Tasìa stepped out onto the walkway. At a picnic table, Kae-Kae sat with her back leaned up against the edge.

She stared across the yard. Castro's eyes were fixed upon a gateway corridor built into the double fences used by maintenance vehicles.

Her demeanor now seemed untroubled.

Kae-Kae glanced over as Tasìa walked by on the cement walkway.

"Good luck, Tasìa. Be careful," she called out. Her tone matter-of-fact.

Tasìa stopped and turned her head back.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Castro's chin pointed in turn to the three PA speakers spread out on lamp post poles in different parts of the yard.

"No."

"Very well, then."

Tasìa preceded toward the IMCQ building.

Felicité was tucked away in a rarely used niche just outside the library. A textbook on finite mathematics on her lap.

Tasìa approached her.

Felicité surprised her with a warm smile.

"Since I witnessed that amazing acrobatic feat you pulled off over in the SIU breakroom, I said to myself when I heard the Goon Squad hauled you off, 'that little monkey is going to find a way to get out of the Cistern', and here you are."

Tasìa leaned against the couch arm.

"Did Kutuzova finally get in touch with you," she asked.

Felicité shook her head as she appraised the other woman. Tasìa thought in spite of her neo-punk razor-jagged locks, the Argentinian blonde somehow maintained a classical sensibility to her appearance.

"It would not matter if he did. I am not working with or for that fascist. I'm so sorry you find yourself in a position where you have no choice. Beware, Tasìa. Just be wary, okay?"

Tasìa nodded.

"Thanks. But my circumstances are a little different. Kutuzova is the father of my aunt."

Felicité raised a brow over her dominant eye, she had a slight strabismus. Very slight when compared to Este-Oeste.

The news of Tasìa's family connection genuinely surprised her.

"You don't appear very Russian, but then again, I've always noticed the way you pronounce your name flavors the language."

Tasìa leaned forward and ruffled Felicité's hair, as she asked.

"Have you ever had anyone say the same of you?"

"This," Felicité said as she stroked it back in place, "is common in Buenos Aires. I'll tell you though. Blonde runs on all sides of my family, Spanish and Italian. I get this shade from my great grandmother, Nessa Lombardo. She came from Milan, Italy. What about you and your lineage, my little babushka?"

"I'm not related to Kutuzova by blood, but he met my grandmother when she was a foreign exchange student at the University of Havana. She had already had my mother by her first marriage.

"My aunt came along a little later. She is more like an older sister to me. Now, the general says she is in trouble."

"This aunt of yours, Tatiana Kutuzova, the human rights activist?"

"You've heard of her?"

"I'm sorry, Tasìa, the general did not lie about her being in trouble. She was abducted three months ago. I didn't know you had a personal connection."

Tasìa folded her arms and lowered her gaze. That her belovéd Aunt Tatiana was in a worse place in life than herself humbled Tasìa.

"What do you know about her abduction?"

"Not much is on the public record. Film footage showed your aunt being dragged off the street and forced into a white SUV. Later on, the cops searched her apartment in Asunción, only to find it had been ransacked.

"You know the fucking media. Their consensus was that it was inevitable given who her father is, and how many people she has pissed-off by her refusal to accept political patronage from any of the major players."

Tasìa nodded.

"I know the media. You would think from their portrayal of my aunt, she was the most sanctimonious, self-righteous asshole on the planet. But I tell you, Felicité, she is the sweetest person you would ever meet in person."

Felicité grimaced a wane smile.

"Well, you must get it from somewhere."

"Thank you, but I just look the part, I don't really feel it in here," Tasìa smacked her chest. "In here, I feel one hundred percent the villain. Truth be told, I like that feeling."

Tasìa chortled before she continued.

"Last night the Incubus came to me. It tried to talk me into a mission. One I could not run away from fast enough when told I was needed to save mankind. Sorry, I'm a burglar, not James fucking Bond.

"That is when I realized it was more a dream on my part than actual communication with the Spore. I told it, from the description of the problem it gave, it needed to talk to you."

Felicité grabbed her knees. She let out a sound of incredulity, "hah."

"What?"

"Your referral," Felicité answered. "That is why it came to me. Gave me a spiel that I needed to convince you to detach the uranium rods in a power generator. It sounded so far fetched, I was as incredulous as you."

"Damn. There might be something to it."

Felicité shook her head.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Don't fret yourself Tasìa. I've read closed files of projects devoted to attacking the Spore with counter-programming. After my conversation with the Incubus, I am certain one such program is now succeeding.

"Else, it's behavior would not be so unpredictable, now. Before, when you talked to the three dream entities they exhibited well-defined functions. The Black Eyed Ones tried to con you like you were their mark, the Wise One tried to convince you to give in with spiritual pap, and the Incubus begged you to let it go down on your hoo-ha."

Tasìa frowned. "The Incubus never asked me that. It always asks me for a kiss and then used its free hand to, well, never mind."

Felicité smiled. "Whatever turns the person on the most is what it focuses on. So kisses, eh? There is something absolutely sweet about that from a girl who denies her winsome image."

Tasìa turned her head away with a shy smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

Felicité snorted a chortle.

"Anyway, I've embarrassed you enough for now, back to my point. Which is, I conclude from all of this a breakdown is taking place in the Spore's codebase. I also predict, encounters with it will soon begin to get ugly and very unpredictable."

Tasìa nodded, and she cleared her throat. She reached into her fanny pack and produced a roll of gold US Liberty coins.

"These belong to you. The split is a part of our partnership."

"I can't accept that, Tasìa. However, I would like you to do me a big favor when you get out there."

Felicité reached into her pocket and she produced a thumb drive.

"There is possibly still a way for me to get out of this shit-hole by getting my sentence commuted with your help. That drive you gave me is a goldmine of information documenting nefarious activities.

"I have been putting feelers out there. Get this one to the HRC-GQs Deputy Director Héctor Bellerínci. You do this for me, when we re-establish contact, I'll devote every hour digging through intel on your aunt.

"I will decode that file you asked about, please don't say anything about it out loud. Anything said about it will set those passive receivers off."

Felicité reached out and she held Tasìa firmly by her arm.

"Tasìa I owe you an apology for how I reacted earlier concerning that matter. It is not your fault. You did not and still do not know my personal history pertaining to it.

"I was just out of college with my Master's in Information Theory with my first real job in signals processing for an I-N-T-E-L concern when that shit came across my desk.

"It fucked me up. I wound up quitting my job out of protest. It has fueled my desire to bring down the entire goddamned thugocracy ever since.

"So when I found out you were somehow involved, I felt like I was being dragged back into that nightmare all over again. I'm sorry for how I reacted."

Felicité grabbed her for a full hug with the pearl sheen of her long hair dropping in Tasìa's face. The rogue's nose wrinkled.

Then, interrupting them, klaxons began to blare. The blue LED strips on the walls of the corridor began to pulse.

Felicité jerked back. She chuckled nervously.

"My first thought was that I had just said too much. But, most likely, they have just discovered that you are missing, Tasìa."

Over the PA speakers a harsh male voice blared out.

"If you are on the yard, get off the yard. All inmates back to your cells. I repeat, all inmates back to your cells. You have ten minutes. Anyone not complying will be dealt with in the harshest terms that policy will allow. Return to your cells."

Felicité nodded.

"Yup. The lockdown has begun."

Tasìa was caught off guard in a rare occurrence of ill-preparation. For a moment, she truly panicked.

"Shit. I can't slip through to the SIU. There are six double steel doors between here and there on automatic lock. Shit. Shit. Shit. What will I do?"

Felicité stood up and grabbed her by the hand. She led Tasìa down the hall.

"We need to get you off this corridor before the education staff starts checking for stragglers."

An idea suddenly occurred to Felicité. Tasìa could tell by the sudden bright look in her eyes.

"Just over there. Horticultural Studies. Pass the classrooms is the exit that leads to a greenhouse and a fenced-in garden area. I have seen how you climb. It should be child's play for you to exploit the wall adjacent to the building."

Felicité kissed her on the cheek.

"We have to get going. Good luck, my friend. See you on the other side."

Noone stopped Tasìa as she made her way out to the greenhouse. No classes were being conducted at the time.

However, someone left behind a wheelbarrow full of nestles and green leaves.

There were tools sprawled around the cement walkway divider inside the greenhouse.

Someone had been weeding the garden.

Where was that person now?

Tasìa poked her head through branches to see if anyone was still around hidden among the rows of green foliage.

A voice rose up.

"Anyone in here?"

It was a male staffer. Likely they just missed seeing one another as he was busy putting away equipment for the lockdown.

He had returned for the set of clippers and the wheelbarrow.

Tasìa found the thickest rose bush to hide in. She pressed gently into the leaves to minimize thorn impalings.

Not all of them could be avoided. One pressed in the back of her neck and another pricked into the nape between her modest haunches; they both felt . . . erogenous.

What a fucked up time to be getting turned on, Tasia.

The man walked slowly down the walkway nearest her.

"Anyone here?"

He was going through the bushes with a rake. He must have thought he had seen something on his return, and he was getting close.

Tasìa lay flat and she crawled into the next pathway over. There were three fig trees that lay under a trap door into the greenhouse ceiling.

The limbs were thin and tapered as they grew higher, but Tasìa's weight was slight. She had little choice but to climb them.

Pushing her way up, quickly and quietly, she grabbed onto a solid limb that arched close to the trapdoor. Tasìa rolled right side up and she planted her feet down.

Once her footing was stable Tasìa sprinted up the limb, stressing it until it was about to give out. At that moment, Tasìa jumped up and grabbed the side mantles holding the trap door in place with her knee and shins.

As she hung upside down, Tasìa looked for the greenhouse attendant. He was staring in the opposite direction with his back towards her.

Something had caught his attention. Tasìa could only strain to see what was happet. The shadows of three mastiff-sized flying objects buzzed the far greenhouse wall in unison.

Dogs'O'War drones. Shit'O'Shit!

Tasìa worked the trap door hatch and slid it open. She quickly shuffled her way on to the roof.

The layout worked in her favor. Along the ridge where she squatted were long folds of thick green canvas used to cover the glass panels during the mid-season when the nights turned cold.

Tasìa squirmed between them to make use of them for hiding space. She had a good view of the yard. To her left she could see armed guards escorting inmates from the main IMCQ building back to the worker's collective dorm. Felicité was amongst this group.

Soon after the inmates cleared out, an odd commotion occurred at the gate Kae-Kae had been staring at a little while earlier.

In fact, it was Kae-Kae there now speaking to two men in a maintenance truck at the open gate. One man got out and opened a compartment in the back of the truck.

Castro crawled down into it. The man returned to the driver's cabin. They reversed the truck to turn it back around when a second, larger truck drove up. It was similar to the other F-150s that the guards drove, but silver in color instead.

A huge man, over six foot five jumped out of the truck. His crew-cut hair was as silver as his vehicle. He waved down the maintenance truck.

The men inside climbed back out. Two more men dressed in camos with assault rifles swinging on their shoulders joined the silver-haired man.

A contentious discussion took place. Finally, the two maintenance men put their hands on their heads and squatted on the ground.

The two armed men opened the maintenance truck compartment. They grabbed for Kae-Kae. She kicked and screamed, demanding they release her.

One dragged her by the arms, the other by the legs. She twisted and turned every inch of the way as they carried her.

Brusquely, they dropped her in front of the silver-haired man. She grabbed for the hip she landed on.

The man yelled at her. He got into her face and bellowed out laughter.

Kae-Kae bent down, squatted on her knees, crying and pleading.

The silver-haired man took out a .357 revolver from a shoulder mounted holster. He placed its barrel at the back of Castro's skull and he pulled the trigger.

Her viscera splattered forward just before she slumped to the ground.