While Phillipa digested this, Melba tossed her the pack she’d been carrying. “Food and water, and a pistol. To defend yourself if something comes out of the rocks.”
Or to shoot herself in the head. But Melba wouldn’t say that aloud. “Can someone please get my shoes?”
* * *
The parasite prodded her awake before sunrise. She jolted upright, every fiber of her screaming with exhaustion. It kept prodding until she set one raw, blistered foot on the floor of the hut.
Phillipa groaned from the pain. It had forced her to walk the entire perimeter of the settlement—thirty-one miles. She was filthy, her chest and abdomen itched and throbbed under the parasite’s scaly grasp. The unpopped blisters on the pads of her feet felt like acid-filled pads; the popped ones were raw, open sores.
It prodded her to stand. She grabbed the pack, stepped into her shoes as it forced her outside into the thick bluish Cyan fog. It pushed her to move, faster, faster.
It made her run.
Each step was excruciating but not as bad as the stings. The stings were worse than anything she’d ever experienced. She could feel the poison exploding in her flesh with each sting.
She ran until she collapsed. The parasite allowed her to lie there, her face pressed to the harsh grass, for a minute or two; then it made her stand and run some more. There was nothing but pain and exhaustion—no other thoughts, no space to feel sad or scared.
* * *
Phillipa dreamed she was back in the starship and woke crying in the middle of the night. She missed the starship. Running in the huge open commons with her friends, dinners elbow to elbow at the long tables. For the first sixteen years of her life, she’d looked to Cyan as salvation from the tedium and certainty of the ship, a chance to feel real sunlight, and air that was too hot, and too cold. As soon as they landed, she’d realized how misguided her hope had been. Then she lost her parents to the ketamite plague after the disinfector system failed for the first time. She hated this backward world. If her grandparents had stayed on Earth, there would be no parasite on her. She’d be living in a clean, civilized world with advanced technology, with parents to watch out for her. At school on the ship she was taught how great Earth was, how proud they should be of their native world. If it was so fucking great, why had her grandparents left?
The parasite raised its sickening round head from where it had been resting on her collarbone. She tried to close her eyes, but it saw she was awake. It prodded her to get up.
“I’m too tired. I need more sleep.”
It pinched her with a dozen legs.
“Please. I need to sleep.”
It stung. Blinding pain. Pain shooting off pinwheels beneath her clenched lids. She howled like a wounded rabbit, leaped to her feet. On the way out she grabbed her backpack and swung it gently over her shoulders, trying not to disturb the parasite.
It steered her away from the fence toward the wild. Phillipa stumbled into the dark, gasping in pain, terrified beyond belief. No one went into the wild except heavily armed teams, and there was no one waiting outside her hut to go with her. The security people were at home in their warm beds.
The landscape dropped steeply into pocked, black rock jutting from pools of brackish water. Here and there, stubby yellow shrubs clung to cracks in the rock. The parasite goaded Phillipa to leap from rock to rock.
The light of the settlement receded. Plopping and groaning rose from the pools while screeching and chittering drifted from farther off. Every time Phillipa jumped over a pool she expected a thick tentacle to lash out of the water and grab her ankle, then pull her down into some unseen mouth.
They passed through copses of jagged unzi trees, their branches like lightning strikes and roots running over the rocks and into pools. Occasionally, she heard a snuffling among the rocks, and she would draw the pistol as the parasite steered her away from the sounds.
When the city was a distant glow, the parasite stopped her beside a tiny pool, little more than a crack between two rock formations, then inched her toward the edge. She tried to move in another direction, but it held her there, pushed her toward the water like a skittish horse.
“I’m not going in there. Please.”
The pricking got stronger. The stinging would begin soon. Panting, trembling, Phillipa took a step into the pool. She plunged into the dark water, chest deep, felt something slimy and tubular squirm under her feet. She squealed, clawed at the rock, trying to pull herself out, but the parasite stung and she stopped struggling. She clung to the rock, sobbing, trying to avoid the thing in the water.
The parasite’s head disappeared below the water’s surface. Its neck swayed from side to side; then she felt a jolt, as if the head had suddenly extended. It was feeding.
The slimy thing under the water slid along her ankle; Phillipa jerked away but immediately pressed up against another or maybe part of the same one. She held perfectly still then, barely breathing while the parasite shifted and bobbed, feeding on whatever was down there. Finally its head emerged from the water; it prodded her. She frantically clawed her way out of the pool.
Gasping for breath, Phillipa tried to rest, but the parasite wouldn’t allow it. It pushed her on, choosing ever-harder routes, goading her to leap between rocks that were five or six feet apart. As she jumped, Phillipa thought of how it had made her run. Had that been practice for this? If so, it had no idea how long it took to get a human body conditioned. She glanced down at its ugly round head, at those strange, eager little eyes. God, she hated it.
As if reading her thoughts, it turned her toward what was easily a ten-foot jump. Phillipa balked. “It’s too far. I can’t jump that far.”
The legs squeezed.
“I can’t.” She eyed the pool of thick black water a dozen feet below. Before it started stinging, she backed up as far as she could, ran, and leaped.
She landed on the slanted face of the rock, her feet scrabbling for purchase as her forearms scraped the rough rock. Straining with all her might, she pulled herself up an inch, then another, until her foot found purchase in the porous stone. Standing, she examined the scrapes on her forearms, then held them so the parasite could see. “Are you happy now? That’s the point, isn’t it—to make me suffer?”
A new series of pricks got her attention. At first she thought it had understood what she’d said; then she spotted a hulking animal squatting across the next pool, drinking. It was shaped like two ragged balls of connected fur, four legged, with a nub of a head. In the dim light it took her a moment to notice that it had a parasite wrapped around its chest and shoulders. She gasped.
Her parasite goaded her sharply, steering her to back away and jump into the deep shadows of an outcropping. Heart racing, she squatted there until she heard the animal wander off. As it went, it made a peculiar peeping sound that didn’t fit its size at all.
They moved off as Phillipa wondered about the encounter. Had her parasite warned her off because the big animal was dangerous? That didn’t make sense, assuming its parasite wielded as much control over it as hers did over her. Then what? Why didn’t her parasite want to encounter one of its own? It was a shock to see another parasite, to see the sort of creature it was attached to. She would tell Melba. It might help them figure out how to remove the thing.
The parasite steered her farther into the rocks until they were at the edge of the forest. Surely it wasn’t going to take her in there. The rocks were bad, but the forest was worse. There were terrible things in the forest, she’d been told. She drew the pistol from her pack with a trembling hand as the ground grew soft.
The parasite kept her pace slow and deliberate. After eleven years on Cyan, she had no idea what sort of animals she might encounter. She knew so much about lions and tigers and bears, but nothing about her own home. The survey teams were secretive, the Senate eager to withhold information if it meant more power for them.
It steered her around an area where a strange black grass was growing, and as she p
assed alongside it, some of the grass pulled away, exposing an eye with one of Cyan’s moon reflected in it. She made out the line of a very large mouth as they moved away. The thing was alive, growing right into the forest floor.
* * *
Although nothing else about her life pleased her, it pleased Phillipa to move as she did. She’d never been a natural athlete, but after the past eight or nine months of training under the sadistic parasite, she had no doubt she could outrun anyone in the settlement, male or female. Of course, that assumed anyone in the settlement dared come out from behind the perimeter fence to race.
Reaching a high spot with no rocks in leaping distance, Phillipa dove headfirst, anticipating the parasite’s wishes before it could express them. The wind rushed in her ears for a moment; then she broke the surface of a shallow pool and pulled up before colliding with the muddy bottom. She leaped to her feet, sprinted out of the pool before the spiked kite things that lurked in the mud could respond to the churning commotion she’d created.
Scrambling up a nearly sheer wall, she paused to take in the settlement in the distance. There was a commotion at the encampment of the banished. She took a step toward it. When the parasite didn’t object, she picked up her pace.
Still winded and slick with sweat, Phillipa paused twenty meters from the camp and called out, “What happened?”
A wiry young man turned at the sound of her voice, shielded his eyes from the sunlight. “A marabi got Kelvin. No one saw it until it was right on top of us.”
Phillipa nodded. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
The young man, whose name Phillipa did not know, raised a hand in thanks and turned away. They would all share Kelvin’s fate eventually. Except ironically for Phillipa, who was kept relatively safe by the parasite. It knew how to stay alive in this place and was teaching Phillipa with barbed lessons. She was going to meet a different fate. If she was still under the parasite’s control in another six months, she planned to jump off a cliff, making sure to land parasite first.
Phillipa took one last glance at the encampment, wishing she could sit by their fire at night, before heading toward her hut. She wondered if it was more the parasite or her stink that kept them from inviting her to join them. The parasite didn’t tolerate washing.
Inside the gates, armed security forces were set every fifty meters, watching for threats from outside. The repulsion field was down again. One day, they weren’t going to be able to get it up again.
When she found Melba waiting inside her hut, Phillipa’s pulse quickened. “Have they found something?”
Melba shook her head. “I’m sorry, no.” She was wearing a long black overcoat against the chill of evening.
Very gently, Phillipa lowered herself to her bed, the only place in the hut to sit. “Are they even trying anymore? Tell me the truth.”
“Of course they are,” Melba said so quickly that Phillipa suspected she was lying. “No one is giving up on you, Phillipa. You’re not out here for the same reason they are.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the banished.
“So, is this just a social call?” Phillipa knew it wasn’t but couldn’t imagine why Melba had come.
“Not exactly, although it is good to see you.”
Phillipa waited. For her, it was good to see anyone, but she wasn’t going to say that aloud. Melba was kind, but she was still complicit in banishing Phillipa to this place.
“I’ve come to ask about your experiences in the wild. The survey team is especially curious to know what you’re seeing.”
What she was seeing? She was seeing the same damned things they saw when they went out there. Then it hit her: even heavily armed, they lost people almost monthly. “Oh, I see. You mean, why aren’t I dead? They want information.” She should have anticipated this. Just a week ago, a team had tried to follow her but couldn’t keep up. “So, before something out there gets me, you want to pump me for information.” She eased herself back onto the bed. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Tell them to get the parasite off me; then I’ll happily give classes.”
“Don’t forget, we still provide all of your food and supplies. I gave you a gun.”
The threat hung in the air.
* * *
Taking two quick steps, Phillipa launched herself off a rock, landed on the side of another, her fingers and toes gripping the slimmest of crevices. A wave of thumps ran across her abdomen, the parasite’s version of praise, as Phillipa quickly scaled the rock, reached the top, wiping sweat from her eyes with the back of her arm. She was quick and agile as a monkey. Not that she’d ever seen a monkey, but Phillipa knew about monkeys and the Eiffel Tower and Casablanca.
The parasite seemed more agitated than usual. If the thing had facial expressions, Phillipa couldn’t read them; it seemed to express itself through its legs, and today, its legs were fidgety. How long had it been since that night the parasite took her? Had it been a year yet? More? With no calendar it was difficult to keep track of the days; maybe she should trade Melba some information for a calendar. Then again, what did the number of days matter? Each was a repetitive blur.
The parasite jabbed right between her shoulder blades, setting her heart racing. She’d forgotten what that meant. She tried longer strides, then shorter, but both moves resulted in sharper jabs. She switched her pack to her other shoulder, but that didn’t stop it, either. She didn’t panic; it would be patient as long as she kept trying to figure out what it wanted.
Finally, she got it: it wanted her to stand straighter. Why it cared about her posture, she didn’t know. But it did. Sometimes all it took was an adjustment to her step (her walk was markedly different from what it had been—the parasite insisted she lift her feet high rather than letting them swing); other times it wanted her to walk the entire perimeter of the settlement without stopping for food or water. Whatever it wanted, she did. She hated it.
They headed toward the forest. She’d grown to prefer the forest. The ground was covered in the feathery droppings that passed for leaves on Cyan. On Earth, dead leaves underfoot made a crunching sound, but on Cyan there was no sound, only a soft, cushiony feel. One of the strange Cyan birds was perched in a tree overhead. Maybe it was closer to an insect. When it flew, its wings spun like they were wound by a rubber band; then they slowed and spun in the opposite direction.
Far away, there was a faint sound. Even before the parasite had a chance to alert her, Phillipa had ducked behind a tree. She waited, listening, as the crack of branches announced one of the boulders moving through the forest. That’s what she called them—boulders. The survey team likely had a better name for them. The team members were inept when it came to surviving among the local fauna, but they were terrific at naming the things that killed them.
As the sounds reached a crescendo, the enormous, spiny ball rolled past Phillipa. It had eyes all around it that closed just before they rolled against the forest floor, and it was so utterly beyond anything Phillipa could imagine that the first time she’d seen one she cried out and nearly got herself killed.
Phillipa was in new territory, south of the settlement. The terrain was similar—rocks, pools of water, trees.
It was a shame no one in the settlement was interested in Earth history. During one of their information-for-food exchanges, Phillipa tried to tell Melba about the lessons the British learned eight centuries earlier while trying to settle a new world. The British had sauntered into America and set up a place called Jamestown, bringing all the modern technology of their time and expecting to live their lives as they’d lived back in England. They tried to erect walls to keep the new world out, but the new world wasn’t going to be kept out. The people who didn’t get that, who didn’t adapt, didn’t survive. When Phillipa told Melba this, Melba nodded distractedly, and asked what Phillipa knew about some animal or other. The settlement had half as many people as when they’d landed on Cyan, yet they still didn’t get it. Phillipa finally did.
Cresting a rise on a steep, tall rock, Phil
lipa stopped short.
Below, in and around a pool that was larger than most, were dozens of parasites. Some were wrapped around creatures, others walking on their own sharp legs or wading in the pool, occasionally diving to feed. In the shadow of a shallow cave, Phillipa spotted one wrapped around a dog—a collie, its coat damp and filthy. Someone’s pet that had somehow gotten beyond the gate or, more likely, been dumped outside when the owners didn’t want it anymore but also didn’t want it to be eaten.
Her parasite prodded her on. Phillipa didn’t want to go down there, but she had no choice.
As they approached, her parasite made a keening noise, drawing the attention of the others. They chattered rapidly, skittering, hopping, crawling toward Phillipa, forming a loose half circle.
Her parasite prodded her to walk along the inner perimeter of the circle, directed her to stand up straight, to lift her feet high. As she walked, one parasite in particular caught her attention. It was attached to one of the birdlike things, its head above and behind the bird’s head. When the bird flew, the parasite would be invisible to anyone on the ground. Phillipa thought of the tall unzi trees in the compound, standing far higher than the repulsion fence. If a parasite riding one of those birds dropped into a tree, it could climb into the compound. They were smart enough; she would bet that was how hers got in. That was information the settlement would pay dearly for.
After a few passes in front of the others, her parasite steered her back up the rock, only to immediately take her back down. Through all of this, her parasite weaved from side to side in a rhythmic manner she hadn’t seen before. It almost looked like it was showing off. Preening.
All of the things it had forced her to do for the past months fell into place with an almost audible thud.
The Perimeter Page 2