Mistrunner - Chapter 11 - A Long Process

When I found out that many humans were working for the aliens, I didn’t want to believe it. Even with the evidence staring me in the face, I couldn’t fathom how someone could sell out their entire species. Now, I know that most people would’ve made the same choice. Greed is a powerful motivator.

Jeremiah Braddock III

Clutching a towel to my chest, I stared at the disgusting shower. It looked a hundred years old, and the grout between the dingy white tiles looked like it belonged in the swamps we’d left behind earlier that day. The showerhead was made of some kind of tarnished metal, and the thick block of soap lacked any of the disinfectant smell I was used to. In fact, the whole bathroom seemed like it had come from another time, primarily because everything was analog.

Gone were the sliding doors, automatic lights, and self-modulating water pressure I’d experienced back home. Instead, I had to flip an actual switch to turn on the lights, and even that only got me mixed results in the form of a flickering florescent bulb hanging from the ceiling by an exposed metal wire.

“That can’t be safe,” I muttered, taking a deep breath before discarding my towel and taking the proverbial plunge. It actually took me a moment to figure out the two knobs, but eventually, I surmised that one of them controlled hot water. The other let loose with the cold water – though it was more lukewarm than anything. But at least it was clean, which was more than I had expected.

For the next few minutes, I scrubbed myself clean. I had been almost completely submerged in the fetid swamp water, so the mud and foul-smelling liquid had gotten everywhere. I wasted no time in using the harsh brick of soap to wage a minor war against the stuff, eventually attaining some semblance of cleanliness.

Once I was finished, I stepped out of the shower – and promptly slipped, barely catching myself on a nearby metal bar which was attached to the wall. Yet another difference from my bathroom back home; I’d taken the no-slip surfaces for granted – a mistake I wouldn’t make again, I vowed.

After drying myself with my towel, which I’d brought from home, I took a moment to wipe the steam from the small vanity mirror. Even that, simple as it was, seemed so different from what I’d had back in Nova City. Instead of a simple reflective surface, the mirrors back home were host to a bevy of features ranging from hairstyle previews to social media integration. But as low-tech as this new one was, I viewed it as a welcome change.

However, it brought to mind a wholly different issue.

Until that moment, I hadn’t really thought about how much everything had changed over the past couple of days. But looking at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t pretend that my world hadn’t come crashing down around me. Not only was the bathroom itself evidence enough of how much things had changed, but my reflection was as well.

On the one hand, it was familiar. Light brown skin, a dusting of freckles across my nose, and, of course, my wild and curly hair. Hazel eyes. A perky nose. High cheekbones. It was the same face I’d always had. However, it had a couple of new additions – chiefly the huge bruise on my jaw and the gash across my left cheek. My uncle had insisted that they’d heal just fine, but I was inordinately terrified that the cut, in particular, would leave a scar. Images of small children running from my monstrous façade flashed through my mind.

I shook my head. That was just a silly exaggeration. Even if it scarred, it would be small. Probably completely unnoticeable. It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

The rest of my thin body was similarly familiar, yet battered and bruised.  After my months-long stint as a street rat, when I wasn’t sure when my next meal might come along, I’d lost a good deal of weight. And I’d never really had much to lose, so I’d grown so thin that I definitely didn’t look healthy.

As I stared at my reflection, I had a distressing thought. With the combination of my Awakening, a decent diet, and the training I’d already started, would I eventually end up looking like Nora? All bulging muscles and veiny mass? I shuddered at the thought. Far be it from me to judge anyone based on their appearance, but I definitely didn’t want to end up like that.

I flinched at a sudden banging on the bathroom door that rattled the mirror on the wall. “You ‘bout done in there? Food’s getting cold,” came my uncle’s voice.

“One sec,” I called, forcing my breathing into an even cadence. Then I muttered under my breath, “Scared me half to death.”

My jumpiness was understandable, after the day I’d had. I’d killed an enormous alligator – a creature that, until that day, I wasn’t even sure actually existed. Sure, I’d been taught about plenty of animals in the course of my classes, but most had seemed too fanciful to truly exist. I was half convinced that most of them – the alligator included – were mythological creatures on par with sphinxes and dragons.

“Oh, God – there aren’t really dragons, are there?” I said to my reflection. If there were, I doubted a few bullets and an explosive round would do much to take one down.

After a few more seconds, I wrapped the towel around my chest and, taking another deep breath, left the bathroom. Thankfully, the hall outside was empty, so I padded down the corridor to the room that had been set aside for my uncle and me. I found the room – which was little more than a pair of cots, a metallic chest, and four walls – and dragged my duffel onto the cot I’d claimed as my own.  A few minutes later, I was dressed in a pair of comfortable shorts, a black tank top emblazoned with a red Leviathan logo, and my favorite sneakers. My hair, I left completely unstyled, instead choosing to tie it back with a black band.

Once I was dressed, I left the room and found my way through the facility to a small kitchen. There, my uncle awaited. He was talking to a pair of other people – one man and one woman – who looked like they were dressed in snakeskin. Belatedly, I realized that, no, it wasn’t the skin of a snake. Nor was it faux leather like was so common in Nova City. Instead, it bore a striking resemblance to the alligator we’d killed earlier that very day.

“The hero of the hour!” exclaimed the man. He had a strange mustache that was connected to his sideburns, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat studded with sharp teeth. At his hip was an honest-to-goodness sword. He thrust a tin cup into the air, exclaiming, “Hip, hip hooray.”

The woman – a dark-skinned brunette with strikingly high cheekbones and a strong jawline – shook her head, saying, “You are such an ass, Douglas.”

“Pshaw! She slayed a true monster!” the man – Douglas – countered. “Practically a dragon, it was!”

“Ignore him,” said the woman. “I’m Viola. As you heard, this idiot is Douglas.”

“Um…I’m Mira.”

Viola cut her eyes at Jeremiah, saying, “You said Mirabelle.”

“That’s her name,” insisted my uncle.

“I’ve told you a thousand times I want to be called Mira!” I huffed, crossing my arms. “But you never freaking listen.”

“Whatever,” he muttered. Then, he pointed to the nearby stove, which looked unlike any cooking apparatus I’d ever seen before. Back home, almost everything came out of a nanowave. But this? It was huge and bulky and square, with a giant pot of…something on top of it. But it did smell delicious.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Gumbo,” said Douglas, puffing out his chest. “Family recipe.”

“Despite it coming from this idiot,” said Viola, hiking her thumb at her companion. “It really is good. We heard the boss was coming by, so he made it special.”

I nodded, saying, “Uh…thanks.” Then, as I pushed past them and gathered a bowl, I asked, “So, you live out here?”

“We do,” Viola said, leaning against the counter beside me. “Everyone else here is only temporary. They’ll eventually cycle back to Nova or move on to one of the other forts. Maybe even one of the other cities. Houston, maybe. Or Atlanta.”

“I don’t know what those names mean,” I admitted, peeking into the pot. It contained some sort of brown liquid, and it had a wide variety of vegetables and something that might’ve been meat in it. That’s when I recognized one of the shapes. “Are those…are those shrimp?”

“Real, freshly caught shrimp, yeah,” Douglas answered. “Real okra, too. Some crab meat. The roux is made with fresh tomatoes. You know, the kind of stuff that would cost a fortune in that city in the sky you call home. There are advantages to living down here.”

It was all the convincing I needed, and I quickly grabbed the ladle and scooped a heaping portion into my bowl, which already had some rice in it. I found a spoon on the counter, and I couldn’t stop myself from tasting it, right then and there. The moment the gumbo hit my tongue, I let out a moan, “Oh, God. That’s…that’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

And it wasn’t an exaggeration, either. It was literally the best thing I’d ever eaten. It was rich and hearty and laden with all sorts of spices for which I had no name. All I knew was that I wanted more. I devoured everything in record time, and it wasn’t until I started in on my second bowl that I realized everyone was looking at me.

“What?” I asked, though with my mouth full, it was largely unintelligible.

“Nothing,” Douglas said. “Eat up.”

And I did. Three bowls, and I probably would’ve eaten more if doing so wouldn’t have resulted in everything coming back up. As I ate, my uncle and the two others – who seemed like they might’ve been a couple, but I wasn’t willing to trust my instincts in that arena – talked about things that flew right over my head. However, I did learn that Bart had already started his trip back to Nova City.

Finally, once my hunger was sated, Jeremiah guided me to another room, which was furnished with a series of chairs and an entire shelf full of books. Which was notable, considering that I’d only seen a handful of actual books in my entire life. I itched to inspect them. Or maybe steal them. To the right people, they would be worth a fortune back in Nova. Almost everything was digital, so there was no need for hardcopies anymore. Clearly, the denizens of Haven didn’t think like that, though.

“So, have you checked your status since fighting the gator?” Jeremiah asked, practically falling onto a cushy leather chair.

“Uh…”

“Always check your status, Mirabelle,” he said. “Sit down and do it now. Tell me where you’ve improved.”

I glared at him for using my full name, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I sat on the couch adjacent to his chair and did as he told me to do. I was surprised to see that there were a couple of changes.

Name: Mirabelle Lisa Braddock

Class: N/A (Requirements Not Met)

Level: 1 (3%)

Constitution: 4/17

Mind: 4/17

Mist: 2/17

Skills: 7/7

· Cybernetic Interface (Tier 0) – 7%

· Firearms (Tier0) – 9%

· Close-Quarters Combat (Tier0) – 0%

· Stealth Operations (Tier0) – 0%

· Combat Utility (Tier0) – 2%

· Mistwalking (Tier0) – 0%

· Spycraft (Tier0) – 1%

“Uh, I got level one,” I said. “And some of my attributes went up. My skills aren’t all at zero percent, either.”

“Elaborate.”

I did, noting that I’d gained one point in both Constitution and Mist. I also mentioned that my potential had expanded by seven points in each category as well. Finally, I told him the values associated with my various skills.

“That’s good,” Jeremiah said. “Very good. One kill, and you’ve already started to grow.”

The mention of growing brought to mind my previous worries about becoming a musclebound giant, so I asked, “Uh…I’m not going to end up like Nora, am I? All big and bulky?”

“No,” he said. “Not unless you want to be. Nora’s on so many bio-enhancers that it’s a bit of a mystery how she’s still alive.”

“Bio-enhancers?”

“Look – that potential isn’t set in stone, okay?” Jeremiah said. “You can push past it a little. When you do, you start to physically change. With Mind and Mist, those changes aren’t visible, but with Constitution, you sometimes get bigger muscles. One of the ways to push those limits is bio-enhancers. They change a person’s body chemistry and facilitate muscle growth. Nora’s probably a good ten points past her supposed potential, and it shows.”

“Oh,” I said. “And I guess cybernetics do something similar, right?”

“They do,” Jeremiah answered. “But you have to remember – the body has limits. Some of those limits can be exceeded, but there’s always a price. For instance, look at Nora. She’s big. She’s strong. But because of those bio-enhancers, her lifespan is probably halved. She’ll be lucky to be alive forty years from now.”

“What’s the cost of cybernetics?”

“That’s a little more difficult,” he said. “For one, you’re limited by your skill level. You have two slots. You’ll open more as you level your [Cybernetic Interface], but it takes time. So, there aren’t that many people capable of reaching Singularity.”

“What’s that?”

“Eventually, you become more machine than living thing,” Jeremiah stated. “I’ve only seen it once, but it was terrifying. Both for me and the man it happened to. I don’t wish that on anyone – not even my worst enemies.”

“Oh.”

It was a troubling scenario, losing one’s humanity, but I could think of plenty of situations where a person might choose to push the limits. Life was difficult, and sometimes, people had to make difficult choices just to survive.

“What’s the plan, then? We’re not staying here, right?” I said, changing the subject. “Where are we going?”

“Mobile,” he said. “It’s where I was born. Where I lived up until the Initialization.”

“And when we get there?”

“Training,” Jeremiah said. “Three months. Dawn to dusk. No breaks. It’s going to be hell for you, but we need to get you to a decent baseline so you can survive out here. After that, the real training begins.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” my uncle said. Suddenly, a small chip appeared in his hand. He handed it to me. “Slot that. Every night, I want you to go through that.”

“What’s it do?” was the obvious next question.

“It’s training,” he said. “Similar to how we’re going to train your body and physical skills, you’ve got to train your Mind and Mist. That chip contains a mutating set of puzzles that will become progressively more difficult. Most of them are numbers based, a lot like what you’ll see when you start Mistwalking, but there are also logic puzzles, riddles, and spatial reasoning problems.”

“That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

“It’s not meant to be,” was his response. His expression hardened. “This is life and death, Mirabelle. I know you’re looking at this as some grand adventure. That’s probably my fault. But if you don’t master these skills, if you don’t improve, you are not going to survive. Even if by some miracle you do, you’ll end up as some alien’s lackey. I won’t let that happen, Mirabelle. I just won’t.”

“I…I don’t…o-okay,” I said, a little taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. It wasn’t like I wanted that either, but it seemed a lot more personal to him than it was for me. Which was probably accurate. After everything he’d seen and done, I felt sure that the coming Integration – and the aliens that would inevitably come with it – was very personal. I added, “I’ll start working on it tonight.”

“Good. Better get started,” he said. “We’ve got an early morning ahead of us. Now, let’s get that cut in your side patched up. I’m no medic, but it’ll have to do until we get to Mobile.”

I nodded and lifted my shirt, exposing the back portion of my ribs. The wound didn’t hurt much – not with the med-hypo’s issue still coursing through my veins – but I knew it wouldn’t be like that for much longer. My uncle wordlessly inspected it, then retrieved something from his own Arsenal Implant; it looked like a small, silver gun with a cannister attached to the bottom. As he ran a nozzle along the cut, a light foam spewed from the tip, sealing the injury. After that, and he told me to head back to my room, which I did. I had little desire to be around him when he was in one of his moods. My uncle was a lot of things, but sociable really wasn’t one of them. On some level, I understood that there was a lot of trauma behind those moods, but on another, I didn’t really have the experience to understand what that meant.

In any case, I soon found myself lying on my cot, where I followed his instructions and slotted the chip. Immediately, a number puzzle flashed before my eyes. It wasn’t difficult. Just pattern recognition. And I solved it very quickly, only for it to be replaced by a logic problem. Then, once I solved that one, an equation. Another pattern recognition puzzle, but instead of numbers, there were alien symbols. On and on it for three hours until my mind felt like it was frying from the inside out.

But to my surprise, I wanted to keep going. There was something addictive about solving one puzzle after another. Almost like the games I used to play on the Mist-screen back home. Still, I knew I needed rest, so I took the chip out of the port in my neck and set it aside before reaching over and turning off the light.

I was asleep in a matter of minutes, and my night was filled with dreams of giant alligators who gave me math problems to solve. If I failed, they would eat me. It was not a pleasant dream.