Mistrunner - Chapter 45 - Pickle and the Jitterbug (Patreon)

When I stumbled upon my first Rift, I had to carve my way through two dozen aliens in order to infiltrate the breach. What I found inside was much, much worse. Not because of the Rift itself. But because of the methods used to mine it.

Jeremiah Braddock III

The next morning, I woke up still groggy from my fitful night. However, it was only a few moments before that listlessness was replaced by excitement. Finally, at long last, I was on the verge of completing my training. I’d been in Mobile for the better part of two years, and in that time, I’d made incredibly progress. However, until my uncle told me I was ready, I couldn’t allow pride or a sense of accomplishment to creep into my mind.

I threw off my blankets and, after taking care of my business in the bathroom, dressed myself in my familiar and well-worn fatigues, boots, and a black cap to contain my hair. Once that was finished, I checked my Arsenal Implant, making certain that I had plenty of ammunition. Once I was satisfied, I left my room and went downstairs. Predictably, my uncle was there, though he had an unfamiliar pair of people sitting at the table with him.

The first was a slight man with narrow shoulders and a head that looked too big for his body. He wore thick-rimmed glasses and a wide-brimmed hat, but was otherwise dressed similarly to all the town’s other residents. His companion was short – maybe only an inch or two taller than me – and stocky, with the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt rolled up to reveal meaty forearms. He had a pair of red-tinted goggles holding back his sandy blonde hair. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the newcomers turned to look at me, and I was a little surprised to see that the stocky figure belonged to a boy who looked a year or two younger than me. He still had pudgy cheeks, for God’s sake.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the fact that both of them were staring at me, I quickly crossed the common room and sat down next to my uncle. Taking the initiative, I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave, saying, “I’m Mira.”

“Remy,” said the older man. Up close, I realized that he must’ve been six-and-a-half feet tall, and that might have been a conservative estimate. He nodded to the thick-bodied young man, adding, “This is Pickle.”

“That’s not my name,” the young man complained, his pudgy cheeks reddening. I wasn’t sure if embarrassment or anger were the cause. His voice suggested that he was even younger than I’d thought. “It’s Pick. Not Pickle. Just Pick.”

“And Pick ain’t a proper name, boy,” Remy said, taking off his hat and running his hand through his glistening, black hair. He had a curious accent, but it was one I couldn’t quite place.

“Neither is Pickle!” Pick half-shouted, exasperation clear in his tone. Obviously, it wasn’t a new debate. He glanced at me, then back at Remy, before saying, “Please, Remy…”

The older man rolled his eyes, saying, “Fine. Pick it is, then. Still think it’s a stupid ass name. Besides, everybody likes pickles. Don’t nobody like picks.”

I was just about to ask what they were doing in Mobile when Jeremiah spoke up, saying, “Remy and Pick are going to take us up to the Dead Zone.”

Remy shoveled some eggs into his mouth, asking, “You ever been in a real ship before, girl? Ain’t like those silly hover cars you got back in the big city, neither. This is real flyin’.”

I swallowed hard. I was aware of the existence of ships that flew between the major cities. They were huge, ungainly things that carried hundreds of tons’ worth of goods at a time. But in addition to those, there were also rumored to be personal crafts that moved much more quickly. I had never seen one, and I didn’t know anybody that had, so I’d always questioned their existence – especially because, according to my teachers back in school, personal travel between cities was almost nonexistent and limited solely to the ultra-rich.

Clearly, that had been just as misleading as anything else I’d learned in school, making me wonder if anything they’d taught us had been true. Probably not. Miseducated people were much easier to control, after all.

“When?” I asked.

“Noon-ish,” said Jeremiah. “Before then, I’m going to trust you to gather the materials you need.” Suddenly, a message popped up on my HUD, telling me that my uncle had deposited a few thousand credits into my account. “There. That should cover whatever you need.”

“Can the boy go?” asked Remy. “He ain’t never seen a city this big. It’ll do him good.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “If it’s okay with Mirabelle, it’s okay with me,” he said. Just then, Jo’s mother appeared with a couple of plates, one of which she set down in front of me. It turned out that the morning’s breakfast consisted of a few tortillas stuffed with potatoes, bacon, eggs, and cheese. I devoured mine in record time. Still, by the time I’d finished, Jeremiah and Remy had already left the inn, presumably to take care of something associated with my departure. Once I’d swallowed the last bite, I looked up to see Pick staring at me with wide eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“You…um…you really enjoy your food, huh?” he asked.

“That’s what it’s for,” I said. “I spent most of my life in Nova City, so…you know…”

He narrowed his eyes. “What? Is there not enough food there or something?” he asked.

“What? No. There’s plenty,” I said. “Well, for most people. Some go hungry, I guess, but that’s mostly because they don’t want to deal with the strings attached to the food programs.”

“Then why –”

“Because it’s terrible,” I said. “Like, imagine tasteless gruel, okay? Then add some artificial flavoring before turning it into a brick. That’s what passes for food in the city. Here, everything’s fresh. That makes a difference. I mean, you have had cheese, right? Like, real cheese. Not that dehydrated chalk they call cheese back in the city.”

“Yes. I have had cheese,” he said. “But…uh…I’ve got to stay away from it.”

“Why?”

“Oh…”

His pale cheeks went red again. After a second, he mumbled something about “digestive issues”. I only caught those two words because of Observation. But given what he’d said, I didn’t want to press the issue. So, I asked, “So, what do you do for Mr. Remy?”

“It’s just ‘Remy.’ He doesn’t like being called mister,” Pick said. “So…yeah, call him that. Continuously. Really get under his skin if you can.”

I gave a polite chuckle, then said, “So? What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a mechanic,” he said. “Got a [Pilot] skill, too. I’ve still got a skill slot open, which is why we’re here. Remy says that if we do this job for the Wraith, then he’ll get me the [Cybernetic Engineer]skill shard. According to him, it’s supposed to be rare.”

I let my senses wash over him, and the feeling I got from him was that he was somewhere between Tier-2 and Tier-3, which supported his story. I could also tell by the way he held himself that he’d done at least some training of his physical characteristics, which boded well for him.

“So, you’re, like, Remy’s apprentice?” I asked.

“He’s my stepdad,” Pick said. “Or…I guess since mom died, he’s…I don’t even know anymore.”

My chest tightened, and I mumbled, “Sorry. Didn’t know.”

He shrugged, and even though I could tell he was still bothered, he said, “No worries. She’s been gone for a couple of years now.” Then, obviously wanting to change the subject, he said, “So, what kind of supplies do you need to get? Like, bullets and stuff? Maybe an axe or something?”

He chuckled. “Nothing like that,” I stated. “I need to restock my medical kit, then get some rations. Other than that, I’m set.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I said, grinning at him. “You ever been to the Dead Zone before?”

“No. Remy never let me,” Pick answered. “Always said it was too dangerous. But we don’t actually go all the way to the Dead Zone. We only go to the edge, and even then, we’ve got to look out for flyers. You know, giant birds and such. Remy says he saw an eagle with a hundred-foot wingspan once, but I think he was just trying to scare me.”

“That’s…uh…yeah. That’s pretty scary,” I responded.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen some flyers that were close to that, but only from a distance,” he said. “Back home, they’re more common than down here.”

“Where is home?” I asked.

“Up north,” he said, gesturing in the appropriate direction. “Maybe a six-hour flight, but part of that is because we have to go around the Dead Zone. Memphis is pretty close, but I’ve never been there. Remy says I’m not ready, whatever that means.”

“If it’s anything like Nova, you’re not missing anything,” I said. However, there was a big part of me that missed the city, if only because it was familiar. And because, despite its issues, it always felt like anything was possible there.

After that, the conversation petered out, and we left the inn behind. My first stop was Kimiko’s. When I got there, I was greeted by her granddaughter, Ellie. Predictably, the adorable little girl had a sack of mangos on her back. Thankfully, her toy sword and her bucket helmet had been discarded. Even more thankfully, she knew precisely where to find the supplies I needed, and I bought them without any issue, replenishing my medical kit.

Just before we were about to leave, Kimiko came into the lobby. When she saw us, she said, “Ah, just in time. It just arrived.”

“What did?” I asked, confused.

“The auto-mender your uncle ordered,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I presumed that was why you are here.”

“Uh…”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” the wrinkled, old woman asked. When I shook my head, she sighed. “Very well. It falls upon me to once again become your teacher. Do you know what this is?”

As she asked the question, she produced a foot-long oval capsule made of blended plastic and steel – an alloy known as plastisteel. One side was smooth and rounded, while the other terminated in a rubberized, square gasket. I could just make out cracks in the surface beneath.

“Uh…I’m guessing the auto-mender you just mentioned?”

“Whoa,” said Pick. “Those things are worth a fortune. Remy and me, we were hired by some guys up in St. Louis to –”

“Tales of your exploits will have to wait, young man,” Kimiko said. “But he is indeed correct. This auto-mender is worth more than your entire arsenal combined.  And do you know why?”

I shook my head.

“Because it is a Mist-powered life-saving measure,” she stated. “If you are injured – and I mean truly on death’s bed – you can place this upon the injury, depress this button on the side, and it will inject a swarm of Mist into the wound, mending it back into place. Once it does, they will help keep everything where it is supposed to be until your natural healing takes over. But I warn you, Mirabelle – do not use it unless you have no other choice, because you will not get another anytime soon.”

I nodded and gingerly took the offered contraption, sending it straight into my Arsenal Implant. I wasn’t sure if I would need such a device, but it was nice to have something so powerful in my possession. I would have to guard against panicking and using it unnecessarily. My Regeneration and Triage abilities were already powerful, so it would have to be a truly ghastly injury to require the intervention of the auto-mender.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Do not thank me,” she said. “Thank your uncle. He paid very well for it. Now, begone. You’re holding up the line.”

I glanced behind me, but no one was there. However, rather than ask what line she was talking about, I grabbed Pick by the arm and dragged him out of Kimiko’s shop.

Next, I found my way to a general store, where I bought a hundred days’ worth of rations and a dozen bottles of water. If it came down to it, the water wouldn’t last for long, but I hoped that they would help see me through any real crisis.

With that done, I checked and re-checked my Arsenal Implant to make certain that I had everything I needed, then went back to the Dewdrop Inn. As we walked, Pick gaped at the city’s sights, asking me various questions about the area. I’d been there long enough that I could answer most of them without issue, but some were left unanswered due to my ignorance. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

“Okay, my turn to ask you a question,” I said as we closed in on the inn. “What kind of a name is Pick, anyway? Is it short for something?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him blush. “It started out as Patrick,” he said. “But when I was little, I couldn’t say it right, so I shortened it to Pick. My mom thought it was cute, so it just kind of stuck. Then she started calling my Pickle. Which I hated, but…you know…”

“That’s sweet,” I said. My mother, by contrast, hadn’t given me any cute nicknames. In fact, she hadn’t left me with anything but a surly uncle and a deadbeat dad that ended up actually dead a couple of years later.

Pick shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “Remy hates it, though. I don’t know why, but he teases me about it all the time. Maybe he’s just…I don’t know…trying to bond with me or something. But I can’t really complain. He’s taught me everything I know, and he’s given me a chance to succeed. I just…”

“You just wonder why he’s got to be an asshole about it, right?” I asked.

“Something like that,” he said.

“My uncle’s the same way,” I stated. “He’s a moody jerk, and nothing I ever do is good enough for him. But he’s done so much for me. And I know he loves me. So…I’ve got mixed feelings, I guess. It’s probably the same with Remy, right?”

“Yeah. Mixed feelings sounds about right,” he said as we reached the front door.

When we went inside, we had to wait a few minutes before Remy and Jeremiah returned, and in that time, Jo found me. After pouting a bit about my impending departure, she took a definite interest in Pick, which made me reevaluate the young man. Sure, he was a bit younger than me, but I couldn’t deny that he had a solid, trustworthy look about him that I found appealing. And though he was short, he had plenty of muscle on his frame. It didn’t surprise me, then, that Jo showed interest in him. What did surprise me was the fact that a small smile found my face when he refused to get caught up in her orbit. Of course, that frustrated her, and she ended up storming off in an annoyed huff.

Before Pick and I had a chance to resume our conversation, my uncle and his stepfather returned, announcing that it was time to leave. Obediently, we followed them outside, where one of the amigos waited with a truck. My uncle and Remy got into the cab, while Pick and I hopped into the back.

And then we were off, leaving the town via the northernmost gate.  The drive didn’t last long, and before I knew it, we reached a clearing, in the middle of which was a boxy vehicle. I asked, “Is…is that it?”

“She’s not much, but she’s got it where it counts,” Pike said, looking at that ship the way Jo had looked at him only an hour or so before. “Fastest thing around, and not by a little bit, either. I installed the boosters myself.”

“And…it flies, right?” I asked skeptically. With its boxy frame, the thing looked anything but airworthy. It didn’t even have wings! Instead, it was shaped like an oversized drone, and not the expensive kind.

“Of course she flies!” he exclaimed. “The Jitterbug is –”

“Wait, it’s called the Jitterbug?”

“Uh…yeah. Remy named her.”

The truck slowed to a stop before I could tease him about it, but my mind was racing with all the possibilities. As we crossed the meadow, I chose the best one, saying, “Pickle and the Jitterbug sounds like a bad band name.”

“I told you my name isn’t –”

“I’m just teasing,” I said with a long-suffering sigh. “You don’t have many friends, do you? Relax. It’s just a joke. That’s what friends do.”

I didn’t think I was qualified to give anyone a lecture on friendship, but there I was. He seemed even less experienced in that arena than I was.

“Fine. Just don’t call me that,” he said before hurrying ahead of me and opening the Jitterbug’s side hatch. It opened with a metallic clank, and I was a little alarmed to see a hunk of rust fall off.

“It’s fine,” I muttered to myself, wondering if I could survive a fall from a thousand feet. Probably, I thought. But it wouldn’t be pleasant. I muttered, “Story of my life.”

Jeremiah and Remy passed me by, both looking like they had been through the drill before, which was at least a little comforting. Finally, I worked up the nerve to hop through the hatch, and when I did, I saw a fairly empty cargo hold. The whole ship was maybe forty feet long, and most of that was taken up by the hold.

“Here,” said Pick, gesturing to an uncomfortable-looking seat. “Just strap in over there and hold on. It can get kind of bumpy back here.”

With that, he went into the very back, where he started fiddling with some knobs and dials. I had no idea what he was doing, so I just followed his directions and sat in the seat. Reaching up, I found some sturdy straps connected to a metal buckle, which I fastened into place, creating a harness that would hopefully help with the “bumpy” ride Pick had promised.

After a couple of minutes, I heard the engines come to life with a high-pitched whine. When they did, Pick returned and dragged a panel down, creating another seat right next to mine. Once he’d made sure that I was securely strapped in, he sat down and buckled his own harness into place.

“We good back there?” called Remy from the front, where he and Jeremiah sat. Pick gave him a thumbs up, and Remy responded, saying, “Well, here we go then. Hang on, kids!”

The sound of the engines rose, and, suddenly, I felt the whole ship lift off the ground. Then, a moment later, we were moving forward. I couldn’t see much out of the windows in the front of the ship, but it was enough to tell me that we were going pretty damned fast. Or maybe that was just the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Either way, I suspected that we would soon reach our destination.

After that, my mission would begin. And with it, maybe the rest of my life.