strength to the little soles of her feet. This is what it felt like to be really free, wind in your hair and cash in your hands. She would let nothing hold her back ever again.
"No." The old man stepped out right in front of her as she rounded a corner, sending her tumbling. "No," he said again, "not you. You're the wrong one."
Kesara didn't understand his words. He was speaking English and she knew not a word of it.
His clothes were unsuited to the heat, a long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat; he looked utterly out of place. "Give me the box," he insisted – in Spanish this time – holding out a wrinkled hand with which to take it. Kesara shook her head. She could outrun this old man any day. Hadn't she said she would let nothing stop her? She jumped to her feet and ran past him, the box in her hand.
"No!" he shouted, "I must have it!"
Not a chance, Kesara thought, this box is mine and it'll take more than you've got to take it…
A gunshot rang out in the sleepy Valencian street, a noise that Kesara didn't immediately associate with her until she saw the blood spreading across the front of her blouse. She couldn't get her head around the sight of it; it made no sense to her. Right up until the moment she died.
"Here."
Pablo finished stuffing the coils of rope into his duffel bag, and stared at the old man in the final dying light of this hot Valencian day.
"What is it?" Pablo asked, taking the wooden box the old man offered.
"Your destiny," the old man said, pointing his gun towards the young man's head.
interlude
"Can you understand me?"
"If you mean that noise you're making then, yes. I'm not mentally subnormal." The First Observer sits down, the weight of the flesh around it unwelcome and stultifying. "How can they bear to be caged like this?"
"I rather like it." Its colleague thrashes about, experiencing the body, feeling the centre of gravity shift as it moves. "They consume this as well, you know," it says, pinching at the muscles in its arms.
"Consume?"
"The creatures work on an energy input system. They ingest another's flesh in order to make their own function."
"How disgusting."
"I think it's neat. I wonder what sensation it causes?"
"I hope I never find out. We are supposed to observe, not go native."
"Some would say one has to experience to observe; data is hardly reliable otherwise. How do I look?"
The First Observer marshals its thoughts, processing the input from the human's eyes and trying to express it in the words it has to hand. It is impossible. "Like a human. What else do you want me to say? You are crude, unappealing and have some form of growth all over you."
"They call it hair. Have you explored your human's brain?"
"Briefly. It was depressing."
"How can you say that? So many thoughts and urges, so raw and energetic!"
"So basic. We will leave now."
"So soon? What have we learned?"
"Enough to know that there is nothing of interest here for us, it's all so…" it pounds at the earth with its borrowed hands until the small bones inside it snap "…pointlessly fragile. How have they have managed to exist this long?"
"They call this Asia," its colleague says, looking around.
"Who cares?"
"I do. I want to stay for a while, see how they function."
"No, we are leaving. It was only a point of… they don't even have the vocabulary… meticulousness that merited exploring thus far. Sitting in this mess of a construct I have learned all I need. This place is beneath us."
"I disagree!" its colleague insists, bringing a rock down on its fellow observer's head to open the fragile skull.
"I enjoyed that," it says afterwards to the rivulets of blood pushing their way through the sand. "It was interesting."
Now alone on the wide Asian plain, it wonders what to do next.
CHAPTER FOUR
Young men were supposed to have big dreams, but for
"No." The old man stepped out right in front of her as she rounded a corner, sending her tumbling. "No," he said again, "not you. You're the wrong one."
Kesara didn't understand his words. He was speaking English and she knew not a word of it.
His clothes were unsuited to the heat, a long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat; he looked utterly out of place. "Give me the box," he insisted – in Spanish this time – holding out a wrinkled hand with which to take it. Kesara shook her head. She could outrun this old man any day. Hadn't she said she would let nothing stop her? She jumped to her feet and ran past him, the box in her hand.
"No!" he shouted, "I must have it!"
Not a chance, Kesara thought, this box is mine and it'll take more than you've got to take it…
A gunshot rang out in the sleepy Valencian street, a noise that Kesara didn't immediately associate with her until she saw the blood spreading across the front of her blouse. She couldn't get her head around the sight of it; it made no sense to her. Right up until the moment she died.
"Here."
Pablo finished stuffing the coils of rope into his duffel bag, and stared at the old man in the final dying light of this hot Valencian day.
"What is it?" Pablo asked, taking the wooden box the old man offered.
"Your destiny," the old man said, pointing his gun towards the young man's head.
interlude
"Can you understand me?"
"If you mean that noise you're making then, yes. I'm not mentally subnormal." The First Observer sits down, the weight of the flesh around it unwelcome and stultifying. "How can they bear to be caged like this?"
"I rather like it." Its colleague thrashes about, experiencing the body, feeling the centre of gravity shift as it moves. "They consume this as well, you know," it says, pinching at the muscles in its arms.
"Consume?"
"The creatures work on an energy input system. They ingest another's flesh in order to make their own function."
"How disgusting."
"I think it's neat. I wonder what sensation it causes?"
"I hope I never find out. We are supposed to observe, not go native."
"Some would say one has to experience to observe; data is hardly reliable otherwise. How do I look?"
The First Observer marshals its thoughts, processing the input from the human's eyes and trying to express it in the words it has to hand. It is impossible. "Like a human. What else do you want me to say? You are crude, unappealing and have some form of growth all over you."
"They call it hair. Have you explored your human's brain?"
"Briefly. It was depressing."
"How can you say that? So many thoughts and urges, so raw and energetic!"
"So basic. We will leave now."
"So soon? What have we learned?"
"Enough to know that there is nothing of interest here for us, it's all so…" it pounds at the earth with its borrowed hands until the small bones inside it snap "…pointlessly fragile. How have they have managed to exist this long?"
"They call this Asia," its colleague says, looking around.
"Who cares?"
"I do. I want to stay for a while, see how they function."
"No, we are leaving. It was only a point of… they don't even have the vocabulary… meticulousness that merited exploring thus far. Sitting in this mess of a construct I have learned all I need. This place is beneath us."
"I disagree!" its colleague insists, bringing a rock down on its fellow observer's head to open the fragile skull.
"I enjoyed that," it says afterwards to the rivulets of blood pushing their way through the sand. "It was interesting."
Now alone on the wide Asian plain, it wonders what to do next.
CHAPTER FOUR
Young men were supposed to have big dreams, but for
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