Subconscious Dominion: Chapter Two - Again, We Have Cheated Death
"Milla, our flight leaves in twenty minutes," Sasha said in the direction of the closed mahogany bathroom door. His single black leather suitcase rested at his feet, next to several brightly coloured colourful bags, their contents packed in tightly. The bags were bulging at the seams with Milla's vast collection of items, and Sasha kept eyeing them warily as if they would explode at any given moment.
"I'm just about ready, darling," Milla's muffled voice came from behind the door, "Our flight is a private plane, isn't it? I'm sure they can wait an extra minute for us."
Sasha removed his sunglasses, polishing them with the edge of his jacket, "Agent Vodello, I don't want to be late. We have a schedule to keep. We have to meet Agent Botticelli precisely at five o'clock this afternoon. We mustn't keep him waiting."
"He won't mind," Milla said, opening the door and emerging from the bathroom, hairbrush in hand, "but I'm ready anyway. How do I look?"
"Fine" came his monotonous reply, as he replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"That's all?" Milla called over her shoulder as she forcefully stuffed the brush into one of her bags.
Sasha made a noncommittal noise and bent to pick up his suitcase. He wordlessly picked up two of the colourful pieces of luggage, slinging them over his shoulder and walking out of Milla's apartment door and into the hallway. Milla snatched the two remaining bags and followed suit, gliding through the doorway and placing the bags on the floor in one fluid motion. She turned to lock her door behind them, "Your door's locked too, darling?" she asked, jiggling the key from the lock and turning the knob as a final check.
"Of course," Sasha said simply; he would never forget something so crucial. Maintaining privacy was a second nature to the German agent. He had locked his door and checked it twice before he had made his way to Milla's place a full hour early.
"I was just asking," Milla said under her breath, replacing her key in her purse, "Let's go, darling," she said, looping her arm through his, despite the awkwardness created by the suitcase in his hand. The suitcase clunked clumsily against her leg as they walked to the elevator, but Sasha did not jerk his arm away as he had done on some occasions. Milla smiled slightly, savouring her small victory as the elevator doors slid shut.
The airport was bustling with activity when they arrived, mere minutes after eight o'clock. Sasha had presumed correctly; they had indeed become late due to Milla's 'dawdling' as he had called it. His initial annoyance had been since replaced with indifference as he took his seat beside an amused Milla Vodello, with the look of 'I told you so' etched upon her features. The flight had indeed waited for them, the only passengers for the small flight, and they now sat in the passenger area of the small plane.
It was a small, private plane that was often used by Psychonaut agents, under the guise of casual vacationers or business travellers to avoid suspicion. It was a simple model, nothing out of the ordinary, piloted by non-psychics so as not to attract unwanted attention from the wrong people. The cockpit opened up into the passenger area where the two agents were seated. The pilots were making polite conversation with what was to be their only companions for the next nine hours, as they soared high over the oceans below. Sasha stared wistfully out the window from behind his tinted glasses, tapping his gloved fingers against his knee as he half-listened to the chatter of the pilots and Milla.
"So, what brings you to Venice this time of year?" the co-pilot asked, twisting around in his chair to face the pair.
"Oh, you know how it is, sometimes you just have to get away, see new things, darling," Milla said.
"Ah, yes, I see," the co-pilot said, nodding his head, "In need of a romantic getaway, were we?" he raised his eyebrows, grinning.
Sasha made a slight choking noise, but did not turn from the window.
"Uh, you might say that," Milla said, smirking. The smile on her face told Sasha that he was in for a ride, the co-pilot had trapped them, and Milla was very willing to have some fun with it. "Poor Roger here was working himself to the bone," she said, gesturing to Sasha who looked at her in half annoyance, half amusement, "It took a bit of convincing to tear him away from his work, but I managed. And here we are! On our way to Venice for a holiday, isn't it wonderful darling?" She grabbed for Sasha's arm, laughing.
"Yes, dear," was all he said, glancing at her quickly, with a forced half-smile on his face. He patted her arm awkwardly; the co-pilot's stare boring into him, making him slightly edgy. Milla however, was very much enjoying the conversation, and had managed to weave an elaborate story about how he was a successful inventor, and how she travelled the globe, building schools for children. There was a grain of truth to the stories she told; he did indeed 'invent' the Brain Tumbler, and they both had begun working with the children at Whispering Rock Summer Camp that previous summer; a taxing affair, in Sasha's opinion, but Milla enjoyed every minute of it, she adored children.
Sasha remained silent for the following hours, interjecting with agreements or noises of acknowledgement when provoked. Milla chatted with the pilots for a time until she finally ran out of things to say, and they sat in a comfortable silence until a sharp blaring noise snapped them from their reverie.
The sound of a Klaxon filled their ears, and a red light above the control panel flashed in time with the intrusive sound. Milla leaned over the back of the pilot's chair.
"What's happened?" she shouted over the sudden uproar, pointing to the red light.
"You'd better fasten your seatbelt, sweetheart!" the pilot cried, pushing several buttons and planting his hands on the steering controls, "somehow, we ran out of fuel! We've got to take her down!"
"I don't get it! It read that we had enough when we took off! Where'd it all go?" the co-pilot said, pulling a lever. The klaxon stopped, but the red light remained flashing.
"I don't know! Stupid piece of garbage must be busted or something!" the pilot growled, pulling up on his set of controls.
"This is Flight 479 to Ground Control! We've lost fuel and are losing altitude! Over!"
There was no answer over the radio. White noise was the only sound that met their ears.
"Damn it! The radio's out, too!"
Milla twisted around to face Sasha, her face showing visible signs of worry.
What can we do? There has to be something! her voice cut into his thoughts.
Sit down, for a start! Sasha mentally barked, gesturing to the empty seat she had left beside him.
Milla hurriedly sat and strapped herself to the seat, Do you think the plane's small enough to lift? she asked, hurriedly looking out the window to see how much time they had left.
Maybe, if we both try, Sasha thought to her, But we've still got another hour left of flight to cover. It'll be difficult.
You have a better idea, darling? I'd love to hear it before we die.
I don't. Let's try it, then.
They each placed a finger to the side of their heads, closing their eyes and concentrating intensely on telekinetically lifting the mass of the plane simultaneously. A few more moments passed of freefall, and the plane eventually began to slow its descent as the two psychics telekinetically lifted it. The pilots pulled up on the controls, believing they were regaining control of the plane.
"Pull up!" the pilot shouted, pulling his controls forward, and his companion did the same. Eventually, the plane was level again, floating merrily along in the clouds, being held up by psychic telekinetic powers, unknown to the two pilots. The pilots shouted in triumph, slapping their palms together in a high-five and whooping.
"You folks alright back there?" the co-pilot asked, twisting as far around in his chair as space permitted, "Somehow, the plane started flying again! Imagine that, right?"
Still half-concentrating on keeping the small plane airborne, Milla smiled at the co-pilot, giving the thumbs up sign as a reassuring gesture, "We're alright, darling! A little shaken, but okay!"
"Is… uh, Roger over there alright?" the co-pilot asked, gesturing to Sasha. His eyes were closed, his mind deeply concentrated on telekinesis.
Milla glanced at him, "Oh, yes, he's alright! This happens sometimes, but he'll snap out of it. He's… He's praying,," she lied, but she knew it would cease their questioning. The co-pilot nodded, turning back to the control panel.
"I guess the gauge is busted or something," the pilot said, tapping at the fuel gauge in an attempt to fix it, "we'll have it looked at as soon as we land. The radio too. Something's really fishy about this…"
"Unless our navigation system's busted too, we're almost there. Another half-hour should take us straight to the destination," the co-pilot muttered, "Damn, that was close…"
You doing okay, dear? Milla's voice cut into Sasha's thoughts again, distracting him ever so slightly.
Mostly. It's difficult to say. Lend me a hand, please. This plane may be small, but it's a pain in the ass to keep above the clouds by myself, he replied. He felt a mental weight lifted from his mind as Milla lent her powers to keep the craft in the air.
The remaining half-hour was mentally exhausting for the pair of agents, and they were immensely relieved when the pilots began to tell them that they were about to land. The co-pilot stopped mid-sentence when he saw them; they appeared to be asleep. Eyes closed, however not peaceful, their faces showing something that looked similar to concentration, but he passed it off as nightmares from the upsetting plane trip. He turned back and again tried to radio in to the control tower, this time met with response as they were cleared to land.
The moment the wheels touched the pavement, the two psychics snapped out of their deep absorption, breathing a sigh of relief in unison.
Again, we have cheated Death, Sasha thought.
As always, darling.