Magician Interrupted (3 page)

Four hours later and whistling a merry tune Paris
headed up a small hill until he saw Ispa sprawling out before him.
It was a large town with lush gardens. They specialized in flowers,
herbs and forestry. He smacked his lips and cringed. Smacking his
lips reminded him too much of the farmer and the sound turned his
stomach. He placed a hand over the flat surface willing the
gurgling noises to end. He also wished he had a six pack. Once he
was in the marines he would have one. Gone would be Mr. Nerdy,
hello Mr. Muscles. He flexed his bicep but felt only skin and bone.
While there was little fat it reminded him of his hunger … and the
farmer. Sighing he held his hand up to shield his eyes. Days were
longer in the warmer season but the sun was low enough to be
annoying.

Still, he had everything in front of him.

So far there were no sounds of horses
galloping to ride him down, or guards to take him back to the pit.
Harro would be happy as a pig in mud and hopefully driving O’rah
crazy. He adjusted the strap on his bag and headed down. The only
sounds were his feet on the dirt packed road and the gradual sounds
of life coming from the town. As he strode past the garden
businesses the sounds of hammers, shovels cutting into the earth,
the merry sounds of laughter, cats squealing and dogs barking made
him pick up his step. Very occasionally he heard a ranger take off
from the tiny space port. They had minimal traffic but their moon
had a busy space installation. Most visitors didn’t actually visit
their backwater planet and who could blame them?

With a little pause, and smile, he stepped
onto the paved road and headed past more densely packed business
fronts and cottages. It was getting dark and he hurried. The main
gates loomed ahead, open at the moment, and he walked in receiving
the slightest of nods from a guard. So far so good. It had been a
long time since he’d been to Ispa and he turned right at a side
street, turned left at an alley, and then angled across another
road to a pathway until he hit lower Ispa where the houses made way
to apartments—mostly run down.

On the brick or stone walls he saw signs of
advertising. The Career Worlds establishment was crying out for
workers.

“We Want You!”

“Space Jobs.”

And so on. He paused at a call for marines.
“Join up now and fight for your world.”

Paris scratched his head. “Fight for your
world?” As far as he knew his world wasn’t at war with anyone. He
was ignorant but that oblivious surely?

Moving on as the light died in earnest he
raced on and came to a familiar door. He raised his hand and
knocked, eager to see the brunette again and receive a warm
welcome.

The next morning the scat, aka Paris, left
the brunette's in a state of shock. Thousands of years pressed down
upon his soul. She looked old and haggard. What had he been
expecting? As a bar wench, even in this day and age, they had a
tendency to age prematurely. He'd forgotten it had been twenty-four
years since he'd last visited the coast. It confirmed his previous
thoughts that he'd been part of the Trinity for far too long. The
Community was demanding, and the Assembly even more so. They
consisted of the rich and powerful under the pretense of
representing the people.

Paris nodded, backing away from the needy
woman feeling terrible for her but not wanting to join in her
misery. At first he thought her complaints were just venting but
then they went on and on. With each hour Paris felt more and more
trapped.

“I’m sorry that’s happened to you” and
(leaning away) “Yes, that’s terrible. How could they do that to
you” and (crossing arms over chest) “Hmm mmm. I know. You should
report that.”

Finally, she had gone to bed, and after a
leer at him he claimed he’d eaten bad rabbit and had the runs. He
snuck to the toilet out the back and sat there wondering how long
he should sit there. As he waited he heard a twig snap. Had the
wench followed him? Paris tried to look under the jagged, wooden
door and sure enough he saw a pair of feet with chipped, red
painted toenails. She wasn’t even pretending to do something; she
was just standing there. Paris began to make grunting noises and
looked around for something to drop into the long shaft. He put his
hand on mouth and made farting noises. After three more goes she
finally moved off.

Paris wiped the sweat from his brow and
slapped a fly away. Because he had to sit on the stinking dunny for
so long the pit flies were attracted to him now. Pulling up his
pants he slapped his body and stomped around trying to get rid of
them. Annoyed he slammed the dunny seat and left the outhouse. He
walked in and closed the door, listening. There was a creak but it
came from her bedroom.

He snuck up the passage and into the room he
could use for the night. It was full of old hats of various shapes
and sizes, stacked along the walls. Some of the piles were stacked
precariously so Paris stayed well away. There was one blanket but
he knew it was an invitation as she had shown him her bed full of
warm blankets and shit knew what else. He tried not to think of the
millions of bed mites crawling around. Shivering with more than
cold he closed the door and managed to build a barricade of sorts
to keep her out. He lay down on a thin straw mattress, shivering,
and curled up in a ball. There was a disgusting stench and he
lifted the blanket to his nose.

“Oh, crap!”

Paris almost vomited having taken a deep
breath. He lowered the blanket but grew too cold. He lifted it
again trying various ways to arrange it so that he could block the
smell. Between the smell and the cold Paris lay with his eyes wide
open as the night wore on, jerking and sitting up with every
creaking board. At times in the night he swore the hat stacks moved
or swayed. At other times there was rustling, or the sound of
scurrying feet, or
eeking
. Early in the morning, he saw
sunlight streaming through a part in the ragged, musty curtains, a
racket made him jump. It was his barricade collapsing. Blinking the
grit from his eyes, he must have fallen asleep after all, his heart
pounded in his chest.

“What’s going on?” the shrill voice called
out in annoyance.

Embarrassed now Paris jumped up and tidied
the mess. “Sorry, um … I was attacked on the road on the way here
and I’ve gotten a bit nervous.”

“You poor man and here I’ve been offloading
all my woes.”

He hesitated on the other side of the door.
Had she been planning on surprising him, in sexy lingerie, for an
early morning nookie? He cracked open the door but she only wore an
old, threadbare frock and thick socks. Paris smiled and nodded and
followed her into the kitchen thinking it might be alright this
morning. He started coming up with a laudable tale of his own woes
even managing to weave in the farmer and rabbit. But she turned and
he saw a flash of pale, elongated breast and she saw him looking.
“Ah, laddie, I thought you weren’t interested. I wore this
specially to entice ya to a bit of canoodling.”

The next minute her hot kisses had been all
over his face and hand on his groin. It seemed like she had
developed eight arms and he had quickly begged off. She smelled
musty and there was a faint hint of rat pee.

“I have an appointment.” He managed to pull
away from the panting wench. “I’m sorry. Wish I could stay.”

Wish I could stay?
What was wrong with
him? He was going to join the marines and he couldn’t even stand up
to a demented retired bar wench come part-time dish washer. As
Paris ran down the alleyway he sniffed himself hoping he didn’t
stink. It was too early to visit the center so Paris wandered
aimlessly ignoring his empty stomach waiting for business hours.
Finally, sitting on a bench in a park, he saw shops opening around
the square.

Striding down the main road he noticed a few
people glancing at him so he did a quick check. Everything looked
alright. He saw the larger, white washed building with “Career
Worlds” emblazoned on the main wall. Feeling better he waited until
a group of horse riders trotted by, hearing the horse sneeze, and
headed across. As he entered the small office a chirpy, young girl
greeted him. “Welcome to Career … Worlds … ooh, what’s that
smell?”

Burning with embarrassment Paris desperately
tried to come up with a good story but everything sounded pathetic
or unrealistic. What would a marine say or do?

He grinned at her. “Sorry, miss. I was
helping an old lady who was very … sick. She lived in the poor
quarter and I was just passing by, hearing a cry for help.”

She immediately flushed. “That’s so good of
you. Here, sit down.”

Her cute nose crinkled and she moved off into
another room coming out with a drink of water for him. She stopped
in front of him, putting the glass on her desk. “Actually, do you
mind coming with me? I don’t want the … um … I’ll help you.”

Paris sighed but stood. “Thank you.”

“Do you need us to contact the medical center
to assist her? She shouldn’t be in such a state.”

“Ah, no, no. She was fine when I left.”

Paris followed her to a little bathroom with
a shower.

“You may clean up and I’ll find you some
clothes. I really don’t understand it.” She flashed Paris a
concerned look.

“What’s that?” Would a marine invite her to
shower with him? He became aroused thinking of water dripping down
through her blonde hair and lips parting…

“Well, the village community pitch together
and help those in the poor area, even cleaning their homes. They
register of course as we don’t want to force people with our
help.”

Paris blanched, desire fleeing his body. His
little brunette liked living like that? Yuk.

“Unless it was the ‘Rat in a Hat’ lady. She
breeds rats in hats that the community donate to her. We use rats
to feed the snakes.”

“Snakes?”

She giggled. “We introduced some snakes to
the rubbish dump to keep the rats down but then we had too many
snakes so now we need to increase the rat population.”

“Ah huh.” Paris suddenly wanted to get off
the planet in a hurry. As he showered he kept looking up nervously
to the roof thinking snakes and rats might fall through. As he
dried he found his stinky clothes had been taken away and a simple
affair of pants, top and boots were left for him. After dressing he
headed back in. There was the sound of laughing and he saw three
marines flirting with the girl. She was giggling and tossing her
hair back. Paris smiled. Soon that would be him.

Not the girl.

The marines.

The three turned.

The girl said, “Oh, hi. I’m Emily by the way
and this is Tracy, Mary and Jenny.”

“Oh, hi.”

The three muscular women eyed him off and
then turned back to the girl. Paris sighed but then cheered up. He
didn’t even consider female marines! He tried not to look too
gleeful.

Emily took out a blue folder and typed up his
information. “Space Marine Application.”

“Don’t I need to be tested or something?”

She batted her eyelids. “Oh no. Everyone gets
a few chances to get it right.”

“I don’t understand.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “The new
commander likes to give everyone the best chance to succeed. She
feels that it’s important that there’s no pressure to pass, that
your desire to succeed comes from determination to keep
trying.”

Paris screwed up his face. “This
is
the marines?”

She smiled prettily at him but he wasn’t
fooled this time. He also noted she seemed to speed up her
movements. “Yes, of course. There are many levels in the marines at
the moment so while you don’t get graded you are matched with the
right job that feels good for you.”

Paris’s hand paused over the tablet where he
was supposed to put his thumbprint. “So, once I sign I can call
myself a marine?”

“Of course not, silly!” She stared at his
thumb.

Feeling rushed he pressed down, sealing his
fate and used a stylus having to also put his scrawl on the
document. Just as the information was scrolling down he thought he
saw a word that concerned him. Something about paralysis.

“Just sign here.”

“Wait, I just need—”

“You’ve already signed that bit. Now this
bit.”

He chided himself for being silly.

“And here.

“And here.

“Initial this.

“Sign here. And we’re done!”

Paris sat back feeling smug and mildly
concerned at the same time. There was a little inner voice that was
panicking but he quickly quashed it, convincing himself Career
Worlds wouldn’t do anything illegal or put him in harm’s away. He
had rights. The fact he’d lied about his previous profession was
aside from Career Worlds own policies. Besides, he could just put a
spell on them if it came down to it.

Emily printed the signed documents and placed
them in a folder. “We always keep a hard copy so people can’t erase
their files.”

Paris frowned. “Why would they want to do
that?”

“Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. That’s why I’m
asking.”

She took out a large stamp, pressed it nicely
onto a red stamp pad and then slammed it on the blue folder making
Paris jump. He glanced at the big, red “Approved” on the
folder.

“What? That’s it?”

Emily giggled and nodded. “Now you can call
yourself a marine.”

The door opened and she called out in her
chirpy voice, “Welcome to Career Worlds. I’ll be just a moment.”
She stood and looked at Paris pointedly.

“Er, right. Thank you.”

She walked from behind her desk, not to see
him out but to greet the next person.

“Ah, what do I do? Or where do I go?”

She turned somewhat impatiently now, her body
stiff. “Can’t you see that I’m with a new client?”