By Absinthe Disclaimer: The characters of Melinda Pappas, Janice Covington, Xena, Sheriff Lucas Buck, Gail Emory, Caleb, and "Dr. Matt" belong to Universal and Renaisance and all those great people. My apologies for borrowing them. The rest of this goop, however, belongs to me, Absinthe. This is an Alternative story, meaning we've got some lesbian romo going on, if this bothers you, TURN BACK NOW. Thanks. Soundtrack: Sheriff Buck's theme song is undoubtedly "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones, "Precious Things" by Tori Amos belongs to Maia, and "Tiger" by Paula Cole goes to Gillian. Chapter 20 Sarah stretched deliciously in the cool air. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue, and the chlorophyl scent of the grass crushed beneath her bare feet was more intense than she'd ever been aware of. She felt as though she'd lived all the previous years of her life half-asleep and was just now truly waking up. Maia crept up behind her, watching over the blonde's shoulder as Dr. Blockhead writhed in his straight-jacket. He was still suspended upside down over that cauldron, but the jacket was looser now, and he was clearly quite close to sliding out of it. Maia snickered as he wriggled out, and awkwardly swung off of his scaffolding safely onto his pasty white feet. Sarah applauded him. Maia merely watched the body manipulator with an air of cool dis-interest. Their chat of the night before might have served to illuminate a little depth in the man's apparently shallow soul, but had not increased Maia's respect for his occupation an iota. "Good morning, ladies," he said with forced cheerfulness. "Rehearsing on your vacation?" Sarah asked, trying not to notice his discomfort. Maia merely smirked ever so slightly as the realization dawned on both women that the walls of trailers were far from soundproof. "I think best while I'm working," Dr. Blockhead replied, stripping off the jacket and hanging it carefully over the arm of the scaffold, "I was just pondering the conversation we had this morning, Maia." "Oh?" "Yup. I think I found a way to retire," he continued, blithely even as the Conundrum poked his tatooed head out of the smoking cauldron and grinned toothily at the gathering, "but it's best not spoken of here. I don't suppose, by any chance, you two enjoy fishing?" "Actually . . . no, but I've heard some unsubstantiated rumors about Maia's skills in that department," Sarah elbowed her new lover teasingly in the abs. "Me? Why, whatever do you mean?" the dark woman replied in a mock southern accent. "A little bird named Caleb once told me that he saw you take a fish right out of the water; bare handed." "Hrmph. Well, if we're going to go, we need to get this car shit out of the way first." They eventually found their way to a river. It was well on its way to being a part of the Everglades, sans alligators, and the trees lining the banks were sufficient to make the fishing expedition a private one. It was there that Dr. Blockhead revealed a rather dubious plan to gain sufficient funds for a comfortable retirement. He went on, in an irritatingly verbose monologue, for nearly thirty minutes about a nearby cult of quasi-baptists that used rattlesnakes in their worship ceremonies. Blockhead felt that with the proper assistants (ie, Maia, Sarah, and the Conundrum) he would be able to convince them that he was the Messiah. It seemed that their philosophy of "if it hurts us then it was Gods will" was exactly the opening someone with his qualifications could follow right into the little cult's pockets. Sarah balked. Maia shrugged. The Conundrum belched and everyone fanned their noses. The crickets he'd eaten for breakfast were returning to haunt them all. "So?" "So WHAT?" Maia returned, glaring briefly at Blockhead, who was applying a liberal coat of sunblock to his pallid skin. "So will you help? It shouldn't take long, and I'd be happy to cut you in ." "How mu-" Maia's reply was interrupted by an indignant punch on the arm. "Maia! That's illegal, and it's immoral, we're not helping you, we're sorry," Sarah stated firmly, managing to thinly disguise the unexpected pain in her poor, abused knuckles. If asked, Maia would have had to admit to briefly toying with the idea of helping the poor man. She felt a certain odd kinship with him, but she was in love, and her Love said no. in this small thing, Maia felt she could indulge Sarah. Gods knew, there were some things that she might never be able to give her. "We'd only be giving them what they want to see. Who knows, it might help their cause!" Dr. Blockhead pressed on. "Can we just fish?" Maia shrugged, giving Dr. Blockhead a helpless glance, and waded slowly into the cold water. Sarah stuck a sandaled foot into the water and withdrew it immediately. "I think I'll watch from here," she said. The blonde took a seat on a mossy log and proceeded to toy with the guinea hen feathers attached to the fringe on her designer cut-off shorts. When Dr. Blockhead FINALLY finished with the sunblock he handed it over, and Sarah daubed it on. Their sojourn continued in silence for a few minutes. Maia standing thigh deep in the unpleasantly cold water, her hair up in a tight bun and her graceful neck arched and slightly twisted. Her hands were poised to make a lightning fast grab. "Pass me the sunblock." "You just had it!" "Well, I need it again. Fork if over, Blondie, before I get done Cajun-style." "What you gonna do if I don't, huh?" "Melt." "Hmf. Here, if it'll make you quit mewling." "Ow! What are you in your spare time, a relief pitcher for the White Sox?" "Hold it. You said ‘ow'? Mr. Rattlesnakes and strychnine? I feel cheated!" Sarah was about to continue with her tirade in a Lady Macbeth-like fashion when she was brutally silenced by a sloppy wet smack, as an expertly tossed fish impacted with her face. She flung it aside in reflexive disgust as Maia grinned satisfiedly from the middle of the river. The Conundrum glared briefly at Sarah over her thoughtless near-waste of a precious catch and scrambled to the shore, scrabbling in the mud for the still-thrashing fish. Pressing his face to its silvery belly, he began to gnaw as voraciously as a starving dog into its innards. Sarah looked on in fascinated horror and suppressed the urge to vomit on Dr. Blockhead, who dozed happily in the sun, not even opening his eyes at the grotesque sounds of his cohort's dining habits. Maia cast one glance at the gruesome proceedings before returning to listening for any signs of disturbance in the water that might give away the location of her prey. A clammy fingertip tapped insistently on Sarah's bare shoulder, and she turned to face the puzzle-tatooed visage of the Conundrum, who grinned placatingly at her. He held up one half of the now-dead fish as in offering, the garishly pink loops of its entrails hanging over the edges of his cupped palms. Sarah swallowed uneasily and managed to squeak out, "No...thanks..." "Raw fish has a lot of good protein in it, don't knock it," advised Blockhead sleepily. He added, as an afterthought: "Although your digestive system might not be able to handle it." A second fish landed flopping on the bank. Sarah eyed it warily, then turned her attention to the paperback book she'd brought with her, content now with her firsthand knowledge of her lover's fishing proficiency. They returned to the trailer park with a bucket of fish, which Dr. Blockhead obligingly cleaned and filleted. The Conundrum cleaned up the leftover bits, crunching happily on discarded fish heads. Maia pretended to ignore his antics while she busied herself with lighting up a charcoal grill, but she was secretly entirely disgusted with the Conundrum. in fact, by the end of the day, and after being introduced to several of their friends and colleagues, Sarah and Maia were ready to leave. Dr. Blockhead's sermons on normality versus deviance, and nature's abhorrence of normality were beginning to wear on their nerves. Maia was already feeling a touch of anxiousness to leave when they were finally alone in the dark. Somehow, she felt that she would never again be able to relax fully. She would never know if Section was stalking them until it was too late. There was a rainbow around the nearly full moon. They sat at the picnic table outside their trailer and stared up at it. "Let's go inside," Sarah suggested, her hand finding its way ever so stealthily up the back of her lover's shirt. As she rose obediently, Maia cast a single prayer towards whatever deity might happen to be listening. Let this not be the last night. Let this last forever. Chapter 21: "Are you SURE you want to do this?" Maia demanded one last time. "Positive," Sarah replied. With an elegant shrug, Maia held the door open for her diminutive companion and ushered her out of the yellowy trailer. "It'll be fun." "That's what you said about the fishing trip yesterday," Maia reminded her, not really as crossly as she sounded. "Yes . . .well . . .There won't be any raw fish in downtown Tampa, at least not that he'll have access to ," Sarah snorted. It wasn't that Maia didn't agree to the necessity of going into the city to get clothes and a new car, but she would have preferred to pay for a nice long taxi ride than to accept a lift from their "friends". But alas, Dr. Blockhead insisted that since he needed to pick up a nice, somber looking suit for his little scam, that he'd be more than happy to cart the ladies and their stuff into town. Sarah accepted. She seemed extraordinarily happy. Maia was more than a little flattered that she was the cause of her new lover's euphoria, but she wasn't looking forward to trying to cram Sarah's bags into the V.W. bug's trunk. "What about this?" Sarah held up a tie-dyed tank top. "It's winter." "Yes, but if we stay in the south . . ." "It's tacky." "Hey! I have one of these!" Sarah indignantly protested when Maia gently but firmly returned the item to its rack. "I have everything I need. Let's go. I want to get to the Pontiac dealership before the salesmen all go on their lunch breaks." "But . . . Aren't you going to try anything on? What if they don't fit?" Maia frowned irritably. She hated shopping. "Fine," she stalked to the Nordstrom's dressing room, trailing Sarah, who kept snatching up additional shirts and adding them to Maia's previously small armload. At each addition, Maia grumbled menacingly. Sarah settled herself outside, watching the door vigilantly all through a rather involved conversation with the attendant about the virtues of bright colors in one's wardrobe. When it finally became apparent that Maia had no intention of modeling anything, Sarah invaded. She dragged a chair to the door of the little cubicle and peered over. Maia rolled her eyes for the tenth time in as many minutes, but continued to go through the pile of clothes, picking out the things Sarah had added and laying them aside. Tie dye, bright greens and pastels were carefully separated from greys, blacks, dark reds, and blues. She didn't have a problem with them per se, but years of somber coloration were a hard thing to leave behind. She picked out a couple of pairs of black pants and a few shirts, and to Sarah's dismay, called it enough. Sarah, always one to advocate a huge wardrobe, immediately suggested the addition of a dress. Maia frowned at her for such a long time that the blonde gave in and sheepishly agreed that she was being pushy. They cleared out of the mall as quickly as they could, hampered by Sarah's desire to say thank you and good-bye to Dr. Blockhead and his associate. She then found herself the unnerved recipient of a wet and fishy kiss on the hand from the Conundrum, who, she had the sneaking suspicion, probably usually had better luck with women than he'd had this weekend. Dr. Blockhead, arrayed in a horribly respectable, unimaginative suit, bowed theatrically. "I trust we'll run into each other again later," he started, clearly about to start into one of his infamous monologues. Maia clouted him on the shoulder in what passed as a gesture of affection, said good-bye and dragged Sarah behind her as quickly as the smaller woman's legs would take her. They wound their way across the parking lot and into the display lot of a huge auto dealership. in this case, their tastes seemed to be reversed. Sarah was drawn to the sensible, safe cars, and Maia to the faster, gas guzzling sort. Actually, Maia's interest in the heavier, faster, more maneuverable cars was purely tactical. Once again, gently, but firmly, Maia's will won out. They drove off the lot with a brand new blood-red Pontiac Trans-Am. It was a poignant reminder of the car her father had left her, but the faint and old sting of loss had long ago been replaced by a mellow nostalgia that was colored only slightly with resentment. If it hadn't been for her father's stupidity, her life would have been so much simpler. "Are you sure this is safe?" Sarah asked for the third time from the passenger seat. Maia was glad to be driving again, and as the automatic transmission allowed her to favor her still sore arm, she intended to take her new possession out for a long, hard run. "Yes. Safety specs have come a long way since the medieval period." "Oh, cute, tres cute," her voice jumped an octave on the last word when Maia depressed the gas pedal a little harder and let the tiger out of its box. Sarah clutched her arm-rest anxiously as they careened onto the interstate. Maia glanced at the white knuckles that clung to the console between them. She covered them with her right hand and pried them gently away from the plastic. "Trust me," she said, squeezing the smaller hand a little, "this isn't any different from any other car . . ." Maia was perplexed by the anxiety that she read in every line of Sarah's tense body. "What is it?" "Uhm . . . It's stupid . . ." "Can't be that stupid if it bothers you this much," Maia replied, slowing down and gliding into the right lane. "I'm sorry, it's stupid, I'm just . . . I'm afraid of these things, I don't know why, but cars make me nervous, and sports cars scare the daylights out of me," she said, swallowing hard. "Why didn't you say so when I bought it?" "Because it's stupid." "Do you know why they bother you so much?" Maia firmly asked, taking her eyes off the road for a few seconds to stare intently at Sarah. "Watch the road will you?! I don't know why, they just do. David used to have one . . . it was one of the ones with the wavy sides and headlights that come up. I'll never forget that thing as long as I live." "So something happened to . . . David . . . he's that guy you work with, right?" "Yeah, that's him. We grew up together. His first car was a . . . a kelly green . . .thing . . . I guess it was a Corvette. It was my first accident. He was showing off for me. The car was totaled." "Ah-ha. So now the truth comes out," Maia said, keeping the disapproval studiously out of her voice . She was long used to living in a world in which phobias were absolutely intolerable, and if they were undefeatable then one day they would get you killed, "But keep in mind Sarah, this is far from the old Stingray Corvettes. Those things were dangerous, and flimsy. And I'm no 16 year old just learning how to drive. Neither are you." Maia didn't bring it up again. She drove for five straight hours until Sarah pleaded that they make a "potty stop". Outside of the small brick building, Maia tossed Sarah the keys to the new car. Sarah dropped them as though they were hot to the touch. Maia smirked and got in the passenger side. She was perhaps being a bit hypocritical in forcing her lover to overcome her fear of the big car, but she also knew that once Sarah was all right with the machine, she would have a lot of fun with it. It took her a few minutes to regroup, but to her credit, Sarah staunchly adjusted the seat to her shorter frame, inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine before she started to freak out. "Where are we headed?" she asked, obviously stalling. "Took you long enough to ask," Maia replied, secretly amazed at either Sarah's naivete or the trust the young woman had in her, "We're going to the Gulf. Have you ever been to the beaches in Louisiana?" "No, sure haven't." "Well, we won't get there by sitting here idling . . . This isn't going to be that bad. Do you trust me?" "With my life." "Then put the car into reverse, and back us out of here," Maia firmly ordered. With a little bit of coaching, a lot of sweat, and a few tears, Sarah drove the rest of the way to the coast. Despite the elation that the younger woman was clearly enjoying, Maia had to fight back a wave of self-disgust when she realized that even with this woman she had reverted to her usual role of trainer. She had presumed to force Sarah to overcome a deep-seated and old fear that, in her world anyway, was completely harmless. She'd overstepped her bounds. "I'm sorry, Sarah," she said against land-breeze. "For what?" "For making you do that, it was childish." "I had to do it someday." "Did you?" Maia replied, raising her brow skeptically. Sarah smiled brilliantly, and her warmth, yet again, banished all else. Maia hugged her love with rough affection. Staring at the calm, balmy Gulf, Maia felt entranced by the play of the harsh sunlight off of the water's surface. She felt the call of the sea, the same vague desire to be near something so vast and implacable and ancient was the same emotion that led her to strip off her shoes and walk out into the frothy surf. The gentle motion of the small breakers fell short by far of the furious crashing that she really wanted to see and hear. She wanted to see the angry pounding of the pacific on its rocky shores. And they would, Maia resolved, reach the west coast. They stood together in the surf until the chill breeze drove them back to land. Nestled together in the vestigially warm sand, they watched the sun set together. Maia wanted to memorize every detail of the moment from the spectacular display to the wondrous sensation of Sarah's curvaceous form pressed oh so softly against her. Chapter 21 in the car the next day, Sarah excavated the back seat and recovered the box of Maia's old things. Stuffed down between the back of the front seat and the front of the back seat and ignored for weeks, was the battered cardboard box two women had retrieved from storage; the one with Maia's family bits and pieces in it. She rifled through it. Some of the contents was obviously junk, some of it was obviously not: A battered teddy bear, a box of old looking jewelry, a folder of pictures, a scrapbook, a pocket watch, a moth eaten fur stole wrapped around a leather-bound journal, and a gold art-deco key ring with a set of intriguingly ornate keys on it. Sarah picked up the journal and opened it to the first page. "Melinda Pappas : 1929" Sarah whistled appreciatively at her find. The handwriting was precise and contained, with no extraneous flourishes or doodling. She leaned forward against the seat-belt, with the journal open in her reverent hands. The next page was tearstained, and Sarah quickly flipped past it and the rest of the entries in which Melinda seemed to be coming to terms with her father's death. The journal had obviously been purchased for just that purpose. Finally she came to something that she felt it would not be intrusive to read. "I received a letter today; from Janice Covington. No, that's not true. My father received a letter from Janice Covington. I opened it. I guess because I thought that business is business, right? But when I read it, I found that she wants papa's help. She needs a translator, she says she's found a cache of scrolls which she believes are Xena scrolls. Papa's life's work. I think what she wants is validation; a respected name to associate with the find. It's ironic that a Covington would ask us for help, but this find, I hear, is legitimate. I'm going to go out there, I don't know if it is entirely wise, but it will be an adventure, and a chance maybe for both of us to escape our father's shadows. I think papa would go if he could." There followed a protracted narration of the steamer ride across the Atlantic and the long overland journey to the dig site. Sarah had to smile at how the southerner agonized over what to wear to her first meeting with Dr. Covington. "I decided on the plum suit." The next night's entry had a decidedly different tone. "I don't think that my life will ever be quite the same again. I'm not sure where to begin, so I guess I will just try to relate it as it happened. I woke up at the hotel and took the car out to the site. There, I stumbled into the middle of a gunfight! There were two German thugs, and Janice fought them off, but unfortunately some of the artifacts were damaged by the gunfire. Once the were gone it became clear that Dr. Covington hadn't heard about papa. She tried to send me home, but she needs me. She's botched what translations she's already done. She's not at all what I expected. I don't know what I expected. She dresses, and acts, and smokes just like a man! She even fights like a man, but what struck me was her beauty. I didn't expect her to be pretty. She makes me feel clumsy and silly, but I think I've proven to her that she needs me. We read one of her scrolls today. It was about a blonde warrior who tried to destroy Xena's reputation by killing people in her name, and the battle between them that follows. It will require further attention later, but we were interrupted by the arrival of a moronic Frenchman, and the rest of the Nazis. It sounds like a radio show, I know, but it's true. And it only gets weirder. Janice believes that she found the tomb of Ares, and the Germans are interested, I'm still not sure why. Everything is so confusing now, but I'll get to that. They held us at gunpoint to force us to help them open the tomb, and I guess I sort of spoiled Janice's plan to get us out of it. Either way, we wound up inside, and we managed to get away from the Germans. Janice thought I'd only screw things up, so she left me in one of the passageways, where I found a compartment containing a dozen or so scrolls, and half of the chakram. Xena's chakram. Anyway, it pulled me. I picked it up and it started to pull me, and I couldn't let go of it. It sounds nuts, I'm sure, but as I said before, this is all true. Then all of a sudden, the Germans' leader showed up with the other half, and then there was a flash of light, and a warm feeling at the base of my spine. Everything fuzzed out after that. I remember feeling cradled and protected. When I came to , or whatever it was that happened, I felt different. Janice says that Ares himself had been there, and that I had prevented him from escaping into the world again. I even used the chakram to reintomb him. Janice says that I was possessed by the spirit of my ancestor, Xena. But it didn't' feel like that at all. It felt more like . . . my body was remembering something that I had long forgotten. I think it did anyway. It just feels like a dream now. If it weren't for Janice I'd say it was exactly that; a dream. She respects me now. I want to stay with her." Sarah and Maia exchanged a knowing look before Sarah continued to read the neat cursive script aloud. She turned a few pages when she realized that Melinda hadn't written any more about Janice. Five PM: I didn't realize how big the house is until I came home today. I guess I'd gotten used to living in a tent, and to having people around me all the time. I also didn't realize how empty it is. I guess before though, there was always Papa, and then there was Aunt Jen and Sue to keep me company. I imagine they don't think I need company any more. I miss Janice. Isn't that silly? I miss her and I've only been home for two days. I'm going to Giseppe's tonight with James. I can't wait to see him. Midnight: I'm breaking off the engagement. I don't think I can marry a man who treats me as though I'm not only incompetent but a chronic liar. I may be clumsy but I'm not stupid. Janice always acted like I was a capable . . . man. James, well, I guess he's been doing it all along, and I just never noticed it. He didn't believe a blessed word I said when I told him about the dig and Ares and Xena. He just asked me if I wanted some water instead of more wine. I couldn't believe it. But I wasn't really angry. The people that you love are the ones that can really hurt you. Maybe I don't love him. Maybe I never did. I need time to think. Actually, I need to talk to Janice. Something tells me that Caroline would just pat me on the head and not offer any useful advice. My guts say that . . . My guts? That's something that Janice would say. That I should break it off. But perhaps I could give him another chance. We've been friends for so long, after all . . . he deserves that. We deserve that. Right? Maybe I've learned too much about life and about myself to go back to being a nice southern girl. Whoa. I think that's Janice talking again." After that, reading aloud from the journal quickly became a daily ritual. "A letter came from Greece today. Janice says she's found a tomb, and that she thinks that it's Xena's. She also believes that Gabrielle will be in it. I wish I could be there. She's promised to send pictures, but it simply isn't the same. I wanted to go, but she said not to , that it was too dangerous with the war on. I'm asking here to come here. We can spend some time translating the scrolls she' found in what was once "Amphipolis". I've been working on the scrolls she sent from the find in Mesopotamia, and I think we've stumbled across an early batch. What strikes me most so far is the state of Asceticism that they lived in ' wandering the country with only their clothes, bedrolls, and a few supplies. It must have been one heck of a comedown for Xena. She was a warlord, so one can only assume that she was used to a certain amount of relative luxury. But after she gave it up in scroll #32-11, Gabrielle mentions that the fund for new boots for Xena isn't doing well. She wouldn't accept monetary rewards for her good deeds. Gabrielle found it noble, but it seems to me that was only a desperate attempt to find redemption and forgiveness." And when Janice finally made it to visit South Carolina, neither Maia nor Sarah was at all surprised to see that Janice and Mel soon tumbled into bed together. It was through sheer luck that they stumbled across a display of the Pappas artifacts, including the chakram, sword, and several of the infamous Xena scrolls. She insisted on taking Maia, and much to her surprise, Maia found that she was eager to see it. The room was relatively crowded for that end of the museum, people no doubt drawn by the controversial nature of the scrolls. There were many in the archeological and historical fields that claimed them to be fakes. Sarah was a firm believer in them though, in spite of the fantastic content of Melinda Pappas' journal. "I bet they'd give anything to get a hold of that diary you have," Sarah whispered after reading one of the placards at the entrance of the display. It was necessarily vague, as many of the facts surrounding the initial Xena scroll discoveries had been lost during WWII. Maia just smirked and followed her lover patiently up to the glass cases. A copy of an old photograph showed a smiling Janice and Melinda holding up the chakram triumphantly. Sarah glanced at her tall companion, silently comparing heights with the woman in the picture. "There's a definite resemblance," she said appreciatively. "Runs in the family," Maia replied, the sensual tone of her voice lending meaning to her words. Sarah giggled until she was silenced by a few nasty looks from one of the museum employees. Sarah insisted on reading the translations of the two moldering scrolls that were laid out for viewing. One was the story of a great battle between Xena and a warrior woman named Callisto. The second was a narrative of a funeral, and a transcription of the lyrics to a dirge that Xena had performed for Hercules' dead wife. It was references like this one that made many experts question the veracity of the scrolls' contents. Maia read the lyrics absently, and something clicked. Given in both Greek, phonetically, and in English, they were the words to the song that her mother used to sing to her. Maia had even sung it for Sarah on several occasions. Both women recognized it immediately. It was astonishing that the words to a song, written in a language the singers did not understand, had been handed down through the family for so many centuries in tact. They came next to the display of metal artifacts. A twisted piece of brass was supposedly the remains of a sewing kit, though neither woman could quite agree with that. A surprisingly well preserved sword hung beside it, the chinks in the iron giving testament to the many battles that it had fought. The only object in the display that had been positively identified as belonging to Xena was the chakram itself. Suspended in its own glass case, the sapphire inlaid disk gleamed in the track lighting. They stood there for so long that one of the guides approached them. "Excuse me ladies," the young man said, "Do you have any questions you'd like answered?" "Can you tell me who owns this?" Sarah asked, clinging to Maia's arm. "Yes ma'am, they belong to the University of South Carolina," he said patiently, "The University funded the Pappas research. I can't help but notice, you look terribly familiar, both of you, have we met?" "No," Maia said when Sarah looked to her to supply whatever information she was free to reveal, "But you might be recognizing her; Sarah's a Covington." "Yes, that's it. The resemblance is amazing," he gasped excitedly. Maia smirked behind her hand until she realized that the intern was calling other employees over and asking them to stand by the photo of Janice and Mel. The dark woman put on her most forbidding facade and they made a narrow escape from the hands of academia. They read a little further in the journal; in fact, they were in the middle of a particularly juicy passage when Maia quietly asked her lover to stop. The interstate was crowded. It was late winter, and the Yankees were down in force for a break from the cold weather. "What's wrong? Tailgater?" "No," Maia replied, "I'm not sure yet, but I think we're being surrounded." Sarah paled visibly. "Surrounded by who, exactly?" "Who do you think? Maybe I'm just being paranoid . . ." she trailed off, watching the four black, foreign sports cars cruising behind them, and the five that had maneuvered, unnoticed, into spots in front of them. As the gap between the two groups began to close gradually, Maia announced, "Put your head down, I don't know exactly what they have in store for us, but it won't be pleasant." She depressed the accelerator further and wove in and out of traffic, catching up with the leading cars. As the Trans-Am approached them, the vehicles clearly started to struggle to keep ahead of it. Maia caught a glimpse of a driver with platinum blonde hair wearing dark, big sunglasses. She floored the pedal and made a reckless dash for the narrowing space between the black Porsche, and the black Mercedes 280-SL. The two cars moved to intercept, pressing Maia back towards a mini-van. Swearing creatively, Maia jerked back and around the three cars. She ran along the outside of the moving blockade, accelerating hard and trying to make a run for the nearest exit. If they were to stand a chance, they had to get out of this crowd. "What's going on?!" Sarah demanded from her crouched position. "It's OK Sarah," she began, but then had to jerk the wheel hard to avoid colliding with the side of a tractor trailer that was in the process of merging, "Oh fuck." She knew when she was beaten. She wouldn't risk a wreck under these conditions. She had placed Sarah in enough danger as it was. Flicking on the car's emergency lights, Maia slowed down and eased into the left lane and then into the break-down lane. "Stay down," she said. Sarah just nodded mutely. The car came to a full halt along with two of its pursuers. The Mercedes stopped in front of them, and a navy blue BMW pulled up to within six inches of their rear bumper. Two agents approached either door of the Trans-Am. Maia opened hers, keeping her hands carefully visible and slowly unfolding her long body. The passenger side of the car was locked, and when one of the agents demanded that Sarah open it, Maia growled warningly. "I'll come peaceably, but you leave her be. She has nothing to do with this," Maia unequivocally stated. There was no answer other then a repeat of the command. Sarah looked uncertainly through the windshield at her lover. The sound of breaking glass sent the ex-agent into an explosion of furious motion. She vaulted cleanly over the hood and kicked the man who had dared to break the passenger side window far enough to the left to dislocate his shoulder; his arm was still inside the door-frame. The second agent on that side of the car soon followed his partner to the asphalt, but Maia's efforts were brought to an abrupt end when she caught sight of the dull barrel of one of the standard issue automatic rifles that Section liked to use. There were two, she actually ascertained, one leveled at herself, the other at Sarah. "Hands on your head," a tall woman with a graceful, melodious voice ordered, "and you; out of the car. Now." Sarah obeyed, visibly frightened, and stood up, her shoes crunching on safety-glass. The tall woman motioned for Sarah to precede her towards the BMW. "Now wait!" Maia demanded when she was pushed towards the other car, "Let her stay with me. She doesn't even know-" her protests were cut off by the sickening thud of the rifle but on the base of her skull. Sarah shouted her name, but she was already unconscious when they dragged the howling blonde away. Back to the Beginning |