…as we watch the hunted run!

Stage 4

…as we watch the hunted run!

Loaded down with her bug-out pack and dressed in civilian gear, Miranda took flight into her journey. She was wearing a light, hip length wool jacket and simple t-shirt underneath, coupled with a sturdy pair of jeans and mission-ready boots. Underneath it all was a form-fitting pant and short sleeve shirt set that felt light as air. She had started favoring the underclothing upon the recommendation of a trainer during a winter op session.

Richard was the one who referred to her footwear as "mission-ready boots." Each boot had been custom-crafted to maintain integrity during the most punishing of situations. They were his idea, and proved to be everything he'd claimed.

It wasn't until an hour after walking those familiar streets that she realized she had been under surveillance. Miranda felt flattered when she realized how just how good the people following her turned out to be. Had it not been for her training, she wouldn't have known they had placed her inside a surveillance 'box.' She speculated it happened the moment she left the base several hours earlier.

If they were playing by the book, there were at minimum, five agents participating in the surveillance; two inside the 'box', two in queue for rotation from outside the 'box,' and a spotter.

A spotter's role was to maintain a long distance view of the mark, but due to the unpredictable nature of the mark, there were be times that agent would need to go mobile.

It would be difficult to locate the agents who were in active surveillance - they would be skilled at hiding in plain sight, but she if she could force the spotter to go mobile, she might throw the whole effort out of whack.

She considered the double back, (a simple tactic which meant rapid movement in one direction, then reversing direction and disappearing into a crowd) and the 360 routine (in which she would take a wide looping path, forcing the spotter to keep moving until a mistake was made and she had a chance to slip unseen into a doorway or building).

A familiar acronym slipped to the front of her consciousness. R.U.N.E., or Run, Undermine, Neutralize and Evade. But no matter the fancy acronym, vanishing from several sets of trained eyes ultimately was a ritual in luck and stamina.

It took hours, but eventually Miranda was confident that she had lost her tail. She had to be sure, because having a hostile government unit follow her to her broker was as dangerous as being caught with an illegal sidearm. After carefully retracing her steps to double verify she was in fact not being followed, she made her way into one of the many local open air markets within the city limits of Ephera Primus.

One of the novelties of Ephera Primus was that its design was a modern update of the Old Imperial Republic's charm. Sections of the city were accessible by foot and bicycle traffic only, that featured cobblestone streets, open air markets, and large fountain plazas ringed by brickwork shops and stone buildings.

Had she not been able to shake her tail earlier, she would have done so easily among these narrow, Old World paths. After about fifteen minutes of walking she reached one of the largest of the cultural city centers, with a massive fountain that represented the glory days of the then recently created Imperial Republic.

The fountain had several statues. One was a tall, muscular man dressed in only a loincloth holding a spear in one hand and a large shield strapped to the forearm of the other. Next to the sculpture of man stood a tall woman, equally muscular and athletic, dressed in a form-fitting dress that came just above her knees. She too held a shield strapped to one forearm only instead of a spear, she held a sword.

Both statues were strikingly beautiful. But what caught Miranda's eye were the other two figures of a young man and woman seated at the foot of the fountain. Both wore the simple garb of the peasantry and were chiseled to look plain in comparison. A dedication rested at their feet:

"Though spear and sword brought forth victory, tis farmer and youthful wife that feedeth army, payeth tax, masons' each that layeth our foundation."

Her breast swelled with respect for such a simple truth. Not surprisingly, this was the only fountain that was not destroyed and then rededicated to the newly created Colonial Sovereignty. She paid her respects to the farmer and his youthful wife by giving them the traditional hand over heart and half bow, then continued her walk to a large stone building to have a talk with her broker.

~*~

The day had turned rather boring for Christoval. Apart from the early morning madness that had set his two employees into chattering magpies, there was little if anything, notable about it. He couldn't complain about his situation. After all, he had inherited the dress shop from his mother and the two magpies were so good at their trade that he didn't have to do any of the nitty gritty work himself. He paid them both well for that privilege. Besides, he found numbers far more interesting than stitches. But to say that he was unable to throw some stitches into fabric with a level of sophistication that set even the most talented of tailors to shame would have been a grave underestimation of his latent talent.

He knew the trade backwards and forwards. He also knew that if he could hire talent and keep it, he could step away from the needlework when his other business venture required attention.

From time to time, he would humble the two magpies by showing them how much his talent exceeded their own. But those days were becoming fewer and farther in between. This was a pity really; he always found their cries of chagrin entertaining.

The door opened with the familiar tinkle of the bell, and in entered one of the most striking women he had ever seen. Magpie A was the first to express such a profound revelation.

"Dear Heavens! What is a beautiful creature such as you, doing wearing something like that!"

The "beautiful creature" blinked her surprise, but before she had a chance to respond, Magpie B slapped the other.

"Marco!" He turned to greet the beautiful creature. "Please, forgive my foolish…friend. He's always had a problem keeping his tongue in check."

Christoval smirked from where he sat reviewing receipts.

Marco gave them both a chilly look and turned back to the beautiful creature.

"Please, dear lady. Bear them no mind. How may we serve you here at Christoval, Marco and Penn?"

The beautiful creature glanced at Christoval, then offered Marco a winning smile. She spoke in a soft manner, which bespoke of a privileged upbringing,

"Ah, my manners, forgive me. I am Serabella de la Flora, and I was told that this shop carries a unique design known as the Chrysanths design."

Christoval looked up, but said nothing. Marco shook his head.

"Dear Serabella, I can only say I've never heard of such a design. Penn, what about you?"

Penn exhaled and frowned. "I can't even begin to say. Isn't that a flower of some sorts?"

Penn and Marco turned to look at Christoval.

"We did, at one point, yes," said Christoval. "My mother designed the pattern, but we retired it upon her death. I pray you will forgive this answer, I no longer carry that design in this shop."

Serabella sighed.

"It is a pity; my grandmother would have loved such a design. She so loves the chrysanthemums."

"Chrysanthemums, you say?" said Christoval. "If I may be so bold and to offer your dear grandmother some appeasement, does she enjoy the occasional glass of wine?"

Serabella beamed. "Oh my, yes! Quite!"

Christoval stepped down from the raised dais that served as the shop's register and display area, and with a pen and paper in hand, started to jot down something,

"Then go here and ask for this wine. Tell them I sent you, they'll be sure to take care of you."

Serabella took the slip of paper and smiled brightly. As she read the slip of paper, a curious look crossed those beautiful features.

"…place a petal at the bottom of the bottle?"

Christoval smiled.

"Indeed, but sure to use only the golden Chrysanthemums."

"Thank you again. I'll never forget your kindness." With a girlish giggle, she spun around on her heel and exited the dress shop, waving to Penn and Marco.

Marco put a hand under his chin, and exhaled. "What a curiously flowery child that one."

Penn seemed to be a bit more perplexed, but joined Marco in returning to the work at hand.

Christoval wore a neutral look, and with an about face, he headed for the register to complete the task he had left unfinished. After the completion of his daily tasks, he told Marco and Penn to close up behind them. It wasn't unusual for him to leave early, so neither magpie made a fuss.

His destination was a lesser-known market square three kilometers from his shop; a place he frequented with some regularity. When he entered the small coffee shop at the corner of one of the brick buildings, the waiter knew exactly where to seat him. The place had a cozy feel to it, with high-backed booths where lovers could find extra privacy.

In one of these, Christoval found Serabella.

~*~

Miranda exited the coffee shop through the back door which led into a narrow alley. Under the cover of night, she slipped into the shadows and vanished. The meeting with Christoval left her with a charmed feeling, and the unmistakable sensation resonating through her body confirmed the man was Gifted.

After a lengthy verification process and a slight bit of haggling over a finder's fee, Christoval had offered her a pick list of smugglers in the area. She chose one for his preferred method of operation, which involved the use of magnetic latches. Like most cargo ships of any worth, this smuggler also kept a well-maintained escape pod.

Leaving Christoval was a feat unto its own, as this was the first time in several years that he had been called upon for such a request. By his own admission he'd found the excitement of playing the spy role in this cloak and dagger drama much to his liking. He had baited her, not willing to turn over the authenticating PSS until she gave her personal guarantee that she would never use any other broker.

Unable to find a logical reason to refuse him, she agreed that he would be her exclusive broker. This seemed to please him, even to the point that he convinced her to stay and enjoy some food and coffee with him. They remained in the shop until dusk, eating and drinking and talking about anything but the purpose of their meeting. When she was slipping from shadow to shadow, she couldn't help but smile at what had transpired. Christoval's performance had been immaculate, efficient. He made the whole transaction look far too easy, and as impeccable as his cover.

Quickly blending into the crowd, she walked the remainder of plaza until she reached a shuttle taxi stop. Her destination was the industrial void port, but true to her suspicious nature, she had the taxi pull over about three blocks from her intended location.

Thirty minutes later, and with further verification that she wasn't being followed, she had illegally entered a warehouse area that had access to void bound traffic. In one these cold and dank warehouses she met and proved her identity to the smuggler, and as expected, their exchange was quick and professional. She offered him money and he gave her a ride out of system into another, no questions asked.

As an extra precaution, before she entered the void port, she had activated her facial distorter, which was cleverly disguised as a thick metal braided necklace. The device prevented a clear view of her face by any electronic recording device. It also made the human eye incapable of adjusting to specifics of a person's facial features by causing a mild ocular discomfort.

As she slipped inside one of the crates, the smuggler offered her a small oxygen tank and a mask. The smuggler was quick with the loading procedure. Before she even had time to put on the mask and turn on the oxygen, she could feel that she was being moved to another location. Miranda closed her eyes, and took slow, normal breaths of the precious O2.