SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

33

They didn't take the direct way back. They couldn't betray the Romani like that. Instead of heading southeast they headed due north, aiming for The Dakotas. From there they would head toward Rainier pretending to head home before losing anyone that could possibly be trailing them over the Pacific. Over that point they would finally head back to the Romani camp and report in. Overall the trip would take little over a week.

Krys didn't speak to Graham for the better part of the next day. Partially it was for his benefit. Graham needed space to figure out what exactly he had done and everything that that impacted. He needed time to weight his own soul on his cosmic scales of deeds. He'd come up wanting, thinking everything was his fault, that if he hadn't driven the need for the jump drive fuel there would never have been any kidnappings. Krys would assure him when he came around looking to her for any evidence to balance the scales.

No, the main reason for her avoiding him was her own internal conflict. Too much had happened too fast all of which reminded her of too many old traumas. Her mother's death came up twice in one day: first with the batteries and then with the explosion and death of her friend. She was getting very very tired of watching people die. But it was more than that. The recent discovery of the source of the jump drive fuel, knowing that she had that fuel inside her, that that was the reason she could light herself on fire, the reason for her inability to filter other people's emotions or detach from Graham, dug deep into her skin like a parasite.

Key pieces of information about her recent past fell into place. When Dustan took her, he didn't know what she was. Sure, he knew she was gifted, she was Kayle Torrent's daughter, of course she was gifted...he just didn't know with what. Now they knew, now they knew exactly how to hurt her without killing her so that she would give them exactly what they wanted. The fear of being captured again had her nearly paralyzed. She spent long hours in the pilotry, staring out the window at the mountains and rivers and trees and endless miles of white, waiting for someone to come out and tell her she was safe, that everything was alright.

More than once Graham had tried to invite her out or her cage with offers of coffee or the opportunity to walk the greenroom and stretch her legs. She refused much of the time, preferring the confines of her mental cage.

He offered to let them stop over The Dakotas, knowing that they would be safe and would look as though they were just dropping off something. On a completely conscious and logical level Krys knew this was the case, that they were fine, that they had nothing to worry about once they Got to The Dakotas. She also knew that the rest of the trip was a precaution. However no one bothered telling her body that. Every fiber of her being told her to run, told her the fight was over and all she could do was get as far away from it as possible. She had half a mind to keep going once they hit the Pacific. That plan, however, was impractical. They didn't have enough fuel to make a full Pacific flight, nor did they have enough food stores. With the weather as it was this season, the journey would be disastrous. There was a reason they had to turn around.

Graham stopped over The Dakotas just the same, one of the larger cities where they could get lost in the hubbub of the various merchant vessels. There was a time when Krys could have spent the whole day in awe and wonder over the various designs of the carriers and speeders, a time when she would stop and stare at the order that sprung from the apparent chaos of the Deadwood skyscrapers.

Aside from Ranier, The Dakotas was her favorite of the protectorates. Over the last century the population had congregated to the cities and they rose. The living districts clung close together in the lowest levels of the city, crammed but not in a claustrophobic way. The city of Deadwood in particular had decided to sprawl as much as it grew toward the sky. So many swaths of housing units clustered together so tightly that they shared large level roofs which had been converted to parks and arboretums. Such sections the city protected, building their skyscrapers in such a way that light wouldn't be blocked for any prolonged period of time.