Episode III: Detour

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     Kahlen hastily packed his possessions and then made one long look at his room. His bedroom was small with a compact closet and a study desk.  It also had a wide window on the left wall next to his bed. He opened it and sat on the sill one last time. He pressed his back against one end and his feet against the other. His knees stuck up in the middle, he remembered when he could just barely touch both sides of the window, it made him smile at how much things had changed.  
     He looked down at the two stories below him. He had never been afraid of falling since there was a balcony belonging to the neighbours just his window. He would sit there and read, think, or just look at the city he loved so much. The main reason he liked Medao was that every roof was topped with a garden.  There were even patches of forest growing on some roofs towards the old city. Deer, birds, small mammals, and some not-so-small reptiles lived throughout the city.  All the roofs were connected by sky bridges in such a vast network that it was said you could live your entire life in Medao and never touch ground level. Stores, markets, and services could be found at any height, though most buildings did not exceed four stories. He liked the little place he and his father called home. It was four rooms, his bedroom, his dad’s, a wash-room, and a living area.  The house was on the top story of a large multi-home brick building which surrounded a central courtyard, typical of residential housing of that quarter of the city.  The windows offered a beautiful view of the city and the lake to the south.  He could also see the old city with domes of the important buildings surrounded by houses topped with ancient trees. Wildlife was most dense on those rooftops. The creatures had for generations never left the city, humans were everyday passers-by to them, especially since hunting was illegal within the city unless specifically warranted. The only thing which broke the city into sections was the river delta.  However many buildings and bridges straddled the canals.
     He got up from the window, stopped for one last look of the skyline, and walked away. He grabbed his bag and shut off the lights and looked again at his home.  He thought of how lonely it was being the only one here.  He shivered, for some reason he knew he would be the only one to see it again, but he did not know where such a notion came from
~~~~~~~~~~
     During his train ride to the base Kahlen sent text and recorded messages to various people explaining he was going on a trip for a month, maybe more. He also sent feeding instructions for his cat to the neighbourhood council to ensure Namien would not go hungry.
     Once he arrived at the base he made a beeline to the window overlooking the hangar and gazed down at the Yasha. She was a lot more than just a scientific leap in travel technology, she was the only hope for the empire to defeat her enemies. The Cohorans were pressing hard on the neutral zone, very soon the ceasefire would end and the empire would be plunged into war. The space-folding slipstream technology in the Yasha would be what would keep them a step ahead. But even with the Yasha, would his people be able to recover from two centuries of retreat?
    He looked at the clock on the computer monitor and decided to break his solemn thoughts and continue preparations for the trip. He had his own luggage with him in the office and he walked out into the hangar with bag in hand. He had packed light for the voyage, never being the sort of person to keep unnecessary belongings.
     Most people were still asleep as he walked into the Yasha. It still felt strange to him to now have regular given access to a new part of the base. He put his luggage in a drawer which slid out from under his bed in one of the two sleeping rooms. After doing one last inventory he exited the vessel and sat on the cold hangar floor hugging his knees. He liked to sit this way; it made him feel safe when he was unsure about something. Something was wrong, not with the Yasha itself, every diagnostic imaginable had been run and she was voyage ready.  But still a strange foreboding quiver had settled in his gut and would not let go.
     Kahlen was so deep in his thoughts he did not hear the footsteps until they were right behind him. “What are you thinking?”
     He jumped in surprise and turned to see a greying man with kind face.  He recognized him as the chief engineer.
     “I’m sorry,” the engineer said, his amber eyes showing concern, “I did not mean to surprise you.”
     “Oh it’s not your fault, I was just elsewhere.”  Kahlen assured.
    “You’re Kahlen I presume.” he extended his hand, “My name is Oren Dara, chief engineer.”
     Kahlen stood, shook his hand and bowed respectfully in the manner a youth shows respect to an elder. The gesture, much to Kahlen’s surprise, was returned.
     “I am honoured to meet you; the Yasha component is ingenious.”
     “Thank you sir, but my father and uncle did nearly all the work, it was my father’s theory and idea,” Kahlen said earnestly.
     “Yes it was,” Oren said seeming to give in, and then continued, “but it was you who found the initial flaws. It would not have been possible without you. You have proven yourself to be years ahead of the rest of us.”
     Kahlen did not have a reply.
     “I hope to have the honour of working with you for a long time to come.” Dara finished.
     “As do I sir.”
     By now people were beginning to stir and the hangar came to life.  Soon the two of them were surrounded by the buzz of voyage preparations and so after some polite conversation they said farewell and headed to their own tasks.
~~~~~~~~~~
    Preparations progressed smoothly, there was no need to rush as everything was on schedule. Kahlen, despite his initial feelings felt confident. They would be launching very soon but he felt completely at peace.
     His father leaned into the lab and beckoned him, “Kahlen, time for the ceremony.”
     The whole crew involved with the running of the Yasha Project stood in rows before the vessel. Everyone inclined their heads as an enlisted local elder, each person gave a gesture of respect to the elder in accordance with their individual sect.  Kahlen, his father and uncle grasped the thin forelock braids which were pulled back and fastened behind their necks. These braids symbolized they were part of the Yerana sect of the Ailar religion. As Yerana they accepted the newer prophesies but still held to pre-Ailar traditions. This elder had come to give Heaven's blessing to the voyage and the future of the ship. Kahlen came up beside his father and uncle. The elder walked forward, put one hand on the vessel and with the other he held one of the sacred writings. He read a few passages about Heaven's protection to those who wander, that whatever may happen He will help them find their way home. The passage was literally about a sinner's errors before returning to the Heaven's light but it was often read before a physical journey as well. The elder gave a final blessing.  This blessing was given to all vessels, that wherever they may go they shall carry their passengers safely home. At the end of the elder’s blessing a loud cheer roared three times, “R’Ojei ne Suienki!”
     After the prayer Kahlen was handed an icon of a local saint to place over a doorway within the vessel then his father, and his uncle boarded and immediately began system scans. A transparent screen was projected in front of the helm, the list of test one by one turned from orange to blue as their respective parts of the ship were proven functional.
     “All systems go. Ura out” Kahlen‘s uncle said over the communicator.
     “Hangar doors opening.” the director replied.
     Kahlen sat as co-pilot next to his father. After the hangar doors opened they were given permission to launch.  The engines fired up and the Yasha launched through the tunnel and out into the grey midday sky.  They made a great arch and then a steep incline into the clouds. Despite the great speed, the Yasha’s own gravity kept them from feeling but the slightest motion. For awhile they were inside the grey clouds until they gave way to blue sky and finally the brilliant stars of the night. Kahlen was awestruck by how many stars there were. Back on the ground he had never seen the stars because of the ever present clouds covering the planet. But now he saw millions of them covering every little space. He looked down at the schematics showing where the Yasha was in relation to the planet.  They were a small dot blinking over a dull silver sphere.
     "Woah!" Kahlen exclaimed, seeing the gas giant, Pleora, which their world Ini orbited along with her sister inhabited moon, Aida.  The gaseous behemoth had bands of violent, yellow and orange currents tracing over its surface blending at their margins.  All his life this view was hidden by his home-world's thick atmosphere, but if it was visible from the ground he knew Pleora would cover much of the sky.
     “General, requesting permission to leave orbit and prepare for seeding.”  his father said.
“Permission granted Rhora.” the director replied.
     Rhora turned to his son, “Initiate the primary engines.”
     “Yes sir,” Kahlen pressed a few buttons on the control panel in front of him, “Engines initiated, ready for acceleration.”
     Rhora steered the Yasha away from the planet and towards the edge of the solar system. The drive moved space around them at about fifteen times the speed of light until they arrived at the edge of their solar system in seven minutes and were ready to begin phase two, their home star now just a pinpoint behind them.
     The ship slowed to a halt and Rhora again contacted the base, “We have arrived at the disembarkation site, preparing to seed time-space slipstream.”
    “Message received, The generals will be waiting to congratulate you at Sepho, Godspeed.”
     “Alright Kahlen, ready the Yasha drive.”
   “Yes sir,” Kahlen hands flew over controls, “Computer is calculating route,” again he paused. There was a chirp and he finished, “route ready, estimated travel distance; 60 light-years; estimated travel time; 2 days.”
     “Wow!” Kahlen’s uncle exclaimed, “It sounds so much faster when you actually hear it.”
     “Yes,” Kahlen replied, “Moving space at over two thousand times the speed of light, it's unfathomable.”
     Kahlen then turned to his father, “The Yasha is ready to seed a slipstream and depart.”
      “Proceed,”
     Kahlen touched one final pad and a hum could be heard from the Yasha engine.  The stars before them seemed to ripple because of the gravitational force being emitted from the Yasha. Then the Yasha sped forward and the stars began to crawl by like distant landmarks when seen from a speed train.
     There was dead silence until Kahlen jumped from his seat and yelled, “We just broke the speed record!”
     His father and uncle joined the jubilation.
~~~~~~~~~~
     Several hours later, Kahlen sat with his uncle playing a board game. He was obviously winning as his uncle groaned when us nephew took out yet another of his pieces.
     His father, Zhadu, walked in and greeted them, “How is the game going?”
     “Well-,” “-Terrible,” they both replied simultaneously.
     “Kahlen, sorry to disappoint your victory but you both need to get your sleep.”
     “Yes sir, good night.” Kahlen left for the quarters. “I can beat uncle Ura tomorrow.”
~~~~~~~~~~
    Thump! Kahlen was violently thrown from his bed onto the floor. Something was wrong. He staggered out of the sleeping quarters and to the door of the bridge. It opened for him just as some inertial force pushed him forward and made him hit the floor of the bridge.  
     He shakily stood and called out, “What is happening?”
    “We have been pulled into a much stronger slipstream and are heading off course.” his uncle replied.
     “Kahlen, check our navigation.” his father ordered.
     Kahlen went to the back consol and looked. His eyes grew wide, “The readings are off the charts, the computers must be damaged. We are outside any familiar star patterns.” Kahlen looked up into his father’s grim face.
     Zhadu stared back and then turned to the controls, his fingers moving wildly. He turned around, his eyes seeming to be wet, “Son, we are going to try to slow the ship down. I need you to go into the dorm and get into one of the impact protection units.”
     Kahlen shook his head, “No dad, I’m going to stay with you.”
     Zhadu grabbed his son’s shoulders, “I promise, your uncle and I will follow as soon as we make these final adjustments which will hopefully help us escape the slipstream. I need you to stay in the protective unit, now go.”
     Kahlen made his way back to the sleeping room and pulled down a panel. Its seat flipped downwards. He climbed into it and pressed a button on the armrest. The sides of the chair seemed to inflate. It grew around his legs and body as the sides filled with a highly insulating fluid, keeping him still. Tears began to flow down his face. “Farewell dad, farewell uncle.”  It was the last thing he said before the crash.

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Episode Twenty:
Coup de Grâce, Premiére Partie

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     The evening sun sprayed golden orange hues over the bustling streets of Lyon as Pierre began his walk. He considered going home, but the night was about to begin, and there was many a secluded bar calling his name. Places where bored women go, seeking thrills to take them away from their boring lives. For a several blocks he strolled down the street and then around the corner. The noise of the city suddenly died down. He raised his eyebrow curiously at the sudden decrease in noise.  The street seemed practically empty, only a rare drunk would stagger by.
     Pierre must have been seeing things. This street, with all its pubs and bars would always be filled with the noise of laypersons casting aside their worries. All the shops seemed to be open, but where were the customers?
     Did I forget a holiday? he wondered as he shuffled forward through the empty street.  Then his heart leapt and he grinned. Tonight is not going to be a waste after all.
     There, leaning against a lamppost beside the darkest most cluttered alley, was a woman, no, girl, no more than seventeen. Her hair was pulled up, save for a brown tresses that concealed her eyes and tumbled to her small shoulders. Her body he could tell was delightfully proportioned, even her legs, which he had enjoyed imagining their appearance if her uniform skirt was cut several inches higher. Her pink lips looked youthful and lonely, explaining why she would be in an area like this.
     And the best part of this beautiful sight, was that she was alone, no one was around. Smiling his most charming Frenchman’s smile, with a hint of coy sarcasm he asked her. “Jeune fille, pourquoi êtes vous ici?”
     The girl remained silent, merely turned her head slightly, allowing her hair to tumble back and leave her graceful neck, jaw, and cheek exposed.
     Pierre raised his hand and brushed a few strands of her hair aside.  “Pourquoi ne vous cachez-vous les yeux?” He ran his fingers along the bottom of her jaw and relished the excited and nervous quiver he caused.
     He began to lean forward but his intentions were interrupted when she raised a folded piece of paper to his chest. He would have ignored it, but something made him curious about it.  So he took it, and with one more lustful glance at the base of the girl‘s neck, he unfolded the note.
     His heart skipped a beat as he lifted the final fold, displaying the woman from years ago, sitting against the brick wall, a trail of red blood spilling down from her heart.
     Not caring to look if anyone was watching Pierre snatched the girl roughly by her neck and wrist and wrenched her into the alley, slamming her back against the wall.  “Where did you get this?!” he hissed
     Finally the girl raised her head and stared at him with mocking brown eyes. “The cries of the dead, are louder than you give them credit.”
     A shiver ran down Pierre’s spine, his hand tingled and burned as if he were touching something unnatural. “Who are you?!” He demanded, shaking her.
      Suddenly he heard a snap and the girl before him turned a sickly pail, her eyes clouded over and she fell stiffly against him.  Pierre let out a gasp of horror as he let the corpse of the girl collapse to the ground.
     “How does it feel?”
    Pierre whirled around to see the same girl standing further down the alleyway, tapping a plastic pipe against her legbrace. He looked back and the corpse was gone.
     “How does it feel?” she repeated. “To extinguish a life not yet ready to depart?”  A breeze rustled the girl’s hair and the strange green light akin to St. Elmo’s fire filled the space. “You asked who I was?  I am the attorney of weary souls, here to ease their suffering. But to you, I am the executioner.” As she spoke, her hair curled and became like spun gold and her clothing transformed as her dress turned the colour and texture of winter frost. The thin, plastic pipe she had been fiddling with in one hand turned to transparent ice and lengthened and bent into a crystalline scythe.  From her back sprouted two wings made of morning dew and spider webs that shimmered like thousands of prisms, banishing the green light and replacing it with holy brilliance.
     In complete disbelief Pierre shook his head.  “I have to be dreaming.”
    Unseen to Pierre, Océane leaned against the lamppost behind him and frowned. Perhaps I overdid it, if this is going to work I need to…  She smiled again withdrew the box cutter from her sweater pocket.
     Pierre pinched his face, trying to wake himself when the “angel” before him rushed and then retreated and he felt something cold and sharp brush by his cheek.  He felt warm drops run down his face.
     “Whether you believe in God or not, I trust even you know what the touch of a blade feels like.” The angel grinned.
     Pierre shuddered a moment, then ran. Océane smiled and dropped the box-cutter. From where she stood outside the alley she commanded her illusionary angel to pursue the man as she began to set up the next scenario of torment inside his mind.
     Panting heavily, Pierre fled at a full sprint. His eyes swerving and sifting through the confused throngs of people as he ploughed onwards. Just when he thought he lost her the angel was once again in front of him. He dodged just in time to avoid a low uppercut swipe of the icy scythe that left a thin cut in the side-walk where he had been standing. He spun around, just missing a light post that he placed between himself and the girl’s next attack. Her scythe was a shimmering blur and Pierre watched in terror as the light pole that had so briefly granted him shelter toppled, having been cut cleanly in three places.
     The angel looked up at Pierre with one sapphire eye, the other hidden by her luxurious blond tresses, not a single drop of sweat on her porcelain skin. The man found himself unable look away. In that moment of hesitation the girl’s eye turned black and out of the void spewed dark threads that grew into leaf-like hands on noodle arms that grasped and wrapped around Pierre, then dragged him into the black maw of her void.
     Pierre tumbled out of the darkness and looked up at a red sky with scattered clouds the colour of old blood. With a thump he landed on the damp cobble stone, his body strangely not crumpled. He looked around and found himself in the midst of a city, but unlike Lyon, the buildings were all black and windowless, contrasting against the red sky and complementing the smile of the inky crescent moon.
     The skeletal shadows of spider’s webs cast themselves over where the man stood.  He looked up and at the top of one of the featureless black buildings stood the silhouette of the avenging angel.
     For several moments there was silence, nothing was happening. Just him, standing in a hellish Lyon staring up at the disdainful eyes of an angel, then he felt the earth tremble, and all around the empty cobblestone streets, black forms began to rise from the ground.  They had no uniform shape, but every now and then, Pierre could spot what looked like an arm, a leg, or a head appear at various positions of their form. In unison all of them turned their “heads” towards him.
     He bolted, running like he had never before, knowing that at any moment one of those black forms would snatch at him. Dashing down the street he ran down a hill only to see another group of formless beings.  They were grappling with each other until gradually they devoured one another and grew into ever larger amorphous forms. This time fully formed arms grew out of their membranes and pulled black scythe blades from their “mouths”. One of these creatures with two heads and three scythe wielding arms leapt towards him, spinning like a frenzied dervish, the blades obliterating buildings and light posts.
He froze, unable to move.  He thought numbly about what it would feel like being sliced to pieces. He hoped it would be too fast to feel a thing. The blob approached, but instead of scythe blades touching him, the belly of the thing opened its maw and he was swallowed into blackness.
~~~~~~~~~~
Outside of the nightmare, Océane leaned wearily against a lamp post as she followed the hysteric Pierre. She looked at the bystanders. To her relief most of them were intent on ignoring him, probably assuming he was just a man who had a bit too much of something.
This is much easier. With the world stripped down to such a basic outline, there are not as many potential inconsistencies to worry about. But I need to hurry! I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.
~~~~~~~~~~
     Darkness, even when Pierre opened his eyes, there was only darkness. But then he saw thin streams of light blink. He realised then that he was covering his face with his hands.  Her raised his head and looked around. He was sitting on a soft bench, with a metal hand rail right next to him. He seemed to be inside a bus or a train, and all the interior was black and brown. A strange, piercing bright light shown through the windows behind the opposite bench. The light was blinking rapidly, as if it was being blocked by buildings or poles then becoming visible again. The vehicle must have entered a tunnel, because the world turned pitch black once again.
     Light returned and with it, Pierre found that he was no longer alone. At the opposite corner of the vehicle sat a young boy, no older than five, who was staring at him. His big brown eyes empty and lifeless.
     The boy sang, his voice sounding like whispers in a bone filled tomb,
          “Maman never came home that night
          The sun was gone and the cold did bite
          I walked up to the shadowy place
          There I found her resting by a case
          A big, red line ran a funny trail
          And her tender face was very pale
          In her eyes I saw a man
          And I shall find him if I can
         When I find him one bright day
          I’ll ask him why he took maman away…”
     As the final words left the boys lips, his eyes seemed to gain life as they watered up and tears rolled down his cheeks. He did not say another word, just sat and waited for Pierre’s reply.
     All colour had drained from the man’s face. His eyes widened when he realised that he was not breathing. His mouth wanted to open, but he was afraid, afraid of the words that would pour forth.  Finally, he could not bear it without air any longer.
     “I-I never meant to kill her!  I was drunk and--” He coughed as guilt finally broke out of the tiny corner of his chest he had buried it in.  “And I did not know what I was doing!”
The boy cocked his head, seeming almost curious if it were not for the grieved eyes and streams of tears.
~~~~~~~~~~
   At the back of the bus Océane cringed, 'Not doing poetry again, that was embarrassing...' her self-criticism was short-lived when she gasped as her chest tightened. She felt invisible chains surround her and pull at her, as though they were dragging her underwater, leaving her unable to breath. Her eyes wildly twitched in all directions as the whites were cut across by red veins. A powerful migraine struck at her skull and she hunched over, her arms across her stomach as all her effort went into maintaining her mental grip on Pierre.

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Episode Nineteen:
Rendezvous

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     Océane departed from school early, offering herself yet another chance to practice the power Claire had granted her when she met a teacher in the hall. She made herself look like the principle before his eyes. He nodded in acknowledgement to a non-existent face above her head.  
     Through the last day of experimentation, she was beginning to discover the limits of the gift. She could make someone see something that was not there, but she could not make herself invisible. A person’s brain notices that there is a figure before it. All she could do was distort that figure. Thus far, she was limited mostly to visual cues, but she was beginning to discover ways to manipulate perceptions of other sounds, like changing a kitten’s meow into a haunting cry.
     She did not even bother changing out of her uniform, it would suit her task. She looked at her watch. Claire had told her that Pierre Renoir would be off work at five o’clock on his way home. She had three hours and being in no hurry, she took a detour. There was something she wanted to remember, and there was a certain place which cradled that memory.
     When she turned the corner she beheld a street of some of the oldest and tightest packed homes in the city, built back in the pre-revolution era. Her gaze locked onto the third house on the left.
     The day she was last here came back to her so vivid it felt as if it was happening all over again.
     On a sunny summer day ten years ago, her mother held her hand, taking her to  a weekend ballet class as was their routine. She heard familiar laughter, the kind that made one think of spring and young life. She looked up, and saw the third story balcony. Little Océane halted, much to her mother’s surprise.
     “Qu'est-ce que c'est, cherie?” Her mother asked.
     Océane did not reply. She was too entranced. For the first time, she saw her, the blonde girl with whom all her dreams were shared.  At the age of seven, Océane realised that she was a copy. She had no dreams of her own, everything she was she had been inherited from the girl, twirling in a white dress, her curly blond tresses floating in the breeze.
    Young Océane smiled. Brunette and bland Océane had a secret with gracious Claire. She wanted to run and greet the girl that she had never met but already knew from their shared dreams. They were the best of friends, two halves that made a whole, though they never before had met in person.
     With one more spin, the girl twirled and brought herself to a halt, leaning on the steel railing of the balcony. Her wandering blue eyes locked with Océane’s and her smile brightened at the girl on the opposite street below her. Her mouth opened to call a greeting.
     Océane mouthed her name ‘Claire’, still trying to overcome her surprise. The next second would echo in her mind for years. The hollow, snapping sound of the railing joints breaking pierced the centre of Océane’s heart. The golden hair twirled beautifully as the girl tumbled from where she leaned like an angel cast from heaven.
     All of Océane senses went numb, she did not hear her mother gasp in horror, nor did she hear the noise of the girl’s body hitting the side-walk like a bag of flour. All she heard was the eternal snapping of the iron railing.
     She did not bid her body to move, but Océane found herself running out into the quiet street.  She did not see the white car hurtle around the corner and she felt no pain when the bumper slammed into her right leg, snapping her shin bone in three.  The next thing she knew she was tumbling through the air, like a cast aside doll, but eyes looked only at the white, beautiful folds of the dress and the fair girl who even in death lay in a graceful pose as she as her gown turned red.
     Océane lay on the pavement, feeling no pain for her eyes were glued on the girl who was surrounded by people, her father dashing out of the door letting out a heart wrenching howl of sorrow when he saw his broken daughter.
     Océane raised a broken and twisted hand, trying desperately to reach for the woven gold locks. She wanted to touch them, to feel the hair of her closest friend, the one who she had copied, to whom she had sacrificed all she was as a person, making herself into a mere, tarnished reflection of her brilliance. But the girl, like a star, was out of her reach, and soon her image blurred, robbing from her all that she found beautiful and Océane’s open eyes ceased to see the world, her ears oblivious to the screams of her desperate parents, the gasps and tears of onlookers, and the distant shriek of sirens.
     Océane shuddered in memory of the event.  It felt like some bad dream. Weeks later when she had been released from the hospital, her sight began to return, but the whole world looked tarnished. She would have preferred to have the last thing she saw be the angel that fell. In fear, she closed her mind, all dreams and nightmares vanished, in both reality and in sleep. She became a dull girl; the one who could never dance again, the girl who would pursue some meaningless career, who would vanish into the grey world so that when she died, her memory would never outshine the perfection of her broken angel.
     Later on, painting appealed to her, she would draw, still life, buildings, birds and plants, but never people. The worlds she made were always empty, devoid of life, save a haunting white figure concealed in the distant background or slightest reflection.
     A few years ago, the ghost of the girl she had stored in her mind had returned to her, reopened her heart to the dreams of others.
     Océane straightened her back, eyes no longer locked on the once bloodied side-walk, but looking ahead. 'Thank you, Claire, for this gift.  Tonight, I am going to tear down a maker of nightmares and give peace to a child, like you did for me.'  She wiped tears from her eyes before they fell. The heaviness in her heart vanished. The selfish vengeance had been replaced. She was no longer moving on to this righteous act out of anger or hatred, but out of duty and with a willing heart.
     She sighed.  'I am ready.'
~~~~~~~~~~
    Aleksei resisted the grievous temptation to tap his foot while the van idled, the passengers staring at the police blockade a hundred metres in front of them.  He felt some comfort that he was not the only person uneasy with the tense atmosphere. Anya, The Messenger, Evan, and even the as of yet nameless driver were all acting antsy. Whatever The Czech was supposed to do, he needed to do it fast, because they were all about to explode from the pressure if SICA did not get them first. In addition, Aleksei needed a chance to contact Mashka.
     He had been feeling uneasy ever since their hasty decision to leave her behind.  It was true that with her enhanced senses she could easily keep herself several steps ahead of anyone who might catch on to her, but that same power was slowly eating away at her.  Last night in Jack’s house, before they went to bed, Mashka confided with him about her power and how she could feel a consciousness that was not her own, clawing and whispering at her from within as it slowly gnawed on her self-control. Every time she used her powers, she found that she could pull herself back a fraction less than the time before.
     Hearing about such a strange experience, Aleksei decided to tell her about Nida, the Repha that resided within his inverse. He told her how he had to reconcile himself with that fragment of his soul in order to regain full control of his power. But unlike Aleksei, Mashka did not have a rational being within or a tranquil palace in the wooded mists. Instead she had a whirlwind of bestial destruction within a void.
     He gave the back of Evan’s head a look that he hoped would somehow convey his worry. He had not yet shared Mashka's secret with him, but he determined to have Mashka tell Evan later.
     Silently the seat and floor of the van in front and to the left of Aleksei turned into pools of scurrying blackness out of which emerged The Czech. Aleksei had never wanted to see this ability up close again, but at this proximity he could clearly see the strange effects. As the Czech pulled himself out of the void, the blackness seemed to flow off of him like a slime before vanishing into oblivion within a fraction of a second.
     Anya turned around.  “It took you long enough.”
     The Czech simply shrugged as he pulled his last arm out of the now tiny void through the seat.  Before his hand completely emerged, the blackness expanded once more as the blond Vladimir was pulled out by his coat.
     Once all the way in, Vlad flexed his neck a few times to loosen up, clearly displeased with his transportation he flopped down in a seat beside Aleksei, who was too shell-shocked to react with more than just a blank stare.
     Evan took a surprised double-take at Vladimir, who was the perfect copy of his brother. The only reason he could tell which was which was Aleksei’s dyed brown hair and different demeanour. Vladimir ignored his brother, seeming to not recognise him. Aleksei had to bear down on himself to avoid hyperventilating. His brother was right next to him, and far too many emotions were flowing through him at once.
    “So, big guy,” Anya began, address her Czech partner “We have a problem. That blockade up there has us trapped, what do you suggest?”
     “Just drive through them, I’ll take care of it.”
     “You do realise doing that is going to be hard to cover up?”
     “That’s the advantage of going against SICA.” The Czech reminded her. “Cover-up is on their dime.”
     Anya shrugged and turned to the driver. “Floor it, Dmitry.”  Inertia threw everyone but Anya back in their seats. Just before they reached the row of police vehicles, The Czech stood and braced himself against the van’s ceiling and floor.  Just as the nose of the vehicle touched the barrier, a black splat appeared upon the area that the van passed through.
     “Woohoo!” Anya cheered as they phased through the vehicles.  “Keep going Dem, we just got started!”
     Dem laughed nervously and kept his foot on the pedal.  Within moments they had come to the end of street and the only thing in front of them was a row of Gregorian residencies.
Unable to control himself, Aleksei let out a frightened yelp just before the van passed through the building, surrounding them in darkness.
     “Ok, Dem,” Anya began as she looked at her hand-held GPS display.  “Turn left once we pass through the next row of buildings, we should be in an alley.  Tech-devision scrambled the video feeds in that area, so SICA will not see where we go from there.”
     “Da, Miss Aho.”
     “Oh come now, call me Anya.” she muttered sultrily in the driver's ear.
    “Uh… sure… A-Anya.” Dem blushed nervously. “Here we go again.” he warned just moments before they phased into another residence.
     I think I’m going to be sick. Aleksei moaned inwardly as his stomach flipped over and tried not to get thrown into Vlad’s lap.
     Finally they found themselves in a wide alley and the driver slowed down, much to everyone’s relief, save Anya who seemed entirely unscathed by the experience. The Czech exhaled and sat down between the two boys, causing Aleksei to lean as far against the window as he could. Being on the same team was weird enough; he did not want to be hip to hip with that creep as well.
     A loud clanking noise caught everyone’s attention as a fire escape stairway lowered in front of them, off of which a woman leapt and signed for them to halt.
     “Stop!” Evan and Aleksei shouted in unison.
     The van parked beside where the woman stood as she put on her round lens sunglasses.  
     Evan hurriedly slid open the door. “Welcome aboard Mashka.”
     He was met by a rather peeved expression on the young woman’s face.  Her brown hair was a windblown mess barely contained below her large grey/blue scarf.
     Silently she stepped aboard and Evan made sure to scoot over to make room.
     “Oh, long time since we last met.” Anya noted casually.
    Mashka angled her face so she could glare at Anya with her golden cat-eyes. Anya provided her own haughty stare in exchange.
     After a few awkward seconds, Anya spoke again, “Well, get in, we don’t have all day.”
     Wordlessly Mashka boarded and sat next to Evan. She glanced back at Aleksei and gave a half-smile, and avoided eye contact with The Czech and Vlad.
     “So, how did you find us?” Evan inquired after they began moving again.
     “We will discuss that later and in detail.” Mashka replied testily.
   Evan half-chuckled knowing he would be on the receiving end of one of Mashka’s rare but unpleasant lectures, but she was safe.

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