“Put on the helmet,” I said, gingerly touching the steering wheel. It felt solid in my hands.
The helmet’s inner screen was disorienting as well. On the left side a constant stream of numbers and letters ran in front of my eyes, changing colours and speed as I moved my head around. On the right side I could see through the material of the Sky Bird. I knew it was not my own gift that allowed me to zoom in through the metal walls.
“Bukra’s balls.” Galinak somehow managed to deal with the helmet faster than I had. His hands moved around in the air, touching the screens hovering around him.
“Galinak, don’t—” I said.
“Armed,” a voice rang out in my head.
I turned my head sharply. On the left side of the screen a picture of the Leviathan’s wing tip blinked red while on the right side I zoomed in on another Sky Bird on the far side of the tarmac.
“Locked.” A red rectangle surrounded the Sky Bird I was looking at.
“—touch anything,” I finished, but it was too late.
There was a swooshing sound in my ear and a heartbeat later the other Sky Bird blew up in a mushroom of fire.
We sat in silence for a while, not daring to move our heads or even blink. I reached under my chin and slowly unfastened the helmet. My surroundings winked out of existence.
“Rust,” Galinak said, still wearing his. “The Dwaines ain’t looking happy.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat, which, surprisingly, reclined itself back so I was facing the ceiling.
“I have a feeling they won’t give us some of their stew when we try to leave.”
“You don’t say,” I murmured and shut my eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and tired.
Galinak freed himself from his helmet. “What now?”
I kicked my new boots off my feet. “I need to rest a bit. I haven’t slept right since, well, since I was born. The Dwaines are not going to shoot at us and they can’t get in. I’m almost positive Dwaine is illiterate.”
“And if he’s not?”
I turned my head and looked meaningfully at Galinak’s new machine gun. Taking the hint, he smiled back at me, picked up the heavy gun and turned his seat to face the doors behind us. “I’ll take first watch, then?”
I didn’t answer. A little later I was fast asleep.
Peach
A dream, but not a normal one, I knew. Finally, Command was reaching out to me, but I knew instinctively that this dream briefing was different than usual. An image of a woman came into view. She was a warrior by the way she stood, not young but still powerful. Red hair, and black markings around her neck and ears. She turned to me, drew a power gun, aimed, and fired. But as I flung myself to the side she changed into a young woman in her teens, dressed in a simple brown linen dress. Her hair was voluminous and red, and she had grey eyes, fair skin, and a strong body. She could have been stunning if it were not for a slightly wide chin. The warrior’s younger self … no … her child … the warrior’s child. The younger woman was my target, Emilija, and the mother was her protector.
I was lying in the mud and saw a name written, Vincha, before I rose slowly and realised I was standing in a field. From afar I could see the familiar silhouette of the City of Towers and my heart skipped a beat. Then a splash of muck stained my clothes as someone stepped over a puddle and walked past me. It was Vincha again, gun in hand, looking with open suspicion in all directions, but not seeing me or the shadows that surrounded her. I felt the urge to follow, saw her walking towards her daughter, who was standing with her back to us, oblivious, as shadows grew around her. The dream was telling me that there were others looking for the girl … but who? Before I could find out the answer the warrior jumped into the shadows and disappeared. The daughter remained, although she began to fade into the distance as bells began to ring. The image changed again into a fountain I recognised, and lastly into a bird which landed on a wide straw hat. It was a rendezvous point, a place where I would make contact.
I woke up to the sound of chimes, curled up on a thin rug that was spread on the floor. The dark chamber had no door, and I saw three people slowly passing the entrance as they walked the lit corridor, one holding a pot filled with burning incense and the two others playing delicate chimes. Turning on the rug, I surveyed the room. There was no one with me in the small, windowless chamber, empty of furniture save for several other hand-stitched rugs, a candle holder with a short stump of a candle in it, and a knee-high wooden table. As soon as I rose to a sitting position, three more men came in. Since I did not believe in coincidence, it was logical they were standing outside, waiting for me to wake up. One was carrying a bucket of water with one hand and a smaller, empty bucket in the other, another lit the candle in its holder and the third man was carrying a tray, which he placed on the small table. It contained a loaf of freshly baked bread, hard cheese, several vegetables and a covered plastic cup.
“Wash, use the empty bucket for yar needs, and eat,” one of the men ordered, but not unkindly. “Then you shall cleanse and see da Healer.” His accent did not come out as natural as the others’, a little distorted, like he forced it upon himself. I made a mental note of this, even though it seemed to be of no importance.
“How is Brak doing? And Trevil, my companion?”
“See da Healer, then all will clear,” the man said.
Both men stayed in the room as I took care of my vessel’s bodily needs, and other people who passed the room could see me as well. Despite occupying a vessel, I had to remind myself of my time in the military in order to relax enough to relieve myself in front of strangers, a sign I was slowly merging with my new body. As soon as I was done one of the men carried the bucket away without a word. The food was simple, but after surviving on a severed leg, nourishment pills, and food scraps, it felt incredibly good. I took my time eating, savouring each and every bite. The vegetables looked fresh and the cup contained boiled water, still warm. Like everything else in this area, it was contaminated, but with a surprisingly low dosage considering where I was located.
As I ate I thought about the dream briefing I’d received. My mission was clear and the dream came exactly on time, a week after awakening, once my brain waves completely merged with the vessel, making deep sleep a possibility. Yet something felt wrong. On the one hand, only Tarakan Central Command had my unique brain patterns and the ability to send me dream sequences, which was good news. That meant that contrary to what I had heard so far, Tarakan had survived. Someone had woken me up, given me a body, and ordered me on a “find and retrieve” mission. It would have been a laughably easy assignment under normal circumstances, way under the level of my expertise or my rank, but in this new, broken world, without the help of satellites, global communication, facial and body recognition scanners, and the ability to reach any point on the globe within an hour, this simple mission felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
There were other things in the dream sequence that worried me. By my last few missions, a few of Tarakan’s more advanced foes were already suspected of having the technology to pick up dream sequences, and as a result the dream should have been a little vaguer. This mission briefing felt like a parent pointing a child to a task, a gross breach of protocol, which could also be the result of all of Tarakan’s enemies having been wiped out. The dream world should have also been richer, more immersive. This one lacked complexity and depth, reminding me of an old virtual reality game I had once tried in a museum, when you had to put a mask on your face in order to play instead of immersing your consciousness into the machine. Something was amiss. That I knew for sure.
Since there was no way I could solve my concerns regarding Central Command, I forced them aside and my