Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. It is a draft; there are mistakes, many misspellings and sometimes long periods of no updates. copyright: ion fyr 2025
The light was leaving them and sparks flew up into the darkening sky. The sun had set and the chill sea breeze had turned with the evening wind, raking the artic seascape with punishing claws.
Luc had put his blood-stained Parsian camouflage coat on again, it being the warmest thing he owned this century, and the ever beautiful princess (Baroness, Luc corrected himself) was wrapped in a fur of some sort–the 19th century possessed many more animals to raise, torture in confines, and to skin for the look and the warmth thatn the 23rd did.
The slow drip of the focus juice had dulled his emotional reaction, but now as it trickled to a stop and his circulatory filters began removing it, metabolizing it back into harmless saline, Luc’s, and, with the pause in the action Luc’s mind turned to Nila.
He stood over her–Nila’s supine, mangled body splayed out on the map of the world. Her head rested upon the waist of Nuland, or New Land, or Mazatlan, or several other names for the place.
She had been there. Slain rakshasa there. Wallowed through the foetid swamps there.
Now her head was propped on a bundled, ragged, severed sleeve of her jacket, while the emergency medical bug dug in to her flesh to keep her together.
Luc’s mind ran through his connections, most of them in Tesifon. The Londbridge ties were all dead, mostly literally at this point.
“Can you get us to Tesifon?” He raised his voice slightly in Etelka’s perceived direction.
“I’m right here, Mr Maron,” came the voice behind him. “No need to shout.”
He turned his head clockwise like he imagined an owl might do. He probably strained his neck in the process.
Etelka was behind him. Sympathetic eyes full of worry for Nila.
“The envelop is damaged. It will take a while to fix.”
Luc looked down the central corridor toward his wrecked car. “Can we…Is there a way to scavenge the remains of my car…the drives…”
“You mean the levetation devices…which I do not at all understand…?” Etelka stepped forward, into the space within his view, next to Nila’s head on the table.
“I don’t undestand it either, but it works if it’s connected.”
How is it you don’t know how it works?! She thought.
As if hearing her thoughts, Luc said, “In my time, Ms Etelka, only men and women with access to corporate protocals get the educations to support the technologes.”
“I’m only a club owner.”
No you are not ony that, Mr Maron.
The thought of the 23rd century levitation devices blended into the ruined structure of Baba Yaga’s Hut, made Etelka’s mind run like frantic horses.
Ion Fyr 