Reality Heist by Geordi Riker (best ebook reader for chromebook txt) 📖

in comparison to the others.”
“Yeah, shut up. If you're gonna blame anyone for breaching our contract, blame Dutch.”
Amaar purses his lips as he steals a glance at Dutch, who towers over him by at least a foot, before shooting Jesse a nasty glare, “You little sniveler, blame it on the big guy.”
“You were going to call me an elephant again, weren't you?” Dutch demands indignantly.
“I was going to do nothing of the sort,” Amaar replied defensively, taking a small sidestep to place Jesse and me between himself and Dutch.
“For the love of cinnamon buns, would you four hurry up?” Chase hollers.
“We're coming!” Jesse yells at the same time as me. We shoot each other a look, and I duck my head slightly.
“Well, would you listen to the two lovebirds?” Amaar teases. In response, Jesse shoves him hard enough that Amaar slams into the brick wall and bounces off, stumbling before he manages to catch his balance.
“Stuff it. Is there's any love going around, you're involved.”
“Would you two shut up? You're giving Dee here the wrong impression,” Dutch growls as he winks at me, “These two will debate anything, be it shoes to date life to religious values. For the most part, when you see the two of them together, just turn around and walk the other way. Heaven nor hell can stop those two once they harp in on each other. Drink?” He offers me his bottle.
I flinch away from the stench of alcohol, wrinkling my nose, “Uh, no thanks. I'm underage.” never actually stopped me before, but there's something definitely off with that stuff he's cradling.
Dutch doesn't seem to take offense, and simply shrugs, "Alright, suit yourself. More for me.” He takes a long draft. He pulls the bottle away from his lips with a sigh of satisfaction, “You know, the others say that I could out drink three Russians if they took turns matching me shot for shot. And I'm a pretty good aim too.” He grins as he pats his waist, where I can see a gun tucked into a holster, "Not necessarily my first choice for a weapon, but little Cassie here does wonders if I need a quick, quiet little job.”
“Little job?”
“He means assassination, but for him, it's more like self defense. The only time he uses it is when people are trying to mug him, and even then, he only uses that little piece if he's trying to be discreet,” Jesse grumbles
“We can't all be spastic ninja warriors who can take out three guys with two punches, now can we?” retorts Dutch.
“I've offered to show you, but no, Mr. German Warrior doesn't need any sort of assistance in the hand to hand combat section, even thought that's why he got his dishonorable discharge and send him on his career path as an alcoholic. What was it that dragged you into this whole sliding affair again? Oh yeah, you grabbed somebody else's drink in response to one of their callous remarks about your past.”
“And how did you end up here, huh?” snarls Dutch, “As I recall, you snatched someone's purse, nicked your finger on a clasp, and hey presto, sent us all spinning off into the middle of a boiling volcano. Thanks for that, I don't think I've ever really said thank you yet, so there, thank you.” Dutch storms off, and Amaar rushes to catch up to him, leaving me and Jesse trailing behind.
We walk in awkward silence for a while, unsure of what to say. I avoid looking at him, focusing instead on the patches of sunlight that are becoming more and more frequent. Dust motes dance in the sunlight, as if that alone was where they were, instead of everywhere in the air. It's kind of funny, unless something is highlighted, we tend to miss it entirely until it comes back later to bite us hard. I blow a strand of hair out of my face, but it falls in another spot that's worse than where it just was. I run a hand through my hair, feeling the grime that's already taken hold.
Beside me, Jesse snorts. I glance at him, and do a double take as I realize that he's trying not to laugh. “What's so funny?” I demand defensively.
“Oh, it's not you,” he manages, “It's just that I find it funny that a little bit of black Pressure gives me a new perspective on things that I originally never questioned.”
“Like what?”
“I don't think I've ever exploded at everyone at the same time like that. You'd think I was pissed at them for something, which I'm not. Chase's probably right, maybe the black Pressure's just a little too strong.”
“What's the difference between black Pressure as opposed to other Pressure?”
“Well, it just is. We aren't exactly experts on this thing, even though it's become a part of our world, but basically, as far as we can tell only a specific group of people has black Pressure. We call them 'The Black', mainly because their Pressure is only black, there's no colour at all. Most Pressure is shown as a colour, and different colours of Pressure develop into skills that are particular to that colour. Blue Pressure is normally personified in doctors and any one else in the medical field, so that includes vets and stuff.
“Black's just there, it doesn't really have any sort of specific skill that is uniquely it's own. We don't interact with the Black that much, so I guess it goes without saying that there's no way we'd know much about them. The whole need of 'a large number of specimens as opposed to a select few'. For all we know, we could only be interacting with members of the Black that have black Pressure, while other members have different colours.
“The others aren't too fond of my conspiracy theories, but I still believe that there's a reason why we Slide. Someone developed the technology to cross dimensions, maybe even got trapped themselves. Somehow, in some dimension that we've never ever been even remotely close to, this sort of technology has spawned a multi-dimensional heist to get better products of specific things from other dimensions to use within theirs. For example, if people wanted sturdy chairs, just go back to the 1920's when quality was still more important than quantity. It's a poor example, I know, but to be honest, I don't know much about your dimension's time line to actually give an example that would make more sense.
“I'm babbling again,” he sighs with a breath, “Sorry, I tend to do that, even if I come off as a little bit grouchy. I'm not normally like this. It must be how your Pressure figures into the general equation of Pressure present. The more colourful Pressure around with you, the grouchier those people become. They can feel that something's off, but most can't actually see the black leaking out from around you. All they know is that someone is interfering with their Pressure, and it gets on their nerves. For some reason, I can be totally at ease with you, despite the fact that I know I have a colourful pressure while yours is black. But as soon as another Slider is around, I get moody. I guess it's about balance.”
“I thought you said that you weren't an expert on this Pressure stuff.”
He grins, “Yeah, most of what I said is pure speculation. It's all theories, and the others don't even bother giving me enough time to explain it. I'm surprised you didn't cut me off somewhere during the Black explanation.”
I shrug, “It sound interesting. Besides, you've got experience on your side.”
Jesse laughs, “Yeah, good one. Just how long do you think I've been sliding for?”
His question throws me off, “Uh... I don't know, a couple of years?”
“Nope. I've only been at it for eleven months, closer to twelve now I think. Chase would have the exact number.”
“Really? How long have the others been sliding?”
“Amaar's been at it for five, Chase for almost ten, Ky's been around for three, Dutch is nine, and I have no idea about Skip. The guy's practically an ancient at this stuff by now.”
“Wow.” Is all I can say to this. These guys have been doing this for years, day in day out, leaping across time, torn from their own lives and trying to make do with the one they've been thrust into. Pangs of guilt flash through me as I think of Mom and Will. They would have reported me missing by now, but how long would they wait? How long would it take them before they moved on with their lives?
Maybe Uncle Jared would fly in, like he did when my Dad just up and left us. He's always been good to Mom, it'd be best to have someone who really knows them around. But how long before he went back to his own family? How long until they were on their own again?
“So, there's no way out?” I ask slowly, feeling very small all of a sudden.
Jesse nods, catching my sudden mood change, “Yeah. None that we can find, anyways.” He stiffens suddenly, freezing in his tracks and pulling me up short.
“Hey! Ow, what's wrong?” I demand.
He holds a finger to his lips, his eyes darting about in the dimness, “Can you feel that?” He murmurs quietly to me.
I pause and try to see what he means. “No,” I whisper back, “I don't feel anything.”
“That's not good,” He murmurs in my ear, “That just means that the Slides will catch you by surprise every single time.”
“Slides?”
“Either one of us triggered it, or there wasn't really anything worth stealing here. I guess Skip kind of gave the game away when he decided to make a pilgrimage to Canada,” Jesse continues, as if he hadn't heard me, “My money's on the latter. Nothing down here would be worth their attention. Then again, they set their sights on the weirdest things.”
“They?”
“The Black. Hold on.” He grabs my hand s and squeezes tightly.
It's like we're suddenly hit by a freight train. One moment, we were standing still, the next, we're hurtling through inky darkness that howls about my ears. Then, instead of hurtling forwards, the roller coaster does a sudden drop, leaving my stomach somewhere high above us as we fall. Somewhere along the line, I realize that I'm still screaming, my voice becoming hoarse and dry. I shut up and cling to Jesse harder. Images and forms start coming at us from all directions, rising up form the black smoke to wail and howl, their mute cries joining the wind in a symphony of horror.
One figure that rises looks almost human, and as it veers closer to us in it's headfirst dive, I recognize who it is. It's the woman from my dream, the one who couldn't leave her post, no matter how she tried. Her lips part, and I can tell she's trying to say something, but the winds to loud. A faint whisper reaches my ears, only one word, “Hiyori”.
She reaches a hand out towards us, and I watch in amazement as a sword seems to grow from the air around us, held in her hand as she accelerates to be closer to us. She sweeps the sword back and it swings back in an arc, guided by her in an attack at my head. I scream and try to curl myself into a ball, but can't move in all the wind that pushes my body apart. The sword slashes across my throat, warm blood spewing from the gash, spattering her black garments as she grins at me triumphantly as I try to breath through the blood filling my