Chapter 2, Part II

“Ah, you’re awake!" The distant voice broke the peaceful stillness surrounding him. Sasha stirred at the sound, forcing himself to awake. Where was he? Blinking in the ambient light, he looked up to see a face he didn’t recognize. “Who are you?"

The stranger laughed. “I’m the copilot, Feshra. Beautiful day to be in the air, isn’t it?" Sasha nodded, confused. What was this place? Why was there this disconnect, this empty gap in his memory? He tried to remember what had happened before. Somehow he felt something important had happened, something he was to remember. But the distant memory, whatever it was, floated just beyond his reach before vanishing into the recesses of his brain.

Feshra surveyed a flight monitor as he spoke. “It’s been eight hours since they found you, five that you’ve been on the ship. But seeing that you’re awake now, we needn’t be concerned." He glanced at Sasha. “Say, you don’t seem to be doing too well. Are you feeling all right?"

Sasha attempted a careless laugh. “Me? I’m fine, really; appreciate you flying me out." But inwardly he felt a disturbed, restless feeling. What was happening to him? Glancing out the window, he surveyed the sickly red clouds of Netopia surrounding the ship like a mist. They were in the air, that was certain, and at no low elevation either.

Feshra powered off the computer and turned to the door. “I’d best be back to the cockpit. Good to have you back, Sasha." Sasha nodded and sank back onto the cot, trying to force himself to relax. But the queasy sickish feeling still hung over his head like a dark cloud. Uneasily, he drifted off to a troubled sleep.

*****

The pilot yawned, peering through the morning gloom visible through the cockpit. Twelve hours of fatigue pulled at his eyelids. He barely paid any attention to Feshra as he returned to his seat and strapped himself in, inspecting the flight instruments as he did so.

“Sasha’s awake, captain, though he seems rather sickly and feverish for a stalwart border guard."

The pilot guffawed. “Probably comes of being trapped in an elevator for hours with no light. I wouldn’t worry for him."

*****

The world began to spin as the guard stepped onto the ship floor. He could still stand, at least. Slowly, Sasha began to edge his way across the room, testing the limitations of his strength. Hesitantly he released his hold on the wall and held out his arms for balance.

Suddenly a wave of wind turbulence sent him flying against his bed, painfully clashing his head against the metal header. Sasha felt a trickle of blood flow from a gash on the back of his head. As he picked himself up, the feeling of despair and darkness continued to creep over his entire body like an unseen cancer. He was bewildered at everything. Memories clanged in his head, pushing away the one thing he was trying to remember with all his might.

The guard set off again, crawling on his hands and knees across the metal floor. He noticed a steel door on the right wall, held closed by a single security bar. The exit door, of course – how people entered and exited the aircraft when on land. To open the door, one unbolted the security latch and – but why was his mind so fixated on that door?

An insatiable desire began to creep over him – a desire Sasha didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand. His entire nature revolted against it, his person screamed for shock at the very idea of it. It was a terrible thought, foreign to him. Sasha noticed his hand begin to reach forward, closer. He jerked it away.

What was happening? It was as if this feeling was taking control of his body and its members. With horror, he began to realize that he was losing authority over his actions, subject to the will of this diseased feeling. Vainly, Sasha resisted this fatal urge that overpowered him and took control of his entirety.

He moved closer to the door, his body inching its way on in spite of all he could do to stop it. His hand reached up to the bolt, grasping onto the latch. With a strenuous pull, Sasha shifted it to the left, narrowly missing the latch. Why did he feel so weak?

He tried to scream for someone to help him, but found that his voice could make no noise. Vainly he stretched his useless vocal cords to create a faint quiver of sound, but terrifying silence was the only result. No longer could he kick or flail about. He was being controlled by the sickness.

Exhausted, he surrendered himself to the will of this darkness, allowing his hand to freely reach forward to the security bar unhindered. Feverishly, he fixed his mind on a distant memory, a happy memory, one he would never experience again.

*****

A powerful vacuum of wind swept underneath the door, violently throwing the two pilots into their seats with a crash. As the pilots grasped their seats for support, an excruciating screech deafened their ears. Feshra leapt from his seat and was instantly slammed against the door, held there by the strange wind pervading the cabin.

The copilot braced himself in the passageway, all two hundred and forty pounds of muscle jamming Feshra into a locked position. With an immense heave, he leaned forward and opened the door to the cargo bay.

His skin stung with the burn of the forceful wind as he peered into the rear of the ship; what remained of it. The bed was gone, ripped from its clamps in the floor by the force of the air flowing through the ship. A few brackets marked where the first aid kit and bandages had been stored in metal containers. Everything was gone.

Finally, on the door, Feshra saw a mangled hand stuck in the latch, twisted and torn by the wind. It was all that remained to affirm that Sasha was hopelessly lost, killed in the turbulent outside winds. He was gone from Netopia, forever. A sickish feeling crept over Feshra, as cold drops of sweat were swept from his pores into the furious outside wind. He reached for the door.

Suddenly a small object from the cockpit struck Feshra’s arm, loosening its grip on the wall. It was only a slight slip in his grip, but was enough to release Feshra from his locked position in the corridor. With a scream, the bulky guard was ripped from his position in the door out of the plane, never to be seen again.

*****

Several weeks had passed since the riot that terrorized the streets of Netopia City had occurred, allowing enough time for Reshnu's mother to recover from her injuries. Surprisingly, the blow from the mobster inflicted little damage, only bruising two of her ribs.

Reshnu, however, was far worse for the entire experience. Although he suffered no physical ailments, his young mind was traumatized by the horrendous incident, an injury which the professionals of medical art could neither diagnose nor heal. He still talked to his mother, taking the accustomed daily walk down the street, and otherwise continued the home life he used to lead. But the old joyful innocence was gone.

No longer did Reshnu's face constantly portray the wide smile he wore from the day he was born. Occasionally, a small smile etched the sides of his face, but a more mature, thoughtful expression now replaced his usual countenance. He lost interest in the running games of the other children his age, isolating himself from the friends he had had before.

Now, he poured over the legends of old, concerning valiant heroes who gave their lives for the sake of others. Almost daily he perused the short article on Lova's trial, trying to glean information from the short record detailing the crime committed and the date of his demise. It was a strange obsession, to be sure, but Lova's action had touched something in Reshnu's brain – a switch that would never be turned off.

But what happened next was totally unexpected.

*****

It was three in the afternoon – the time Reshnu's mother arrived home from work – the time a cheery hello always resounded from the bedroom down the hall, and her little boy ran to greet her. But there was no 'hello', and there was no little boy running to her arms.

Somewhat worried, she closed the front door and strode through the hallway to Reshnu's bedroom, his usual daytime resort. The room was unoccupied – no books cluttered the floor or furniture as they always did. The bed was untouched, neatly made as it had been that morning. Panic began to set in as she ran from room to room, calling Reshnu's name, but received no answer. In vain, she searched the house for the slightest sign of her little boy, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Just as she had given up all hope, she noticed a small slip of paper protruding from a book on the mantelpiece. Eagerly, she snatched it up, pouring over her beloved's words:

Dear Miema,

I am sorry to leave without asking, but I read about people like Lova, and I'm going to find out where they are! It's the only way I can find out about him. Please don’t be sad – I'll come back after.

Love,

Reshnu

She sank back against the wall in despair. So he was gone, for an indefinite amount of time, on a mission that most likely would not succeed. How could someone find a race of people that didn't live in any particular place, that no one had ever met, and that probably didn't even exist anymore?

She would just have to accept the fact that he was gone from her life. But she couldn't! He was her life and soul – her entire being! Her life didn't have meaning or purpose without him!