Rocky Waste Mountains

Anchoring Cuauhtémoc climbs the steep grade not even looking for signs of passage. The group has not attempted to hide their trail since they reached the montane zone, it’s like they want to be found. He’s confident he’ll continue to find signs of their passing beyond the cliff top.

Cresting the ridge, those signs were everywhere. Brass casings, ravtor carcasses, and two additional sets of prints. The new prints were made by light-footed individuals; their tracks were easy enough to see where the two groups joined. It could take a day or more to locate where they came from though. They showed up like phantoms and could have been waiting in ambush or rendezvous for the fleeing fugitives.

Months ago, when his targets reached their co-conspirators and left the beach, the trail was old but followable, as he closed the distance it became fresh and exceedingly reckless, he can’t be more than three days behind them. Now it all but disappears, they must not have known the exact location of the sanctuary they think they’ll reach. Now having made contact, they are taking precautions against being followed.

Maybe the plan all along was to seek asylum with one of the small bands of War Born that calls these mountains home. This is not what he expected from a pair that escaped the pits while stealing empire property. Cunning enough to have altered the scents left behind on their clothes. Charted a sailing vessel under a false identity. Lied their way through checkpoints, before outmaneuvering him in close combat and escaping to the shores of South Cenoka. All of that to meet up within a 24-hour window with an armed group willing to travel a thousand miles on foot with them.

Now in the middle of the rocky wastes they encounter another group that joins them, too many coincidences. There must be a larger conspiracy at play, this has another disciples fingerprints all over it, but who’s?

“Are you lost sir?”

Cuauhtémoc nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s not taken unaware often, and was certain there was nobody around for miles.

Taking in the two War Born men at a glance, “Not at all, but I am seeking something. Perhaps you can assist me?”

“All we’re interested in, is assisting you back down that slope. Perhaps you need supplies? You are traveling light for someone out this far.”

“I’m a good forager, I don’t need to carry much.

“I’m tracking a group of fugitives, a man, and a woman they have a baby War Born with them.

“I know they passed this way, have you seen them?”

All senses alert for the slightest micro-expression that could give away a lie, Cuauhtémoc waits intently.

The man who’s been doing the speaking locks eyes with Cuauhtémoc, “Yes, he said someone like you would be following. We’ll give you the choice of turning around and leaving or accompanying us to the leader of the camp that took in your two fugitives.”

The man gave much information that was true, but somewhere int that last statement was a deception.

“By all means, take me to your leader.”

City, Province of Rebirth

“Brother, we need something to show the boss. Pass me that report on our current fleet inventory.”

Samir ruffles through the short document piled on the desk before him until he spots the aforementioned inventory report and passes it to his brother Efron.

Reading only the column of numbers, Efron does some quick math before sharing his finding, “Either this is some incredible coincidence, or this apparent fleet of pirates is a calculating bunch. This is the fourth straight month where we’ve lost exactly four percent of our fleet, and by fleet, I mean remaining fleet.

“Last month we lost 122, the months before in order of recent to oldest our losses were 127, 132, 138, I’ll bet you all the gold in my pocket that the next one was 144.”

“Efron, you know I’ll not bet against you. But we don’t have that number because nobody was taking an accounting; and until they started disappearing, we didn’t know how many ships the various families, and associations of Rebirth had in the water.”

“Well, it’s looking like our enemy did, and at this rate we’ll be reduced to half capacity in another twelve months.”

“How goes the ship building?”

“Dismal, we don’t have near the capacity to keep up with our loses, let alone the ability to conjure the lost cargo.”

“I’m starting to understand why the Blood Empire allows an insurance industry to operate in their country. As repulsive as the practice of insuring is, it would allow us to recoup our losses.”

“Yes, but it’s a temporary gain, in the long run you’re just adding overhead and financing someone else’s ability to do nothing for a paycheck.”

“Yes, but as one of the shipping companies that keeps losing peoples cargo, how long will they be able to write off those losses?”

“For as long as we can write off the ships and lives being taken.”

“Efron, you’re not going to like this, but I think it’s time the Brusk family start a new business.”

“Samir, are you proposing what I believe?”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m trying to institute banking and usury! It’s only insurance. Call it a temporary measure; when we solve this piracy problem we can stop.”

“Ok, but you’re doing all the talking when we take this to Lady Brusk.”

“Gah! I hate calling her that. That royalty nonsense was only used out East in that Free’er be stumped valley!”

“Yeah, yeah, we all do. But you-know-who thinks of her that way. When we finally get his ear, we better not insult him by miss addressing the woman he most idolizes.”

“Brother, we can’t be sure he still thinks that way, he was an adolescent when uncle was murdered. He’s gone off to study since then; for all we know he has a girlfriend.”

Peoples Province of Vorg

Sanne has her paperwork in hand and is waiting in the queue. It’s taken an insufferable two hours to reach the front of the line, the next open seat will be hers.

She counts to 363 before an open seat appears. Not waiting for the woman to finish gathering her papers, Sanne impatiently moves in and taps her foot at the woman, who looks at her quizzically before moving to the egress queue.

Taking the seat at the row of windows, she waits for the bureaucrat to acknowledge her presence. She counts to 64 before he so much as glances her way. A slight widening of eyes at the sight of her is her cue to lean forward. Arms crossed before her making a perfect stage to rest her ample bosom.

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Had she known the prison guards were as starved for womanly charms as the prisoners, she would have worn something low cut, instead of a band t-shirt. Trying and succeeding at looking demure, she waits for the poor man to finish whatever paperwork is required so he can get back to ogling her.

The bureaucratic drone deems his work complete and sets down his felt-tipped pen.

Taking a good long look at the yellow haired woman with eyes the color of ash and more curves than the railway through the Rocky Waste Mountains, “How are you today, my lady?”

Got you, thinks Sanne before speaking, “My day’s looking better now that I have you to assist me.”

The prison worker looks a little embarrassed at the compliment before responding, “Mi-mine too.

“Do you have papers to present? I-I can help you fill them out if you don’t.”

Trying to remember the lessons Master Adara delivered in her off curriculum, Flirting 101 course, “Oh sugar, you’re making me wish I didn’t. But I’m afraid I’ve already filled it all out.”

After a pause, eye contact, head turn, tilt, and some batting of lashes she continues, “I would appreciate it very much if you could give it a looksie first and maybe help me fix any mistakes you find.”

“I’m proud to be a party member and I would be honored to assist someone like yourself with the correct way to prepare their documents.”

Sanne stifles the urge to blast a hole through the reenforced glass separating the two of them. Instead decides to resort to vailed sarcasm and says through a smile, “I truly admire the effectiveness of the party. I fancy myself a party-girl too and would be honored to accept your assistance.”

Playing stupid, she forgets to slide the papers through the opening at the bottom of the glass. This makes the prison bureaucrat grin, thinking she’s the one who is flustered.

“I’ll need to receive those papers first. Please slide them under the glass.”

Placing her fingers in the leading corner she sticks her fingers covering the folder through the narrow opening.

The prison guard takes his shot and covers her fingertips with his own.

Acting startled, Sanne draws hand away, slowly, “Did you feel that too? When our fingers met I felt a spark that traveled up my arm, and all the way down to my… oh, I shouldn’t say. We’ve only just met.”

The prison drone stares as she brings her fingers to her parted lips and kisses them.

Unable to imagine any way to up her performance, Sanne waits, smiling demurely and looking into the starving eyes of another faceless, under stimulated cog in the Peoples Province of Vorg.

Sanne count to only 17 before the guard remembers the folder under his fingertips and draws it the rest of the way under the window. Opening it he’s disappointed to see who she is here to visit. He should have known from the shirt she’s wearing. The fact that she’s a foreigner should have prepared him.

His training tells him he’s to find fault in something and send her away, a foreigner like her deserves to be forced to endure extra steps to get anything done. They’ve been living irresponsibly all their lives, seeing the way civilized people live would be educational.

Resolved to send her away on a technicality he caves when he looks up and sees her chin resting in a palm, and a finger idly playing with her lower lip.

Swallowing his objection, “Your paperwork is immaculate, I’ll send for the prisoner at once.”

“Thank you so much, officer. You serve the People Party with distinction.”

Standing, the guard has to stop himself from saluting the foreigner in response to the compliment. Instead, he gives a nod of his head and blushes, “It’s been a pleasure.”

Sanne watches the man exit through a guarded door and waits.

A count to 194 passes the time, she uses her spirit enhanced senses to watch through the door and recognizes the gait of the man being escorted down the hall before the door opens.

When Altair is finally seated, she feels happy for the first time in the two months since his arrest.

“Sanny! Whatever are you doing here?”

“It’s good to see you too, Altair.”

“My bad, my bad, it’s this place. It changes a man. I used to be civilized, now I’m surrounded by animals and have to fight for my vary survival every day.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry to have caused this. I never should have booked this gig.”

“Oh no! Au contraire! This has been the greatest experience of my life. Well maybe not greatest, but it’s been a blast for sure.”

Confused, “I thought you said you were fighting animals to stay alive in there?”

“You know me dear, artistic license and all that. It’s not so bad actually, most of the people in here are guilty of thought crimes and misfiled paperwork.”

“That makes a lot of sense, this is my fourth attempt to see you. Each time I’m told there’s another form I was supposed to have completed, and each time I was assured there are no others.

“I resorted to blatant flirting to get past this last guy.”

“Oh, what a lucky mate. He’ll be taking a long walk to the water closet if you know what I mean.”

“I do and don’t want to think about it.”

Looking around she lowers her voice, “Would you like to leave? I may not be at the same level as my classmates, but I could put any of the amps we’ve toured with to shame.

“We could put the band back together right now… If you know what I mean.”

Quietly, “That won’t be necessary.”

Louder, “The merchants are working the system and have a penchant for paperwork that I hear is even admired by the paper-pushers that run this country. They’re getting coached by one of the lesser families and might have me out of here in a year or two.”

Standing with a slap to the tabletop and blurting, “One or two years!”

“Sit darling, you’re making a scene.”

Complying, “Fine, I’ll let them do it their way. They get six months before I ask my boyfriend to step in.”

“Dear girl, I don’t know if that would help. It was him that did me in. They probably would have let us leave after my little stunt, but his presence made it so intense. People started repeating my words all over the place.

“There’s no room in the PPoV for two ideologies. The Party will not tolerate competition.”

Standing back up, “I won’t ask him to come nicely. He can stop time and crush armies into goo. There will be no paperwork when he’s finished.”

Looking a little afraid, “Would he really do something like that for you?”

Flipping her hair and failing entirely at sounding like Master Adara, she coldly responds “I don’t know, but I’ll be sure ask nicely.”

El’Hat, Center City Hotel

“Hello Friend,” calls a young feminine voice.

Malo turns to see if that greeting was directed at himself. Seeing a young woman of indeterminate age wearing an increasingly popular Dead Dragon long sleeved, black shirt, black knee length A-line skirt, combat boots, and a face heavily decorated with dark cosmetics waving at him, he thinks she may mean him.

Standing there with a slightly concerned and moderately confused look on his face, Malo waits for the darkly clad girl to approach. The confusion caused by her face, she looks familiar, but he can’t place where they may have met. The concern is from the massive amount of energy that’s escaping her body.

A normal human radiates heat and produces acoustic noise from several orifices. Through their movement they discharge kinetic energy, sometimes generating static elects in the process. This woman is doing all that but is harboring an unnatural internal heat-source that throws out a multitude of exotic particles that her exoskeleton barely contains.

She isn’t human.

Jumping, the strange girl throws her arms around Malo’s neck, exclaiming, “Did you miss me?”

Remembering where he saw that face, minus the cosmetics, “I did, I did miss you, Lady Dragon.”

Dropping to the ground, “Shhh, don’t call me that, call me Zefiris!”

“Zephyris?”

Stomping a booted foot, “No, I said Zefiris! I spent almost three micro-seconds researching historically relevant names for myself and that’s the best I could do.”

“The name sounds exotic, but just now when I saw you. I saw a Madison, and because we’re friends, I’d call you Maddie.”

Zefiris looks confused, “I don’t know what to say.”

She blushes and coyishly adds, “Nobody has ever given me a name.”

Hopeful, “Does that mean you like me?”

Irritably, “Not that it matters!”

Malo isn’t sure what’s going on, but remembers she jumps around emotionally a lot, “Slow down Mad... I mean Zefiris. Let’s not rush into sitting in any chairs right now.”

“Huh?

“Oh, chairs! Like my pilot’s chair, the one I said could kill you.

“Hahaha, you know I was messing with you when I told you those odds. There was no way it was going to kill you; you’re a human.

“My creators were human, and they all died before I could meet them. I searched through all my reference documentations and technical product specifications and only learned that I was to be named once they knew me.

“Since You are human, and you met me, and you gave me a name. My name is now Madison Project Drako.”

Malo laughs at that, “How about we drop the word project and call you Madison Drako, or Maddie to your friends?”

“Does that mean we are friends?”

“I turned around when you called to me didn’t I?”

Giddily, “Yeah, you sure did, friend!”

Getting back on track to his original destination, “Maddie, would you like to accompany me to visit someone for my practicum? His name is Ultimate Warrior, and he lives close to here.”

“Ok, Malo. I’d love to go anywhere you go.”