L-63 gathered her Employee Handbook, a few extra pencils, and her notebook in her drawstring bag. The class had gone through the rest of their field trip after lunch, with L-7 and S-10-Sarge, what a stupid name-glaring at each other in silence the entire time. Even though that day had been kind of awful, she was looking forward to spending time with L-7.
In his room.
Alone.
She took a deep breath and took one last look at herself in her bathroom mirror, making sure she wasn't blushing too hard. Her hair looked terrible, so she quickly combed it out, then shook her head and messed it up again on purpose, running her fingers through it to give it a bit of its natural bounce back. It had been gradually crinkling and becoming wavy over the past several days, and there wasn't much she could do about it besides aggressively comb it down. She'd noticed it happening to some of the other trainees, too. If it wasn't normal, or allowed, then surely Miss Minutes would tell them so.
The thought of their teacher didn't elicit feelings of fear or shame anymore, only a lingering sense of dread, wondering when she'd find out that L-63 had asked uncomfortable questions to those agents. She smiled to herself. On the other hand, who cared what Miss Minutes thought? All L-63 had to do was do well on her tests and assignments… and not get into any trouble. Miss Minutes couldn't get inside of her head and see the disdain L-63 had for her, or the dumb rules the TVA had made up, or the fact that no one seemed to care about those poor maintenance women at all. Those thoughts were her own, and Miss Minutes had no control over that.
With a renewed sense of confidence, L-63 took off down hallway three and found L-7's room. Her confidence wavered when she went to knock haltingly on his door. Her knock was as timid as a mouse, barely audible, but he answered anyway, with that big dorky grin back on his face.
"Hey," he said, leaning one elbow on the door frame. "I was actually just about to come and get you."
"Get me?" she said. "Like, bring me to your room? I found it just fine." She walked past him into his room, and flung her bag on his identical bed. "You ready to study?"
L-7 cringed and the door slid closed behind him. "We don't have to do it right now, do we?"
"We've only got a few hours before curfew. We need to do our next assignment, too."
L-63 started to unpack her bag when she saw the completely blank look on L-7's face.
"You remember Miss Minutes saying that curfew is at 27:00, right?"
"Yeah…" he began, scratching his head, then he gave a pout and shrugged. "No. I was still mad at S-10. I was thinking about pushing him off the balcony instead of whatever Miss Minutes was saying. What does '27:00' mean, again?"
L-63 rolled her eyes and dropped her stuff on the bed.
"Honestly. If I wasn't around you would get distracted and fall down an elevator shaft or something."
"I'm not dumb," he muttered. "I just forgot."
"She said that a Null-day has thirty six hours, there are nine days in a Null-week, and there are three hundred and sixty-nine Null-days in a Null-unit," she recited. "And that we have to be back in our rooms every day by 27:00."
"And the assignment?"
"'Chapter Three: Variant Processing and Judgement'," she read directly from her Handbook.
"Piece of cake," he said, his dumb grin turning more mischievous by the second. She both loved and hated that look: it meant he had something in mind that would potentially get them both into trouble. "I do absolutely remember her saying that we were allowed to explore the TVA, when we had free time."
"Yeah… but we don't have enough right now. Our off-day is the day after tomorrow. We can do it then."
"But I'm too wound up to study!" he whined, crossing to his bed and falling down on top of it, facing upward. "Don't you want to see the recreation floor?"
"How in the world do you think you're going to be an agent straight away if you don't study?"
The grin disappeared. "How did you know I wanted to be an agent?"
"I saw you write it in your notebook and circle it a million times," she answered smugly. "You have to have 'exceptional promise' though, whatever that means."
L-7 let out a long sigh and laid both his arms over his face dramatically.
"L-63, it's the only thing I want to do," he mumbled. "I have to get that career. I know it's my purpose. I'd die of boredom anywhere else."
"You could be a hunter…"
"They don't get to use their brains much, though. I need stimulation."
"What about an analyst?"
He groaned loudly, answering her question.
"Then you have to study, dummy!"
"I don't want to!"
She laughed and threw a pencil straight at his head from point blank range, and to both of their surprise, he caught it before it touched him.
"Well, what do you want to be, L-63?" asked L-7, flinging the pencil away.
She paused for a long time before answering, then sat down on the bed holding her head in one hand.
"I don't know," she said. "I can't think of anything I want to do, either. I guess I'll go wherever I get assigned."
She laid down next to him, both of them facing upwards, the eye-straining glow of the ambient fluorescent lighting shining down on them.
"It would be nice if we got into the same career," ventured L-7, uncharacteristically quiet. "Then we could see each other all the time."
That thought gave her a terrible pang of sadness. That wasn't something she'd thought about, instead focusing on trying to get through each day one at a time. Once classes were over, they would be in the same division, but with eighty six thousand people, many of them confined to a desk or a room all day… they might not see each other again.
"Do you think Miss Minutes can hear or see us while we're in our rooms?" she whispered.
"I dunno. Maybe she's hiding under the bed," he answered with a chuckle.
She impulsively reached out and grabbed L-7's hand, just as he'd done the day before in the middle of class, holding it tight. He went silent again, and didn't move.
"Let's get out of here."
"What?" he said, his voice cracking.
A big grin spread across her face. "Let's go to the recreation floor. We can study later."
They practically ran out of his room and down the hall, too excited to slow down. It took quite a lot of asking around to find the right elevator for the recreation floor. L-63 kept a detailed mental map of where each elevator was that they'd just taken so they could get back to the dorms, because L-7 certainly wasn't going to remember.
Finally, the last elevator sank to the bottom floor of the TVA. The doors opened to a terminal lit with neon purple and blacklights, drowning out the usual drab brown and orange with an eerie blue light. The floor, instead of the yellow and orange tile plastered throughout the TVA, was made of bold black and white checkered tile that glowed brightly under the blacklights. A small group of employees-technicians, by their outfits, men and women-came out from a hallway to their left labeled 'karaoke', and piled into an elevator. Their ties were loose, their technician's vests either unbuttoned or gone, and they burst into an explosion of laughter over some inside joke just before the doors closed.
A chill of excitement ran through her. She remembered something else she must have been programmed with in her pod. She knew what 'karaoke' meant: to sing. The idea of doing that herself, singing in front of others, made her a little scared, but for some reason, she thought L-7 would love to show off that way. To their right lay a hallway labeled 'bowling' blinking in neon cursive.
"What first?" she asked.
"Bowling!" he answered without hesitation, dragging her behind him into the hallway.
The bowling alley, like so many other parts of the TVA, was utterly massive. The place was lit in the blueish hue of the blacklight, a mural of pink neon lights shaped like bowling pins and bowling balls decorating the wall. L-63 couldn't even count how many lanes there were. They seemed to stretch on and on and on, forever, punctuated by the occasional rumble of a ball and wooden clatter of pins.
L-7 rushed to a counter near the back of the alley like a kid in a candy shop.
"What do we need to do to play?" he asked, barely able to contain himself.
The bored looking man behind the counter sighed and grunted as he stood.
"What's your shoe size?"
"Eleven."
The man brought out a pair of leather shoes in ridiculously bright contrasting colors and sprayed the inside of them with something, making L-7 and L-63 back away, coughing. He pushed them towards L-7.
"But how do-"
"What's your shoe size?" the man asked L-63, with the exact same inflection.
"Er… seven and a half."
He brought out a smaller, but identical pair, sprayed them again, and plopped them in front of L-63.
"How do we play, though?" L-7 asked, ready to burst.
The man grumbled and sat back down in his chair.
"I ain't a teacher," he spat. "Figure it out or don't."
L-7 scoffed at him, snatching up his shoes and heading towards the lanes.
"Big help you are," he mumbled as L-63 caught up to him.
They wandered down the lanes, watching each employee as they played, L-63 wondering how in the world they were supposed to figure it out by themselves. The idea seemed simple enough-throw the ball down the lane and hit all the pins-but there was definitely a technique to the throw that made the ball go exactly the way the players wanted it to. Some employees played by themselves, others in groups, comparing scores against each other. The scorecard didn't make much sense to her. After each throw, a number, slash, or 'x' would appear on a screen above the lane inside of a box, that was inside of a larger box, adding up numbers by itself as each person played their turn.
"We don't even know how to start," she groaned as they walked onward. "We should have done karaoke."
"We don't know how to do that, either," he said, searching around the place. She couldn't guess what was going through his brain, sometimes. They didn't know how to play, but that hadn't stopped him from barging in. Suddenly, he perked up and waved at someone nearby.
"D-132!" he shouted, trotting up to her. She sat wearing a pair of bowling shoes at a sleek, white, curving couch meant to hold several people in front of one of the lanes. She waved back at him, but gave L-63 a cautious glance. L-63 stayed behind L-7, not making eye contact with her classmate. She probably didn't trust her after L-63 made her feel stupid at lunch, or any of the number of other times L-63 had embarrassed herself.
"What are you doing here?" asked L-7, oblivious to the guarded look she'd given L-63.
She shrugged. "I met someone today, after class," she said, pointing to a man about to roll a ball down the lane. "He asked me to come bowling with him."
He was an analyst, by the look of his white, short-sleeved dress shirt. The man rolled his ball, which curved at the last moment and only toppled one pin.
"Aw," he groaned, coming back to the couch.
"You got one that time, Casey!" D-132 said, clapping for him. The score popped up on the screen, Casey's row with lots of dashes and a few numbers. D-132 was winning, barely.
"You're really good at this game already, D-132," said Casey with a chuckle and a dopey, toothy grin. He draped his arm around the back of her seat, not touching her, but obviously inviting her to come closer to him. She accepted the invitation, settling just as close to Casey as L-7 and L-63 would dare to stand to each other, giving him a coquettish smile.
For some reason, L-63 felt a sting of jealousy. Obviously not for Casey-D-132 was way out of his league, but she didn't seem to know that. She was jealous because of the fact that D-132 had figured out Miss Minutes' rules about 'intimate employee fraternization' were bullshit, too-as if that realization had made L-63 special, somehow.
"Do you think you could teach us how to play?" asked L-7, making a knot form in L-63's stomach. D-132 looked instantly uncomfortable, but Casey brightened and nodded.
"Oh, sure! It's easy, you just-"
"But, we already started, Casey," said D-132, giving L-63 one more pointed glance. "We can't just put new players in the middle of a game, right? And it's my turn." She stood and picked up a bright pink ball, glowing neon under the ultraviolet light.
Casey's smile fell. "Oh, yeah. They could watch for a little bit, though."
"We don't have a lot of time before curfew," L-63 piped up before L-7 could. "We came to play, not watch, right?"
She nearly glared at L-7, who only looked confused.
"I… I mean…"
"We can figure it out on our own," said L-63 haughtily, gripping L-7 by the elbow. "Come on."
Casey and D-132 stared at them as she marched away with L-7 in tow. When they were a few lanes away, L-7 jerked himself away from her.
"Wait just a second," he said. "What's the matter? We need to learn from someone."
"Well, we don't need to learn from them." L-63 searched around, trying to think of what to do before L-7 decided to abandon her and have fun with D-132 instead.
A lone employee closeby sat doubled over on his lane's couch, tying his bowling shoes. His hair was silver-gray, making it look blue in the light. When he lifted his face, her eyes met his once again: it was the agent from the lunchroom with the slightly crooked nose, the one who'd been staring at them, and then gotten sick. He jerked upright slightly when he recognized them.
The weirdest thing was, earlier that day, she'd felt a little off when they'd met, too. She'd had an urgent, awful feeling when she'd seen him that made her blood run cold for a second, the same way she'd felt after waking up from her bad dream. But… the agent didn't look bad, or mean. In fact, he seemed really nice. The gut feeling wasn't the same as the one she had for the Timekeeper statue, looming above everything. She and the man were both afraid of something, but it wasn't each other.
"Isn't that the guy from the cafeteria?" asked L-7.
"Yeah, he hasn't started yet, let's go and-"
"That would be weird though, wouldn't it? We don't know him."
The employee stood and came to them first, with a warm smile on his face, looking perfectly well.
"If it isn't the two troublemakers," he said with a kindly drawl, one that instantly made L-63 like him. L-7 smirked and gave her a little nudge. He probably didn't mind being called a troublemaker. "What brings a couple of hatchlings all the way down here?"
"We wanted to bowl," said L-7, scratching his arm, "but we don't know how, and, um… would you teach us please…"
"Mobius," whispered L-63.
"Mobius!" L-7 shrugged. "Sorry, forgot your name from earlier."
Mobius looked at his watch and frowned a bit, and L-63 feared that he might tell them he had to leave already.
"Well, it's cutting it a little close to curfew, but… sure, why not?"
He typed something into a small computer terminal, which was in front of a sleek looking machine that held a multitude of bowling balls of all different colors. The electronic scorecard appeared on the overhead screen with 'Mobius' on the first line, along with ten blank boxes.
"Go ahead and put your numbers in there."
L-7 began to type, then suddenly gasped and backspaced what he'd written.
"Oh, that's good!" he whispered excitedly to himself, typing again.
The name that popped up on the screen made both Mobius and L-63 smile with secondhand embarrassment, though L-7 looked as proud of himself as he ever had.
L-63 snorted with laughter, and couldn't stop.
"'Lucky'? Is that going to be your name? Really?"
"Yeah! It's great, right?" he said, beaming at her and Mobius. "Seven's a lucky number, and my employee number starts with L, so Lucky's perfect."
Mobius' smile turned sideways as L-63 continued to snicker at him, which finally wiped the proud grin off of his face.
"Well, what's wrong with it?"
"There's nothing wrong with it at all," said Mobius placatingly, patting him on the shoulder. "It's a good name. I've heard much worse," he added under his breath, which made L-63 burst into laughter.
"Why don't you think of a better name, L-63?" L-7-Lucky-mumbled.
"Oh, I don't know…"
"Don't pressure her into a name," Mobius chided gently, picking up each ball and testing its weight. "It's something you should really like, once you start using it. You've got time."
L-63 thought about it for a moment, then typed just three letters into the computer. It felt simple, yet mysterious, but Lucky let out a raspberry when he saw it.
"'Six'? That's much worse than 'Lucky,'" he said.
"I'm keeping it," she grunted. "Call me Six now, Lucky,"
"I think they're both fine," said Mobius, finally picking out a plain black bowling ball. "You know, I've got a friend who just calls himself 'G.' Doesn't have to be complicated. Now, let's start with the ball. You need one that is just the right weight. You should be able to lift it easily, but it still needs enough heft to knock down the pins."
Six picked up a neon yellow ball and tested it in her hands, but it felt way too light. All of them did, really. The ones with the biggest numbers on them, the black ones, were the heaviest, but even those seemed like they might bounce if she dropped one of them. Lucky seemed to be having the same dilemma, and picked out a black ball, too.
"Those are the sixteen-pounders," said Mobius, squinting. "You sure you want one that heavy, Six? Maybe you should go for something smaller."
She tossed it high in the air until it nearly reached the ceiling, and Mobius gasped out loud.
"God, don't do that! Are you crazy?"
"Hey, look what I can do!"
Lucky spun his ball on one finger, laughing as it wobbled precariously.
"Neat, let me try!" said Six, but Mobius shouted at them, his eyes open as wide as they could go.
"No, no, no! Absolutely not! Are you trying to put a hole through the floor?"
They both stopped horsing around and held the bowling balls close to them. Mobius let out a sigh and shook his head.
"Okay then, obviously you can use the heaviest balls. Now, you put your middle and ring finger into the top two holes and your thumb in the bottom, and you throw it down the lane without stepping over the foul line, like this."
Mobius demonstrated, holding the ball to his chest, then bringing his arm back and taking a few steps before letting the ball roll down the lane, hitting almost all of the pins except for two at the very back.
"Damn! A split," he said. "That wasn't a bad throw, but now, I have two pins that I have to try and hit at the same time. Watch this."
The ball came rumbling back through the hole in the machine holding the rest of the balls. Mobius took it, poised himself, concentrating hard on his throw, then let it go. The ball made a curve this time, so dangerously close to the gutter that Six was certain it wouldn't make it. It just barely touched the pin on the left, which flew to the other side and toppled over the other pin.
All three of them cheered with delight.
"Spare, baby!" said Mobius, pumping his fist. His scorecard popped up with an '8' and a slash in the two smaller boxes.
"Is it my turn, now?" asked Lucky.
Mobius nodded and stood next to Lucky, patiently moving his arms into place, coaching him on the proper stance and angle of the throw as Six looked on. That quiet moment watching them talk struck her as the most comfortable she'd ever felt since she'd been hatched. Maybe it was because she finally got to choose something for herself in a place that had made every decision for her so far, even though Lucky didn't like her new name much. That didn't matter. She liked it. Six really did like Mobius a lot, too. He had a soothing presence, one that she trusted instinctively.
That calm moment was broken, though, when Lucky swung his ball as far back as he could, then ran straight at the lane.
"Lucky, Lucky, that's too hard!" stammered Mobius, but it was too late. Lucky threw the ball with all his might. It sailed, making a beeline to smash into the pins, knocking all of them down.
"Yeah!" Lucky shouted triumphantly. "I got them all! Did you see that L-63-I mean Six?"
Six clapped for him, but Mobius groaned and put his hands over his face.
"Okay, Lucky, here's the thing," he sighed. "That would have been a foul because the ball has to be rolling the whole time. The goal isn't just to bash the pins as hard as you can."
"It's not?" said Lucky, deflated. "But I got them all down."
"Yeah, and that was… impressive… on its own. I'm not even sure how you did that. But it's just not how the game is played, all right?" Mobius jerked his head at Six. "Your turn."
Six bounced up and took her place next to Mobius as Lucky sat on the couch, looking vaguely disappointed.
"So you've got to keep your wrist straight, all right?" said Mobius, positioning the ball close to her face. "Wind back, gently, but not too gently, take about two steps as you're swinging it back, and then let the ball roll on the ground. Think you can do that, Six?"
"Yep," she said, determined to do it right… and beat Lucky at the game, by the book. She did as Mobius instructed, thinking that the swing of her arm was straight and sure, but as she let go, she realized the throw was still much too hard-and crooked, too. The ball immediately bounced into the gutter, then to everyone's surprise, continued diagonally across several lanes, bounding like a rabbit hopping across a field.
Mobius put both hands on top of his head as the ball finally rolled across someone else's pins, four lanes away: Casey and D-132's lane. Casey looked over to them, dumbfounded, holding his ball, then broke into a huge grin and gave them a thumbs up.
"Thanks for the strike!" he called out.
Six waved bashfully back at them, trying to smile instead of wince. Lucky could barely contain himself, and even a scowl from Six couldn't stop him from snickering.
"Wow," whispered Mobius, running his fingers through his silver hair. "You guys really don't know your own strength, do you? Did they start putting extra electrolytes in the pods, or something?"
Both Six and Lucky shrugged. Six turned to go back to the couch and sulk, but Mobius ushered her back over.
"You get to go again since you didn't get a strike in our lane, Six. You'll… have to share a ball with one of us, though."
Six grabbed a ball and took aim again, steadily, carefully positioning herself, then took two steps and ever so gently flung the ball forwards, as gently as she would have thrown a wadded up piece of paper at Lucky. To her delight, the ball did what she wanted it to do, spinning as it rolled down the lane at a slight curve, then knocked down every pin… except for a stubborn one way at the back. She squeaked and gripped both hands tight, as if she could make it fall telepathically, but it wobbled back into place. Six groaned and sauntered back to the couch.
"That was still very good!" Mobius said. "Fantastic technique. You'll start getting strikes if you keep it up. My turn."
They continued their game, Lucky and Six both perfecting their techniques and toning down their throws until they were both getting strikes and spares on every turn. Even Mobius couldn't keep up with them, and Six thought it might have been making him more competitive, as he stopped coaching them fairly quickly and focused completely on his own rolls. After Lucky's third strike in a row, Mobius leaned back on the couch and shook his head in disbelief.
"I guess 'Lucky' was an appropriate moniker," he said, with a chuckle. "Actually, you've both got impeccable aim."
"Mobius, where does the ball go when you throw it?" asked Six, just before taking her turn. She hardly even had to think about her stance as she rolled, now, and got her second strike in a row. Lucky was playing around with a tiny, eraserless pencil that he'd found on the floor, stabbing it into the seams of the white leather couch.
"I'm not sure," Mobius answered. He gave Lucky a warning look, making Lucky stop stabbing, but the second Mobius' eyes were off of him he started again. "There's some kind of conveyor belt under the lane, I think."
"Where do the pins go?"
"They get swept up by a machine and shuffled back into place," he said, picking out his ball again and aiming his throw.
"How does it know how many pins you've knocked down?" she asked, without realizing that Mobius was in the middle of his throw. She screwed him up, and he stumbled to not hit the foul line, making his ball curve too far and roll into the gutter.
"Damn," he mumbled. "Sorry, what did you say?"
"Never mind," she said quietly, humiliated. "I'm sorry I ask so many dumb questions."
"No! Your questions aren't dumb, Six. Questions only lead to knowledge."
"They're dumb if nobody knows the answers." She pulled and picked at her pants, fidgeting to keep her face from getting red again, even though it would be hard to tell under the blacklights, anyway. Lucky stopped stabbing the couch and paid attention to her. "S-10 was right."
"No he wasn't," said Lucky, almost defensive. He scooted close to her until their hips touched. "You're not dumb, you're really smart. A lot smarter than him." Lucky's smile made her feel a little better. It always seemed to, whether it was a mischievous grin or a look of warm sympathy or… whatever that look was that sometimes made her want to kiss him.
"Even if no one knows the answer, you can ask other questions until you figure out an answer for yourself." Mobius spoke with both hands in his pockets, looking like a comforting, authoritative figure, someone who knew everything about everything. "That's what a good agent does. You've got good instincts, I think, Six."
"Really?" Both Lucky and Six piped up in unison, but with completely different tones in their voices. Six was a little incredulous, while Lucky sounded dismayed.
"Yeah. You might make a good agent one day."
Lucky's face absolutely crumbled, and he gave Six a pleading look, as if she could give Mobius' praise to him. She could only shrug.
"I bet I would make a good agent," he said, puffing out his chest.
"Why's that?"
"Because… er… because I'm definitely pretty brave."
"Uh huh."
"And I ask lots of good questions, too."
"Yeah?"
Lucky sucked in a breath and paused. Six could see the cogs turning wildly in his brain.
"Like... what does it take... to be an agent right out of classes?"
Mobius hummed deeply, squinting and brushing a finger against his gray mustache.
"That's a tough one, Lucky," he answered. "I don't know anyone from my class who became an agent right away."
"What, really?"
Lucky's spirit must have been completely crushed. Even though Six knew the answer wouldn't be something he wanted to hear, she still felt bad for him.
Mobius nodded. "Afraid so. You have to have really good scores on nearly everything-"
"I could do that."
"And you have to have the right personality-"
"I definitely do, right Six?"
"And," he spoke with emphasis, "You have to show maturity."
"Oh."
Six couldn't help but chortle just a little, even though it made Lucky glare at her.
"I could be mature," he grumbled, very immaturely.
"No starting fights in the cafeteria," warned Mobius.
Lucky's voice came out an indignant whine. "He was the one who started it!"
"It's your turn, Lucky," said Six, nudging him, hoping to get his mind off of the whole agent thing. "You're holding up the game."
Lucky got up and Mobius took his place next to Six. While Lucky aimed his throw, Six talked quietly with Mobius, so that Lucky wouldn't overhear.
"He really had his heart set on being an agent, Mobius. It's the only thing he wants."
"I can tell," said Mobius, a sympathetic look in his eye. Lucky only bowled over three pins on his first throw and grunted angrily as he waited for the ball to come back. "There is something I could do, but without the work on his part, it won't guarantee anything."
"What?"
"Sometimes, if a senior employee feels that a certain trainee is right for a position, they can make a recommendation for them."
"Oh, could you, Mobius?" she gasped, "That would make him so happy, I know it would."
Mobius' expression stayed flat. "Now, like I said, it won't get him the job unless he's willing to do the work. That's not up to me, though, that's up to him and Miss Minutes to decide."
"I know he'll stop goofing around. I hope…"
"What about you, Six?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Do you want to be an agent, too?"
"I don't know what I want," she grumbled, feeling the unease growing in her stomach again. She hated thinking about what she was going to be. "None of the careers are interesting to me."
"Well, that's a shame," he replied. "Your job is your whole life, you know? If you're not happy with it-"
"Why do our jobs have to be our whole lives?" she asked suddenly, sharply, surprising herself and Mobius equally. "Why can we only be eleven different things? There's almost a million people here, and we're all apparently different, so why… why…"
She trailed off, feeling tears rise to her face. She blinked them away before they could fall. Mobius stared at her, his mouth puckered, squinting, and looking just slightly afraid again, like he'd been in the cafeteria.
"I… don't know that answer, either," he replied uneasily.
Lucky let out a loud growl as his ball dipped into the gutter. He sulked back to the couch and flung himself down on it, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Whatever. I don't like this game anymore."
"Very mature of you," teased Six as she got up to take her turn. She took her ball and waited near the back of the lane, pretending to size up her throw, but in reality trying to listen to the conversation behind her. Mobius' drawl was too low to make out, but Lucky suddenly piped up loudly.
"Really, Mobius? You would?"
She glanced behind to see a huge grin plastered on Lucky's face. He threw up his arm for a second to reach for Mobius, then put it down quickly, as if he was about to give him a bear hug but remembered he wasn't supposed to. Mobius chuckled and gave him a pat on the shoulder, then leaned in further and said something else Six couldn't hear.
She smiled to herself as she made her first throw, knocking down eight of the pins. At the very least, Mobius had given Lucky some hope. She wished she knew how to make herself content so easily, though. The thought of getting shoved into a career in less than two Null-weeks made the back of her brain itch, like there was an angry bee stuck in her head trying to get out.
After Six got a spare on her next throw, they had reached the tenth, and last, frame. Six and Lucky were nearly neck and neck, with scores of two hundred and thirty nine and two hundred and forty, respectively. Mobius was behind with two hundred and twenty one. The last box on the scorecard was different from the others, having three tiny boxes inside of the larger box instead of two.
"So, on the last frame," explained Mobius, "You're allowed an extra throw if you get a spare, and two extra throws if you get a strike." He gave them a friendly smirk. "If you both screw up, then I could still win this thing," he told them, with a wink.
As Mobius went to take his last turn, Lucky became distracted by someone new at Casey and D-132's lane. The new man was handsome, with russet brown skin and a short, black beard, and prominent cheekbones, wearing a short white coat that gleamed purple in the blacklight. His voice, though inaudible, had a tone of secrecy around it as he leaned in and said something to Casey, which made Casey grin and nod knowingly. Six saw Lucky's eyes light up as the two men shared a special, complicated handshake between them-definitely not a normal, TVA regulated handshake. They shook, then parted, sliding their hands across each other's palms, then tapping each other's fists together four times: two head on, one on the top, and once on the bottom. The new man pulled away, facing his hand palm up with an imploring expression, as if asking a question, and Casey answered by hand gesture. He pounded his fist twice against the palm of his other hand. His friend smiled, put up two fingers, then five fingers.
Lucky was utterly fascinated by their mysterious interaction, that impish mischievous grin spreading across his face again. He copied the handshake with himself, committing it to memory, completely ignoring everything else. Six was intrigued as well, but more worried that Lucky was about to do something incredibly stupid.
The stranger suddenly called out across the lanes. "Hey, Mobius!"
Mobius stopped mid throw and smiled at him, waving him over.
"Hal! Long time no see, buddy!"
Mobius set his ball down with the others and the two men gave each other vigorous pats on the shoulders, their smiles as wide as their faces.
"I knew this dude when he was just an analyst," Mobius explained to Six and Lucky. "Our seats were next to each other in the chronomonitor room. He shot straight up the ladder, became an innovator, living the high life."
"You know how it is," Hal replied dismissively. "Extra day off, twice the work. New friends?"
"Hatchlings," Mobius replied. "Wanted to learn how to bowl. They're naturals." His voice became lower, more guarded. "So… you're still doing this, huh?"
Hal laughed at him, a full, rich noise.
"Why not, Mobius? What are they gonna do, demote me?"
"They could," he muttered back. "I'd be more careful, if I were you."
Hal offered his hand, Six assumed to do the same handshake that he'd given Casey, but Mobius shook his head.
"Aw, come on," said Hal, still grinning. "You're not going?"
"Naw, not this time," Mobius said, picking up his ball again for his extra throw. "Say hi to the guys for me."
Hal seemed genuinely disappointed. "All right man. Take care."
Before Hal could leave, Lucky suddenly wiped the grin off his face, replaced it with a look of cool confidence, and got up from the couch.
"Hey, Hal," he called out. Six and Mobius exchanged a glance between them. He was definitely about to pull something tremendously stupid. Six felt it in her bones.
Hal turned around, confused as Lucky approached. Lucky stuck out his hand. Hal looked to Mobius, who was too stunned to speak.
"How do you know about… this?" Hal asked Lucky, his voice low and serious.
Lucky shrugged, his mask still cool as a cucumber. "I heard some of the guys talking about it. I'm in."
"You know where it is?"
"Of course."
"Lucky…" Mobius' voice was a dire warning, but Lucky heeded him no mind whatsoever.
Hal shrugged and shook his hand, doing the exact same handshake that they'd seen Casey do, which Lucky concluded by pounding his fist twice against his palm. Hal spoke through a surprised chuckle and shook his head, completing the handshake with the two fingers followed by five fingers.
"A hatchling… that'll be fun."
"Hal!" Mobius ushered Hal close, giving Lucky a look that could cut through steel, then held out his hand as well.
"Changed your mind?" asked Hal, but Mobius only grabbed Hal's hand and completed the same secret handshake. At the end, though, he didn't pound his fist as Casey and Lucky had done, but pointed two fingers at his own eyes.
"You know the time," said Hal, giving Lucky a nod, then shaking his head and laughing again as he left. "A hatchling… oh man…"
Six was deeply confused and frightened, much more than Lucky seemed to be. Neither of them had absolutely any idea what he'd done, where he was going, and he didn't even seem to care. Judging from the burning glare in Mobius' eyes, though, it wasn't good at all. Mobius stomped over to Lucky.
"Who told you about this, huh?" he whispered angrily. "Tell me their names. They should know better than to go blabbing to trainees."
"Uh…" Lucky's cool look faded into vague panic. "I… don't remember their…" he let out a frustrated pout, the words falling out of his mouth all at once. "I didn't hear it from anyone, I just saw Casey and Hal doing the handshake, and he was talking to you and he made whatever it was sound so cool, and I wanted to be cool like you, Mobius-"
"You don't even know what you volunteered for?" Mobius was absolutely furious, but kept his voice low, which was somehow scarier than shouting.
"Volunteer?"
Mobius pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh.
"You volunteered for fight night."
"Fight… night?" Six said. The color drained slowly from Lucky's face. "But he doesn't know how to-"
"I know he doesn't!" Mobius rasped, making Six and Lucky jerk with surprise. He pointed at Lucky with a reprimanding finger. "I shouldn't even tell you anything, and keep you out of trouble. You'll thank me for keeping my mouth shut."
Mobius turned to sit on the couch, but Lucky was determined.
"No, wait, Mobius! I can do it! I won't get caught, I won't get in trouble, I promise."
"You're already in trouble," he said, taking off his bowling shoes. "If you don't show up when you said you would fight, then you forfeit any more invitations. You won't get to go again."
"Then I have to show up!" Lucky whined. "Please, please Mobius, I just wanted to be cool! Please tell me where it is! I'll do anything!" Lucky had sunken to the floor on his knees, actually begging.
Six groaned and put her hands over her face, mortified. How did Lucky seem to find trouble where there wasn't even any to begin with?
Mobius gave him a long, hard stare, then leaned back on the couch, shaking his head.
"I'm going to regret this. I already said I would go, though."
"You're fighting too?" asked Six. "Lucky, you don't want to fight Mobius, do you?"
"No, I'm not fighting. This means you're fighting." Mobius copied the hand gesture that Casey and Lucky had made, pounding his fist against his palm. "This means you're spectating." He then pointed at his eyes, as he'd done for Hal. "Same rules apply for spectators: if you don't show up, you forfeit future invitations. You're fighting Casey."
Six and Lucky both looked over to Casey, who was laughing dopily over something to D-132. Lucky blew a raspberry.
"He looks like a piece of cake."
"I wouldn't get cocky, Lucky," said Mobius, putting his shoes back on. "He's won a lot of fights. He doesn't look like it, but he's built like a gorilla."
"What's a gorilla?" asked Lucky.
Mobius froze in the middle of tying his shoe, then started again. "Never mind. He's strong as hell, is what I'm saying. But you did throw a sixteen pound bowling ball through the air like it was nothing."
"I could take him, couldn't I, Six?" He gave her a smirk, but she rolled her eyes and refused to egg him on. She wasn't supporting this insanity.
"If I told you where it is, you'd never find it," Mobius continued. "Meet me the day after tomorrow at my room and I'll take you there. My dorm is 3EL, hallway one. J-888, remember? It starts at 25:00-" Mobius made the gesture that Hal had done, with the two fingers followed by five, "-so meet me at 24:00 sharp."
"Yeah, yeah." Lucky, to Six's horror, took the little pencil he'd found earlier and started to write on the corner of his shirt.
"What are you doing?" she squealed, but he ignored her and continued to scratch the directions onto his nice white shirt as he spoke.
"Perfect. That's our off-day, right?" he asked Six.
"Good, you'll need the rest of the night to recover. If you're even a minute late-"
"We won't be."
"We?!" The word came out nearly as a screech. "I'm not going!"
"But you have to!" pleaded Lucky, giving her hand a quick squeeze, then letting go as Mobius noticed. "You have to cheer me on. Come on, Six, this will be fun."
That big, stupid grin was back, and Six grumbled to herself. She always seemed to let him weasel her into anything… cheating, holding hands… she couldn't say she hated it completely, but this was too far.
"What if you get hurt?"
"I won't."
She wanted to believe him, but she knew better. He was going to throw himself into a mess.
Mobius sighed and shook his head, but with the slightest twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth, too.
"Boy, you're just a tornado of trouble, aren't you?"
"What's a torn-"
"Never mind. I shouldn't have to say this, but not a word to anyone else. And Miss Minutes cannot know about this either, obviously. Even if you get caught and she asks you flat out, you plead ignorance. There is no fight night. Got it?"
Lucky nodded, determined. Mobius took one last glance at his watch, and his gray eyebrows shot up.
"You guys better scoot back to your dorm. It's ten 'til."
"Oh, shit!" Six gasped. Even with her remembering where to go, there might not be enough time to get back. She grabbed onto Lucky and dragged him down the path to the exit.
"But we didn't finish the game!" yelled Lucky.
"Forget about the dumb game! Mobius wins! Thanks, Mobius!" she called out behind her, "See you in a couple days!"
Mobius held up two pairs of leather shoes and shouted back, "You guys forgot something!"
Six looked down at her feet. They were still wearing their silly bowling shoes. She slid out of them, ran over to Mobius, sliding in her socks, then swiped her own pair and shoved them on her feet without tying the shoelaces. Lucky did the same, but had to run to keep up with her, stumbling behind with his shoes half on.
Six heard Mobius chuckle behind them as they ran and ignored the strange looks from Casey and D-132. They both ran into an empty elevator and Six pressed the close door button about fifty times in a row. They were alone together again, breathing heavily, in shock over what had just happened. He gave a little glance her way and wagged one dark eyebrow.
"You're an idiot!" she exploded. "You just had to be cool, didn't you?
"Hey, it's all right-"
"No, no it's not! We're going to get a million demerits."
"Six-"
"Shut up!" she screamed. "Just shut up!"
"Stop," he said calmly, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. "Stop."
She did stop. She stopped yelling. Stopped breathing. It was just like her dream. Something in his sharp, green eyes changed, as if… as if he could remember it, too. But he couldn't. It was her dream, not his.
Slowly, inexplicably, he leaned down, placing one hand under her chin to lift her mouth up to his, and pressed his lips to hers. Electricity buzzed down her spine, threatening to make her fall apart. He had to know. If he didn't then he was only doing it because he knew it was wrong.
Their reverie was interrupted by the elevator stopping on another floor, which let in a tired looking female analyst, her hair falling down around her face. They separated and moved to opposite sides of the elevator, staring at each other. Their eyes never left each other as they moved quietly through the hallways and into other elevators, eventually finding their dorm. He followed her to her room and waited silently in the hallway as she entered.
There was nothing to say, but their eyes seemed to speak volumes to each other. She wanted… even more than kissing, holding hands. But what more was there?
"You should go to your room," she whispered. The door slid shut automatically before he could reply, and Six could do nothing but plop down on her bed and stare at the wall.
There was something wrong with her, definitely. And Lucky, too.