The mid morning sun shed its rays over the leafy treetops of Artemis park. From the air, its vast floral expanse could be seen spanning an area of over twenty kilometers; a dark green patch of forest in the center of a concrete jungle.

The park was filled with life and was home not only to the tall trees and animals that dwelled within them, but also to a variety of small businesses and privateers. Paths that winded through the lush forested areas, converged into large concrete forums, where people set up wares, displayed art and practiced all manners of recreation and relaxation.

Among them however, the less successful members of society gathered as well. Homeless vagrants and young runaways laid strewn all over the park grounds, each seeking shelter from the harshness and violence of the city streets. Barro seemed to find herself right at home with them, as she too was now an outcast from society. Still, the park along with its surroundings somehow seemed to bring about a calming effect on the people within it and Barro was no exception.

She found it all very interesting and refreshing. Never in her life had she felt such freedom and tranquility. Easing her hands onto the rock she was sat upon, she leaned back to look up at the sky. Above her, the wind whistled soothingly through the tall treetops, filling the air with its delicate sound. She stared up at the brilliant blue above her and for an instant, was reminded of flying.

Something sank within her heart. Her eyes fell towards the ground, as did her spirits, for she knew she could never again experience the sensation that she loved the most. Barro had never found fulfillment with the accomplishments in her career, and she certainly did not enjoy the wars or the killing. For her it was always the flying. The ability to soar above everything and get away from it all, content in her own solitude. She had never realized how much it truly meant to her, but now it was all too late for that.

Looking down at her flight suit, she suddenly remembered why she had come to the forum in the first place. She needed new clothes. Through the bushes that concealed her, Barro could see the entrance to the bazaar. She could definitely make out several stands, with people selling T-shirts and the sort. Behind them were actual stores, which were housed in mock adobe huts. There was no doubt plenty to choose from. It was now just a matter of mingling through the crowd as unnoticed as possible. A task not easily accomplished, while wearing a naval flight uniform.

She sat quietly for a few minutes, nestled within the natural alcove provided by the surrounding bushes and trees. She felt very safe there. Like a druid hidden within her sanctuary. Barro almost did not want to leave, but she had traveled too far to return to Mother empty handed. Her thoughts drifted back to the previous night. They were lucky to have escaped when they did. Barro did not know the man Alex very well at all, but she knew he had sacrificed himself for them. Luckily, they had managed to find the tunnel he had spoken of and escaped through it. They could not find his vehicle, however, but still, they managed to get far enough away from the area and made it to the park within a few hours. Mother insisted they keep moving, but Barro convinced her to hold up for a while, to try to get their bearings.

Barro knew the first thing they would need was concealment, especially for Mother.

That was the thing she now needed the most, a change of clothes and perhaps a change in her appearance.

Closer to the entrance of the forum, she could see a woman selling decorated rugs or curtains of some kind. Something of the sort would certainly serve her immediate needs, or at least allow her access to more suitable dress ware. She reached into her pocket and withdrew her wallet. She counted just over a hundred dollars within it. It would be enough she hoped.

Withdrawing the bills, she returned the wallet to her pocket and secured the money within her fist. She got up from the rock and confidently strode through the shrubs towards the entrance of the bazaar.

It was not far. Less than thirty meters away. But the time between leaving her sanctuary, and reaching her destination, seemed to drag like hours. Her head was dashing from side to side constantly, almost expecting to see armed USSD troops descending upon her at any moment. Her pace increased, until finally she almost found herself running.

Barro couldn’t allow herself to panic. She forced herself to stop.

Her feet scraped noisily over the white washed concrete as she came to a sudden halt.

The sound startled the woman behind the stand, and she looked up in surprise. Barro saw she was an older woman, of perhaps fifty years, with short, dyed red hair and slightly sagging skin. She was plump with a soft and gentle demure.

“My, my what’s the rush?” the woman smiled at her. “That eager to buy some fabric?’

“Yes, I need to...” Barro blinked. She could not figure out exactly what to say.

“Are you making something?” the woman cocked her head. “A dress?”

Barro only nodded.

“Alright dear.” The lady then waved her hand over the stacks of cloth on the counter in front of her. “What kind of material are you looking for?”

“What is the cheapest?” Barro looked them over.

“The cheapest would probably be my cottons,” the woman pointed. “But I do have some reasonable synthetic silk which is only a bit more.”

“How much?”

“The cotton prints are fifteen dollars a square meter and the silk is twenty.”

“I’ll take the cotton,” Barro replied.

“Are you sure, the silk is really so much nicer and I have much better designs on my silk fabrics.”

“The cotton is fine.” Barro looked over the various designs. They all seemed far too flashy. Finally, she saw something that looked suitable.

“Could I have two sheets of this please?” Barro pointed to her choice. “Two square meters each.”

The woman looked at her a bit puzzled. “You Want gray?”

Barro nodded.

“Oh,” the woman smiled in understanding. “Is this to make a uniform or something?”

“No,” Barro answered quickly. “I. .. I just like gray.”

“So it seemed,” the lady gestured to her flight suit.

Barro managed a weak smile.

Slowly, the woman began to measure the material and cut the desired lengths. Barro glanced around herself nervously in the silence. There were not that many people where she was, but she could see some kind of gathering beginning to start in the center of the bazaar.

“What is happening over there?” Barro asked the woman.

The old lady followed Barro’s line of sight. “Oh they are setting up for one of the bands.”

“Bands?”

“Yes,” the woman smiled. “The park allows for youth bands to play from eleven till three every day. It’s not my sort of music but some of it is alright, and it certainly draws a crowd.”

Barro scratched her chin. She had never heard live music before. In fact she had never really sat down and enjoyed music at all. There just never seemed to be the time or the opportunity to do so.

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“Here you go miss,” the woman drew her attention. “That will be Sixty five, forty with tax.”

“All right.” Barro counted out four twenty-dollar bills and handed it to the lady.

The woman turned to her small cash register for a moment and then handed Barro back her change. “Thank you very much miss, would you like a bag?”

“Yes please.” Barro nodded and waited a moment, before finally receiving the fabric enclosed in a small plastic bag.

“Thank you.”

The woman waved and Barro waved in turn.

She stepped away from the stand and began heading for the refuge of the trees. But suddenly she stopped. Her attention was again drawn to the commotion at the center of the forum. Barro could see that several people were now standing on the small wooden stage with instruments in hand. They would certainly start playing soon. She wondered what they would sound like. Then with a quick decision, Barro removed one of the fabrics from the bag and slung it about her shoulders. She tied a small knot and fastened it the makeshift garment. It didn’t look as neat or elegant as some of the African or Middle Eastern dress she saw many wearing in the forum, but it certainly fit with the fashion and served to camouflage her well.

She turned, and made directly for the stage. People were milling slowly in the same direction as she was. She walked past them and settled behind a group of men speaking Arabic. There were four of them in all, each quite young, perhaps only twenty. She could understand what they were saying vaguely. She concentrated a bit and began listening more carefully.

“I heard they are alright,” one of them was talking, “My friend Boris heard them last week.”

“Well I can’t stay long,” his friend was looking at his watch. “I have class in a bit.”

“Which one?”

“Aviation Economics,” he answered. “I need to do better. That math is hard..”

“Huh? Pilots have it easy. ‘try an engineering course, Then you will know what hard is.”

The three of them laughed and Barro found herself laughing with them. Suddenly the first one stopped and looked upon her strangely causing her to blush.

“I’m sorry.” she spoke in their language. “I just found what you said amusing.”

“What?” he seemed surprised. “You speak Arabic?”

Barro smiled. “Just a bit

Suddenly all their attention was turned to her.

“Really?” he smiled back, speaking in English this time. “Where are you from?”

“I’m. .. American.” Barro then thought for a moment. “But I spent some time in Morocco.”

He nodded and smiled again. “I thought I recognized the accent.”

Barro grinned awkwardly as the rest of them chuckled.

“What is your name?” the same one asked.

“It’s. . .” Barro stopped herself. “It’s. .. Helen.”

The man smiled. “Like the Trojan?”

“Pardon?”

“Helen of Troy,” he smiled directly at her. “You have the beauty for it.”

Barro froze and felt the heat of embarrassment fill her face with redness.

“My name is Hassim,” the man outstretched his hand.

Barro shook it, and for some reason she smiled and laughed. He was handsome, with sparkling eyes and a sharp nose. His black hair was thick and straight, and cut in a neat conservative fashion as was his light beard.

He then turned slightly and introduced his friends. “This is Muhammad, Ishtar and Ishmael. We are all from UAE.”

The three of them waved in greeting.

“Pleased to meet you.” Barro then turned to Ishmael. “I heard you are a pilot. I am one as well.”

“Is that right?” The young man’s eyes seemed to light up. “What do you fly?”

“Well, I used to be in the military...” Barro answered slowly, not wanting to get too detailed. “I flew fixed wing aircraft.”

“The military? That’s very interesting.”

“What do you hope to fly?” she asked him.

“Commercial airliners eventually, but I’m just starting really. This is only my second year. How long were you in the military?”

Barro thought for a moment. “About ten years.”

“Ten years?” Ishmael nodded. “What rank were you?”

Barro was a bit reluctant to reply, but she figured it wouldn’t hurt. And for once someone actually seemed genuinely interested, and even amazed by her. “I was an O-5, that’s a Commander or Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Is that so?” Ishmael stared at her in apparent awe. “A colonel is quite an impressive rank to reach in such a short time.”

“It truly is,” Hassim grinned at her.

“Thank you,” Barro smiled. It almost shocked her how quickly and easily she could lie to them. But they were not totally untruths, and it was a necessity, considering the situation she was in.

“So why did you leave the military?” Ishmael suddenly asked her.

Barro froze with her mouth open, unable to respond.

A voice suddenly boomed around them in a loud shout, bringing a well-needed distraction from the question. Turning about quickly, Barro diverted her attention towards the stage.

With a vibrant blast of sound, the band suddenly erupted into a heavy drumbeat. The crowd reacted with a fit of whistles and cheers. There were three men on stage. Two of them were hidden behind a tower of electronic sound equipment. The third was at center stage wearing a head mic. He began pacing up and down, in step with the heavy pounding beat behind him. He was a slimly built black man, with a shaven head and a trimmed goatee. The music and beat began to build to a climax, and then in a flurry of shouts, his voice exploded onto the speakers. Harsh, fast words flew from his mouth in a thick British accent, causing the crowd to holler with excitement and throw their fists wildly into the air.

Barro stepped back a bit. Her newly found friends reveled in the entertainment. She smiled back at them, but she just didn’t seem to understand what they were so excited about. She could hear the music fine, but she couldn’t quite understand what the man was singing. Or if he was really singing at all, it seemed more like shouting to her.

“Don’t you like this?” Hassim turned and asked her above the noise.

Barro shrugged. “Not my kind of music I suppose.”

Hassim nodded and returned his attention to the stage, slowly moving his body rhythmically to the beat. Barro attempted to mimic his motion and began to sway her hips slightly. She could match the timing perfectly, but she really had no idea what she was doing.

“Hey now you’re getting into it!” Muhammad began clapping for her.

Barro grinned. Maybe she wasn’t doing so badly after all.

She concentrated a bit more on the sounds flowing about her. She couldn’t understand much of what the performer was saying, but it seemed to flow over the beat and base smoothly. It sounded good. She smiled openly and began to move with the pulse of the music.

“This sounds great,” she closed her eyes.

“You like it then?” asked Hassim.

Barro nodded, surprised by her own response.

“Come look at this!” Ishtar suddenly spoke for the first time. He rushed over to Muhammad and showed the paper he was reading. “They have killed Senator Harrel!”

Muhammad looked down at the paper. “Who is he?”

“He was pushing to get that bill passed last month,” Ishtar said. “The one that forced companies to limit their percentage of synthetic workers to less than thirty percent.”

“Yes,” Muhammad nodded. “There was much unrest about that in the financial markets.”

“He also headed the main opposition against the status of synthetics being raised from property to second class citizens.”

“What did you say?” Hassim turned away from the stage and looked down at the paper.

Barro and Ishmael moved closer to look as well.

“Listen,” Ishtar began reading aloud. “At approximately 10:30 last night, guests at the annual West-Coast Designer’s review at Poseidon Tower were victims of a viscous terrorist shooting. Among the victims were controversial Senator, Damon Harrel and his wife Anna Harrel, whom was involved in a heated debate regarding the restricted use of synthetics in the workforce, was visiting Cronus City on vacation. Police are not yet releasing whether Harrel was the target of the terrorist attack at this time. CDI agents, who were on the scene at the time of the shooting, pursued the perpetrator, a cyberoid model, employed by fashion designer Mario Carrelli. The details of the cyberoid, whom is believed to have been killed during the pursuit, remain unknown. CDI spokes woman, Captain Sharon Anderson, has made no formal comment on the matter, but ensures an investigation is already underway. City police are still holding Mr. Carrelli on conspiracy and liability charges.”

“Wow,” Ishmael said. “I can’t believe how bad things are getting. Someone has to do something soon.”

“Really,” Ishtar agreed. “These cyberoids are abominations in the sight of Allah. This is proof of that.”

The Arab shook the paper firmly. “We won’t have peace until we are rid of these things. How can something made by man, fathom the importance of life? It is no wonder they are all murderous terrorists.”

Barro swallowed hard and felt the pit of her stomach knot.

“It’s true,” nodded Ishmael. “These things are stealing our jobs. I was glad that that law got passed, especially in my field of work. I think I last read over seventy-percent of pilots were synthetics. Just horrible.”

“I don’t trust them,” Hassim finally joined in, shaking his head. “They look like us, but they don’t have souls. Who knows what evil they are capable of? I avoid them like the plague. They are like demons.”

Barro blinked involuntarily. She felt her throat grow dry as her eyes became watery. She needed to leave. Quickly.

“I’m sorry... I-” her words stumbled from her mouth. “I have to go.”

Turning quickly, Barro began to step away from them. Suddenly a hand caught her by the elbow. It was Hassim.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“I’m fine!” she tossed his arm aside, the force nearly throwing him to the ground. He stared back at her like a wounded puppy, wondering what he had done wrong.

Barro looked at them with contempt building within her heart. How could they say such things? How could they judge her kind so vengefully, for something an individual had done?

She turned and walked away. Her hard, fast paces fell heavily on the concrete, propelling her away from the noise behind here. She wanted nothing to do with any of them. She was fair enough to pass for a human, but she definitely was not one of them.

She didn’t want to be. Never in her life had she seen such prejudice against her kind.

Never.

She left the forum nearly running, heading towards the tree line. She was soon within its sanctuary and she slowed her pace. Barro’s chest was heaving and she could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffled as her nose began to run, and then sobbed. She let out a short cry, almost a gag, followed quickly by another, until finally she was weeping openly amongst the trees.