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Being in the lead at the start had no correlation to being in the winners’ list at the end, but it did boost your ratings. Most viewers only paid attention to the crowd during the open and the finish. The rest of the race belonged to the pros who could record and sell their whole experience as movies.

Marmeg pushed her body and her gear hard. A few heads turned in surprise as she passed them. Her breath came fast and shallow, but she gained until only three people remained ahead of her. If nothing else, she was in the top five at this moment.

They sprinted together over rocks and fallen trees. Dodged the grasping branches of low-growing bushes. Curved around trunks as wide as the pillars of City Hall. A cool wind brought the smell of rain.

The lead cluster spread out over the course of the first thirty minutes. People split off to follow their predetermined routes or took alternate ways around ponds and meadows. The other runners became blurs flitting between columnar trunks, far enough to be unobtrusive. The last drone camera had turned back at the twenty-minute mark, pushing the limits of its range.

Marmeg leapt on a fallen tree and used it to cross a boggy section. She skirted a car-sized knot of rotten wood at the far end and stopped to get her bearings. The other contestants had disappeared from sight. Like the fingers of a river delta, they would follow unique paths to the finish line. Her own route headed northeast toward the first of many low ridges.

As Marmeg ran, she heard nothing but the whispers of her footfalls and the wind through the trees. The rushing sound reminded her of rice pouring from a burlap sack.
Don’t think about food,
she told herself. The clouds grew darker as she gained elevation. The air thinned and cooled. The light was dim for midday. Marmeg stopped to get a kinetic charger out of her gear bag and strap it to her left arm. Her cuff had solar cells, but they wouldn’t be of much use in this weather.

She set her pace at a jog, leaping over the occasional fallen tree. Once, she startled a squirrel as she landed on the far side of a trunk. Had it been a snake, she could’ve been out of the race, like two years back when a contestant needed air rescue for a rattlesnake bite. She avoided blind jumps after that.

Heavy drops of rain spattered Marmeg as the trees dwindled. The pale hue of granite filled the widening gaps between reddish-brown trunks. In minutes, the woods went from sparse to nonexistent, replaced by boulders and twiggy bushes. A towering ridge rose from the open ground. Slabs of gray laced with pale blue and white loomed like sloppy icing on her mother’s homemade cakes.

Marmeg grinned and raised her wrist to take a picture. Her brothers would be amazed that she’d climbed over this. Raindrops fell faster as she leapt from one mound to the next, the muscles of her legs reacting with unnatural force, driven by the exoskeleton. The journey to the top of the ridge was a dance. Jump. Twist. Take three delicately balanced steps to the left. Jump again.

A cramp in her right calf forced her to stop and adjust the exo’s settings. Marmeg breathed heavily and took a break to look around from the high point. She stood on an island of stone surrounded by conical tips of dark green, a sea that undulated and shifted in color depending on the terrain. In the distance, sheets of rain obscured the serrated peaks that awaited her. Lightning flickered in her periphery.

She stared, unblinking, until she saw one strike in full. The jagged, white-hot flash was a phenomenon she’d never seen in her eighteen years of life in Los Angeles. Alone on the ridge, she thought to herself:
T
his must be how God felt after creating the world
.

A loud crack from behind brought her back to mortality. Lightning preferred to strike at exposed locations. She would be safer in the forest. Marmeg descended the ridge, favoring speed over grace. When she reached the shelter of trees, she slowed down. Rain trickled down her head in steady rivulets. The precipitation made a gentle rustle as it fell through the alpine canopy. The air had become noticeably cooler, and her wet state wasn’t helping. Marmeg activated the heating coils in the torso shell.

Twenty minutes later, her breath came out in cottony white puffs, and she was colder than ever. She slipped a hand under the shell to confirm what she suspected: it hadn’t warmed up.

Muttering curses in Tagalog that she’d learned from her mother, she stopped and reached into her pack. Her hand found the soft bundle of spare clothing.

Marmeg slipped out of the torso shell and sleeves. Goosebumps popped up along her bare arms. She pulled on a thermal shirt and a fleece sweatshirt with a faded US Army logo. Back on went the gear, and over that, the dollar-store plastic rain poncho. At least the torso shell’s abdominal activators and cardio monitor still worked.

Some semblance of warmth returned after Marmeg jogged for a mile through the sodden trees. Her steps converged to an even rhythm. Her mind wandered to daydreams. She would finish her degree in embed design and get a “benefits job,” as people said back home. If she was lucky, the company would pay for additional enhancements and surgeries. Then, once she was sufficiently buffed, she could quit and become a professional racer.

The pros had embedded audio and video recording capabilities with stereo sensors for immersive playback. The best had haptic sensors for whole-body virtual reality. Not many in the general public could use that level of technology, but the day was coming when they would. She had to become a star before that happened. That was the way out of the nat ghetto, to go from cash to credit to rich on ratings. This race was only the first step.

When she made it as a big-time embed racer, she could get her brothers in on the game. T’Shawn, too. They could be her legit support team. Maybe Felix would grow up to become an embed developer too. They could live in an actual house with separate bedrooms, and she would never have to share a bathroom again. Or worry about someone eating her food. She wouldn’t even have to think about food, because she would hire someone to keep their fridge well stocked.

Best of all, if she were rich, she could have moot surgery and maybe convince her younger brothers to do the same. Jeffy was a lost cause, though he didn’t hate moots like their mother did. And what would Amihan say about Marmeg’s success? She would have to take back every nasty, negative comment she’d made about Marmeg’s looks or smarts. She might even get licensed grandkids. Marmeg would gladly gift Jeffy the fees if he could stay with one girl long enough.

Her cuff beeped. She was off course by a quarter mile. She stopped running and traced a corrected path. Her sweat cooled. She shivered and looked up at the gray skies. They’d grown darker and more swollen with rain.
Keep moving, stay warm
.

She headed toward a mountain pass, the first of several on her planned route. The pass had looked smooth in the satellite images, an easy way to cross the first range. Maybe she’d meet another contestant there, though the pros preferred a challenge. Their sponsors paid for drama. This route did not promise excitement.

Marmeg was damp, chill, and borderline miserable when she arrived at the rock pile marking the climb to the pass. The rain had eased to a sprinkle. Cold had settled in its place like a determined, unwelcome houseguest.

Someone stood at the cairn. Marmeg was momentarily relieved at the sight of another human being, but she hung back, out of zir line of sight. Would this person be a friend or a foe? Given her mixed reception at the staging area, zie was as likely to scoff at or even sabotage her as zie was to be helpful. If only she could look up zir ratings on the grid, she would know the answer in seconds.

The person was staring at the space in front of zir face. Looking at maps, Marmeg assumed. She gathered her courage.

“Hoy,” she called, coming forward.

Zie turned and focused on her. Zir eyes were almost black in the gloomy afternoon light. They were framed by long, curving lashes. This one definitely looked moot, with dark brown skin and curly black hair much like Marmeg’s, though zie wore it to zir shoulders. It hung damp and limp in ropy waves. Zie had the slightest hint of curves at chest and hip, enough to be alluring but not enough to give away what zie was born with. Zie showed little sign of wetness and no signs of cold, wrapped as zie was in an expensive-looking smartskin.

“Hello. Are you headed up to the pass too?” Zie had an accent that Marmeg couldn’t place.

“Firm.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes. Up the pass.”

“Great. We can walk up together if you don’t mind the company.”

Zie was rather cute. She wouldn’t mind spending an hour with zir, and they’d have plenty of time to split up and get back to racing on the other side.
All or nothing,
she thought.

“Let’s go.”

They walked along something that resembled a path but was more of a clearing between scraggly bushes, boulders, and twisted trees. They made a course correction whenever one of them spotted the next stack of rocks that marked the way.

“My name is Ardhanara Jagadisha, but that seems to be a mouthful for Americans. You can call me Ardha.”

“Arda,” Marmeg repeated, trying to shape the unfamiliar sound.

“Close enough,” zie said with a friendly smile. “So, what brings you to this contest?”

Chatty sort. Not her type after all.

“Prize money,” Marmeg said.

Ardha let a few beats of silence pass. Zie must have been expecting more from her.

“I see. My father works for the Lucknow branch of Minerva, and the division there sponsored me to enter the contest. I’m mostly here to field-test their new technology, but the division wants publicity, too. If I win, they’ll be able to push for an expansion of the design center there. I’m studying electrical engineering. I might even work there someday.”

“Where’s Lucknow?” Marmeg said, trying to keep up with zir words and strides. Ardha’s smartskin was much lighter than Marmeg’s old exoskeleton frames, and zie wasn’t carrying a pack.

“India,” Ardha said, sounding surprised. Zie waved at zirself. “You couldn’t tell where I’m from?”

Marmeg shook her head.

“No tells on you. Full moot, full embed, right? It’s good.”

Ardha looked pleased.

“My grandparents are very progressive. They funded the sex surgery. For the embeds, I only had to pay for the implants. My sponsors donated the rest. So far, everything is holding up quite nicely. And your gear? Where is it from?”

Marmeg flushed as she thought about what to say. The truth wouldn’t matter now, out here with no grid access and no way to update their ratings.

“Gear’s filched, mostly,” she confessed. “Got some legit chips—arms, legs, body.” She tapped the base of her skull for the last one.

“What’s ‘filched’? I’m not familiar with that term.”

“From a Dumpster. What some loaded embed threw out.”

“So, you picked up your gear from . . . a garbage bin?” Ardha’s face wrinkled in repulsion and then smoothed into neutrality. “We’re very careful to recycle all of our used gear so that it doesn’t fall into criminal hands. Of course, there’s so much corruption back home that the real criminals are running the country. That’s a different problem. So, isn’t this filched gear broken?”

“Fix it. Rube it.” Marmeg shrugged. “Been doin’ since I was eight.”

Ardha’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been repairing embed gear since you were eight years old? You must be very bright. How many sponsors do you have?”

“Nada.”

Ardha turned and stared at Marmeg.

“Zero,” she clarified.

“Yes, I understood that. I was simply speechless. Unusual for me, I know,” zie said. “But how is this possible?”

“Born unlicensed. Bought my own later, but sponsors don’t like that. Amnesty parents, kids—too much contro. Can’t use us to sell their stuff.”

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten about the new American caste system. If you’re racing without any sponsorship, what will you do if you can’t finish? There’s a heavy fine for being extracted mid-race. You know that?”

Marmeg shrugged again.

Something small and white drifted by. Then another. And another.

“Snow?”

“So it seems. I didn’t see that in the weather forecast. Did you?”

Marmeg shook her head.

“This should make the race more interesting.”

Ardha reached back and pulled up a snug-fitting hood around zir head. Only zir face was exposed now. Tiny white flakes landed on zir brows and eyelashes, glittering there for a few seconds before melting away. Zir breath came in gentle puffs.

Marmeg, working much harder, exhaled clouds of white. She wished she had thought to pack a warm hat. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would need winter weather gear in late spring, especially in California.

The snow smelled incredible, somewhere between iced vodka and fresh rain. Bare mountain rock surrounded them. They’d left the trees behind and below. Up here, the only colors were wet cement, gunmetal grays, and white. The clouds hung heavy and close. Wind batted down at them and tossed tiny snowflakes into demented, gravity-defying spirals.

Marmeg squinted, trying to see how much farther they had, but the slope and weather combined to make that a challenge. Ardha saw what she was doing and did the same.

“Oh, bloody hell,” zie said.

“What?”

“You’ll see in a minute. Come on.”

Ardha must have enhanced zir distance vision. Zie broke into a run as the granite surface flattened into a gentle incline. Marmeg followed. They stopped abruptly just before the ground turned white. A field of ice stretched before them, all the way up to the top of the pass. Sheer vertical walls of stone rose up on either side. All Marmeg could see through the gap was sky.

“Can you believe it? A glacier! I studied the satellite images extensively. This pass was supposed to be completely clear.” Zie kicked at the ice. “We’ll have to go back and take a different route.”

“Nah. Let’s rube it,” Marmeg said.

She sat and pulled out every metal item from her bag, spreading them on the ground until it looked like she was surrounded by shrapnel. Ardha stared as if she had lost her mind. Marmeg ignored zir and examined one item after another. Most were spare parts for her leg and arm exos—screws, pistons, actuators. The screws were too small, but the multi-tool with screwdrivers and blades? That had potential.