“Here,” Raul said before passing her a greasy packet full of hash browns. “I’ve got your breakfast sandwich in this bag somewhere too.”
“Thanks,” Sarah replied while he stuck a cream cheese bagel between his teeth. “Did you have any trouble breaking a fifty?”
“Nah. I’m pretty sure the clerk wouldn’t have cared if I'd tried to pay them with Monopoly money. Good old Grant was easy.”
Sarah grunted and stuffed the change he handed over into the front left pocket of her jeans. A few of the coins dug into her skin until they slipped into place beneath the denim. The push and pull of the metal disks made her think of the barista standing behind the counter. Despite being a foot taller than his counterpart in the subway, Sarah could have mistaken him for the same exhausted employee that Pallsburg had pointed out two weeks ago. It was the expression on his face, she decided. The way his eyes had darkened to a matte finish told her that this was a man who knew he was just another cog in the machine.
“...We should probably talk about what our plans are,” Sarah murmured, unsettled by the moment of empathy. “You know - things like where we’re going and what we want.”
Raul licked a dollop of spread from the top of his upper lip. “Do we have to? I thought it was pretty well implied.”
Sarah shoved more potato into her mouth, so she didn’t have to comment. The flaky wedge slowly broke apart into fragments of undercooked spud. “I’d prefer it if we were explicit,” she admitted, her gaze fixed upon the technicolor clouds. “This isn’t the sort of thing that I can bear to have blow up in my face.”
A lewd grin formed around Raul’s bagel. He had to fight to swallow his food. “Then how about I beat it to the punch? Seriously, give me ten minutes, and I’ll glaze you like a well-made cake.“
Sarah ignored the flash of lust emanating from Pallsburg’s groin. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“So?” the warspawn riposted. “It’s still an answer to your question.”
It was. One that Sarah felt was echoed by the woman she’d come to possess. ‘And you?’ Sarah subvocalized, her attention shifting towards her host. ‘Are you also just in it for the pussy?’
Pallsburg swiped control of their tongue with surprisingly casual grace. ‘Would you hate me if I said yes? Because it’s playing a role in my decision. Amanda… mmm… I feel bad for leaving her in Concord, but we discussed the ways that this could shake out, and splitting up was always in the cards. Oh, not romantically,’ she corrected herself, aware of how that statement could sound. ‘But physically? Getting pulled apart by chance? Neither of us were blind to the possibility.’
Sarah chewed on her food in silence. It was difficult to square such a decision with the affection her ex had lavished upon the athletic young woman. ‘And Amanda was okay with that?’
Pallsburg’s body tried to blush. ‘I may have pushed her into it. She has a habit of putting herself out there.’
‘You too apparently.’ Her host didn’t know what to say in response, so Sarah powered through the awkward atmosphere. ‘I’m going to be honest: whatever’s going on between the two of you is really none of my business. All I need to know is whether you’ll help me heal a few wounded humans when the time inevitably comes. What you choose to do afterwards is entirely up to you.’
A small sigh left their chest in a rush. ‘Don’t worry,’ Pallsburg reassured her. ‘I’ll help. It’s the right thing to do. Plus, I feel like I owe you one since I know you’re not super comfortable riding around in my head. It’s just… do you know where you’re going to first?’
Sarah fiddled with the wrapper surrounding her bacon, egg and cheese. She made sure not to glance at Raul while she peeled away the wax paper. ‘Yeah, the hospital. I’d prefer to check in on my grandmother, but it’s not a very practical option. Too many trust issues,’ she explained, unwilling to reveal the ward. ‘She’s not the sort of woman who’d be willing to accept charity from a stranger.’
‘That’s a shame,' Pallsburg whispered consolingly.
It truly was. Especially, since Amelia was such a crucial part of what made being Sarah Fields worthwhile. Without her, what would she even have? A name on her driver’s license and a couple of extra zeros in the bank? Sarah scoffed. The memory of her comments at the reservation briefly flickered through her mind. When it'd passed, the parasite felt her stomach roll and threaten to turn grease into vomit. She choked back the rising tide with a mixture of practice and skill. She still threw the rest of her sandwich away and climbed into the stuffy cab.
“You done?” Raul asked her after polishing off the last of his bagel.
Sarah nodded her head. “Yeah, let’s get this show on the road. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to convince the security team to let us through, but I imagine it'll be a pain in the ass.”
Ahead of them, just past the bright blue sign advertising the services at the rest stop, there were over a dozen cars strung out in a motionless line. At the front of the pack, two soldiers wearing woodland-print fatigues were interviewing each driver one by one. Behind them were four more grunts who were crouched around a pile of sandbags and a large vat of concrete. It looked like they’d been assembling a pillbox until one of them had unloaded a grenade launcher. Now, they were ogling the gun, instead of the congealing stone.
The queue inched forwards as Sarah pulled out onto I-93. Meanwhile, a handful of warnings along the shoulder informed her that the highway would be closed by the end of the week. ‘Appropriated for military use,’ was the phrase they threw around. If the placards were correct, all civilian traffic was being diverted onto a collection of sideroads that branched out from the main artery. Of course, no one wanted to use said detours since they were still torn up from the Light; however, the option was being pulled from the table, circa October 10th. Until then, the good asphalt remained available while the engineers conducted repairs.
“Not that the word means much, given all of the fucking ‘Earth’ mana.” The gripe slipped from her mouth after Sarah hit her third pothole in a row. It was honestly an impressive feat. By any reasonable metric, she should have run afoul of several more since they were practically stacked along the flaking centerline. The presence of the lingering motes granted her a sixth sense for the ground beneath her tires, though. With a bit of careful planning, she was able to avoid the deepest offenders.
Her upset stomach thanked her for the consideration. Raul did too before an unexpected transmission pulled their attention away from the road.
A second message raced in on the notification’s heels.
It was like a floodgate had officially opened because the updates didn’t stop; if anything, they got worse with multiple broadcasts shouting over one another as units and their orders were flagged.
An alert from the Sea presaged a new task to remove the aforementioned mortars. Sarah equated it to the sound of a phone going off within a crowded room. That is to say, she heard the ringtone, but there was a difference between detecting the jingle and letting the noise perchlorate into actual information. Most of the transmissions resided within the same general category. They were… operational static for want of a better phrase. She listened, and logged bits here and there; however, none of them really resonated unless she made an effort to follow the broadcast.
The cacophony was still a headache and a half. “Fucking hell,” Raul cursed, his fingers buried in the pinna of his ears. “So much for peace and quiet. You’d think they’d give us a way to mute these things or at least tune them to specific frequencies.”
Sarah thumbed through a crimson spackled window and then blew up an entry in the [Upgrades] tab. “They did,” she told him dryly before sharing the transparent screen. “Twelve points. It’s called an [Internal Communications Array]. The farcasters use something similar to boost their signal up onto shore.”
Raul huffed and took the time to check for himself. “Huh, you’re right. Talk about a freaking cash grab. I suppose this is what we get, though, for lowest bidder contracting.”
The two parasites laughed. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so true. Sadly, everyone knew that their species had been designed on the cheap in order to maximize returns from the Sea. There was even a spreadsheet breaking down the pros and cons of each physiognomic feature. Sarah had never seen the data for herself; however, Harlan hadn’t been shy about confirming the chart’s existence. It made her wonder where the relay fit on the noble's initial write-up.
Raul was more focused on the disc jockeys themselves. “Hey, real talk since we’ve got the time? The farcasters in the Intelligence Section: would you consider that to be the best job or the worst?”
Sarah glanced over as the queue inched forward. “In what sense? Ease of assignment? Personal safety? Chance for advancement..?”
Raul started nodding towards the middle of the list. “The second one,” he confirmed with a final bob of his head. “On the one hand, they kit you out, and you get to keep your finger on the pulse of the invasion. On the other, you’re always underfoot and constantly surrounded by the brass. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I want to figure out how much sympathy I should have for them before I get pissed off that they’re keeping me awake.”
Sarah frowned. Neither of the points being presented really struck her as terribly ideal. The latter was worse, though. If she had to keep Harlan company for years on end, she’d be tempted to invoke the Unspeakable One. In that case…
“I think I'd have to go with door number two,” she replied, her wrists crossed above the wheel’s rim. “A sedentary post would really get to me unless the company was particularly good. The nobles obviously don’t make the cut. I doubt the other farcasters do either, considering how often they’re on call.”
The lanky farmhand chuckled into his fist. “Eh, they can’t be that busy. Between all of the implants, it must be like having the internet pumped directly into your brain. No way they don’t have a side channel solely to bitch about work.”
Sarah grimaced. “I didn’t think my opinion could drop much lower, but that might actually do it. Seriously, can you imagine going through basic while everyone has access to twitter? That’d truly be hell on Earth.” ...Or maybe hell on Deravan? Either way, she didn’t have to dwell on the subject for long because the car in front of her was rapidly making room between the only two attentive soldiers.
The corporal on the left waved her forward with a convivial gesture. Sarah said a brief prayer and then coasted into the spray-painted box.
“Morning,” she greeted him after rolling down her window. “How’s this work?”
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A small penlight illuminated the back seat. “Ah, you know how it is. Just gotta make sure you aren't carrying a trunkful of dynamite while the road crews are active. With that being said, you mind popping the top for me?”
Sarah did as requested. The guy's battle buddy circled around back while Mr. Congeniality stayed near the front. Neither of them seemed like they expected to find anything untoward. Neither of them did, even if she got a few raised eyebrows for Raul’s dusty firearm.
“License and registration?” the corporal drawled.
Sarah handed over both after a bit of subtle prompting from Pallsburg.
He compared the card to the folded piece of paper. “You’re not the owner of this vehicle.”
“It’s my girlfriend’s,” Sarah explained. “I’m just borrowing it because mine got wrecked by some sort of hell-crazed deer.”
The E-5 grunted. It said something about his month that he didn’t even question her excuse. “And the gun?”
Raul glanced behind him at the disassembled firearm being laid out on top of the trunk. “That’s mine. I brought it along in case we needed protection from said hell-crazed deer. Why? You need me to dig out the paperwork or something?”
The corporal waited for his co-worker to give him a silent thumbs up. He snorted. “No, it complies with the new guidelines established by the Governor’s office. Just make sure you keep it locked up while you’re within three hundred feet of the checkpoint. Other than that, you’re clear to proceed. Be advised that any attempt to deviate from the right lane will be grounds for further detainment. Do you understand these instructions?”
Sarah nodded her head. A dull thump reverberated through the vehicle as the woman returned the weapon to the compartment. At no point was there a moment where the grenade launcher was tipped in their direction. Sarah still felt her palms sweat until they were a couple miles down the road.
“...So, farcaster’s really in last place for you? Your wish list literally goes: spy, maid, then DJ?”
It took a second for Raul’s comment to penetrate Sarah's pall of dread. Once it had, she realized he’d resumed their previous conversation without missing a single beat. The parasite blinked; her mouth opened by itself while her brain operated on auto-pilot. “Is that what your cohort called the Custodians? Mine always referred to them as the ‘janitorial detail’ whenever someone got selected.”
Raul shrugged. “You can use whatever euphemism you want; it’s not going to change the fact that you’re cleaning up some chonker’s backside.”
Sarah would have been pleased if she could claim that was a crass metaphor. She knew it very much wasn’t. That was literally what the nobles had you doing once they'd plucked you out of the pool. After all, why pay merit for a dedicated hygiene upgrade when you could always grab an infiltrator and order them to eat the algae off your ass? You didn’t even have to worry about your servants betraying you: none of her peers had the hardware to bite through scales that thick.
A splash of bile rose towards her tonsils at the thought. Sarah pulled into a nearby Citgo and threw up onto their manicured lawn. The tiny, verdant stalks collapsed beneath the weight of her masticated slurry. In between the convulsive spasms, she spied a pair of metal stakes leading up to a hand-painted sign. ‘Only two gallons of gas per customer!’ read the text. A little note at the bottom said, ‘Sorry for the inconvenience.’
Sarah spit at the sentiment as well as to remove the lingering taste from her tongue. Then, after she yanked the door closed and ignored Raul’s amused chortle, she circled around the convenience store and the vehicles drawing fuel from the pumps. The hospital was about five miles away. Provided she could get her act together, they should arrive by eight.
Reality was not so accommodating. Somehow, despite the rationing that had been put into effect, traffic was bumper to bumper the second they crossed Bunker Hill Bridge. It appeared to be due to a parade of all things. Evidently, a bunch of people had turned out to listen to some yahoo speak.
“Fucking jackoffs,” Sarah cursed, uncertain whether she was referring to the organizers or the public at large. “All of these assholes need to learn to stay in their lane.”
The truck beside her continued to budge over, lest it be forced to stop like the van ahead of it. Sarah pressed her foot against the accelerator and spitefully closed the gap. The intruding vehicle let out a belligerent honk. Its only response was Sarah’s raised middle finger as she quickly passed on the left.
Raul tried to restrain his mirth. It wasn’t easy when he was so clearly besotted by the sudden change in scenery. “I take it the city isn’t normally like this?”
For once, Sarah was too distracted to lie to the warspawn’s face. “It’s… not outside of the average. Of course, it could be a lot better too!” She screamed the last at the owner of a Volvo, who was in the process of pulling out. For some reason, the man was under the impression that he could drift across all four lanes like a cunt. Several people laid on their horn in order to correct his erroneous assumption. Sarah was one of them until she saw their exit coming up on the right.
She slid the C-max into place with a sigh. At least, now they’d be out of the underground. Sarah hated seeing nothing but concrete and oceans of black tar. Every time they’d passed a broken lightbulb, she’d been reminded of her flight into Boston Harbor and the days she’d spent buried in silt.
A phantom ache raced up her missing tendrils at the memory. Sarah braced herself against the reflexive flinch and then stared at the massive complex waiting for them just up the block. The only thought to run through her brain was that the architect must’ve gotten paid by the foot. There was no other explanation for the labyrinthian network of sky-bridges, out-buildings and walkways. Not when a man could get lost traveling from his physical to the nearest pharmacy.
“Fuck,” Sarah muttered, a little intimidated by the size of their task. “I forgot how big this place is. Maybe it’s a good thing we showed up early because this might take a couple hours.”
“You serious?” Raul asked, his eyes squinting against the harsh glare. “It doesn’t seem that…”
He trailed off. As they moved into the shade of a metal causeway, what had once looked like advertisements for separate businesses resolved into dedications affixed to each edifice. The infiltrator peered up and down the jampacked road. Raul’s mouth dropped open when he realized they all had the same style of font. “Wait a second, just how far does this hospital stretch?”
Sarah parked next to a mailbox with a fresh coat of paint. “Not counting a few remote clinics? About twelve square blocks. More if you count the verticality.”
Raul silently tallied floors. He stopped when they averaged five or six. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
“Yes and no,” Sarah denied. “This isn’t all in-patient care. It’ll also be harder on me than you. I’m going to be the one digging through a bunch of old filing cabinets. You’ll get to chill in the air-conditioned car and play overwatch with the C7.”
Raul didn’t look convinced. In fact, had he been a civilian, there might have been an attempt to conceal his distaste by arguing that she’d be safer with a wingman. They both had too much training, though, to fall for that sort of lie. It really would be advantageous to have a sniper stationed above her head. The parasite just didn’t like it. He hadn’t come along to play it safe or to stick to the straight and narrow.
“Fine,” Raul begrudgingly growled, his thumb bobbing against the base of the window. “But the next time we raid a place, I call freaking point. If you want, you can consider it my answer to that question you asked this morning.”
Sarah kept her mien paper-smooth. “I can agree to those terms. Hell, I’ll even sit down and put them into writing if you want. You just make sure to keep an eye peeled for anything coming our way. I don’t want to run from security only to find a squad of soldiers camped in the lobby.
Her comment was met with a chuckle by the otherwise dissatisfied alien. “Alright,” Raul conceded, "it’s a deal. Now, do you want me on the north side of the building or the south?”
Sarah examined the breath-taking view. She pointed at a parking garage in the middle of the sprawling complex. “Let’s go with the south. It’s closer to the road, so if we need a fast getaway that’ll be the quickest way to run.”
“There’ll be witnesses,” Raul warned her. “You’ll be coming out near the front entrance.”
The thought failed to sway her from her course. “Trust me," Sarah told him. "I intend to make it work.”
Raul didn’t say anything as she stepped onto the chalk-white sidewalk. To be perfectly frank, Sarah suspected he’d prefer it if she got into an extended firefight. It was the way he held his rifle: boredom had clearly done a number on his ability to enjoy a placid afternoon.
Sarah wasn’t so far gone. She circled the ‘Haywood’ building twice before concluding that it’d be easiest to use the rear entrance.
‘You’ll have to explain that one to me,’ Pallsburg whispered after they’d finished studying the electronic lock on the door. ‘What’s so great about having to go through a brick-thick slab of plastic?’
“It’s because exterior exits are required to fail open,” Sarah told her with a grin. “It’s been that way since 2010. No one wants to be liable for someone burning to death, so the security’s all just theater. Hell, there might not even be an alarm on the frame. It’ll depend on how cheap the board of directors was when they ordered it all wired up.”
A stream of mana emerged from her hand and drifted towards the crudely sealed door. Seeping through the device before condensing into its name-sake alignment, the water then washed over the secluded electrical components and shorted out the sensitive motherboard. The bolt disengaged with a clunk. From start to finish it took about a second and a half.
Sarah didn’t waste a moment as she ducked inside the air-conditioned hallway. There, she found a camera pointing down at the empty corridor. What's more, it was angled towards the wall, so it could cover both directions. The designer would’ve been better off committing to a specific course. All Sarah had to do to conceal her profile was casually cock her head to the left. It probably didn’t even look incriminating; anyone studying the feed would see her visibly toying with her cell.
Google Chrome popped up less than a second later. Sarah typed in the hospital’s address and grabbed a map from the official visitor’s guide.
‘Let’s see… parking… pharmacy… will you give me a floor plan?’
The answer was ‘kind of.’ If she needed directions to a specific office, then that was very doable. If she wanted to know the location of the break room, then she’d have to check somewhere else. Fortunately, what the phone wouldn’t tell her, her senses could, and it was with a brisk flick of her tendrils that she probed the local mana field.
She immediately waved the numerous ‘Death’ motes away from her irritated nose. “Morgue? Morgue,” she confirmed after stealing a peek inside. “Maybe I should leave a note telling them there’s a chance they’ll get back up.”
Pallsburg jerked their head towards the drawers. ‘That can happen?’
Sarah deftly resumed control. ‘If the mana’s dense enough, and you give it time to work? Sure. It’s technically a form of elemental. A little more useless, and a little faster to congeal than its primordial brethren, but it still meets the strict definition.'
'Incidentally, it’s also why most civilizations choose to burn their dead,’ Sarah continued silently. ‘Energy management is an entire industry off-world, and the fallen pose a risk to everyone worried about contamination. Ash is less mystically disruptive. The cultures without a tradition of cremation often find a reason to add one to the zeitgeist.’
The second door on the left led to what looked like a laundry room - that or a small warehouse for various untainted textiles. It was a little hard to judge; the standby lights used an older style bulb, which lent everything a sepia-colored hue.
Sarah groped around on the wall until she found the switch that controlled the primaries. When she flicked the lever, the fluorescent rails released a groan before revealing a collection of domestic sundries scattered about the chamber. Gowns; scrubs; those weird paper mats they used to protect the exam table from your ass. The place was positively packed with weird medical bric-a-brac. There were even a couple of computers in the corner steadily gathering dust. Most were in pieces, or otherwise subject to repairs; however, one had been attached to a wall mount and left on a bouncing screen saver.
A quick jiggle of the mouse brought up an open session. It looked like the monitor was displaying an Excel sheet with an inventory program in the corner. Apparently, the previous user had been auditing their capacity and confirming their stockpiled supplies. Something serious must have occurred if they’d forgotten to log out when they’d left. At least, that’s what Sarah told herself as she skimmed through her available permissions. She supposed it was always possible that they were simply comfortable breaking the rules. You got that sometimes in a sufficiently old hand. Once you could remember a time when patient files were stored in a drawer, this obsession with changing passwords became a bit absurd.
Well, whatever: their obstinance was Sarah’s gain, and she resolved to put her access to the test before whoever’s credentials she was borrowing came back. To that end, she scrolled over to the search engine and typed in her prior host's name.
No dice. Medical records were hidden from everyone except the nurse and the patient’s PCP. The only way she’d get a peek at the details was if she stole another log-in. Since that wasn’t likely to occur, she switched over to 'Billing,' instead.
The computer asked her for an account number. Specifically, the weird internal hashtag they used to keep track of payments. It looked like the last seven digits were always day/month/year. The first five were more opaque but were often accompanied by a name if you accessed them from the hospital’s end of the equation.
Sarah typed in the date she got injured and received everything that closely matched. She proceeded to hunt for an entry marked 'Sarah Fields' or 'Jane Doe.' Nothing. She altered the search parameters to cover more of September and waited for the list to refresh. The following fortnight kicked out a dozen different possibilities.
‘Jane Doe - 01-777-09282023. Jane Doe - 01-777-09302023. Jane Doe - 01-777-10022023...’
She clicked on each in order. The third and the eighth had an invoice for lacerations, dehydration and severe bleeding. Unfortunately, the former had a drug problem, and the latter had broken her foot, so neither was a perfect fit.
“Hmm… is this system-wide or limited to the building’s intranet?”
Sarah started cross-referencing the physicians' names to the ones on her phone’s map app.
Pallsburg spoke up before she could get a clear answer. ‘Not to rain on your parade, but do you hear that?’
The parasite was reluctant to tear her gaze from the glowing screen. Nevertheless, she could feel her hair stand on end as footsteps resounded outside of the room. Sarah prepared an excuse for her presence. When no one entered, and the noise repeated itself, she begrudgingly pressed her ear to the door.
A husky voice cut through the thick steel. “No,” the owner was complaining into what Sarah suspected was her cell phone. “No, they pulled the ‘mandatory over-time’ card. Yes, I know Cecilia’s been looking forward to having us both home for dinner, but my hands are tied. The only reason I’m even able to talk to you right now is because the EMTs are still on route.”
There was a moment of silence. Sarah controlled her breathing until she could almost make out the other party. Then the anonymous employee spoke over the angry reply. “It’s not like that,” she insisted. “I’d tell you if there was a risk. It’s just more cops and robbers bullshit. Janica said someone got a bug up their ass and took a shot at the Governor.”