Mistrunner 3 - Chapter 1 - Three Years Later (Patreon)

Mira was lost after what happened in Nova City. For the longest time, I had no idea how to help her. I tried everything. Eventually, I decided that the best thing I could do for her was to give her the space to grieve. Maybe it was necessary, but walking away was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

Patrick Ward

I leaned back, enjoying the slight sway of the hammock as I felt the warm sun playing over my mostly bare skin. Reaching down, I grabbed a bottle and brought it to my lips. I didn’t open my eyes as I took a sip, then let out a sigh of appreciation. “This is much better than the last batch,” I said. “Though that’s not really a high bar, is it?”

I could practically feel the shake of Patrick’s head as he answered, “That’s kind of harsh. I’m still trying to figure this brewing thing out.”

“Like you were trying to figure out cooking?” I asked, recalling the six-month period where he’d insisted on cooking and eating the meat from mutated wildlife. He’d claimed to have been following some recipe book he’d gotten from an ancient traveling merchant we’d saved from a nest of monstrous mosquitoes, but the results suggested that he’d gone off script. Thankfully, he’d lost that obsession and focused on brewing various alcoholic beverages. The alcohol content didn’t really do anything for me, but the taste of the latest batch was still pleasant enough.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “I was just following Glenda’s recipes. I can’t help it she had a weird preference for insect meat.”

I tilted my head to the side and opened my eyes before pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head. Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Aren’t you the one who saw those ingredients and thought it was a great idea to give it a try?”

“Bugs aren’t that different from seafood, and you love that,” he pointed out.

“Totally different.”

“How? I mean, biologically, there really is a lot of common ground, and –”

“Insects are gross, and seafood is delicious,” I stated, leaving no room for argument as I closed my eyes and replaced my sunglasses. “That’s the difference, Pick.”

Once upon a time, he’d tried to move past that name. But that felt like an eternity in the past; so much had happened since then, and we’d both changed in a thousand different ways. Besides, I was the only one allowed to call him by the nickname, and that was only on occasion. Everyone else knew him as Patrick.

“But think about it,” he said. “The first people who decided to eat, say, a shrimp – they probably looked at that thing and thought the same thing we think about…I don’t know…crickets or something.”

“Some cultures eat crickets all the time,” I said. “Remember that village we found in the African dead zone? They raised herds of giant crickets for food.”

“And you vomited when you realized what you were eating,” he said. “But I’m not debating the viability of crickets as food. They’re actually really nutritious. I talked to one guy who used to work in Manhattan – you know, where they do all sorts of research – and he said that insects, pound for pound, are one of the most nutritious foods you can eat.”

“Still gross.” I leaned back and once again closed my eyes.

“Anyway – my point is that shrimp look just as gross as bugs,” he went on. “Like, maybe more so.”

“Take that back,” I growled theatrically. “Shrimp look and taste delicious. Period.”

“That’s only because you’re used to eating them,” Patrick stated. I heard him sit up from his own hammock, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him leaning forward, an excited expression painted on his face. “But let’s say that you’d never eaten or seen a shrimp before. Then, you find one. What kind of person looks at that and says, ‘I think this is going to become my favorite food.’, huh?”

“A hungry one.”

He sighed, and via Observation, I heard his feet scraping against the ground. “You’re really not going to admit I’m right, are you?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m stubborn like that,” I said, once again opening my eyes and favoring him with a broad smile. “That’s why you love me.”

It had taken me a while to get to the point where I could utter those words, even in jest. But after being with Patrick for almost two years, they felt as comfortable as a cool breeze. And what’s more, the sentiment was true. I did love him, and I was certain that he loved me as well. That surety hadn’t always been there, but with everything we’d been through together, I didn’t think there was anything that could tear us apart.

“Accepting your flaws isn’t the same as endorsing them,” he said with a faux haughty tone. “Besides, I love you for…other reasons.”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, and I was happy to see his eyes roaming over my body. And rightly so – I was worldly enough to know that I looked good, especially wearing nothing but a bikini. A result of my constant training as well as the effect of my inflated Constitutionattribute, I reasoned. Or perhaps it was just good genetics. Either way, he certainly appreciated what he saw.

But the same could be said for me. While Patrick wasn’t a frontline combatant, and he preferred to spend his time either at the helm of the Leviathanor fiddling in his workshop, he’d never slacked on his training. So, his stocky body was extremely well-muscled.

“The way you’re looking at me, I’d think you had something naughty on your mind,” I said with mock innocence.

He pushed himself to his feet, and fixed me with a blue-eyed stare before saying, “Maybe I do. You don’t –”

A familiar sound tickled my ears, and I sat bolt upright. Springing from the hammock with unnatural grace, I summoned my trusty, well-worn assault rifle and whirled around, searching for the sound’s source. Seeing that, Patrick did the same, bringing his black-and-gold Tergan Tactical pistol out of his own storage space.

“What is it?” he said, all flirtation gone from his tone.

“Company,” I said, cocking my head to the side to get a better handle on the sound’s origin. I never really let Observation drop, but I almost never used the ability at full blast. Not only did doing so result in a distractingly huge volume of sensory input, but it was also unnecessary. Usually, the passive enhancement to my senses was enough. However, that didn’t mean I didn’t use it when necessary, so I flared the ability, and once I’d categorized the approaching sound, I said, “Three trucks. Heavy ones.”

“Troop transport?”

I shook my head, saying, “No clue. Not enough information. Did we piss anybody off lately?”

“There was that thing in the desert,” he said.

“That was two thousand miles from here,” I countered. “Felicia wouldn’t track us down out here. And even if she wanted to, nobody knows where we are.”

Patrick was curiously silent at that, and I asked, “Right?”

“Uh…I might’ve gotten drunk a few weeks ago and let some things slip,” he said in a small voice. Then he shook his head, “But those were just locals. They wouldn’t have –”

I shook my head as the convoy drew closer. It was still a couple of miles out, but I knew that wouldn’t last, given their rate of approach. “Jesus, Patrick,” I mumbled. “I’ve told you to watch what you say…”

“Nobody’s after us, Mira,” he said. “We haven’t done anything to offend anyone around here. There was no reason to hide.”

I just shook my head again and faced in the appropriate direction. Then, I cut my eyes at the Leviathan itself. The ship was almost two-hundred feet long and half as wide, and she was built like the flying tank she was. She wasn’t the fastest thing in the world, but what she lacked in speed, she made up for in durability, versatility, and comfort. Originally, the fuselage was matte black with gold trim, but in the three years since Patrick had bought her, we’d changed the color scheme a few times. Now, it sported a light blue paint job with bright red highlights.

“Do we run? You want me in the cockpit?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “But don’t start anything up. Just be ready to bring the thunder if whoever it is steps out of line.”

“Ten-four,” he said, racing toward the open bay in the back. In seconds, the ramp had retracted, and the door had begun to close. Patrick was far more valuable at the helm than he’d ever be with his pistol.

I considered hurrying into something more appropriate for meeting strangers, but I decided against it. The convoy was getting closer by the second, and the last thing I wanted was to be caught with only one leg in my infiltration suit. Besides, I felt confident in my abilities – especially backed up by Patrick and the Leviathan. If they had issues with seeing me in a swimsuit, then that was their issue.

Of course, I could tell myself that a thousand times over, but there was still a big part of me that was that shy, little girl who’d had to use Mimic to hide her blushes when she first visited Bourbon Street. I suspected that I’d never quite move past that old version of me, and I had to admit that I was kind of happy about that.

However, just because I wasn’t going to get dressed didn’t mean I wouldn’t prepare. To that end, I summoned my gun belt – and the hand cannon holstered to it – from one of the storage slots in my arsenal implant. With practiced ease, I fastened it around my waist, then moved on to my nano-bladed sword, which I strapped to my back. In only a few seconds, I was fully armed and as ready for battle as I was going to get.

Still flaring Observation, I tracked the convoy as, over the next thirty seconds, they raced across the terrain as they closed in on our position. With the ocean at my back and sand at my feet, I waited, but not for long. Soon after I’d armed myself, the first truck came into view. Then the second. And finally, a third.

The black trucks themselves were typical troop transports, with huge, knobby tires and a manned cannon jutting from the roof. But I couldn’t make out any identifying characteristic or markings, which told me at least part of the story.

Unaffiliated or under the radar. Either way, that would make them more dangerous. I relayed the information to Patrick, who said, “Give me the word, and I’ll take out the lead truck.”

“Wait.”

“I don’t like this, Mira,” his voice came over my interface.

“I don’t either. These people definitely aren’t local,” I said.

And that much was obvious. The closest settlement was a town with a population numbering in four digits, and other than that, there was nothing of note for four-hundred miles. Even then, as far as I knew, that city – which was called Danton – was ill equipped to attack us. More than that, they wouldn’t have much reason to. The fact that none of our enemies had a presence in the region was one of the reasons we’d chosen the beach in the first place.

Finally, as the trucks came within my range, I hefted my R-14 and took aim. Outside of one purchase, I hadn’t updated my arsenal in a while, but that didn’t mean the assault rifle was any less powerful. In my hands, it was more than enough to deal with most threats. And for the ones for which it was insufficient, I had heavier weapons.

The truck pulled to a stop a hundred yards away, and for a long few moments, it felt like we were in a stand-off. Then, a voice, magnified by some sort of public address system, crackled to life. “We don’t want any trouble,” said a man with a curious accent I couldn’t place. The presence of an accent meant that he was speaking English instead of using the language favored by the locals.

“Yeah. Sure,” said Patrick, using the Leviathan’s own speaker system. “We’ve heard that one before. Pardon me if I don’t shut down my cannons.”

Of course, I knew there was only one cannon on the ship, but our visitors couldn’t know as much. The more dangerous they thought we were, the better off we would be.

“How do we do this?” the newcomer asked over his intercom.

Patrick and I had protocols for this kind of thing, and he quickly instructed them as to our terms. One person could approach, but the rest would remain with their convoy. One wrong move, and Patrick would engage the Leviathan’s weapon systems and blow them away. If they didn’t like our terms, then they could turn around and go back where they’d originated.

Given that they’d tracked us down in the middle of nowhere, I suspected they wouldn’t take that final option. They wanted something from us, and they wouldn’t leave until they tried to get it.

Over the next minute, a figure stepped out of the lead truck and dropped the three feet onto the ground. Then, he moved toward me, climbing a sand dune past a few tufts of spiky grass, then awkwardly descending the slope until he hit the beach. After that, his way was clear, and he adopted an exaggerated swagger.

“This guy,” I muttered.

“What?” asked Patrick through my interface.

“He looks…I don’t know…I don’t like him,” I said.

“Don’t shoot him yet,” Patrick chided.

“But he’s wearing, like, ten gold chains,” I said. “And do you see the size of that belt buckle? And his pants are so tight I can see his –”

Patrick coughed. “Yeah. Go ahead and shoot him,” he said.

Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes at his statement. By that point, the newcomer had closed to within fifteen yards, and his eyes never left me. Or, more accurately, my scantily clad body. The bikini wasn’t exactly immodest, but it still didn’t cover much. Under his ogling gaze, I wanted to shoot him even more.

Or blow him up. A quick toss of a grenade, and he’d be torn into a hundred little pieces. But then again, if I did that, we’d have to pick up and move. And I liked that beach, not least because there were no major predators around, which allowed us to relax. Of course, we’d had to put out a Mist net as a barrier to keep the bigger sea creatures from approaching, but that wasn’t that big of a deal.

As I’d already noted, the man was dressed absolutely ridiculously in an obnoxiously bright and sleeveless red shirt, revealing arms covered in snaking tattoos. Around his neck were a half-dozen gold chains, each studded with glittering jewels. His lower half was clad in pants tight enough that pretty much everything he had to offer was on display. Finally, a pair of leather boots, the toes capped with shiny steel, completed the look.

“How do you think he gets his hair to stay like that?” asked Patrick over my interface. “Like, it looks like actual plastic. Maybe it’s a cybernetic implant or something.”

I snorted a poorly timed giggle, and I could practically see Patrick’s grin in my mind’s eye. The visitor clearly didn’t like the idea that I might’ve been laughing at him, and as he approached, I could see his hands twitching to draw the pistol holstered on his hip. It was a gaudy, nickel plated thing with a pearl handle.

As he drew closer, Patrick muttered, “And he has a soul patch. Bold choice on the facial hair front. Have to respect the commitment.”

“Shut up,” I grunted, schooling my face to placidity. As ridiculous as the man looked, he’d obviously hunted us down with a purpose in mind. Still, it was difficult to take him seriously, given his clown-ish appearance.

“Something funny?” the man asked when he got close enough. He was ten feet away, but even then, I didn’t need Observation to get a good whiff of his overpowering cologne.

“No, no – not at all,” I said.

“I need to speak to your captain,” he said.

“You can speak to me,” I stated.

“Offer isn’t for you, sweetie,” he said. The last word was originally in another language, but my Universal Language ability had translated it. I didn’t like his tone, though.

“And if I tell you I’m the captain?” I asked.

“Then I might have two offers for you,” was his immediate reply. “Now run along and get your boss. It’s time for the men to talk.”

I shot him in the leg.

Just a graze, but it sent him tumbling to the ground with a howl. Immediately, the cannons on top of the trucks swiveled in my direction, and the Leviathan, under Patrick’s control, responded in kind.

I didn’t pay attention to any of them. Instead, I stepped forward and kicked the man in the face, sending him sprawling onto his back. Then, I aimed my R-14 at him and said, “Now, this practice ammunition isn’t as powerful as the good stuff, but judging by the fact that it still punched a hole in you tells me you really, really don’t want to pick a fight with me. So, I’m going to ask you one time: what do you want? If you answer right, I might treat your wound. If not…well, let’s not go down that road, okay?”

“A little heavy handed, Mira,” Patrick said via our Secure Connection.

“I don’t know. It felt just about right to me,” I responded.

The man groaned, “W-what…”

“Wasn’t talking to you,” I stated. “Now, what do you want? Make it good.”

“I…we…we wanted to hire your ship,” he said. “For a job, okay? We have a job, and we’re willing to make it worth your while. Please…please don’t kill me…”

Another voice came over the truck’s public address system, saying, “Please excuse my idiot brother. He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

I shouted, “Then you shouldn’t send him to represent you!” Then, I added, “Come on out. We’re not negotiating with Captain Tightpants here.”

The intercom crackled, but no voice came out. For a moment, I thought I was going to have to start shooting, but then the door of the middle truck opened, and another man stepped out. He bore some resemblance to the writhing man on the ground, but his style was very different. For one, he didn’t wear a single piece of jewelry, and his clothing was almost drab by comparison. Still, he held himself with a similar swagger, though his seemed far more genuine.

As he approached, Patrick said, “Careful. He looks dangerous.”

“So are we,” I said, mostly under my breath.