Parasite, p.20
Parasite, page 20
The ship was set to launch in less than two hours, and if she wasn’t there on time, it would leave without her.
She’d guessed she must still have some enemies in Central who hadn’t been able to forgive her for what she’d done to Captain Jones—and this tight schedule confirmed it. Captain Jones had been well liked, and Mitzi wouldn’t have been surprised if someone, or possibly a few someones, were subtly sabotaging her chance to reenter the defence sector. Bumping her name to the bottom of the list when selecting captains would have been easy, or they could send her summons out a few hours too late so that there was a good chance she wouldn’t make it on time.
Central didn’t give second chances very often. If she missed that ship, she would be blacklisted. If she were ever summoned again, it would be when the war was all but lost.
She couldn’t miss the ship.
Mitzi ran back up the hallway she’d just come from, pushing against the flow of traffic. If she took the shuttle to Redding, she could change to a service taking her to one of the suburbs that clustered around the ports then get a direct line to Port Four.
Desperation made her ruder than she normally would have been, and by the time she was boarding the shuttle to Redding, she thought she must have shoved ahead of at least half of the commuters.
She settled into one of the cylindrical shuttle’s padded seats just as it pulled away from the station, and she pulled the harness on, panting, a stitch developing in her side.
Damn, Mitz, you’ve let yourself go these last four years.
The man in the seat to her left shot her a dour look before returning to his novel. Mitzi closed her eyes and took a moment to enjoy the sensation of the shuttle rocketing along its tracks, then pulled her communication block out of her pocket and opened the attachment that had come with her summons.
“Oh, good,” she murmured, a wolfish grin spreading over her face as she read through the mission description. “This is going to be even crazier than I’d hoped.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The change at Redding went without a hitch; the crowds were thinner there, and she was able to run the eighteen stations and leap through her shuttle’s doors just as they were closing. She collapsed into her seat in the nearly empty carriage, panting and grinning to herself. Her grin didn’t die until the shuttle ground to a halt six minutes later.
This is a direct service. It shouldn’t stop for another twenty minutes.
Mitzi hesitated for a second then unbuckled her harness and scooted over to a window. The shuttle had stopped in one of the downtown shopping sections. Brightly coloured signs coated the metal-plated buildings on either side of the street. Strangely, there were no pedestrians in sight.
Mitzi turned her head so that her cheek was pressed to the cool glass, and she looked towards the front of the shuttle. A flickering yellow glow in the distance caught her eye, and she thought she could hear quiet, periodic booms. Drums.
“We have experienced an unexpected delay,” a cool woman’s voice said over the speaker system. “Please remain in your seats.”
“Like hell,” Mitzi growled. If the shuttle had stopped because of a protest—and the beating drums made her increasingly certain that was the cause—she could be stuck for hours.
She slipped out of the aisle seating and tried the doors. They were sealed shut and wouldn’t open until the shuttle was docked at the station. A swearword slipped out as Mitzi turned and dashed down the length of the shuttle, towards the emergency exit near its front. The chanting was rapidly growing closer. By the time she’d reached the emergency doors, Mitzi could see the glow of harsh flashlights—used to blind anyone who tried to break up the protest—and hear wild whoops and shrill calls.
The Cymic situation had started the riots, but there was no guarantee that was what the protest focussed on. An air of hysteria was gradually overwhelming the city; more often than not, the riots had no real purpose except for the marginalised, and those who felt they were marginalised, to unleash their frustration.
Mitzi pressed the button to unlock the emergency exit door and wrenched it open. The protesters had gained on her shuttle faster than she’d expected. As soon as she opened the door, hands grabbed her arms and pulled her into the swell of bodies.
“I completely agree with whatever you guys want,” Mitzi yelled then squirmed out of the hands that had a grip on her and began worming through the riot.
It was a colourful, chaotic mess. Many in the crowd had splashed themselves with neon paint or dyes that made their clothes shine in the erratic flashlight beams. The militia were already descending on them, pouring out of side streets to clash with the protesters. The last thing she needed was to be mistaken for a protester and stunned, so Mitzi shied away from them and began pushing through the screaming, aggressive rioters, moving against the flow to stay away from where the two groups were meeting. She heard several quiet snaps as the militia started firing tranquilizer rounds into the crowd. The clash of metal on Perspex followed as the civilians beat their homemade weapons against the militia’s shields.
You made the right choice. Mitzi had reached the edge of the crowd, where the older and less aggressive protesters were watching the action. She glanced back at the riot, which had spilled onto the tracks. That shuttle would have been stuck for ages.
On the other hand, she no longer had transport. As Mitzi jogged through the streets, relieved to leave the enraged yells and tranquilizer snaps behind her, she tried to calculate how much time she had left. Not enough to find another station—besides, with one shuttle delayed, there was no guarantee that the rest of the network was running on schedule. Taxis were expensive, but that was her only chance of getting to Port Four.
Mitzi ran until she reached one of the main roads and was able to signal for a taxi. The sleek grey self-driving car pulled up to the curb, and Mitzi jumped into the passenger seat.
The taxis were small, with just enough room for two passengers and a case of luggage, though they had a minibar between the seats and a clear screen installed into the front windowpane, where a map flickered into view.
“Where would you like to go today?” a bright AI voice asked.
“Port Four, Central,” Mitzi replied, pulling her card out of her back pocket and swiping it over the screen to authorise payment. She put on her belt and leaned back into the padded leather seat as the car re-joined the flow of traffic. “Fast as possible, please.”
“I will maintain a safe and legal speed,” the AI said, and Mitzi groaned.
Traffic was heavy, and Mitzi started tapping her fingers on the dash as she watched the suburbs pass at a crawl. “You seem anxious,” the AI said after a moment, injecting a note of fake concern into its voice. “Would you like me to pick some music to match your mood?”
“No, absolutely not,” Mitzi said. “Just divert all of your energy into driving as fast as possible, okay?”
“My technology does not work in that way,” the AI said, sounding so happy that Mitzi was tempted to punch the car. “However, I would be delighted to engage you in a discussion. I have many preset topics of conversation, and my news database has only a two-minute lag from real time.”
Mitzi pursed her lips. “Okay, sure. What can you tell me about the Cymic Parasites?”
“Allow me to read the latest media statement,” the car said, seeming overjoyed at the prospect. “For immediate release: Central wishes to advise—”
“Okay, yeah, I’ve already heard that one. ‘The threat is serious but not insurmountable. Stay in your homes after dark. Follow all commands a public official gives you. Don’t panic.’ Et cetera. It’s about as useful as a dead mule.”
“Dead mules can be used for many purposes,” the AI said. “For food, provided it has died within a safe timeframe and was not carrying any harmful bacteria or viruses. Its bones can be fashioned into tools—”
“Shut up,” Mitzi grunted, sinking lower in her seat. The car was speeding up as it made its way out of the city centre. Mitzi’s stomach had developed a gnawing, empty feeling that told her she’d forgotten to eat both breakfast and lunch, and she grudgingly swiped her card over the minibar’s scanner. The lid popped up, offering a range of drinks and foods. They were all horrifically overpriced, but her money wouldn’t be much use to her once she was off the planet, so she took one of the apple juices and a sandwich.
“My scanners show that you’re low on magnesium,” the AI said, so painfully enthusiastic that it made Mitzi’s teeth hurt, “which can be a valuable supplement to help you cope in times of stress. May I recommend a nutrient-rich vitamin slice?”
“What are you, my mother?” Mitzi snapped, but she took the recommended cube of grey chalk and washed it down with the apple juice.
Both Mitzi and the AI were silent for the following fifteen minutes, as the car carried her through the industrial part of the city, past another housing sector, around the outskirts of a pristine public park, and towards the more business-focussed suburbs around Central’s ports.
“I’ve just been alerted to a potential hazard on our path,” the AI said, startling Mitzi out of her reverie. “I’ll be adjusting our route.”
“What?” Mitzi glanced at the clock on the dashboard; she had only ten minutes until the ship’s launch. “Will that take long?”
“Expected time to destination: twelve minutes.”
Mitzi swore. “You’ve got to get me there faster! I’ve got a ship to catch!”
“I will take you there in the fastest legal and safe manner,” the AI replied. “Please enjoy your trip!”
Mitzi hunched over, pressing her palms against her closed eyelids. Next to the shuttles, the taxis were the fastest form of transport. She had no option but to grit her teeth and hope the car’s time estimate wasn’t accurate. “What caused the hazard?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and level. “Is it another riot?”
“That’s correct. Good guess!” the car chirped. “In fact, there are multiple riots in our pathway.”
“Terrific,” Mitzi groaned. I can’t wait to get off this stupid planet.
She kept flicking her eyes from the clock to the streets every few seconds for the rest of the trip. She could see plumes of smoke in the distance, and once, they passed a street that had been looted. Windows had been smashed, and broken bricks and discarded goods filled the street.
It’s getting worse. People are panicking because they know something’s wrong, but they don’t know what it is or how they can help. If Central just explained the situation properly, we might stand a chance of banding together.
“How long now?” she asked when the clock read two minutes to two.
“Four minutes to destination. We’re right on schedule!”
“No, we’re not.” Mitzi scratched at her scalp. Fear of losing the ship and losing her last chance to get back on the defence force made her want to lash out. She watched as the clock ticked past 2:00, then 2:01, and finally 2:02.
“You have arrived at your destination,” the AI said, all bubbles and rainbows. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your trip!”
“And I hope you die in a fire,” Mitzi spat back, tugging on her seatbelt until the car came to a stop and allowed Mitzi to unlock it.
She was at the front gates for Port Four. The building, all grey stones and metal accents, rose like a mammoth wall in front of her. Mitzi ran for the front doors, hoping desperately that something had delayed her ship, but knowing the ports ran to a precise timetable that was almost never disturbed.
The inside of the port’s foyer was large, airy, and almost disturbingly white. Screens lined the walls, each flashing different departure and arrival times for the hundreds of docking areas. Terminals—some advertising available seats on commercial flights, others for checking in—filled most of the vast room. Mitzi ran to the nearest information desk, which was mercifully free.
“Teal Riot, Ship 81157,” she said, speaking so quickly that it was a miracle the manicured woman in front of her could understand her. “Has it left yet?”
The assistant gave her a quick, vaguely sympathetic smile as she typed the digits into her computer. “Not yet, but you won’t reach it in time. It’s on the runway—”
“Which one?”
The woman chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s about to take off. You won’t reach it.”
“Tell me which one, damn it!”
“Platform twelve, third floor,” the assistant said, her eyes widening slightly as she pointed to her left.
Mitzi yelled a quick “Thank you!” over her shoulder as she started running again. She’d lucked out that she only needed to get to the third floor, and she lucked out again when one of the lift doors opened just as she reached them. She squeezed herself into the compartment, breathing hard, and tried not to look too manic as the doors drew closed and the box started ascending.
She’d loved the ports during her time as an active defence technician. They carried such a wide variety of people, all who had such diverse skills and job descriptions, that she’d spent a lot of her time watching the strangers around her, trying to guess their jobs and personalities. She’d gotten quite good at it.
To her left were two emergency response personnel. That was an easy enough guess; their black uniforms were slightly thicker than normal and clearly made in a government facility. Both had short, slicked-back hair, which was normal for someone used to wearing an emergency response protective helmet. They were young, though, probably barely out of the academy, and judging by the way the woman’s mouth was twitching, they weren’t looking forward to the job they’d been given.
To her right was a maintenance worker dressed in dirty overalls and carrying a crate of tools. Behind him was, she guessed, a merchant and a couple of tourists, one who held a young baby to her chest. The tourists were clutching their tickets so firmly that they seemed frightened they might be taken away.
Not tourists, then… civilians fleeing a planet that was becoming too dangerous for their young family.
The lift pinged as it reached the third floor, and Mitzi squeezed out between the doors while they were still opening. Near-empty grey hallways spread to her left and right. She turned left and counted the dock numbers on the signs she ran past. When she reached twelve, she speared off into the side passageway. Long glass windows let her see into the interior dock, where a large craft—her craft—had started its engines.
Chapter Forty
“Stop!” Mitzi screamed, beating on the windows as she ran past them, aware that no one in the ship would be able to hear her. Someone yelled from the hallway she’d just come down, and without turning around, Mitzi knew she’d attracted the attention of the security guards.
The door that opened into the ship’s boarding room was at the end of the hallway, and Mitzi skidded to a halt in front of it, banging frantically. “I’m here! I made it, damn you!”
Someone wrenched open the door, and a familiar man exhaled at the sight of her. “Hell, Mitz, get in here.”
Mitzi jumped through the doorway, and her companion slammed the door closed in the security guard’s face then beamed at her. “Do you have any idea how close you cut that? I was just leaving.”
“Nic,” Mitzi gasped, pressing at the aching stitch in her side and feeling happier to see the pilot than she’d ever been in her life. She wanted to hug him but settled for punching his arm as hard as she could.
“Quick, we’d better take off before they decide to cancel the flight altogether.” Nic ushered her into the cockpit and slid into the leather pilot’s seat while Mitzi took the passenger seat. The ship had already been prepped for takeoff, and Nic quickly unlocked the passageway that connected the ship to the station before he pushed down on the lever to urge the engines into action. Their ship shuddered then ground forward, towards the airlock.
Mitzi didn’t dare speak as they eased the ship into the dark room then waited as the doors closed behind them and the air was pumped out. The gates ahead of them opened, letting them outside the city’s biosphere and giving the ship a clear run towards the atmosphere. Nic kicked the engines into action and sent the ship soaring towards the sky, and Mitzi could finally breathe properly.
“I didn’t think I was going to make it.” She massaged her temple, where a headache had flared.
“I knew you would.” Nic’s cocky grin stretched across his face. “As soon as I saw your name on the mission’s list, I knew you’d get here come hell or high water. It’s good to have you back, Captain.”
Mitzi laughed, realising that she was, really and truly, back. You made it, girl. You’re in the defence force again… even if it is for just one trip.
“You won’t believe how hard I had to delay, though,” Nic said, grinning wolfishly as their ship rose above the planet.
Mitzi gazed out the windows at the little bubbles below, each bubble holding a city, all interconnected by tunnels. “Yeah?
“Yeah. I made two trips to the bathroom, and even pretended I’d dropped my keys in the waiting area. You wouldn’t believe how mad the staff were, but I didn’t want to leave without you.”
Mitzi reached across the seats to give Nic’s head and shoulders a tight squeeze, then she punched his arm again to stop him from getting any ideas that she’d gone soft.
Nic was much younger than Mitzi, but they’d been on several missions together. She was glad to have him as their pilot. He had a level head and just enough of a sense of adventure to agree to her plans.
“Buckle up,” Nic said, indicating the lightening sky. “We’re nearly at the atmosphere. After that, it’s just a short trip to the wormholes and three hours to touchdown at your location. You ready for it?”
“I’m so ready,” Mitzi said, pulling the harness over her shoulders and locking it into place. “Your little mind isn’t even able to comprehend how ready I am.”
