The Rhuvish War - Escaping Rhuvanland

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part One
(OOC: Criticisms, questions, compliments here)

Sadakoyama, two months before the outbreak of rebellion in Rhuvanland

Sanya sat nervously beside her boyfriend Oliver waiting for the results of their citizenship exams with her karass. They were discussing with her "family" the possibility that Oliver could join them as her partner. Oliver's karass had always been warm and welcoming to her too, but after weeks of discussion the two had decided, since both of them were interested in pursuing work in Education, that the Morettis were the better choice. The Morettis had deep roots in the DOE, even enjoying ties with the Addisons, the Director's own family. The negotiations had been going exceedingly well—in fact, she was sure her grandmother's endless questions were just a ruse meant to haze poor Oliver—when first her phone jangled, then his.

Both messages were texts from the Admin of their academy, Dr. Kolzov. She demanded a meeting with them both. Sanya pulled Oliver to a quiet room and they nervously discussed the implications. They could not have failed; both were confident about their academics and they knew they had passed their physical tests. If it were something medical one of the school physicians would have called, or their preferred personal doctor were it something serious. The only thing no one could be completely certain about was the psych and emotional exams, and both shared the same fear. Their relationship was very close by Sadakhan standards; so much so that their classmates referred to them as "The Duprass". Had this closeness been interpreted as immaturity?

They excused themselves from the meeting and began walking to the school. It was a warm, pleasant night; a light misty shower fell but the cloud cover was thin enough that a few stars peeked through. Even the fireflies were undeterred. Without the worry hanging over them, the early evening walk would have been romantic. Their plans for the future had them both, breathless and excited, heading to the glittering hive that was Academy City, of course; but Sanya would miss the quiet nights of Abbeville, their little Beaumonde village.

Sanya absent-mindedly stripped off her thin waterproof hoody, rolling up the garment and stuffing it in her bag. She enjoyed the soft rains on her bare skin, would normally nuzzle her naked back up to Oliver on nights like this, relishing how he would cross his arms just under her naked breasts, breathing softly on her earlobe. But tonight she could not stop going over and over the details of her meeting with the three-person psych evaluation board. She glanced over at Oliver who was obviously having similar thoughts because he was silently counting off points on his fingers. She smiled and cupped her hand under his chin, pulling him down into a kiss. "C'mon; we can worry this to death or we can just go see what doom they will bring down on us." She broke into a sprint, her damp hair bouncing wetly on her bare shoulders. She heard Oliver's thudding pace catching up to her. They reached the doors of the school almost at the same time, and went in together. Oliver playfully tickled her as the airlock vestibule gently blew them dry. Before stepping into the building she slipped on a dry maroon t-shirt she kept in her satchel.

The lights were dim in the hallways, but a few classrooms and labs had lights on. There were always student at the school, studying or working on some project or another that required school resources. They made their way to Dr. Kolzov's office. The secretary's desk was vacant, but Kolzov's door was closed and she was talking to someone behind it. Oliver rapped softly to let the administrator know they were there, then they sat down and held hands. If anything, the conversation inside grew more animated, until it broke a few minutes later and the door opened.

Dr. Kolzov welcomed them inside, looking perturbed, which was odd in itself. There was a man in a suit that must be fashionable in Academy City's climate controlled halls; it was a bit much for the Beaumonde wetlands. The man backed up against the wall as the woman invited the two to sit and leaned against the edge of her desk. "First of all, let me put your minds at ease, because I'm sure you are worried about your exams; you both passed, with exceptional scores all around." She gave them a moment to express their relief and happiness.

"Thank you, Dr. Kolzov, I can't tell you how anxious I was, we were… " Oliver began, but the admin interrupted him.

"First of all, call me Magda, we are all adults here now. That's rather the point of this meeting, as a matter of fact. Let me introduce my guest," she motioned to the quiet man, who stepped forward and greeted them with a little bow. "This is Captain Audley, with the DIS. As you are aware, at need any citizen can have their military service activated, and that's what the captain wishes to do for you two." Her tone made it clear she thought it was something he was doing to them; that must have been the crux of the argument.

"Are we at war, Captain?" Sanya asked. She glanced at Oliver, who looked as concerned as she felt. The increasingly chaotic international situation would normally have not phased the people of Sadakoyama, but they had been startled by the mad queen of Cronaal declaring war on them shortly before destroying her own capital. The idea that the persistent wars that so frequently plagued the less civilized world might actually soon affect them directly had been planted like a weed in the national consciousness.

"No, we are not, Ms. Moretti, Mr. Waldfogel. But we do want to ask your help. I want to emphasize that this mission is entirely voluntary, but I also want to stress that you two possess certain qualifications that put you at the top of our candidates list.

"You have been busy with your schoolwork, but you may be aware of some of this already anyway; if so please bear with me. Due to the international hostilities that preceded the unpleasantness in Cronaal, the DIS and the DOE saw an opportunity to take advantage of the unstable situation in Rhuvanland and try to persuade their best and brightest to join us here, rather than stay in a war zone. It's something we do often; we want the ones smart enough to put science ahead of patriotism or obedience. This time, it backfired badly; we got a harbor full of the rich and privileged; wealth hoarders and parasites and just the worst sort of people. We're still trying to sort that mess out.

"However, we recently had contact with a young high school girl who found the encrypted link on the website we advertised to Rhuvanland, took the test and did very well. We'd like to extend an offer to her, but our existing network in that country is currently in disarray; missing or repatriated or are just keeping their heads down for one reason or another. We'd like you two to go and make the offer, possibly evaluate their families for potential as well."

"Why us?" Oliver asked.

"A fair question. You both have expressed a desire to work for the DOE, and both your aptitude scores in that area are excellent. Ms. Moretti speaks basic Syrixian, and you studied German for two semesters. You are both near in age to the young lady in question, so she may trust you more than an older person. You both are close enough in appearance to the predominant ethnic groups in Rhuvanland to blend in; and… well… "

"Tell them, Felix" said Marta.

"It is my understanding that you two are, well, closely romantically involved?" It was awkward for a Sadakhan to ask about the intimate affairs of strangers, and the Captain was sweating bullets.

"Yesss… " Sanya said, suspiciously. Oliver just narrowed his eyes.

"Please!" Magda scoffed, smiling broadly. "Its common knowledge you two have been inseparable since the day you started school here ten years ago. Don't be embarrassed; that's working in your favour, for once."

"Our idea," Captain Audley continued, "Is for you two to enter Rhuvanland as a newly married couple using your honeymoon as a chance to check on the well-being of distant relatives because of the war. This seems like one of the few plausible reasons for people young enough not to spook the girl to fly into a recent war zone."

"It's actually a pretty sound plan," Magda said reluctantly, "even if it does require the services of two people who have been adults for less than a few hours." The administrator narrowed her eyes at Audley.

"Look, think about it, at least. Like I said, this is entirely voluntary, but something like this looks great on a C.V., it's a chance to see the world, it counts for part of your mandatory service, and it's a foot in the door to your chosen career field." He gave Oliver a stick drive. "This contains the relevant non-classified information on the assignment, as well as my contact information. Take 24 hours, celebrate your graduation with your people, but take the time to look over the data also, okay? And let me know if you are in."

He gave them both a congratulatory fist bump, nodded to Magda, and left.

Now on equal footing with her former students, Magda's previous taciturn attitude towards them now turned to effusive, affectionate praise. They embarrassedly listened to her gush about how fond she was of them, how proud they made her. They in turn thanked her for her years of tutelage without which they could not have done as well as they had. All of them avoided talking about the assignment. Magda finally brought out a bottle of premium scotch and their new ID cards, and they drank a toast as a private graduation ceremony.

The pair walked back to the Moretti compound, hand in hand, contemplating the events of the evening.

To be continued

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part Two

Moretti compound, Abbeville, Beaumonde in Sadakoyama

Sanya awoke still spooned in Oliver’s arms. It was early, barely past daybreak. Soft golden light filtering through the dewy morning fog made the polished wood walls glow. She would have savoured the quiet moment, Oliver snoring softly in her ear, if not for her massive hangover. She untangled herself from his arms, stood up, scratched her butt, and softly padded around the other sleepers. Fortunately, she and Oliver had come to bed late, having been engaged in “personal business” until well past two in the morning, so their futon was at the entrance of the room. They had been intimate before, of course, but those times had been secret, stolen moments; there was a depth to making love as fully emancipated adults that the desperate fumblings of adolescence couldn’t compare to.

She went to the washroom and splashed water on her face, then popped a couple of painkillers and a limosasine. She went to the toilet and tried to remember the night before. They had come home exuberant, waving their new ID cards in triumph. That started the party, first with a round of toasts and congratulatory speeches. All pretense to opposing Oliver’s joining the karass evaporated, and that started another round of toasts welcoming him to the family. Oliver called one of his cousins to bring his stuff over (which amounted to two duffel bags, already packed in advance) and half the Waldfogels came with him, as well as some of those from around town who had fostered out from Moretti and Waldfogel; Girouxs and Girards and Fortiers. Even Mathilde Mueller, her father’s sister who never quite got along with the family so she fostered out to Adelaide into a karass of accountants made a special trip up, which Sanya thought was sweet. Of course, by that time it might have been the cognac thinking for her. Of course with that many people the party spilled out into the courtyard, and by the time the crabtopus boil started most of the town was there, combining celebrations for their own graduates into one big shindig, and about a fifth of them not even aware of how or why the party started at all. The mission was entirely forgotten, and about one in the morning the shindig broke up, some needing to get up for work the next day and others, like she and Oliver, taking their revels to a quieter place.

She smiled and blushed as she remembered the intimate details. Feeling a little more human as the pills took effect, she thought about taking a shower, but her growling tummy suggested breakfast first. She was still a little wired from the uppers she had taken prepping for the exam so going back to sleep was out of the question. Since there might still be unexpected guests wandering around, she threw on some shorts and Oliver’s t-shirt, deeply breathing in his scent first.

She stepped into the kitchen and found her ten year old sister Noelle sitting at the counter, watching a coccinellid scuttling around her fingers. She was the spitting image of their mother, as Sanya herself was; mousy brown hair, pale skin that tended to freckle, coffee brown eyes. The last email they got from their mother, she was in AC working with her cultural anthropology lab forging a special frying pan for some kind of international competition.

She tussled Noelle’s hair and kissed her forehead, making the beetle fly away. “What’s up, monkey, ready for some breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

“All right, if you help.” Noelle smiled; cooking together was one of their favorite sister things. She had probably been waiting for Sanya to get up. Sanya put some coffee on and looked in the fridge; there were lots of eggs and a whole big pot of leftover crawlies. “Omelets?”

“Yeah!” Noelle grinned.

“Alright, you start cracking the eggs.” Her sister got out the biggest glass bowl while Sanya got to work shelling the crawlies. She told Noelle how much milk to add, and discretely watched the girl carefully measure, then start mixing the eggs. Eyeballing the pile of meat next to the bowl of eggs, she figured the amount she had was about right so she chopped up some onions and mushrooms.

By the time the girls had gotten four or five omelets plated, the activity and the aroma had started to awaken others. Greetings and thanks were offered, especially for the coffee. Noelle received a lot of praise for her pan handling technique; she really did take to it, flipping the omelets flawlessly.

Most of the family was up and eating by the time Oliver stumbled out of bed. He was greeted by a lot of good natured ribbing, especially about his thatch of sandy hair that looked like a hay bale after a hurricane. He hugged Sanya from behind, kissing her neck and discretely copping a feel, almost making her drop the large plate of toast she was bringing to the table. On his way to the coffee he greeted Noelle, who was putting fresh berries into a serving bowl, and kissed her on the back of the head.

She giggled and said “I poured you some coffee already, Olly,” the impish grin on her face making it clear she knew she was the only person allowed to call him that. The mug she had poured for him must have been the biggest one in the house; it was closer to a soup bowl with a handle.

“Right.” Uncomfortable images of the night before flashed in his mind; he’d never drank that much before and he started turning beet red remembering some of the embarrassing things he’d said, mostly about Sanya’s various. . . qualities he admired. “Yeah, I think this is about right.” He grinned sheepishly, taking a seat at the table. His new family laughed genially at his good grace and he sipped his giant coffee. It was really very good.

During breakfast, Sanya discretely and nonchalantly asked the three elders that served as de facto leaders of the karass for a meeting. They didn’t hold any formal authority or binding political power, but it was ill-advised to make an important decision like the one they faced without at least seeking the elders’ advice. They didn’t know how secret the mission was supposed to be, so they agreed to meet in one of the sitting rooms, instead of the kitchen.

After breakfast, she let Oliver report on the details of the meeting at the school the previous evening; he had a better mind for the tiny, seemingly insignificant details that turn out to be really important than she did. Since Captain Audley had said the material wasn’t classified, the five of them reviewed the contents of the flash drive, which was a somewhat more detailed version of what Audley had told them in person. A photo was attached; it showed three young people: a pretty, inquisitive looking girl with dark hair, a blonde with an intimidating expression, and a bright eyed boy that could have been Sanya’s brother. They were standing in front of a bombed-out and looted shopping mall.

There was no way they were not going to help those kids.

to be continued

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part Three

Moretti compound: Abbeville, Beaumonde in Sadakoyama

The elders almost convinced them not to go.

Great Nana Maeve was the oldest, a warm and friendly black woman that used to give Sanya little treats that she said were a special secret, just for her, because she was the smartest and her favourite. It took an embarrassingly long time for Sanya to figure out she did this for all the children. Grandpa Willie was a bear of a man with old-fashioned sideburns and a curly mustache that enjoyed teaching the older kids outdoor skills, as well as perseverance and integrity. Grandmother Sayuri was the youngest; a lean, hard Asian woman Sanya could not remember ever laughing.

They brought up very good points. You are young, too young. They were adults, Sanya countered, and not the youngest ones. You have no experience with war. Few in Sadakoyama had experience with war, Oliver argued, and those that did were active duty, like Audley—soldiers. Soldiers had destroyed her home, her town, killed her friends and family. The girl isn’t even Sadakhan. Why risk your lives, valuable Sadakhan lives, in some uncivilized, violent country for one foreign girl? Because Sadakoyama made that girl a promise, said Oliver. We promised her a chance for a better life. We have an obligation to her, and to the integrity of all our recruitment efforts, to do our best to deliver on that. Someone else could do it; the captain said there were other candidates. That’s when Sanya understood.

“What about responsibility? That’s been drilled into our heads from cradle to graduation. Responsibility. It’s supposed to be the glue that holds our people together, why we don’t need policemen or prisons, because each of us is responsible for everyone else. Well, who’s going to be responsible for that girl, her friends? We were drafted into this deal. We didn't want it but we don't see how we can walk away from it. These kids have been let down by the people who were supposed to be responsible for them, and they’re probably going to die if we don't take that responsibility!”

Sanya was shocked at herself. She didn’t realize until she stopped speaking that she had been almost shouting, until she saw a few curious faces peering into the room. She deserved stern censure for such an emotional outburst, especially in front of all three of the elders, and she expected no less.

“Those are very good reasons,” Maeve nodded in approval.

“Are you sure? What if they are just rationalizations?” Sanya said, deflating a little.

“What are you rationalizing? Do you pity the girl?” Willie asked.

Sanya thought a moment. “No. No, I’m angry. I’m angry that a girl like her, a girl probably just as smart as I am, has to live in fear and desperation and danger because she was born in the wrong place. I’m angry that I’m able to go to a party where anyone is welcome and she can’t go to the store because some asshole dropped a bomb on it.” She was trembling, and wiped away a tear. Oliver put his arms around her.

Sayuri studied them with an expression that would have cowed a hungry jaguar. “What do you think, young man?”

“I don’t think I have ever loved her more.” Oliver said softly. “She’s right, I’m angry, angry at all of it.”

Grandmother Sayuri, the youngest but most respected of the three, who had been a Sciencemaster for three decades before retiring six years ago, the most formidable and esteemed woman in Beaumonde, maybe all of Sadakoyama. . . smiled. “I think she’s going to be a Sciencemaster someday.”

“Sanya, I can tell by that look on your face that you feel like you’ve failed, that you let your emotions overcome you. That’s not what I see. I see a young woman of fierce and fervent passions, a fire which can be a powerful tool, as long as you are absolutely honest with yourself. Obligations, responsibility. . . these are just words, words that, as you say, we drill into you, hoping they stick. And most of the time they do. Our system is working. But not everyone can internalize the ideas behind these words as deeply and as personally as you have. Presented with an egregious wrong, it so offends your integrity that you lecture your elders about responsibility for questioning you! You two didn’t need our advice; you knew what you were going to do before you asked for this meeting. You probably knew as soon as the captain told you about it.”

Sayuri stood, and embraced them both. “A job like the one you have been given doesn’t require scientific objectivity, and it can’t be done well by anyone who is unsure or unconvinced about why they are doing it. It requires complete and utter commitment. You have that, and more importantly, now you know you have it. Find this girl, bring her home.”

They called Audley right there, right then. He was pleased they accepted, and he gave them an address in Adelaide where he would meet them. He told them to bring the bare minimum; they’d be supplied with everything they would need.

They thanked the elders, and went off to prepare. While they showered, they discussed if they should wait until dinner and let everyone know then. Oliver suggested they leave right away. They had had a great party last night, and a perfect family breakfast. There wasn’t going to be a better memory of the family to take with them than that. Sanya agreed, with the exception they say farewell to her grandmother personally.

They each dressed in travelling clothes and sturdy boots, with a single change of clothes in their satchels. The rest of their belongings they packed into a weatherproof storage crate. While Sanya wrote a note to Noelle, Oliver found a couple of the teenage cousins in the library and got them to put the crate in the warehouse for them. The kids assumed the couple was headed to college in AC, and he didn’t correct them.

They found Sanya’s grandmother reading to a gaggle of toddlers in the nursery with a few of the other caregivers. Leah Wexler was technically Sanya’s great-grandmother; her son, who had died many years ago in a lab accident, was the father of Sanya’s mother, but titles and honorifics in Sadakoyama were more about relationships than blood anyway. Of all the people that had a hand in raising her, Sanya felt closest to Leah. She explained their mission, and after hugs and tears and kisses Leah told them how proud she was.

After a few minutes Sanya went to hug some of the kids goodbye and Oliver approached Leah privately.

“Can I ask. . . why did you keep your surname?”

“You mean when I joined the karass? Oh, is this about ‘Waldfogel’? Love, do not let that child bully you; you want to keep your name, you keep it.”

“No, it’s nothing like that, we haven’t even discussed it. I guess I don’t know my own mind about it, is all.”

“Oliver, I kept ‘Wexler’ because my father thought it was important to keep it, and I loved him. It was a silly and sentimental reason, but I haven’t regretted it. Otherwise, a name is just a label, not you. You can call yourself whatever you like; you’ll still be the fine young man you are.”

Sanya walked up, put her hand on his arm. “Ready?”

“Yes, get out of here, you two, before I lose my nerve and make you stay in this nursery. Oh, you are so brave!” Another round of hugs and they had said farewell to everyone.

Because they didn’t want to waste any more time, they took a couple of bicycles out of the garage. The station was only three kilometers away, down a narrow track that wended through the thin cypress forest hanging with Spanish moss. Seven times the road crossed meandering streams on mossy stone bridges, streams that eventually trickled down to the mighty Mizuchi river.

The station was a single structure; a 9 meter tall white dome that just poked through the top of the trees. Inside were a small café, a restroom with showers, and a capsule hostel. Stairs led up to the platform halfway up the dome. They parked their bikes in the rack across from the café and decided they had time to grab some early lunch. They got sandwiches and tea, and were just finishing them when a soft bell chimed and they heard the whistling susurration of the train coming.

They disposed of the remains of their meal and ran up the stairs to the platform, just as the train slowed to a stop. Only two people disembarked; one they knew and exchanged quick greetings with before getting on board. The car they entered was about half full, they found seats together near the back. As the train took off, gliding through the tops of the trees, the warm dappled green light coming through the windows and the food in their bellies conspired with the built-up exhaustion from a long night, little sleep, and a busy and emotional morning to lull them both quickly to sleep.

Sanya was awoken from a dream--in which both Sayuri and Leah were scolding her--by someone gently shaking her shoulder. A middle age woman in a lab coat said “We’re in Adelaide, hon.”

“Oh, thank you, yeah.” She had been leaning on Oliver’s chest, and when she sat up Oliver awoke with a snort and a “Wha?”

“Thank you so much,” Sanya said again, and the woman smiled and nodded before moving down the aisle.

They collected their bags and disembarked. Adelaide was the biggest city in Beaumonde, and accordingly the train station was huge, almost as big as Abbeville itself, but they knew the layout and soon exited the station into Adelaide proper. They had both been to the city many times, but it was always a wonder. The buildings were faced with brightly coloured stuccoes and ironwork, lots of windows with thick hurricane shutters, and tile or slate roofs in blacks and greys and blues. The city looked like a watercolor painting to Sanya. What Oliver noticed were the elevated platforms of watertight concrete upon which each building perched, and the wide channels in between blocks that let river or flood waters run freely through the city and gave it a Venetian feel.

The address to which they were headed was back away from the touristy areas near the river, and was just a short walk. The way passed into townie country, where the stucco was a more conservative white or creamy yellow, and a profusion of plant life hung from flat roofs and upper porticoes. If they had been awake when the train entered the city, they knew from previous visits, the amount of rooftop aquaculture being practiced would have made the landward part of the city fade into the forest.

The building they arrived at looked like a nondescript out of business storefront or small apartment. There was nothing distinctive about it; in fact they had to deduce the building number from the surrounding structures as it was unmarked in any way. Oliver pushed the small white button on the doorframe, making note of a couple of tiny, almost hidden camera lenses pointed at them. An older woman wearing nothing but a flowing colourful skirt and a head full of curly hair opened the door. She looked at them like primitive organisms that had crawled out of the river to evolve on her doorstep.

“Ah, Captain Audley here?” said Oliver.

“Humph,” The woman snorted. She pointed at Sanya. “Moretti, and. . .” she swung her finger to Oliver’s chest, “Waldo?”

“Close enough. Yeah.”

She stepped aside. “Well, come on in then.” The couple entered, and the woman shut and secured the door behind them.


To be continued

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part Four

Adelaide, Beaumonde in Sadakoyama

It had been three weeks, and no matter what Oliver told her, Sanya was still suspicious they were subjects in some kind of behavioral study. To begin with, they hadn’t been allowed outside the building the entire time.

The day they arrived, the woman at the door confiscated their phones, Oliver’s wrist computer, and their bags. Then she took them to see Audley. The captain greeted them gratefully, but Oliver said flatly, “Why’d she take our stuff?”

“’She’ is Clarisse, to you, and because it is my job.” The woman behind them said. “You have a short time to acclimatize to an entirely new culture. For the next six weeks you will have rigorous lessons in Syrixian and Rhuvish customs, language and geography, and while doing it you will wear their clothes, eat their food, piss in their toilets, sleep in their beds, and use only their tech.” The lazy Beaumonde lilt she had greeted them with had disappeared, she spoke now like a rock hard drill sergeant. And the next weeks proved every word she said.

The classes were fun, and often interesting; the rest of it was miserable. They were housed in a suite made to reproduce exactly a Rhuvanland apartment; even the “windows” had screens behind them displaying a war-damaged city, and strange and disturbing sounds and smells entered through them, even closed. The closets were stocked with clothes that were thick, coarse, and heavy, but they did help a little with the horrible chill; the building was climate controlled to stay somewhere in the 20s C°. The kitchen only had snack foods, and those were appalling, nothing but sugar and fat. The meals that were provided were authentic; they weren’t all bad and there were some interesting cheeses, but nothing seemed like it was cooked as well as it might have been. Also, the cuisine had too many sausages, an awful lot of salt, and sauerbraten was just wrong.

The toilets (and the sinks, for that matter) were made of a clunky, heavy vitreous ceramic and actually used water. Oliver’s question about this led to an interesting class session where they learned about septic tanks and Syrixian water treatment plants, but it was still noisy and Oliver wouldn’t flush the thing unless the lid was down in case something “splashed out”. The shower pressure was anemic and never got properly hot. Sometimes the water went out entirely (so did the power, for that matter) and sometimes the pipes made strange noises.

The beds were hard and elevated on elaborate frames, which meant they were always just sitting there taking up space. Worse, both Syrixian and Rhuvish people slept in separate bedrooms; lovers slept together, and sometimes children, but most often their people slept alone. Both of them found it hard to sleep the first week, what with worrying about falling off the bed and the loneliness of not hearing a dozen other people quietly breathing.

They were starting to feel a little neurotic and even had a serious fight for the first time in their lives. At the end of it, Sanya was in tears while Oliver held her on the lumpy sofa in the front room.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Ol. I know that Mattie lives like this and that’s not fair but she was born to it and this is killing me. I can’t sleep, and I can’t eat any more goddamn sausage and these clothes are giving me a rash. But worst of all, it’s making m-me h-hate you.” She broke into tears again.

“Well, if that’s really how it is, we’ll talk to Audley, okay?

She buried her face in his chest and nodded, her breath heaving in sobs. After a few minutes the shuddering stopped and her breathing slowed and deepened. Oliver stroked her hair. Part of him was relieved that she wanted to go home; he didn’t like what this experience was doing to him, either. He felt he was beginning to understand why these people went to war so often, he had come so close to hitting her during the fight it frightened him. He sighed and leaned his head back on the top of the couch. He never noticed when his eyes closed and he fell asleep too.

He woke up and Sanya wasn’t in his lap anymore. He had been dreaming he was in one of those awful television programs they had been forced to watch, something about . . . nope, it was gone. He became dimly aware that Sanya was at the door talking to someone. He rubbed his eyes, and she was walking to him.

“Ol! Noelle is here!” She sounded excited, frightened, and confused all at the same time.

That was too much information just yet, so all he managed was “Wha?”

“Noelle found this place somehow. She’s been ringing the bell downstairs for the last three days.”

“Noelle? How? Wait; I gotta pee.”

“Ol!”

“I gotta pee! Go, go, I’ll catch up.”

Sanya charged out of the room past Audley, who had brought the news. Noelle must have come with at least some of the family, and she really needed them right now. She ran down the stairs to the little classroom where they were waiting. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Noelle was alone, sitting at one of the tables in her school uniform. She looked like she’d been living in it at least a week. When she saw her sister, she got up and hurried over to her. Sanya opened her arms for a hug but instead Noelle slapped her, hard. “Where have you been? You just leave me a note? You just leave!?”

Sanya stepped back, shocked. “Leah didn’t explain? I thought she’d tell you. . .”

“NOBODY TOLD ME ANYTHING!” Noelle screamed, and she slapped her again.

The only way to stop the girl was to hug her, pinning her arms to her side. Sanya breathed “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Over and over. At first the girl struggled crying and screaming, but once she burned out her anger she grumpily returned Sanya’s embrace.

After a minute Noelle grunted, “Why’d you leave?”

“Monkey, I had too. There is something Oliver and I have to do, and it’s really important. We didn’t think we could wait for you to come home, and . . . Well, I didn’t want you to make a fuss, honestly.”

Noelle looked up at her and smirked. “Look how well that turned out.”

“Yeah, don’t think we are not going to have a conversation about this little escapade later. Since when do you just take off for Adelaide on your own?”

“I knew where I was going. Olly!” Oliver had appeared in the doorway, and Noelle stood in front of him, Looking up into his bleary eyes but for all the world seeming like she was staring him down. “So, my sister tell me you’ve got this ‘really important thing’ to do, is that correct?”

“Yeah, little monkey, it is.”

“What is it?”

Sanya said, “I don’t want to tell you. I don’t know if I’m allowed and I don’t want you to worry.”

“Which means it’s dangerous. You want to do education, so dangerous education must mean somewhere else. Out There.” She waved in the general direction of the rest of the world beyond Sadakoyama. “You don’t know if you can talk about it? That means military, so Captain tight-pants and Nanan frizzy-hair are Active Duty. No uniforms and this sneaky hidey-house means DIS . . .” Noelle’s eyes got wide “You’re spies?”

At the same time Sanya said “Not really . . .” Oliver said “Close enough.”

Sanya shot a cross look to Oliver. “Okay, just don’t tell anyone, okay? Leah and the elders know, but don’t spread it around; we don’t want people to worry.”

“If you don’t want people to worry, don’t sneak out on them. Especially sisters.”

“Ouch, fair enough. Noelle, I love you and I am so happy to see you but you know you can’t stay here, right? This place is horrible.”

“No, I know. Captain tight-pants is calling the karass right now. I just, I thought you were in trouble . . . and I was so angry at you.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Can I ask you just one thing? If you’re spies, why have you been cooped up here for three weeks?”

“That’s a good question . . .”

“Excuse me,” Audley said behind Oliver, who was still blocking the door. He moved and Audley walked over to Noelle. “Ms. Moretti, I was wondering If I could pull you away from your sister for a moment, I wanted to clear up a few things.”

“Yeah, okay.” She turned and hugged her sister tight. “If I don’t see you before they drag me back to Abbeville, I love you and you better come back.”

“I promise, monkey.”

She hugged Oliver as well, “You take care of her, Oliver. She’s very important to me.”

“Like my own heart, kiddo. She’s important to me too.”

After the pair left, Oliver kissed her lightly, experimentally. “Are we okay?’

“No, we are not. It’s time to go.”

“You mean to go back to Abbeville with Noelle?”

“No, I mean we have to stop wasting time here and get on with it.”

“But last night you were ready to quit.”

“Now it’s morning. And all this cannot have been for nothing.”

They went back upstairs to get cleaned up. While Oliver was still in the shower, Audley came to the door.

Audley said “When I called Moretti . . . was I really speaking to a former Sciencemaster?”

“If you were talking to Sayuri, you were.”

“Well, that was . . . I’m really not sure if it was an honor or career suicide, frankly. I think she was yelling at me, but she barely whispered; how is that a thing?”

“I know what you mean, she does that. What’s going to happen to Noelle?”

“Clarisse is taking her to town, the girl needs new clothes. In a couple of hours someone from your karass will be here to get her.

“Clarisse has taken a real shine to your sister. Do you know what that girl has been up to? The day you came here, she got home, read your note, then took off,” he snapped his fingers, “got on the train to Academy City to find you. She was there for three days, doing who knows what, before going home again. Then the day we sent your stuff home, since it looked like you were going to stick it out, she found out and pocketed your phone. She traced its PNA history, or got someone else to, and came straight here--I want to have a conversation with her at some point about how she managed to get around that encryption, by the way. Then she planted herself on our doorstep for days, ringing the damn bell until we had to answer to make her stop. As it is, we may have to abandon this site now; that kind of thing draws attention we don’t need on a spy school.”

“You didn’t really answer the question. What’s going to happen to her? Is she in trouble?”

“I don’t know what your Sciencemaster will do to her, but I want her in the DIS. She’s got an aptitude for this work I’ve never seen before, and she’s what? Eleven? In five or ten years she could be my boss.”

“Well, I’m going to pull rank on you too. We’re done.”

“You can’t quit, there’s no time . . .”

“Exactly! We’re wasting time on this bullshit. We aren’t going to be sleepers in Rhuvanland, we’re just an extraction team. We’ve spent weeks living like animals for no reason, and Matilda Amsel has too. It’s time to get this show on the road.”

“Okay, maybe I am being too cautious. I think I let Magda get to me. Can you give me two days? We’ve got to pull a few threads together and brief you on your field equipment.”

“Yeah, that’s reasonable, on one condition.”

“What’s your condition?”

“No more sausages.”

Audely chuckled. “Deal. I’ll even convince Clarisse to let you guys go into town; eat whatever you want today. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Sanya thanked him and closed the door. On her way to the restroom to tell Oliver, the great knot of stress that had curled up inside her over the last weeks released, making her a little dizzy . . . and a little nauseated. She lurched over to the kitchen sink and retched.

Oliver came out of the bathroom drying his hair. “Are you alright?”

She hugged him “I’m great. The torture is over. Wanna go get breakfast? I’m starving.”

“Augh, only if you brush your teeth first!”

To be continued

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part Five

Adelaide, Beaumonde in Sadakoyama

Partly because they had no other choice, they decided to dress for brunch in their fanciest Rhuvish clothes. For Oliver this meant a white starched shirt and brown leather shorts; he looked ridiculous, but she had to admit the shorts did interesting things to his ass. She was dressed in a white blouse edged with lace and a knee length dress with a laced-up bodice, which weren’t entirely terrible by themselves (if more than a little warm for the climate). At least the busy floral pattern of the dress was done in muted earth tones, russet and olive and gold, but the Rhuvish layered over this a striped apron that to her eyes clashed violently.

The prospect of real Beaumonde food negated whatever bad feelings the clothes inspired, even when Noelle made fun of them while saying goodbye. Since two of their older cousins, Josephine and Nathan, were the ones fetching Noelle, they decided it was best to stay hidden. They didn’t hear what cover story was offered for Noelle’s adventure.

While they waited for the all clear, Oliver said “Since we’re dressed like this, you know what we should do?”

“Put this terrible experience to use and pretend to be Rhuvish tourists? Yes!”

It was a great success. They went to a restaurant in the tourist district and enjoyed the servers being elaborately polite to them. They spoke to each other in German and pretended to be confused about the menu items. To their delight, an elderly couple from Guslantis, Bertrand and Julia, at the next table invited them to sit with them. This meant they couldn’t drink; as by Rhuvish laws they were not of age, but they didn’t mind being stuck with tea. They ended up having a really good time; it was an interesting experience seeing Sadakoyama culture through the Guslants’ eyes.

After brunch, they allowed their new friends to show them around town. They subtly steered the sightseeing to a zydeco club they knew. Bertrand and Julia danced a few rounds before needing to sit, but Oliver and Sanya nearly blew their cover with over-exuberance; they had a lot of pent up cabin fever to burn off.

The Guslants thanked them for the companionship, but had to go back to their hotel and rest. Oliver thanked them, in German, for the meal and the “tour”, Bertrand gave them an address in Guslantis and asked them to write. Sanya apologized for not reciprocating, explaining they would be going away to university when they returned home.

When they got back, their mood much improved, they approached the equipment briefing with an attentiveness and interest they would not have been able to muster the day before. Their kit would be pretty basic; they each got a Syrixian cell phone, indistinguishable from an off-the-shelf model. The software was pretty basic, but Clarisse demonstrated a seven step sequence of buttons and app selection that opened a hidden partition with PNA access, an app that turned the camera into an infrared/ultraviolet viewer, and a few other interesting tricks, but most importantly a communications link on Sadakhan military channels.

Each of them got a single-strap rucksack with extra clothes, a water bottle, and a selection of typical travel-sized personal care items from Rhuvanland. Oliver was given a multi-tool, compass, and a nickel-plated brass naphtha lighter. Sanya was given a handbag that included a thick file of amateurish looking genealogical information that included the relevant information on Matilda and her family and a Rhuvish marriage certificate with their first names and the surname "Maurer".

Things had fallen into place on Audley’s end, and when he came back that night he announced that they were ready to go the next afternoon. The plan was simple; to fly a commercial airline from Sadakoyama to Syrixia, then to Rhuvanland, all using Rhuvish passports prepared for them. Audley laid it out for them; flight numbers, airport restrictions, everything.

“That’s it?” Oliver said.

“That’s what we discussed in Magda’s office.” Audley said, puzzled.

“I know, but . . . I guess ever since Noelle used the word ‘spies’ I guess I expected something more elaborate. Trick passports, changing clothes in the bathroom, wigs . . .”

“Simple is better,” Clarisse said sternly behind him. “The less complicated the fewer things to go wrong."

“Right. Yeah, okay.” Oliver said, a little deflated.

“The only complication we ran into was the suspension of commercial flights into Rhuvanland; because of the war Syrixia is insisting anything flying into Rhuvanland needs to go through them. That shouldn’t pose too much of a problem, I understand your little field test yesterday went passably.”

“How did you know about that?” Sanya said at the same time Oliver said “You had us watched.”

“Of course we were watching you; you are valuable assets and members of our team.”

“Clarisse, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to us.” Oscar said.

“Hmph.”

Sanya smiled. “Okay, let’s go over everything once more, please?”

“Sure,” Audley replied, “Just keep in mind the first rule of battle . . .”

“The best way to win a war is before it begins?” Oliver said.

“That’s war; the first rule of battle is 'no plan survives the first engagement intact.' You’ve got to expect the unexpected and be ready to adapt.”

They went over the plan a few more times, as it turned out, including strategies for foreseeable complications. Finally Clarisse insisted they go to bed early and sleep late; the next few days would be busy ones and they needed to be on their game.

They had a small dinner, which did not compare their wonderful Adelaide brunch, then went back to their rooms. After a quick but passionate copulation, they drifted off to sleep.

Sanya dreamed of sausages, endless plates of brought by stewardesses in ludicrously colored Rhuvish dresses. Oliver was nervously chatting with a Syrixian soldier, and she noticed the whole plane was full of them. She got up to go to the bathroom, but opening the door she found a filthy Rhuvish toilet. A storm started outside the plane, and she saw rain battering the incongruous pane glass window of the restroom; but it was really on a monitor screen.

She woke up, her bladder full and her nerves a wreck. She went in to use the toilet--clean, thankfully--and relieved herself. She felt queasy; she wished she could take a limosasine to take the edge of her anxiety but they were forbidden any Sadakhan drugs, on the off chance some paranoid Syrixian thought a blood test was necessary. She splashed some water on her face; looking in the mirror she though she looked older than she did just a month ago. The dark circles under her eyes didn’t help. She got a glass of water from the kitchen and then went back to bed.

A few dreamless hours later they were up, showered and packed. Dressed again in their Rhuvish clothes, Audley and Clarisse bid them farewell and they walked to the train station. After a 15 minute ride they were at the new civilian airport on the Carabas peninsula, adjacent to the enormous Vandemar military complex.

The terminal in the airport was very modern, in the Academy City style; quite different from the organic, subtle approach of Abbeville or the Neocolonial grandeur of Adelaide. They found the Aria Airlines terminal and checked in. With a couple of hours to wait they grabbed lunch at a Rhuvish fast food place. They had eaten the meat patty on a roll concoction the restaurant featured at the school and didn’t care for it, but it was virtually the only substantial entree on the menu and much better than the greasy oil-fried potatoes. Sanya was hungry, but still could only eat half of hers.

They went back to the waiting area, where a dozen other passengers were seated. Most looked to be Syrixian, which made her uneasy, especially considering her dream earlier. None of them were in uniform, though; they all looked like tourists going home. They passed the time quizzing each other on Rhuvanland’s strange non-metric system for units of measure.

A pair of Syrixians, seemingly a couple, seemed to be looking at them and whispering. Oliver became aware of them first and alerted her.

Still speaking German, Sanya said <<”Do you think they know?”>>

<<”No.”>> Oliver said, surreptitiously glancing at them again. <<”No, that’s contempt, not suspicion. I think they don’t like the Rhuvish.”>>

Before long, the waiting area was full, so they sat quietly. About one in ten of the Syrixians were looking their way with disapproval. When the flight attendants began boarding, the Syrixians were plainly and obviously being boarded first. By the time Oliver and Sanya boarded the only seats free were in the back next to the restroom. It might have been meant as rudeness but they were satisfied to have their backs to a wall.

The takeoff was a bit shaky, but this was Sadakoyama; fortunately they were flying outside the season for the really rough monsoon storms. When the plane finally pierced the cloud cover, she marveled at the infinite vista of clouds; white, misty hills that made her heart leap. She was really leaving home.

Despite the apparent hostility in the terminal, the flight attendants were polite, even friendly, and once on board no one seemed to pay any attention to them. Maybe they were just being paranoid. Oliver fell asleep, so Sanya browsed the magazine she found in the pocket in front of her. It was an interesting peek into Syrixian thought; a number of the articles had a religious focus which she had a hard time getting her head around, and there were a lot of ads for manufactured products she just didn’t see the point of, such as an electronic device that mimicked nature sounds (why not just open a window?) and fake plants. Cheap and ugly jewelry—for that matter really expensive ugly jewelry. Cosmetics of all kinds; she’d seen tourists arrive in Adelaide layered in makeup and perfume, but those sorts of affectations got tiresome in less than a hour in Sadakoyama’s tropical heat and humidity.

It didn’t seem to take that long for two hours to pass, and the pilot announced they were descending in Balamb. She woke Oliver and they looked out the window. Sanya had not yet been to Academy City, let alone seen it from the air, but she’s seen pictures and video. The AC megalopolis had swallowed the land beneath it, as Balamb had, but in AC a large proportion of roof space had been planted with various agricultural endeavors, research gardens, or even massive algae farms like the one in the dome of the Olympic stadium.

Balamb was simply concreted over; there were patches of green here and there, what she guessed were parks or sports fields, but the buildings were naked and brutal steel, concrete and glass. Worse, every space between them was paved with asphalt for the internal combustion vehicles that dominated so many of the outsider’s cultures. The price of such convenience hung in the air; a faint haze enveloped the city and it was the wrong time of day for fog. Their briefing spoke of hybrid and even electric cars and the government's environmental efforts, but in Sanya's opinion the only answer was to be rid of the machines altogether. Still; the city was impressive; the tall buildings dominated the skyline and the city stretched to the horizon.

They landed without incident and waited for the other passengers before disembarking. When they got to the door of the plane and entered the covered walkway, a smell leaking in from outside hit her. She had no frame of reference for the odors assaulting her; she almost made a face but held it together. Getting through customs would be hard enough without letting the whole airport know she thought their country stank.

At the desk, Oliver did the talking while she put on one of her Rhuvish head scarves to keep her hands busy. The agent seemed to be paying a lot attention to their passports, until one of the impatient flight crew behind them urged him to let them through, as they were just kids and had been nice on the plane. The agent shrugged and stamped their passports.

They thanked him, and the attendant, and hurried over to the gate for their connecting flight. They almost stopped and turned around when they saw the cluster of Syrixian soldiers filling the gate area. They kept their heads and walked over to the desk. The gate clerk looked them over briefly and without even seeing their boarding passes said, in German, <<“I’m sorry, your flight’s been cancelled.”>>

<<”What? Why?”>> Oliver asked.

<<”Because the military says so, that’s why.”>>

<<”How . . . How do we get home?”>>

<<”Not my problem.”>>

Oscar turned around, clearly trying to think of something. A pair of soldiers stepped up to them, rifles slung but ready. ”Mein herr, fraulein,” the one with bright blue eyes said, <<”We can take you to where you need to go.”>>

<<”Where is that, sir?”>> Oliver said.

Sanya’s fear must have shown on her face, because the soldier said to her, <<”Steady, little miss, we just want to help you,”>> He turned to Oliver. <<”We have to keep the airports clear for emergencies while the drawdown continues. Your people are being bussed down to the docks; as soon as boats are available we’ll get you on one for home.”>>

<<”I see, thank you. What about our tickets? Can we get a refund?”>>

<<”Hold onto them, they’ll serve as your ticket back on the boat.”>>

Having little choice, they followed the soldier and his buddy, who hadn’t spoken and from the dead stare in his eyes wasn’t likely to. PTSD thought Sanya. This guy’s seen the fighting firsthand. He needs treatment.

They were led to a guarded side exit, and handed off to the sentries. The blue-eyed soldier bid them goodbye and left. The sentries spoke to someone on a microphone clipped to his uniform and opened the door. Outside the smell was worse; they were right next to an idling bus. Sanya thought the air around the bus was virtually unbreathable, but once they were put on the vehicle itself the interior was air conditioned and smelled much better, but the a/c sucked all the humidity out of the air. Sanya sneezed; her sinuses were drying out and it was unpleasant to say the least.

They waited on the bus for fifteen minutes, until a group of five other Rhuvish people were put on board and they were driven off into the Syrixian dusk.

To be continued

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part Six

(All dialogue in this chapter occurs in German)

Balamb, Syrixia

The bus took them away from the airport on sodium-lit service roads, winding through a maze of industrial buildings and warehouses, until it met with a larger, better lit road full of fast-moving vehicles. The driver seamlessly joined with the flow, and though the noise was louder than she liked, Sanya thrilled at the speed. The monorail in Sadakoyama might move faster in absolute terms, but it whispered quietly along its track, moving silently through the trees well above the ground. Occasionally a train going the other direction whooshed by.

The bus was a wholly different experience; it zoomed along less than half a meter above the tarmac, and dozens of other vehicles slid around them and each other in a wild, frenzied dance. With the lights of the vehicles flying around and the thrumming vibration of the bus’s engine, Sanya could easily imagine herself a highly energized proton in a ring collider. She felt exhilarated, and admired the Syrixians’ skill at maneuvering their vehicles so chaotically without crashing.

Soon the road they were on merged with another, larger road; it began to get a little frightening. She held onto Oliver. The wide, multi-lane highway, lit with harsh lights and full of speeding, growling machines was the most inhuman place she’d ever seen.

Almost as soon as they entered it the driver exited the highway, moving down a ramp with a few other cars. They took a few smaller roads to another industrial area, arriving at a large complex that must be the waterfront. The bus pulled up to an enormous warehouse with Syrixian soldiers patrolling outside. A pair of uniformed women boarded the bus and took the names and hometowns of the Rhuvish on board; Oliver remembered details of their covers well enough the woman recording the information on her tablet didn’t even look up until she took their picture. This seemed to be simple bureaucratic routine; no one even asked for their passports. The woman gave them each a numbered badge and instructed them, in German, to pin them to their clothes.

After everyone was recorded, they were led into the building. The interior was a single empty room, eight or nine meters high and wide. How long the space was they could not tell, as the center of the space had been filled with framed fabric partitions dividing the space into cubicle rooms. Clustered against the wall on the left was what appeared to be a medical station, including two tents, on the opposite wall was a huddle of tables and chairs near a buffet-style makeshift cafeteria.

An older woman in civilian clothes came up and expressed her sympathy for their plight. The woman led them to one of the little cubicles, which contained two sets of bunk beds. She apologized for the crude accommodations, but Oliver assured her they were fine, asking when the boat was expected; the woman wasn’t sure.

They decided to get something to eat from the cafeteria; they waited in a long line for chopped meat in white gravy served with a biscuit. The agreed it was probably leftover military rations. The food wasn’t great, but it was filling. They hit the latrines—a row of portable toilets in the back of the room—then decided to turn in.

They had been assigned two of the bunks, but they discovered that by spooning just right they could share one of the larger bottom beds. The bed was loose and springy and the mattress thin; the lights, though dimmed, were not turned off. On top of that more refugees continued to arrive, shuffling around to find food and beds of their own, including the empty ones in their cubicle.

They tried to catch what sleep they could, which wasn’t much; especially when a child nearby started crying loudly. “Why can’t that kid just shut up and go to sleep?” Oliver moaned.

“Ja” Sanya agreed.

Someone shot back “He’s scared, assholes!” They giggled. The woman in the bunk opposite them glared, and they shut up.

After an exceedingly long night, broken only by brief snatches of sleep, one of the civilian volunteers came into their cubicle and gently woke them. There was a place for just two on a Rhuvish fishing boat that showed up and volunteered to take their countrymen home but they would have to hurry. They eagerly accepted and, tired as they were, grabbed their packs and jogged to the door of the warehouse.

A pair of soldiers drove them down to the correct pier in an open military vehicle. The vessel docked there showed its age but seemed clean and seaworthy. One of the crewmen helped them up the gangplank and showed them to a small cabin where three other Rhuvish—and older woman and two boys, Noelle’s age or younger--were curled up in the lone double bed. The crewman handed them a single cheap nylon sleeping bag—it was all that was left—but added a pair of thick wool blankets. They thanked him. Oliver unzipped the mattress and spread it out like a thin futon on the floor by the bed. They curled up under the blankets and were asleep before ship got underway.

She was alone in the cabin when she woke, which was fortunate because she immediately vomited into a nearby wastebasket. She had been on boats many times, but those small sailing vessels gently rode the swells; this one felt like it was slamming through them. She found the head across the hall just in time to puke again in the sink. When she felt decently stable enough, she rinsed out her mouth, and then the thankfully otherwise empty wastebasket. She was still nauseated; there was just nothing left to come up. Still wearing the dress she’d slept in, she found her way to the deck. The crew were sitting around smoking; Oliver was sitting with them chatting and laughing. Seeing her emerge, he went over to her.

“Are you okay? You do not look well.”

“Seasick,” She groaned. “What goes on?”

“Just getting to know the lads. They aren’t even trying to work, just getting us ‘home’ as fast as they can. They are a good group; they just sold a big catch in Balamb for a lot of money, so they thought they’d help their countrymen out instead of going right out again.”

“Thank you,” She said weakly, nodding to the men.

The boys from the cabin were playing some kind of game kicking a fishing float around. In the daylight she could tell that one was much older than the other, by a couple of years at least. The woman with them, who she assumed was their mother or perhaps grandmother, must have seen her looking distressed and came over.

“Not feeling well? You have motion sickness? Or is it something else, maybe?” The woman looked at Oliver.

“I guess so, but I never got seasick before . . .”

“Come to the kitchen, we’ll get you fixed up.”

“Okay.” Sanya was too sick to argue. Oliver hugged her and kissed her forehead. She followed the woman, who began looking through the cabinets in the tiny room.

“It’s a galley.” Sanya said.

“Sorry, dear?”

“On a boat the kitchen is called a galley.”

The woman smiled. She was mixing various spices into a teacup of honey. “Galley, thank you. This is an old traditional remedy.” She handed Sanya a spoon. “Take three spoonfulls and let’s see if that sorts you out.”

Sanya swallowed the first one and it threatened to come right up again. The taste was unusual, to say the least, but after a minute she did feel a little less woozy. She gulped the next two, and amazingly it seemed to be working. The woman was making toast.

“Are we going to get in trouble, raiding the galley like this?”

“Oh, no, dear; I cooked breakfast for the crew this morning and they gave me the run of the place. Feeling better?”

“Yes, much, thank you.” She said gratefully. “My name is Sanya, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Sonja. I am Marlene.”

Sanya did not correct the woman’s mispronunciation, and as she nibbled dry toast and sipped the weak tea Marlene prepared, she listened to the old woman’s story. The boys were not her grandchildren, as she had assumed. She had married a Syrixian soldier and moved there with her husband, but they had fertility issues and never had children of their own.

After the war started, her husband left to fight; a few months after that her best friend from her old home town showed up one day, with her grand-nephews in tow. They were the last remaining members of their family; repeated shellings took them all, including the boys’ parents.

Six months into the war a car bearing solemn men in uniform brought her a folded Syrixian flag. Her friend helped her through the grief; so did caring for the boys. Three weeks later her friend was diagnosed with malignant cancer, five weeks after that she was dead.

Sanya thought it was surprising that foreigners almost had the beginnings of a karass operational; it was under similar circumstances, following the epidemics that almost wiped out the early Sadakhan, that the first few karass were formed.

Marlene continued caring for the boys, not willing to abandon them to social services. She had done her best and the boys seemed to be adapting well, so when she got a letter from a cousin who had survived in her hometown she decided there was nothing in Syrixa for them anymore and they should go home.

Sanya was just relating their cover story about how they were going to find missing relatives themselves when Oliver can in to see how she was.

“Much better, thanks. Oliver, this is Marlene.”

“Hello, Marlene, Thanks for your assistance.”

“It is my pleasure,” she said. “How long have you two been together?” She asked, rummaging around in the cupboards again.

“All our lives, really,” Oliver said. “We met in . . .” he struggled for the appropriate German word, “Kindergarten. She took my brown crayon, punched my arm when I cried and called me a baby, then kissed me at recess and said sorry. I’ve loved her ever since”

“Aw.” Sanya smiled.

Marlene smiled too, but with a hint of sadness. She began mixing up another, larger batch of the honey remedy in what looked like a cleaned plastic peanut butter jar. “You two make me miss my husband. It was like that with us, but we were much older. He and a couple of friends from his unit stopped into the café where I worked, and I thought they were the loudest, rudest people I’d ever seen. After they left, he came back alone to apologize for their behaviour. He said they’d just won some training contest and they were just in high spirits. He gave me a generous tip and I gave him my telephone number.” When the jar was full she screwed the top on and handed it to Sanya.

“That should keep you on your feet for a while. If you start feeling poorly, just have a sip.”

“It seems like a lot; won’t we be in Rhuvanland soon?”

“About thirty hours.” said Oliver.

“Just in case,” Marlene smiled. “Sonja, are you up to helping me make some sandwiches for lunch?”

“Sure.”

Oliver offered to help as well, but the boys burst in calling “Herr Maurer, Herr Maurer! The engines!”

“A few of the crewmen have been showing us the boat. Some of the mechanical systems are actually ingenious, and Dieter and Henrik are really taking to it. Little Henrik got to steer the boat, right?” The youngest boy nodded. “All right, let’s go see those engines, and then lunch?” The boys nodded enthusiastically and dragged him out of the galley, laughing.

“Your young man is good with the boys. I haven’t heard Dieter laugh like that once since he came to live with me.”

“He likes kids. He’s fast friends with my little sister; sometimes they plot together to play little pranks on me.”

They women chatted while they worked, until Sanya realized she smelled a little ripe. “Oh, no; I just remembered I haven’t cleaned up this morning! Will you excuse me?” she said, blushing.

“Of course, dear; I can handle this.”


Sanya went below deck to the cabin, got some fresh clothes and a towel she found in a cabinet, then went to the head to use the tiny shower. When she was done, she rinsed out the clothes she’d been wearing in the sink and hung them on the towel rack to dry.

After dressing, she was sitting on the bed drying her hair when she realized a towel might come in handy when they were on the road, so she took two clean ones from the cabinet and stuffed one at the bottom of each of their rucksacks. After brushing her teeth, she felt more presentable, and went up to lunch.

The boys insisted on sitting either side of Oliver, so the crewman sitting opposite him gave his place to her. The crew took turns to ask after her health or to tease her; she was sure by his grin that Oliver had instigated some of that. While she ate, slowly, Oliver attempted to introduce her to the men around the table, but to everyone’s amusement Henrik talked to her nonstop about his adventures around the boat, occasionally asking Oliver or his brother for confirmation or some forgotten detail. The boy spoke so fast she sometimes had trouble following him, but she nodded and made appreciative sounds just the same.

Finally, Marlene insisted the boys had had an exciting morning and need to have a nap. They protested, but the woman insisted Herr Maurer would still be on the boat when they woke.

After she finished eating, Oliver let her to one of the lifeboats, and they slipped under the canvas cover for a little privacy. It was too cramped and uncomfortable for sex, but they made out for good long time.

“Mmm, I needed that.” Sanya purred after coming up for air.

“Ja” smirked Oliver.

“I’m glad those kids didn’t wear you out.”

“They’re a lot of fun. That Dieter doesn’t talk much, but he watches everything. I think he’s been keeping Henrik distracted for the last, I don’t know how long, so his little brother doesn’t get too down about losing their parents. That’s a lot of responsibility for a kid that age to take on.”

“Mm-Hmm,” Sanya nodded. The warm dark closeness of the tiny space, as well as the rocking of the boat and Oliver’s heartbeat next to hers made the lifeboat bring to mind a womb.

“On the plus side, I think I have a pretty good grasp now of how to operate on of these things.”

“You mean innocent young girls?”

Oliver snorted at ‘innocent’. “No, I mean Rhuvish boats.”

“Are you planning to make a Rhuvish fishwife out of me, Oliver Waldo?” She’d been needling him about Clarissa’s fumbling of his surname since she said it.

“If you keep being so ornery, I will. I was thinking about what if we needed to . . . appropriate one when we leave.”

She sat up a little. “That’s not bad. Why don’t you see what you can learn from the crew about how they are secured and such?”

“That’s the plan.”

“How did you get so smart?”

“I was going to go into the arts, but some girl stole my crayon.”

After a few more minutes of kissing, they emerged from the lifeboat. Oliver went off to gather intelligence, so Sanya, feeling much better than she had that morning, took a walk around the ship. She learned the names and briefly chatted with the men she encountered who, without Oliver’s mischievous influence, sincerely asked her if she was doing better. She thanked them and said she was, but the question became tedious so she went below.

Her socks and underwear were dry, so she collected them from the rack and put them in her rucksack. Marlene and the boys were gone, so she lay on the bed. She tried to empty her mind and focus on the present moment, but everything was so strange; the rocking of the ship, the unfamiliar textures and colors of the Rhuvish fabrics, the strange odors of fish, the gasoline engines, and the Rhuvish soaps, deodorants, and colognes that permeated the ship. Suddenly overcome with homesickness, she began sobbing.

After getting herself together some time later, she pulled her phone out of her handbag, thinking she could at least pull up Sadakoyama’s Wiki page. Of course, this was not a satellite phone, at least in this configuration, and she doubted the military would look fondly on her using their satellites just to look at pictures of home.

She checked out the Rhuvish apps that were loaded; maybe there was one of those repetitive pattern matching games they liked, at least. She found an icon that looked like a book. She didn’t remember this app for the sequence she learned, so she opened it.

It turned out to be a text reader, and a note popped up by itself:

This was Magda’s suggestion; I don’t know you’ll have time to read any of these, but she insisted it might come in handy at some point – A.

Loaded into the reader was a selection of her fifteen favourite books. They were translated into German so doubtless some of the poetry of the text was lost, but it was like having old friends with her. She definitely owed Magda for this.

She lost herself in Die Verschwörung der Idioten until Oliver came looking for her and told her it was time for dinner.

Dinner was a jovial affair. The meal was a good, if simple meat and potatoes stew. The crew had taken to the boys; they had each acquired caps with the ship’s name on the peak and Henrik had a length of nylon line and a boson’s whistle, which he managed to blow a few times before Marlene sternly told him to pocket it. She asked one of the crewmen, a shy man named Gunther, how he liked being a fisherman and that started a round of stories, each trying to outdo the other in bravery, hubris, or exaggeration. Henrik understood little of it but sat in rapt attention until his head drowsily sank to the table. Marlene excused herself and took the boys to bed.

Dinner lost steam after that, and the crewmen drifted off to their duties or to bed. Oliver spoke quietly to one of them, a blonde young man only ever referred to as Snowden, who nodded and headed up the ladder to the bridge.

Oliver led her outside on the deck, when they got out to the middle he held up his fist, and all the lights went out.

She gasped in shock; the ship was surrounded by a sea of stars, more than she had ever seen. In Abbeville the nights were dark, but between the hundreds of trees and the frequent cloud cover starry nights were rare. Right now she could see virtually unobstructed to the entire horizon and the whole sky was alive with light.

Breathless and speechless, she stared until she gasped for breath, then pulled his face down and kissed him hard. Scattered applause and cheers from the darkness reminded her they were silhouetted against the blazing sky and not alone; blushing she buried her face in Oliver’s chest. “Thank you,” she whispered in English.

“Oliver, my man; I know this is romantic but we’ve got to turn the lights back on, we’re a navigation hazard.”

“Right. Thanks!”

The lights snapped on and the stars dimmed. They looked at the stars a little longer, still majestic even if slightly obscured.

Finally they went off to bed. Marlene was alone in the bed and the boys were on the sleeping bag futon. Marlene opened her eyes. “Oliver and I agreed you might do better tonight if you slept on the bed with me, if you’re comfortable with that.”

She looked at Oliver, then at the boys sprawled out like beached octopi. Oliver nodded, and slumped into a corner with one of the blankets. Sanya took off her apron and got into bed; she said thanks and goodnight to Marlene and fell asleep almost immediately.

She woke up queasy again. Marlene was gone, possibly to make breakfast again, bright sunlight was blazing in the window. She rummaged in her rucksack and found the jar; she opened it hurriedly, stuck the tips of two fingers in and slurped the sweet, spicy goo off them. She did it twice more before she began to feel better.

She put the jar away. Oliver was still curled up in the corner, but the boys had draped themselves around him during the night. It was adorable; they looked like sleeping jaguar cubs she had once seen on live-feed hologram in her classroom.

She went up on deck to thank Marlene again for the remedy. When she got up there, the deck was alive with hustling crewmen. Green hills rose from the horizon. The captain, a man named Geissler she had yet to meet personally, came up to her and said “We will be docking in a few hours, Frau Maurer.”

“Welcome to Rhuvanland.”

To be continued

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part Seven

(All dialogue in this chapter occurs in German)

Schandau, Rhuvanland
Four weeks before the outbreak of revolution.

As the men busily prepared to dock in the port city of Schandau, Sanya hurried to the galley. Marlene was busy passing out toast and jam and coffee to rushed crewmen who came in for five minutes at a time. She handed Sanya a plate of light toast thinly spread with what looked like berry jam and a travel cup of what smelled like tea. Sanya thanked her and went down to pack.

Oliver was in the cabin, helping the boys get their things organized. He gave her a peck on the cheek and stuffed half a piece of toast in his mouth. He had apparently had them working together well, but that coordination suffered with his mouth full of jammed bread. Henrik got the giggles and Dieter rolled his eyes.

Sanya grabbed her travelling outfit, the one with the muted solid olive dress and maroon apron, and went to the head to freshen up and change. When she finished, she double- and triple- checked to make sure they left nothing behind; a small box of double-edged razor blades seemed unclaimed on the kitchen sink so she pocketed that too.

As she entered the room, Oliver was telling the boys to go up and get breakfast, and when he came up they’d find a spot to watch the docking together.

“Mach schnell, Herr Maurer!” Henrik insisted.

The boys left the cabin, And Oliver gave her a hug. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. That stuff of Marlene’s does pretty good. I’m going to submit a sample to Addams when we get back.”

They finished backing and headed up on deck, just in time for the boys to drag them up to the rail where they could watch the ship slowly slide up to the dock. Crewmen tossed lines to workers on the dock, who tied them off. Oliver and Sanya shared a worried glance; the boys hadn’t noticed a small party of armed men waiting a short distance away, apparently led by a man with a clipboard and a sour expression.

The men hustled up the gangplank as soon as it was lowered, and headed to the bridge. Not wanting to get held up by complications, they hurried down the gangplank, fortunately left unguarded. They were halfway along the length of the causeway when a man’s booming voice behind them called their names. They briefly considered running but didn’t want to be shot in the back, so they stopped and turned around.

It turned out to be one of the crewmen, Schneider, who was waving to them. Several other crew members and Marlene’s little family were some distance behind him.

“We’re sorry to rush off, but we saw those armed men and didn’t want any trouble.”

Schneider chuckled. “You’re not the one in trouble; the captain is. The town administration is upset he sold our cargo to Syrixia, there are food shortages here. And on top of that, he returns with an empty hold and bringing more mouths.”

“He’s not going to be arrested or something, is he?” Sanya asked.

“No, but they are strongly suggesting he go right back out and if he doesn’t come back with a hold full of fish, he’s not to come back at all.”

Oliver looked at the dozen or so crew streaming by now, waving at most of them. “Aren’t you guys going to be missed?”

“Probably, but some of us have been at sea for longer than our union contracts allow, and others have family they are worried about.”

“Fair enough. Thanks for the ride, and take care of yourselves.” Schneider stuck his hand out, which Oliver hesitated before taking it in a handshake, instinctively nodding his head at the same time.

Sanya added her own gratitude, then greeted Marlene, who had caught up with them. They ended up saying their goodbyes; Marlene and the boys were headed to Alzenstadt, the capital, while her and Oliver’s destination was Kazadia, on the other end of the country.

They walked together to the bus station nearby; the bus heading east was already there and idling. Marlene gave them a phone number and address for a relative they would be meeting up with, and Sanya gave her the number for her phone. Oliver said goodbye to the boys; Dieter held a stern, stoic frown but Henrik was almost in tears. The bus driver honked twice and they ran to the bus.

They found a seat near the middle, and the buss lurched into motion, with considerable more jostling and noise than the one at the Syrixian airport. The bus rattled and shook as it left the dockside and entered the town; most of the streets here were cobbled and some of the noises coming from beneath the vehicle were not encouraging. Either the driver was not skilled or this bus was not maintained very well. Probably both, Sanya thought to herself; “thin and patchy” could describe either the seat cushions or the young driver’s wispy beard.

It was going to be a long, bumpy ride, if the beginning of it was any indication, so she swallowed another dose of Marlene’s remedy just in case. As the bus wound its way through the narrow streets, Oliver pointed out signs of the recent conflict everywhere; from obvious like burned out cars or damaged buildings, to those more subtle such as empty store windows and the worn clothing, gaunt faces, and haunted eyes of women and children huddled in the corners of buildings.

Once they got on the highway the ride smoothed out some. The road wasn’t deserted, but far fewer cars were travelling than there had been in Syrixia. Of course, that had been a major city, and this was out in the country. And there was a war recently; she thought, as a military troop truck barreled by in the opposite direction.

The Rhuvanland countryside was beautiful in its own way, not as lush and thick with vegetation as Beaumonde, but the broadleaf woods, open grassland and blue skies were lovely. Less lovely were the sporadically scattered buildings that ripped into the landscape without rhyme or reason. And every few kilometers there was a town, some just a few buildings, others larger, but all spread out, covering the landscape like an infection. The bus stopped at some of the larger ones, letting people off one or two at a time. Only one new person got on the bus, and he disembarked at the next stop.

More evidence of the recent conflict was in evidence as well. A downed jet had cut a scar into one field they passed, and further on a burned out convoy of armored vehicles had been pushed off the road.

The frequent stops meant they were progressing relatively slowly, but the bus was virtually empty when the driver decided to stop for lunch at a little seaside town called Düben. He pulled the bus up to a small café that would have looked charming had it not been for the half-sunken hulk of a warship looming a few klicks offshore.

The driver opened the doors and left the bus without a word. The three other passengers disembarked as well, so Oliver and Sanya followed. They’d just had toast and jam on the boat a couple of hours ago, so they went into the café. It seemed to be a pretty informal place so they found their own seat by a window overlooking the sea. They were wondering about menus when a server came up and dropped a plate of food in front of them; two sausages, cubed fried potatoes, and pickled red cabbage.

“There’s nothing green on this plate.” Sanya remarked. Oliver shrugged, as did the server who had returned with a large glass mug of pale yellow beer for each of them. Oliver dug in. Sanya tried a bite of the cabbage—sauerkraut, she remembered—and a couple of the potatoes. She didn’t care for them much but she needed to eat and she wasn’t going to touch the sausages. The beer was weak, but not terrible.

She glanced out the window. “Look at all those birds nesting on that wreck. I bet her captain never thought his ship would end up as a rookery.”

“Ah, San, honey; those birds aren’t nesting . . .” Oliver grimaced.

“Huh? What do you . . . Oh!” She looked away.

She was still picking at her food, and Oliver was finishing off one of her sausages, when the server came back and dropped the check on the table. He glanced at it then dug out a few bills and put them with the check under the salt shaker. “I don’t remember; do we tip here?”

“I . . . I don’t remember either, sorry.”

Oliver scanned the room, but there were few other customers and he couldn’t tell if they were tipping. “Better safe than sorry,” He added another small denomination to the rest and dropped a few coins on the table. “You didn’t eat much; do you need more time?”

“No, I’m done.” They stood up from the table and casually walked to the door. Everything must have been in order because no one stopped them for leaving.

Once outside, Oliver motioned her over to a bench nearby. “Look, if we walk, we’re only a couple of hours away from where we are going, do you want to just go for it?”

“Won’t the driver be coming out soon?”

“I don’t think so. You had your back to it but right after we sat down he and one of the servers disappeared into the back with an obvious mutual amorous intent.”

“Sure. We’ve been riding too much as it is anyway, it will be good to stretch our legs. Let’s go over there fist, though.”

‘There’ was a small retail shop that sold a variety of miscellaneous items. They each bought a bottle of water, a pair of sunglasses, and a hat. His was a close-fitting traditional hat, made of olive felt with a small brim. She chose the one with the widest brim; it was straw and had a hatband made of artificial daisies that she found a little tacky, but ‘when in Cittàgazze’ . . .

On the way out of town, they passed by a little market, and Sanya bought a few apples and a paper bag of raisins and shelled nuts. Her mood considerable improved after she took a big bite from the first of the apples.

She had just finished it, still licking the juice from her fingers, when they reached the edge of town and set out into the Rhuvanland countryside.

To be continued

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland - Part Eight
(All dialogue in this chapter occurs in German)

Outskirts of Düben, Rhuvanland

The sun was very bright, but they appreciated being off the bus. It had smelled of internal combustion exhaust and sweat, and faintly of urine. Except for the brief moments when a vehicle passed the other way, the Rhuvish countryside had a dry, earthy smell that even the oily tang of hot tarmac didn’t spoil. They could also hear the gentle breeze blowing in from the ocean, but since turning north they could no longer hear the sea itself. The air was also full of the twitter of dozens, maybe a hundred songbirds, which trilled musically, quite unlike the often sharp cries of Sadakhan avians.

They had walked in silence for almost an hour, enjoying the day, when they heard a loud, rattling vehicle coming up behind them. It was a large truck, going fast, possibly military. They got off the road, not quite hiding but trying to avoid being noticed.

The vehicle rushed by them, then stopped, shuddering as its nearly bald tires slid on the asphalt. It wasn’t military; it had a flat bed with stake sides and while most of it was green the right side door was pale yellow. Several genial looking young men in the back waved for them to come over.

Sanya glanced at Oliver, who shrugged. Oliver casually walked over to within five meters or so of the truck, Sanya following.

“Hey, it’s not safe to walk on the highway, kids. Where are you going?”

“Kazadia” Oliver said.

“So are we. Come on, we’ll give you a lift.” Sanya wasn’t certain about the men, and it must have showed. “We don’t bite,” the speaker said, smiling warmly “But walking on the highway is very dangerous. And if a policeman or the army comes along they’ll probably arrest you. Tell you what,” the man said, digging into a wooden box of tools. “Take this . . .” he tossed a short handled sledge onto the grass near Oliver. “Hit us with that if we’re not as nice as we say.”

The men did look friendly, and getting arrested would be problematic. Sanya stepped up to the back of the truck, and one of the other men offered her a hand up. He had a strong grip, muscular arms, and long blonde hair that flowed out of his wool cap. She loved Oliver, but other parts of her wanted to get to know this man a little better. The man that had spoken for the group had dark hair and beard and a mischievous look in his eyes.

As Oliver climbed up the dark haired man made introductions; he was Gregor, the blonde one was Gerhard, and the third man in the back with them was Ulli. They didn’t learn the driver’s name because as soon as Oliver was situated in the back the driver took off; between the noise of the truck and the rush of air further conversation was difficult. She clamped her hat to her head when it tried to blow away and tried to ignore the way Gerhard’s hair moved in the wind. She couldn’t see the driver, but Ulli had light brown curls and a shy, gentle, bookish face. He smiled at her nervously when she looked at him.

Between the breathtakingly gorgeous man sitting nearby, the rumbling vibration of the truck, and the smell of Oliver right next to her, ten minutes into the ride Sanya was becoming awkwardly mindful she hadn’t gotten laid since they left Sadakoyama. She clutched her hat to her head tighter and grabbed Oliver’s hand firmly. Perhaps a bit too tightly; he flinched a little. The timing was fortuitous however as the truck stopped abruptly; if she hadn’t been holding his hand she might have tumbled out.

An auburn haired woman slithered halfway out of the window and sat on the door; pulling out a pair of binoculars she scanned the horizon. “We’re clear,” she said, dropping back into the truck.

“Hold on to your trousers,” The driver announced. With a grinding of gears, the truck rolled forward again, but then abruptly turned off the road and headed down and embankment, spitting dust and gravel from the tires. The truck turned parallel to the road and, leaning precipitously, followed it for a few meters. Gerhard was laughing heartily, but Ulli looked annoyed and Gregor just looked bored. Oliver looked concerned by something he saw, but before she could turn to look, the truck turned again and went back up the embankment, then righted itself on the highway again.

She looked behind her; what Oliver had seen was a barricade of concrete blocks and barbed wire, with an unmanned guard post to the side. Oliver crept over to Gregor and shouted “Where are we really going?”

“Kazadia, really,” The man shouted back.

“It’s just . . . supposed to be off limits right now,” Ulli said.

“And you guys are . . .”

“Just picking up a few things that got left behind,” Gregor said flatly.

“But not necessarily things you left behind.”

“Right,” Gregor said. There was a hint of challenge in his voice, but his tone and demeanor remained as casual and noncommittal as ever.

“You’ve got to understand,” Ulli said, apologetic as he could shouting, “We’re not thieves. But things are hard right now, and it’s criminal that people are going hungry while food just sits there.”

“And, if we make a little money while helping them, what’s wrong with that?” Gregor said.

“Okay. Fair enough.” Oliver said, going back to Sanya’s side. Gregor grinned.

“What is your opinion?” Sanya yelled to Gerhard.

“Who cares? We have the sun on our backs and the wind in our hair. This is better than sitting at home cowering, waiting to starve.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

Ten minutes later they entered the outskirts of Kazadia. The city was sepulchral, seemingly completely abandoned. It was not hard to see why; even from here they could see the Cronaal shelling had taken a devastating toll. The truck pulled up to an area of largely undamaged warehouses. Everyone piled out. Ulli introduced them to Werner, the driver, and his wife who went only by “Rotschopf” She resembled a soft, slightly plump housewife but her expression was one of seething intensity. In contrast, Werner had a greying military haircut and a posture of steel, but his eyes were kind, and a little sad, like they’d seen too much pain.

Almost immediately Rotschopf hurried off to scout out the buildings, and Oliver thanked Werner and the others for the ride.

“Whoa, hey; where are you guys going?” Gregor said.

“We came to find her cousin, she lives . . . used to live here. We need to find out if she’s still alive and where she might have gone.”

“We don’t care about your . . . business,” Sanya added. “Good luck to you. But we have our own mission here.”

“They’re just kids, Gregor,” Werner said. “They’re not going to cause us any trouble.”

“No sir.” Oliver said. Gregor glowered but turned away.

“I hope you find your cousin, good luck.” Werner said. “Oh, one thing; if you see dust blowing, cover your faces. It can be toxic, that’s why everyone left.”

“Thank you, sir.” Oliver had no idea where the involuntary deference he kept offering was coming from; it was just a response the man seemed to naturally elicit.

He and Sanya walked away, then cut between some of the buildings so they were out of sight. Oliver pulled out his phone and accessed the Sadakoyama functions. He pulled up the map and waited the few seconds for their position to be calculated, then entered Mattie’s address. Fortunately Mattie lived on the poor side of town; they were only a half a klick away. They heard some banging, then what sounded like a metal door rolling up; their new friends must have gotten into the first of the warehouses.

Ten minutes or so later they cleared the warehouses. Sanya thought they would have to climb a four-meter tall chain link fence topped with barbed wire that stood in their way, but Oliver used his multi-tool to cut through it. Beyond the fence was three runs of railroad track; on the far side of which were dozens of abandoned cars and piles of luggage, boxes, furniture and other personal property.

“This is where they evacuated from.” Sanya said. Oliver nodded, agreeing with her assessment.

They were halfway across the tracks when the sound of a vehicle made them run for the cover of the cars. The sound resolved into three small military jeeps, which raced in single file along the fence line inside the warehouse area. The vehicles reached the place where they had cut the fence and the first two in line sped past it and turned the corner, headed the way Oliver and Sanya had come.

The third jeep stopped and a soldier in a Rhuvish uniform, a submachine gun in hand, jumped out and examined the fence. He looked back at the jeep, motioned toward the break, then held his finger in the air and moved it in a circle. The jeep drove along the fence line, presumably looking for a gate, and the soldier pushed through the fence.

Oliver motioned to Sanya to move back further into the cluster of cars, when suddenly a staccato bark of gunfire erupted in the distance, followed by louder cracking shots. As the battle continued with shouts, screams and more shooting, Oliver carefully opened the rear door of a big sedan; they crept inside and hid on the floor and he pulled the door quietly behind them.

The sounds of the distant battle had not yet stopped when they heard the crunch of gravel near their hiding spot. The sounds moved away, and they heard a vehicle approaching; likely the jeep they saw earlier retuning after finding a way through the fence. The gunfire had stopped; now they could hear a nearby but indistinct conversation, which ended with at least two sets of feet approaching their car through the gravel on either side.

“Come out slowly! Make no hostile moves and you will not be shot!”

They froze and tried not to breath.

“You are hiding in the back of the green sedan; come out or we will fire. Your friends are dead; this is your only chance to surrender.”

“Okay! We’re coming out! We’re unarmed!” Sanya shouted. She opened the door, waited a moment, and then crawled out hands first onto the gravel. The soldier that examined the fence had his gun trained on her. She stayed on her hands and knees, the gravel cutting into her bare legs, and moved away from the car to let Oliver exit. Under the car, she could see the boots of his partner on the other side of the car.

“Those weren’t our friends, they just gave us a ride, sir” Oliver said. Close up, the soldier didn’t look much older than they were. His face was red; whether from exertion or emotion she couldn’t tell.

“But you are still here looting, all the same.”

“No sir; we are looking for our family. Her cousin’s family, specifically,” Oliver motioned to Sanya, who took the opportunity to slowly stand up. “They lived here when the war broke out.”

“Everyone here left long ago, evacuated north.”

“Yes sir, we came to look to see if they left any clue where they might have gone after evacuating. Their house was just over there; may we have your permission to look?”

“Come over here; put your hands on the back of the vehicle.”

They complied; after patting them down the soldier and his partner searched their bags and then had a whispered conversation. “Where is this house you are looking for?”

“It’s right over there, sir. There should be a small square just on the other side of that building, and their apartment faces it.”

“Okay, let’s check out this square. Give me your hands.” They were handcuffed and led to the jeep. Sanya was put in the front passenger seat, with Oliver behind her. The ruddy soldier got in back with Oliver and his partner drove.

Minutes later they were passing the building Oliver had indicated when the driver stopped suddenly, pitching Sanya forward and Oliver into her back. When she sat up, the square was there . . . but so was an unexploded shell, half-buried on one edge of the broken concrete crater of an earlier explosion.

The driver was all for clearing out immediately. Oliver pleaded with him to allow him to check out the apartment. While the two soldiers discussed it, Oliver motioned with his head to the building on the other side of the square from the apartment; it was in ruins, but Sanya could see the remains of a distinctive sign. It was the shopping center in the photo they were given in Beaumonde.

Eventually the soldiers agreed to let Oliver go, alone. Then removed the handcuffs and he gave Sanya a kiss on the cheek before slinging his bag and carefully approaching the crater. She watched him carefully skirt the rim, gasping every time a piece of broken concrete shifted under his feet. Abruptly he stopped; she wondered what was wrong until she saw him pull out a handkerchief and hold it over his face while he crouched in a ball. She shouted “Dust!” at her guards and quickly pulled her head scarf down over her face. She buried her face in her knees, her hands holding the scarf to her face, and felt the stinging, dirty wind blow over them.

When it stopped, she cautiously sat up. The red-faced soldier pulled his head out of his tunic, his partner had tried to cover his face with his helmet but it didn’t seem to work very well; the man was coughing painfully. She looked for Oliver but he had already moved on into the building.

While they waited for Oliver’s return, she convinced her captor, who turned out to be named Johann, to undo her handcuffs so she could try and help his partner, who was still hacking painfully. Without any proper Sadakhan medical gear, the best she could do was give him some analgesics and have him try a cupful of Marlene’s honey concoction. After a few minutes the man blew some horrible looking dirty, bloody mucous and phlegm from his throat and nasal passages; he was pale and shaking after that but said he felt better.

After that they waited for two more hours. The driver was sleeping fitfully in the back of the jeep and Johann was starting to make noises like he thought Oliver had abandoned them; or more specifically, her. She stared at the front of the building, wondering if she should just make a break for it, when she heard Oliver call out from a long way to the left.

She and Johann looked toward the sound; Oliver was walking down a side street toward them. When he arrived back, he explained that the front of the apartment looked structurally unsound so he left out a rear window, and due to blocked roads and getting misdirected a couple of times it took him awhile to find his way back. He was successful though; he located the girl’s room and a phone with addresses on it, some for relatives to the north.

Johann paced back and forth next to the car. “Okay. I am supposed to either shoot you, or at the least take you in for questioning. But the corporal needs medical attention and I just don’t want to deal with the hassle of you two. So I am going to drive you to the north checkpoint, and you will walk north to wherever you are going and do not stop, do not turn around, and do not ever return to this city or I will shoot you. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“Okay, let’s go.”

To be continued

 

[Piscivore]

*** FURTHER DETAILS DESCRIBING SADAKHAN ACTIVITIES IN RHUVANLAND ***
***................................... AS CONTAINED IN THIS ACCOUNT ...................................***
*** .....HAVE BEEN COMPARTMENTALIZED PENDING REVIEW BY THE D.I.S...... ***

For access, please apply through appropriate University channels.​

 

[Piscivore]

Escaping Rhuvanland: Epilogue

Six Months later . . .

Shangri-la Military Retreat and Treatment Centre; Shambhala, Sadakoyama



Sanya woke from dreamless nap; she'd fallen asleep in the library again. No one was in the room, so she awkwardly lifted herself out her favourite wingback chair, her enormous swollen belly threatening to throw her off balance every time she moved. Pins and needles in her legs meant she'd been asleep long enough to affect the circulation, but that was just another delightful part of late stage pregnancy.

The soft light coming in the enormous picture windows on the eastern wall didn't penetrate the room directly; the sun behind her yet still bright enough to see by meant it was early afternoon. The slight rumbling in her stomach agreed with that assessment. Inside the windows it was calm, warm and quite, but the turbulence of the heavy cloud cover indicated the other side of the triple-paned, aerogel insulated ballistic glass was anything but. She smiled; her therapist would probably have some point to make using that as a metaphor. Through rare breaks in the clouds she could see the vast green expanse of Tlalocan a thousand meters beneath her; not for the first time here she felt like she was standing on the roof of the world, despite knowing just on the other side of the complex the Áno Gnáthos mountains rose a couple of kilometers higher. By dinnertime Sarpanit's shadow would cast the whole facility into a premature twilight.

Thoughts of dinner reminded her she hadn't even had lunch yet, and the baby kicking in response to her rumbling tummy put some urgency to it. "Okay, okay," she muttered, and waddled toward the dining hall. At the door she saw Miyako, one of the nurses, just entering the room.

"Oh, Sanya. I was just coming to see if you were awake. I can bring you some lunch if you like."

"It's okay, Miya; I think I ought to walk a bit anyway."

"Well, let me walk with you." Miya said, holding out an arm for support.

"Thanks," Sanya said, accepting the support. They made small talk until Sanya's phone signaled a message; apparently she had a visitor. She responded with a short message letting reception know where she was headed. She hadn't had a visitor in a month, and she was eager to see if it was who she hoped. Then she realized she was still wearing her favorite but scruffy white fuzzy robe over the same robin's egg silk caftan she'd gone to bed in the previous night. And her hair must be a mess after sleeping in a chair for hours. She was in a quandary between wanting to go change and running straight to the dining hall.

Miya provided the voice of reason; she couldn't run in her condition, and rumpled was endearing on a pregnant woman. Sanya acquiesced; Miya, like all the nurses, was good at her job. Nevertheless she did tug insistently on the nurse's arm, cajoling her to go just a little faster.

When she got to the dining room, she was surprised; apart from the other guests/patients there was no one there she recognised. There was one young woman who looked sort of familiar; Wait; is that Noelle? Her sister had grown an inch at least, and lost some of the baby fat from her face; she looked to be inheriting some of Leah's striking features before long. Her hair was pulled back into a neat, no-nonsense ponytail, and she had on a new uniform from a different school.

Sanya opened her arms for an embrace, squealing "Monkey!" Noelle walked over with a big grin, but hesitated, contemplating the belly, then moving in for a sideways hug. Miya moved away discretely.

"How are you sis? Are they treating you well here?"

"Better than well; it's been really good."

"Good. I know you probably aren't ready to chat about it yet, but I did hear some of what you went through over there; I'm so proud of you. Do you hear from the kids at all?"

"'The kids'? They're older than you are." Sanya gave her sister her 'big sister' look. "Help me sit down. They are doing well, even Millie. I told them she was smarter than she liked to let on."

Noelle laughed, as she eased her sister onto one of the chairs. "Yeah, I read a transcript of that scolding you gave Lucas Finney; he was the DIS contact who met you on the Cereti cruiser," Noelle explained, seeing Sanya's puzzlement at the name. "That was epic. Between that and lecturing a Sciencemaster, you're developing quite a reputation."

"I am? What?" Sanya was mortified. "Wait . . . that information is still supposed to be classified, how did you . . . ?"

"I don't know if you know, but I've kept in touch with Clarisse. Don't roll your eyes; she's very nice if you're not her student. Anyway, she thinks I have potential, and Audley did too. She did me a favor. Oh! And you don't know; she's offered me the opportunity to join an accelerated International Studies program."

"Well, that's great, if that's what you want to do. Is it?"

"I think it is. Chasing after you was the most fun I've ever had, and I'll get to do really important work. Plus, you know, if you can handle it . . ."

"Handle it? I aced it, you little simian, and two months pregnant besides!"

"Yeah, you did. Anyway, the only down side to this program is that I'd have to foster out."

"Oh. Wait, to Audley? Where even is Audley?"

"No. not to Audley . . . Abbiati

"No!" Sanya sat up abruptly, getting a kick from the baby in return. "Shut up. I didn't even know she had a karass, I just assumed she was an android. Wait; are you teasing me?"

"Nope, it exists, but its small and it's very select. Everybody keeps their surnames, or uses a new one, which is probably what I'll do, to protect you, everyone." She leaned down and put her ear on Sanya's belly. "She's fussy. She's a she, yeah?"

"She's a she. Olya."

"Olya Noelle?"

"No, you little egomaniac."

"I'm sorry I won't be around to greet her. Are they going to let you go home for the birth?"

"'Let me?'" Sanya smiled. "I'm here voluntarily you know." She gave her sister's shoulder a half-hearted swat. "But no, I'm not going to make it home. The gynecology staff here thinks I'm too far along to travel. But some of the family will come up."

"Oliver ought to be here. Where is the big lug? He promised me he'd protect you."

"Oh, monkey." A current of sadness pierced her. "He did protect me, in ways I can't tell you. He did . . . had to do, some . . . ugly things over there." She grabbed her sister's hand, tightly; as a dark memory flashed -

• 
  She cradled Gebhard's lifeless body, crying, howling. Someone was screaming, Mattie or one of the other kids. The boy's head was missing in the back, his brains and blood soaking into her dress. Suddenly, Oliver pushed through the reeds - from where the sniper shot had come - to the riverbank where they crouched. Blood covered his right side, from splashes on his face and shoulder to the dripping large stone clenched in his fist. He dropped the rock and eased the body from her arms; urging her to get up, to get moving.
  
  "Sanya, take my hand!" he said firmly, authoritatively, snapping her out of her fugue state. "Anton; put out the fire. And don't look past my shoulder." She stood, and . . .

- she gasped, and relaxed her grip; she was obviously hurting her sister. "Is it still that bad?" Noelle whispered.

"It's getting better. They can't give me all the meds they'd like because of the baby, so it's going a little slower and harder than usual, but I'm making progress. Hey," she forced a smile, "I'm not sobbing, a least, right?" It was true; but she could feel the redness of her eyes and the wetness on her cheeks.

"Sanya, where is Oliver?" Noelle said quietly.

"Oh, no! He's fine! Well, not fine, exactly; he needed a little more intensive therapy than me, and the military keeps pressing him for information, you know how observant he is. He's in a hospital in AC, but we talk when we get the chance. He'll be here for the delivery, if he can. It's looking good."

"You . . . are exasperating, you do realize?" Noelle sighed, clearly relieved.

"I'm sorry. It's the pregnancy."

"It is not the pregnancy, unless you've been pregnant for the last ten years."

"Point taken" Sanya smiled. It felt just like old times. Except for her enormous belly and her sister looking less and less like a kid. She had a half-formed thought brewing - something along the lines of Noelle acting child-like deliberately for Sanya's benefit the morning she and Oliver left - that was interrupted by Miya bringing over a bowl of steaming dumplings. Chicken, goat, and vegetable by the smell. They were delicious, but as soon as the baby was born she was going to eat her weight in sashimi, and she said so to her sister. They caught up over dumplings and a mild green tea Miya brought over, until Sanya started to look worn out again.


Noelle helped her back to her room at Miya's insistence; Noelle could tell by the nurse's tone that Sanya napping in the library was a persistent issue. Sanya knew it because she'd been firmly but gently reminded that there were other guests here, and she snored.

On the way, Noelle explained that she was going to be incommunicado for a while, but not to worry. "I'm going to a new school, like that one in Adelaide. I'm going right from here; my bags are packed. You might not hear from me for a year or more." Sanya nodded, understanding. A year ago, her baby sister going anywhere was inconceivable. Six months ago, when she broke down on the dock at Vandemar, overwhelmed to be home, she would have been overcome with fear and unwilling to let her leave. But Noelle would come back, and Oliver, and then their baby would arrive. They would go back to Abbeville, and if it wouldn't be like it was, it would still be home.

Sanya settled into bed, and Noelle sat in a chair next to her, holding her hand. Sanya sighed, eyes closing. From an old memory, Noelle remembered a lullaby Leah had sung to both of them, probably to all the children. Almost as a whisper, she sang:

At night when the lake is a mirror
And the moon rides the waves to the shore
A single soul sets his voice singing
Content to be slightly forlorn

A song rises over the lilies
Sweeps high to clear over the reeds
And over the bulrushes' swaying
To pluck at a pair of heartstrings

Two voices, now they are singing
Then ten, as the melody soars
Round the shimmering pond all are joining in song
As it carries their reverie on

Over the treetops and mountains
Over the blackened ravines
Then softly it falls by a house near a stream
And over the garden wall
To thee
​

Finis