their belt. They may have better strategies. But they don’t have our youth, they don’t have our tenacity, and for all we know, their nerve endings could all be short-circuited from years of Wargames at full pain settings.” Nic remembered Joe, the old repairman on Planet Ducenti—the way his wrinkled hands trembled at all times, his bony, weak shoulders tensing up in sudden spasms. One of the many good reasons for us to win today, Nic thought. To avoid ending up like that. “We need to use every advantage available to us.”

said RTIFIS. Another game they had to learn on the fly. The possibility occurred to Nic that neither of the other squads had ever played this mode, either. He hoped that was the case.

“I think I see where this is goin’,” Jarek said, a grin spreading across his face.

“Will there be any towers or other equipment for us to use without technically touching the ground?” Maqsud asked.

Max grinned as well. “I trust we all remember that game we used to play in PE, The Floor Is Lava, yes? Consider this the game’s highest difficulty.” Nic was glad to see his squadmates rising to the challenge rather than expressing dismay. They would need a good attitude to win a high-stakes game like this.

“If there are no other questions,” said the Squad Leader, feeling his heart pounding in his throat, “then we’re ready, RTIFIS.”

A pause. Nic felt a rush of hope billowing up in his chest. Not everyone is ready yet, he thought. That means they might still be asking their RTIFIS questions. Exchanging quick strategies. They might not be as confident about this one. That could be the edge we need!

A flicker of darkness... then sudden vertigo.

“Whoa,” Nic breathed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Be careful!”

He was already over 10 meters in the air and climbing. Above him, a blanket of gray clouds that blotted out the local sun once again, tufts of them herded along by a cold wind. Below him, rocks and mud, puddles from a recent rain.

He looked around. Saw his fellow red proxybots hovering as well, getting their aerial balance. There was a holographic fence around the designated Airtime zone; he made a mental note not to get too close to the border and risk elimination.

One more important detail was center stage on his HUD in transparent numerals: the number of seconds left on his Jetpack’s charge. The timer was already counting down.

10:00... 9:59... 9:58...

“This is exhilarating!” Maqsud exclaimed.

“Woohoo!” Perri cheered joyfully. “Nobody’s taking these wings from me!”

“I see Team Xanthic is already movin’ out,” Jarek said sternly, leveling his Rocket Launcher as he flew. “They’re headin’ for Tyrian. What’s our strat for takin’ ‘em out, boss?”

Nic smiled. Finally, a chance for Jarek to shine! He deserves it. “Well, you’re the Bazooka Brawl master. This is your signature weapon. I think you should lead us this time.”

“You mean it?”

“You guys all have a thing. This is yours. You’ve got the wheel now. No pressure, man. You can do it!”

Scarlet 2 didn’t respond right away. Nic feared he might not be ready, or might crumble under the very real, very sizeable pressure that Nic insisted didn’t exist. But his answer was a pleasant surprise. “Got it. Okay, Team Scarlet, your best bet with a launcher is to go for splash damage. Don’t try to track a single ‘bot out there. Shoot at the ones that group up—you wanna increase your potential surface area to hit, and when you do, you’re probably gonna put the hurt on more than one enemy at a time. Make sense?”

“It’s a bit like Precision in that way,” said Maqsud. “Mr. Mitchell makes a sound point. Let’s spread out, everyone!”

Nic put some distance between himself and his squadmates, angling his proxybot forward and to the side to steer. Two Xanthic proxies were ganging up on a purple foe, firing rockets that screamed across the sky and just barely missed their target. He fingered the trigger of his Rocket Launcher and approached cautiously.

One and one down, he mentally calculated their remaining ammo. Two and one... two and two. Two-round magazine, duh—they have to reload. I don’t know if the Tyrian one has shot anything yet. Better hold off... As if on cue, the purple proxybot—Karl—fired a rocket, then reached behind his back to reload. Now’s my chance!

Nic pulled the trigger.

NIC >ROCKET LAUNCHER> KARL NIC >ROCKET LAUNCHER> NIANZU

Karl’s rocket must have polished off the third proxy in that tussle, but Nic felt accomplished; 30% of Team Scarlet’s competition was officially gone.

“Good shot, Nic!” Jarek congratulated him.

“Most impressive!” Max agreed.

Nic grinned at the praise heaped upon him, but he responded with a warning. “Thanks, guys, but remember to conserve your ammo. We each have one pre-loaded launcher and one backup magazine—that’s four rockets in total. Let’s make ‘em count.”

“Good call,” said Perri. “Roger that!”

We can do this, Nic thought. We’re doing this. We’re going to win!