- BF -

Night had come, and Tom and Madzistrale joined Gabzryel to his lab after their day of fun and racing.

“Tonight, we’ll be trying something different,” Gabzryel announced. “I’ve managed to hack a bit deeper into our Orb Weaver experiment, and I think I’ve succeeded to help you guys be at least twenty percent cooler in your roles of heroes.”

“Hein?” Tom wondered, puzzled by what Gabzryel just said.

“Never mind, just go to the laboratory,” Gabzryel sighed. “In fact, there’s plenty of new things that I want to try now we’ve gone further into the experiments.”

“Umm… Will it be dangerous?” Madzistrale asked worryingly.

Gabzryel reflected for some time, and Madzistrale glowered at him:

“What?! You’re actually hesitating?!”

“No, no, it’s not that kind of dangerous,” Gabzryel defended himself. “Don’t worry, you guys will be safe no matter what happen… -ish. It’s all new theories, we have to up our game, and I think I know how.”

“Come on, Mad, you know Gab will never risk hurting us; if he thinks the experiment is safe enough, then it’s safe enough.”

Madzistrale pouted, throwing a suspicious glare to Gabzryel, who had already turned his attention to his computer set-up, their Afghan hound Loki looking at them in his usual uninterested manner, spread on the floor and licking the dirt off his long silvery grey coat.

“Okay, now, to the lab! Off you go!” Gabzryel told them, like a parent telling a kid to go to bed.

The siblings dutifully obeyed, and Gabzryel followed them to the basement.

“To train at being heroes, we will start by engaging in a conflict; and a conflict that you can escape from if anything happens,” Gabzryel explained in a microphone, from within his control room, composed of an electroencephalogram, a functional magnetic resonance imaging system and an electromyography, amongst his main computer, and various other machinery, including a frequency emitter. “So, we’ll try such a scenario tonight. Ready?”

“Yep,” the siblings’ voices answered through his speakers.

Without saying anything else, Gabzryel muted his microphone, tapped a few instructions upon his computers, and leaned back in his chair while a soft trance music invaded his laboratory.

The strange chirping of birds brought Madzistrale and Tom out of the blackness that fell upon their mind for a few moments in reality, but which seemed eternity for the siblings. They blinked as the typical morning sun rays hit their faces. They shielded their eyes with their hand, and studied where they were.

“Wow...” Tom spoke suddenly with admiration.

Before them stretched an ocean of shining glass skyscrapers as far the eyes could see. At one extremity of the city, the towers were fewer, and surrounded a space that the siblings could not yet see. But what was even more unique to their mind than the futuristic towers, were the cars: they were flying.

“Are we in Japan? Or Dubai?” Madzistrale gaped with wonder.

Tom rose an eyebrow at her question:

“With flying cars?”

“Dubai’s technology is quite advanced now, you know,” she defended herself. “They have hovering police bikes; who says we’re told of their complete achievements?”

“Nah... Something’s different. Speaking of different… Don’t you fell more heavy”

“Oye, I’m still 160 pounds!”

“I meant clothing wise...” he paused as he turned to fully look at her, his eyes widening.

“Oh, yeah… I know what you mean; besides, am I wearing at hat?” Madzistrale wondered, feeling the heaviness and the rough edges on her head, the rim obstructing her full view. She went to touch it, but as she turned toward Tom, her mouth fell; Tom mirrored her expression. They simultaneously looked down at themselves, and they understood the reason.

“Cool...” was the only thing they could say.

Madzistrale’s usual white tank was covered with a white long-sleeved fitted jacket attached by a single button in the centre, the two pans forming an X. Her wide white trousers was accompanied with a cape-like fabric from her waist down, attached with an ornate silver Celtic brooch, and the overall look giving the impression of a frontal slitted skirt. A Victorian-type hat completed the unexpected uniform, the whole complemented with emerald green borders and ornaments at the extremities of her sleeves, and jacket pans.

Tom’s uniform, as for him, was a simple straight-forward suit with a Manchurian influence in its design, completely dark gray, with electric blue borders.

“Neat!” Tom said with an appreciative smile. “And guess what, Mad? The zipper is on the side of the pant! I won’t have to worry anymore about my crouch!”

“I know!!” she replied excitedly; then she frowned. “Wait a tick… where’re the pockets?”

Tom searched, and he finally found an inside pocket in his jacket.

“Looks like I carry both our things. Let’s see… some money, of which I’ve no idea what country they’re from… Oh, a wallet! Wonder what’s in there it… Hmm, citizen cards; well that’s a start.”

Madzistrale looked over his shoulder to read the two cards that he pulled out.

“Hey! Who’s the bakka that made our citizen card? The family name doesn’t match!”

On Madzistrale’s, it was written ‘Madzistrale Korfmann’, whereas on Tom’s, it was written ‘Tom Dzifforyy’.

“I honestly don’t mind,” Tom commented, smiling. “I think it gives us a form of anonymity, with people not knowing we’re siblings.”

“Hmm, good point,” Madzistrale realized. “Nothing else?”

“Nope, that’s it,” Tom fiddled in his pocket before replacing everything. He thought for a while, looking around him for clues as to their location and the city’s origins. But then he shook his head, and took his sister’s hand.

“Well, let’s see that city from up close!”

The two figures, who seemed surrounded by a shimmering glimmer under the sun’s rays, one clad of white and the other of dark gray, climbed down the hill and walked toward the unknown shining city of glass.

********* AI *********

The city’s centre, a great plaza surrounded by business buildings and commercial skyscrapers, was animated with life as the crowd moved from buildings to buildings, some shopping, some going to work, and some stretching their legs before their shifts. The plaza was free from the noise of the flying cars, as no transport other than by feet seemed to be allowed; up in the sky, grids of hard steel enclosed the space above it, as if to prevent any vehicles from landing or flying near the plaza.

Madzistrale and Tom walked amongst the strangers, none of the latter paying them any attention. At the centre of the plaza stood several booths, and the siblings walked up to one of them, where a portion of the crowd was already gathering around.

“People, people, listen up,” a tall and built man standing upon that stand was saying, “you’re being fooled by this ‘new’ government. Follow it, and you’ll be dragged through mud, just like before!”

“Yes, we’ll be in deep mud when my family will finally be able to eat,” one of the shoppers sarcastically replied.

“Or when these damn fuel companies will be taken down,” another added.

“The government is giving you everything so that you won’t revolt against them!” the public speaker heatedly retorted.

“And the opposing parties won’t give a damn about our existence. Of course we don’t want to revolt against President Bohm, he’s on our side!” the members from the crowd continued.

After a few minutes, the debate became more heated, and soon the crowd grew restless against the public speaker.

“He’s one of Them!” some started to accuse, referring to an enemy that Madzistrale and Tom knew not of. “He’s trying to confuse us!”

The tension climbed as the crowd gathered tighter around the speaker, who finally understood the gravity of his position. Soon, it degraded to physical violence, and a group dragged him to the ground as he was clearly no match against the mob’s numbers.

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Desperate to end the fighting, Madzistrale raised her hands, but she let out a gasp of surprise as she found herself holding two heavy metal sticks. Although surprised by its apparition, she did not miss a beat and smacked the two sticks together. The

refractive metallic sound stunned for a short moment the crowd, and Tom used it to push aside the people standing between him and the small group beating the public speaker.

Madzistrale followed, taking a quick look at her unexpected weapons: the length of a short sword, a dull-silver colour, and engraved with decorative filigrees. She set them down on the ground while silently wondering how come she came to hold it in the first place, and helped Tom push away the crowd when they tried to gather back around the speaker. Tom grabbed by the collar the main mob leader, and threw him back into the crowd. The same fate fell upon the second and third semi-leaders, while Madzistrale put herself between the rest of the group and the crowd, and the speaker. Upon looking at the siblings’ strange attire, and their furious glares, the crowd decided it wasn’t a fight worth pursuing, and they gruntingly dispersed.

Madzistrale knelt beside the trembling speaker, who was curled up in a defensive ball, and kindly touched his shoulder, indicating that it was over. The man slowly uncurled, and looked around him fearfully, his medium-short brown hair messy from the attack, and covering part of his forehead and his blue eyes.

“It’s all right, they’re gone,” she reassured him. “Are you hurt? I can help if you are.”

The man slowly nodded, and lifted up slightly his shirt to reveal a bruised rib.

“Alright, I got a thing for that, just trust me,” Madzistrale said softly; she reached for her purse, until she realized she had none. Yet, as she opened her hand, she was holding her familiar small vial, filled with a somewhat clear liquid; she again wondered silently how it could have happened.

“Do you have a tissue which I can wet?”

The man shakily nodded, taking out a handkerchief from a breast pocket; Madzistrale poured some of the vial unto the bandage, before sticking it against the man’s wound.

“Press on it for awhile,” she instructed him. She noticed his water bottle on the booth. She went to get it, poured more of the mysterious liquid into the water, shook it slightly, and instructed the speaker to drink it.

“There, keep the vial, and do these two things again each four hours until your wound gets better,” she told him before leaving in his hand the small bottle.

“Thank you, miss,” the man finally spoke. “What is it you gave me?”

“Achillea millefolium extract. Yarrow, soldier’s herb, or Achille’s herb, it’s also called. It’s an effective and quick coagulant and wound healing. In the external application, it will help seal the wound, and internally, it will repair the veins and slow down the flow of blood, so that it doesn’t overly bleed, or swell,” she explained, glad to finally get to show-off her herbalist knowledge.

“Well, thank you to both of you,” the speaker once more said, standing up with some difficulties. “I’m surprised you helped me at all.”

“Why shouldn’t we? These people were beating you for expressing an opinion,” Tom hotly retorted.

The speaker smiled derisively.

“In the world we are now living, an opinion’s more dangerous than you think. Who are you, if I may ask, so I can repay you for your kindness?”

“I’m Madzistrale, this is Tom, my brother. And no need to repay us; violence is against our belief, especially needless violence.”

“But I do insist, Ma… Masi… Madsis...” the man tried to say her name.

“Mad is just fine,” Madzistrale assured him. “And we insist ourselves. In fact, as a Christian, I cannot allow you to repay us for helping you out; it wouldn’t be fair.”

The man smiled kindly.

“I’ve never heard of that term, but I think I understand what you mean. It’s rare indeed to meet people like you. I’m Frank, pleased to meet you.”

“So who is this Bohm?” Tom asked Frank, after they shook hands.

Frank looked surprised.

“How come you don’t know? His name is more popular than that of Gaea nowadays…”

“We’re travellers,” Madzistrale quickly explained.

“It’s a surprise the oversea countries hasn’t yet caught up with the news…”

Tom and Madzistrale answered that remark with only an innocent smile.

“Well, Bohm’s the new President of Uni-states, with his new ‘liberal’ party, the AAP.”

“And what makes you so afraid of him?” Tom asked.

“Well, it’s actually quite nothing...” Frank began, prudent and looking around him in a furtive manner.

“We won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. We’re merely curious. These people seemed very devoted to the new President,” Madzistrale reassured him.

“Exactly! He knew exactly what to say, what to do. His party is too perfect, so are all his new Directives. We’re even apparently going to hear the announcement that they’re cutting links with some of the most powerful fuel corporations! Old members of the old governments are also being exposed about various controversies…”

“I see...” Tom replied, thoughtful.

“I know, I know, it’s just theories. But no one seem to find any of that even remotely odd!”

The siblings smiled.

“Yeah, it’s like that too where we come from…”

“Well, I need to go, but thanks anyway!” Frank shook their hands once more. He looked frightfully toward the sky, and hurried away.

“Don’t forget to do the treatments each four hours!” Madzistrale yelled after him.

“Will do!” he shouted back.

Madzistrale turned to her brother, and found him thoughtfully examining the buildings.

“Do you know when something is wrong, Mad? When the people look frightfully at five stories-high buildings.”

“The walls are ugly?” she half-joked.

“No. They fear that they’re spied upon.”

“All buildings have cameras to protect against burglars,” she reasoned.

“Not at five stories high. Cameras placed at that distance aren’t meant to monitor the entrances; they’re meant to monitor the plaza. Did you noticed something else odd?”

Madzistrale looked hard around her, but she couldn’t find the answer.

“No one stopped you when you smacked your weapons together, Mad. No policeman, no security guard, not one person. You just did something dangerous in a crowded plaza, yet no one came to arrest you. And even that little mob fight, no one intervened to restore public peace. And yet, that speaker looked at a five story high camera with dread…”

Both looked at each other, puzzled by this strange mystery.

“Let’s try to find out more about this Bohm,” Tom decided, taking his sister’s hand, and moving toward an extremity of the plaza. “Who wants to bet that the Presidential sector is that vast park surrounded by towers that we saw earlier on the hill?”

“You mean over there at a half a day walk, with no money to rent a cab?” Madzistrale joked.

“So? We’ll take that opportunity to explore the city,” Tom cheerfully replied, as the siblings merged back into the crowd, once more unbothered by the strangers around them despite the recent events.