The Phoenix Creation, page 4
‘It’s hypothetical, surely?’
‘Maybe not,’ said Hanuel shaking his head. ‘They keep bringing out new hybrids year upon year with improved seafaring abilities. Take-off from submersion, eyes that can see underwater. You know that. Your grandpa goes on about it all the time. In his words; a conspiracy.’
Alya’s spine tingled and the hairs on her arms rose as she processed Hanuel’s theory.
‘You two! What are you doing here?’
Alya spun round to see a museum warden standing over by the door. He had deployed his stun baton and had a very menacing look on his face as he walked carefully, but stealthily towards them.
Hanuel remained still just behind her. He was close enough for Alya to feel the quiver coming from his body but it wasn’t fear she decided, he was clearly having the same thoughts as her and that was to run.
In that second Alya looked up and noticed one of the high windows was ajar, and without any thought process she bent her knees then took off, raising a gust that sent the desk papers and files flying through the air. She felt Hanuel follow her and they ascended vertically beating their wings powerfully.
The museum warden was too surprised to react at first and he stood gaping at them as they reached the window. It was ajar but there was no way through for them.
Alya hurriedly rattled the lever, but it only extended a few more inches. It was an old window and was probably ajar from lack of repair. She ascended higher, Hanuel next to her watching her every move and copying her intuitively. Then she used her feet to ram the trussed pane which from years of neglect complied with her wishes and flew off its old hinges through the air onto the ground below.
The warden below them was screaming for them to come down. He’d taken out his radio and was calling for help. Alya and Hanuel circled the ceiling to get the right run-up for their escape and then shot through the open window with precision, their wings folded neatly against their bodies.
‘Oh, my Gods,’ gasped Hanuel, next to her.
‘We had no choice, Han,’ said Alya, predicting the worry that Hanuel would now be consumed with.
‘No, Alya, we need to get out of here quickly. He’s called for backup.’
She looked at her friend; his black wavy hair streamed back from his face, his baggy, light-blue, school vest billowed around him and she smiled.
They were a good team. If she was the ‘doer’ then Hanuel was definitely the ‘thinker.’
Perhaps they’d better hit the ground asap. The problem was, it was busy below. This area of Vancouver Beach next to the museum was where all the restaurants were, the theatres and the cinema. There might be one or two people out flying tonight, but most were on the ground enjoying their leisure time and they’d surely notice two startled looking teenagers coming into land. It was best they stay airborne.
Alya was just about to agree with Hanuel’s idea to split quick, when she felt a slight discrepancy in the air flowing down. Without looking she knew there was someone above them. Someone quiet, and stealthy.
Alya glanced at Hanuel and he nodded slightly, only for her to see. He knew there was someone there too but he was playing dumb while they decided what to do. It could only be Patrol, and from the air displacement around them it was either someone very large or inexperienced; they were too close. Both Hanuel and Alya suspected that they were dealing with an individual who was tagging them until a second Patrol Officer arrived so they could arrest them.
Alya was suddenly grateful for the dark night, and grateful that both hers and Hanuel’s wings were black, and even more grateful that they were both young and fit—it would make their escape so much easier.
‘Go!’ she cried, and they both split, banking left and right, flying away from each other.
Their plan had the desired effect and the person above them hesitated while deciding who to follow. Whoever it was went for her, and they growled with fury at being forced to relinquish Hanuel.
Alya wasted no time in making good her escape. She beat her wings for all she was worth, identifying the slipstreams in the air around her, feeling her way through them to optimise aerodynamics and pull away from her pursuer.
She heard someone thirty metres behind her radioing for backup, but with the air rushing by as madly as the adrenalin pumping in her ears, it was impossible to make out what they were saying.
She felt as if she was finally pulling away from them, they definitely seemed to be having trouble keeping up with her. She needed to get higher. She felt a smooth stream of air snake across her face and realised someone was ahead of her cutting the air apart.
‘This way!’ Hanuel was back, and he instinctively knew that they were too low. They had to go high and do what they were best at.
Alya followed Hanuel’s feet as he took them rapidly to five-thousand-feet.
Whoever was behind them was really struggling to keep up, so it seemed, but Alya knew without looking that they were still there. The darkened night sky made it impossible to gauge how high they were, but they’d done this ascent so many times that they were bound to be at their target height. The sky they were cutting through was smattered with stratus clouds, and the air was deliciously cool after the heat of the day below.
Alya felt the familiar buzz of excitement before the Death Wish challenge, that she and Hanuel had aptly named in the first year that they’d become fully-fledged. If their parents knew of their antics, they would be permanently grounded, but it would all be worth it, there was nothing like putting your faith in your own body and your precious wings thought Alya, except on this occasion, because neither of them had performed the Death Wish, at night before.
‘Now,’ cried Alya, when she was certain they were at their optimum height.
Hanuel inverted first, and his wings folded tight against his body as he rocketed downwards. After a split second Alya did the same, ensuring she was as close behind Hanuel as she could get and using his slipstream to bolster her velocity.
They were travelling at two-hundred-miles an hour, and it was only a matter of seconds before the lights from below came into view. Alya had put all her faith in her body, but this time she’d put all her faith in Hanuel too. She wouldn’t break from her position behind him trusting him to call it out when their wings must deploy. She hoped that whoever had been following them would not be keen to take the Death Wish challenge this evening.
All Alya could see was Hanuel’s sneakers as they plunged to earth.
‘Now!’ screamed Hanuel, and Alya split to the left out of Hanuel’s slipstream as they both righted themselves. Their wings deployed and braced like parachutes against the wall of air, and they swung about erratically.
They were two-hundred-feet from the ground and as their descent slowed, they then began to beat furiously to arrest their velocity.
Alya finally had a chance to look back properly to see if they were still being chased but as she looked up, the sky remained clear and she couldn’t see anyone.
They were at the edge of South District, where Vancouver Beach ran into San Fran, in a suburban area with extremely wealthy, low-level houses, of about three storeys each.
The street where they landed was quiet and leafy with elegant houses for the elite of Vancouver Beach. Doctors, lawyers, scientists. All with at least one car parked on their neat little drives. There would be gardens out the back, and the children would probably only have to walk a short distance to attend school.
‘Here,’ said Hanuel, grabbing her hand and steering her beneath a tree.
They stood with their backs to the trunk trying to peep through the branches at the night sky above.
They stayed where they were for ten minutes and then decided to move, sticking as best they could to the shadows, and hurrying through the streets northwards, until they reached a monorail terminal and boarded it back to San Fran.
They remained mute and jumpy on the ride home, every so often glancing at each other for reassurance.
They disembarked in the middle of San Fran close to both of their homes and Alya squeezed Hanuel’s hand.
‘Are you ok?’ she said, noticing that Hanuel’s features appeared a little pinched.
‘My wing is sore,’ he said wincing.
‘Will you be ok, Han? Shall I walk you home?’
‘No. I think we need to get home and get off the street, don’t you think?’
‘Sure,’ nodded Alya. ‘Hopefully they won’t know who we are. If Trin keeps her mouth shut we might be ok?’
‘She’ll keep her mouth shut, Alya. I’m not worried about her, but if Patrol finds out who we are, then …’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ assured Alya.
Hanuel stopped thinking about his sore wing and grinned at her.
‘What?’ she said good-humouredly.
‘You bring out the worst in me,’ he laughed. ‘Alya, honestly you do.’
‘Well,’ smiled Alya. ‘Perhaps I bring out the best in you too?’ She kissed him on the cheek and then as if nothing at all interesting had happened that evening she turned and walked off.
Hanuel grinned as he watched her go and then turned to walk home. Damn his wing was sore. They had been crazy earlier; a Death Wish at night time? Even some Olympic champions wouldn’t have been able, or stupid enough, to pull that off. But then, that wasn’t actually Hanuel’s greatest concern; he was more worried about what he’d seen in that red file. The powers that be were up to something, and wary enough to conceal it from public view. He felt in his back pocket for his sister’s security pass. Phew, it was safe. If she could make it through the gala without her pass then maybe they’d be ok. Hanuel imagined that Patrol would be crawling all over the museum by now, or would they? If the museum allowed Patrol to investigate the break-in then they’d risk exposing their project? Maybe he and Alya would be ok? One thing was for sure, he and Alya were going to have to keep their heads down from now on.
Alya decided to take the stairs to her tenth-floor apartment. She had also decided, on the walk home to distract herself, that she was going to get super fit this summer. It was time to get focussed and then maybe people would start to take her seriously. She felt sure she could be an Olympian. She just needed to prove a bunch of people wrong, including her parents, and her doctors, and then choose an Olympic sport to compete in. Maybe she could swim or maybe she could do the C1 Orbit Race.
‘How was school?’ Alya’s mother Diana sat at the dining table, still in her business skirt and blouse, leafing through a fashion magazine, although she didn’t appear at all that interested. Her hazel eyes came to rest on a picture of a woman wearing a black silk maxi-dress, and she held up the picture to show Alya. ‘Would something like that do, for the Patrol Ball?’
Alya grabbed the magazine from her mother’s manicured hands and scanned the picture before dropping it on the table.
‘It’s ok,’ she nodded. She went to the kitchen and poured a large glass of water, sinking the lot in just a few seconds.
Her mother sat looking resigned, as if the magazine had produced no inspiration whatsoever. She was having a rest between arriving home from work, and then beginning to prepare dinner for the four of them. It was seven p.m. and Sol, Alya’s father, would be home from work soon, followed shortly by Tal, who was moving his belongings in stages back home for the summer.
Diana dragged herself to her feet and went to the kitchen to prepare food, passing by Alya on the way and giving her a quick kiss.
‘Don’t worry, Mom,’ Alya patted her mother on the back, ‘you’ll look gorgeous no matter what you wear.’
‘Thank you, darling,’ smiled Diana. ‘Maybe you and I could go shopping the following weekend, get some new clothes for the occasion?’
‘Oh, Mom,’ laughed Alya, ‘I’m not going to the ball, are you kidding me?’
Diana stopped rummaging in the fridge and fixed her daughter with a cool stare then said in a tone that could not be misinterpreted. ‘You are going Alya, it’s non-negotiable and you will wear something nice.’
Alya looked at the floor. She was thinking of a wise retort but something in her mother’s tone suggested she should keep it to herself. She kept quiet and went to retrieve her mother’s magazine and began to glance reluctantly at the images of models wearing the upcoming summer’s fashions.
‘Alya, honey, why does your hair look like you have been flying through a hurricane?’
‘Oh,’ said Alya, realising that her mother was almost right, her curls were pushed back from her face as if they’d been hair-sprayed into position. ‘Er, me and Hanuel went to the park this afternoon.’
‘Weren’t you meant to be at school?’
‘Erm, sort of. We were in swimming lessons this afternoon, but we left early.’
Diana stopped prepping dinner, her curls, like Alya’s, bouncing before resting still as she looked quizzically at her daughter.
Alya knew that her mother was reading between the lines and she’d have to come clean. In fact, she wanted to.
‘I think Hanuel is being bullied by one of the Patrol cadets,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ said Diana. ‘Do you know who?’
‘I’m not sure, maybe Raiden.’
‘Right,’ nodded Diana. ‘I’ll ask Tal when he gets in if he knows anything about it.’
‘What? Mom, no! Don’t ask Tal, please,’ said Alya wide-eyed. That was all she needed, just another thing for Tal to hate her for.
‘Ok, ok, Alya. Just promise me you’ll find out who it is for sure. I’ll have to tell Vesta.’
‘Gods, Mom,’ stormed Alya, ‘I told you because I wanted advice not so you could take over. Damn it! Will you ever stop trying to control things?’
Alya’s eyes blazed and she stood with her fists clenched.
Diana looked open-mouthed at her daughter, surprised by her outburst. She couldn’t decide what to say next. Then her brain rebooted and the first thing she could think of came out of her mouth.
‘Go to your room! And stay there!’
3
BOLO
Alya climbed groggily out of bed when her alarm went off. She devoted twenty minutes to showering and restoring her hair to its usual healthy bounce.
Her father and mother sat companionably at the dining table eating their breakfast.
Her father, Sol, looked handsome in his business suit, and Alya noticed the sympathetic look he threw her as the two women if his life avoided looking at each other.
Alya didn’t really care that her mother had snapped at her last night, or treated her like a child by sending her to her room—of all the things. What she did mind was that her mother thought that Alya was incapable of handling things. Her entire life thus far had been about people helping her, looking after her, and they seemed not to realise that she was sixteen and could look after herself. How many other sixteen-year-olds could take-off from submersion and arrest their momentum from a five-thousand-feet Death Wish challenge at just two-hundred-feet from the ground? If they only knew what she could do. She wasn’t that ‘sick’ child anymore, she was the phoenix, the one that had risen out of the pool just yesterday.
Alya packed her lunch and left the apartment gloomily, giving her father a kiss on the way out the door. She took the stairs down and out onto the sunny plaza in front of their building. The digital flag above the doors to her building was on green which meant that licenced fliers were allowed to take to the skies today. Anyone over fourteen could have a licence, as long as they were fit and able to fly well, otherwise their licence was revoked and they were grounded.
Alya didn’t know many people who were grounded except for the two old sisters living on the eleventh floor. She dread to think about how it must be for someone sick or injured, who wasn’t allowed to fly. It was the most natural thing in the world, as far as she was concerned, far better than walking.
She looked up to the sky at the businessmen and women on their way to work. It probably made sense that people didn’t fly as often as they could. There were so many weather warnings that grounded everyone, and practically it was a bit of a pain ensuring you were wearing the right clothes and carrying the right bag clipped onto your front. If you dropped anything on the people below, you’d be instantly prosecuted and grounded, then fined and most likely imprisoned.
Alya looked at the street below, observing families coaxing tired children along to school. Some were on bikes on the road, where one or two cars for rich people went by.
Not everyone could afford a car. In a continent short of natural resources, sand and glass were their main building materials. Cars were extremely expensive because they needed silicon for their solar panels which was also extremely expensive.
Why bother mused Alya, there was nothing better than flying anyway. Could a car reach two-hundred-miles per hour? Never on this earth, she thought wryly.
Alya headed along the street for three blocks until she saw Hanuel waiting for her under the shade of an, in bloom, palm tree.
He grinned at her as she approached and she smiled back. She was relieved to see that he appeared to be alright after complaining of a sore wing the night before.
‘You, ok?’ she acknowledged.
‘Fine thanks. How about you?’
‘Yeah good,’ she nodded.
Hanuel knew Alya too well. She wasn’t one-hundred-percent fine, but he knew better than to ask. If something had happened between last night and this morning, he knew he’d have to leave her alone to process it herself first. Then he could ask.
They walked companionably along the street observing small children on the last day of school dressed up as pirates and princesses, among other things. The kids’ euphoria and innocent enthusiasm raised Alya’s spirits, and by the time they got to school she’d forgotten all about her and her mother’s rift.
