A/N Don't own Skyland. This chapter is short but this IS going to be a shorter story after all. ;) I've just been concentrating more on drawing lately. And going to the cottage. :)

Just thought I'd mention that I'm simply writing this story to keep my brain active during the summer months. No school, mind-numbing job = no good. Plus, I can honestly say that I think this is the last Skyland story I'm ever going to write. I've moved on from Skyland (Never thought I'd say that :O). This might not be as action-packed as my last Skyland story, but that doesn't bother me. This is purely a gap-filler story.

Anyway, reviews are always appreciated! :)

"Are we there yet?"

"Not yet."

"… How about now?"

Mila sighed impatiently. "No Mahad…"

"… Now?"

Mila's temper flared and she glanced back at her son, who was sitting in the back seat. "Mahad, that's enough!"

"But its taking forever!" He whined, retaliating with his own wave of irritation. He sat back with a sigh. "Where are we going again?"

His mother's glare softened and she bit her lip, turning back to focus on the sky ahead as she piloted the Hyperion.

They'd left Babylonia earlier that morning; Mila had made up her mind about taking this voyage ever since she'd found Puerto Angel's coordinates in the Hyperion's computer the day before. It was now late afternoon, and the coordinates she was aiming for were less than an hour away. Still, the skies were empty.

Taking out the Hyperion had been risky of course, because it was such an iconic ship. A symbol for the rebellion. Accordingly, Mila had flown away from major blocks to avoid attention and no Sphere ships had engaged pursuit. Thank god.

Presently, clear blue skies bubbling with bright cottony clouds surrounded them. That was it. She hadn't seen any fragment of land for the past hour. Obviously, whatever coordinates Vector had left behind were sending her directly into the outskirts of Skyland. Right now, they were smack in the middle of the fringes; a less populated area of Skyland that bordered the edges of the Archipelago. Mila considered that it did make sense to use such a remote location for a rebel hideout; the Sphere had barely any control on the fringes. Plus, the Sphere didn't often bother swerving out of the Archipelago unless perhaps it was looking for untouched blocks, where natural resources blossomed still. But such pure blocks were rare. And beyond the fringes… Beyond the Archipelago was the unknown. Endless skies. Freak storms. Many a ship was lost without a trace in those parts.

Needless to say, Mila was worried. If they kept flying like this they would surely lose sight of the Archipelago. Getting lost did not fit in her plans; they'd been through so much already. On top of that, pesky doubt was starting to fill her mind, adding to her pulsing headache and making things even worse. She had been confident about leaving Babylonia for Puerto Angel at first. It had seemed like the only thing to do since they'd been out of food. To stay hidden and die slowly or take a chance for survival. It wasn't even a choice. Perhaps she was naïve that way. Stubborn and desperate. Either way, she'd stocked up on water and stored the bottles in the cabin of the Hyperion. Worse come to worse, they could survive for a long period of time on water alone.

Mila was relying on finding Puerto Angel to survive. She'd always feared that disaster could've struck, that her children could have been hurt because of her involvement with the Rebellion. Because Marcus Farrell was their father.

It wasn't right for them to suffer because of her choices. They would have never come to existence if she hadn't defied the Sphere in the first place to join the rebels… But somehow, Mila felt no regrets. She did feel extremely wary, but at least she had a family. Something the Sphere could never have substituted or erased from her mind.

Her stomach twisted again. Her headache pounded. She sighed crankily.

Mahad groaned copiously; he was impatient and hungry too. Lena was alright though; she had a bottle of milk grasped in her pudgy hands. Mila could handle being hungry. They had almost always been hungry ever since she had joined the rebellion. At first she hadn't been used to it (they'd always eaten like pigs back at the Guardian Academy) but now, she could tolerate it. Mahad however... He was just a child. She couldn't expect him to tolerate anything and she certainly didn't blame him for being irritable. She hated to think that she couldn't provide food right now… But that was why they were out here of course. To find shelter; and answers.

"Mom, where are we going?" Mahad asked again.

"We're going to try to find a bloc." Mila responded simply, checking the control panel as she flew the ship. The radar screen was blank. Her eyes drifted slightly upwards, were a scrap of paper was wedged between the shimmering glass screens. It was a glistening photograph of her and Marcus, entwined in a close hug. Marcus always left the picture there.

She felt like the Marcus in the picture was faraway, almost like a ghost already… As if he had never even existed. Terror engulfed her senses when she stopped, even for a second, to think about him. She could not afford to remember him at all. Not now.

The young mother looked away, glancing back at her son. Avoiding eye contact with the empty radar screen and the glossy photograph that only worsened her anxiety.

"A bloc?" Mahad asked.

"Yes."

"Oh." He paused. "Are we going to a restaurant there?"

Mila laughed slightly. How did he come up with these questions? She'd never been to a restaurant with her children. There weren't many restaurants outside Sphere territories anyway. The fanciest place she and Marcus had been at was… Oh yes, some rowdy bar filled with loudmouthed rebels. Mila wrinkled her nose.

"No, why would you think that?" She said.

"Because I'm really hungry and-"

"I know honey. I know. I'm sorry."

Mahad fixed her with an expectant stare. "Are we going to see Dad there?"

"It… It depends."

Mahad looked downwards glumly. "Why doesn't he want to come see us anymore?"

"No, no... It's not that. Your father loves you and Lena more than anything in the world Mahad. You remember that. He's just…" Mila paused, momentarily frozen with grief. "Very busy."

Mahad sighed angrily. Lena let out a loud laugh and babbled nonsensically as if she found Mahad's expression extremely funny.

Mila couldn't help but smile. She lay a kiss on her baby's head and cooed as she cuddled Lena. Mahad groaned and slip face first on the seat, completely consumed with boredom. He let out a muffled grumble before lifting his head. "Are we there yet? This is soooo boring… Hey what?... WOAH LOOK OUTSIDE!"

Mila jumped. "What!" She yelped with surprise, looking around and expecting enemies closing in on them.

"LOOK! LOOK!" Mahad stood up on the back seat, pointing outside. "It's so COOL!"

And then she saw it. A brightly coloured mosquito soaring beside them peacefully. Gleaming like a rusty red insect and whining accordingly.

It hovered there, following serenely. Mila stared. She could glimpse the outline of the pilot, who gave a slight, friendly wave. Mila didn't return the wave. She instead focused on the newcomer, not forcing herself into the strangers mind exactly, but just trying to sense the emotions. After a moment, she pulled back abruptly and smiled. He was a pirate… He was a pirate!

No wonder the radar hadn't alerted her of the ship's presence. Obviously it was recognized as friend not enemy. Only a tiny gleaming dot was glimmering on the screen. A bright little alert she had surely missed when she had turned away from the controls to comfort Mahad.

The radio buzzed with static and Mila flipped the switch to accept the transmission, jittery with excitement. She leant towards the screen, trying to see through the haze of orange. It was not a familiar face on the other end. It was a young man with dark skin and bright eyes.

"… I'm telling you it is Farrell. No I'm not even kidding- Er, hello?"

"Hello." Mila said, speaking loudly against the static.

"Hi!" Mahad exclaimed, leaning over. Mila shushed him impatiently.

The pilot squinted, looking at them. "… Hold on you're not-"

"This is Mila Farrell."

There was a pause. "…Oh. Yeah of course." He mumbled, recognizing her.

"Look, you're the first rebel contact I've had since the attack on Angkor. Can you take me to your base? I think it's called-"

"Puerto Angel. Sure. I can lead the way."

"Thank you." Mila sighed. For the first time in days, the future seemed bright. They weren't going to perish. Puerto Angel wasn't a figment of her imagination. "What's your name?"

"Wayan."

"Thanks Wayan."

He nodded, smiling. "I'm sure the others will be glad to see you... It's been such a mess. We don't know who's alive, who's dead. I've lost track."

The way he said it made Mila's happiness deflate. "So the Resistance?"

His gaze hardened. "…Well. To tell you the truth, most of us were wiped out. Not sure what happened to the other rebel groups either."

Mila sighed despairingly. "I'm sorry." She breathed, the words coming out of their own accord. She felt somewhat responsible for the downfall of the Resistance. She had helped plan out many fights. And she still didn't understand what had gone wrong with this particular battle. Surely someone would clarify the situation once she got to Puerto Angel. The young pilot was laid back and cool, but he seemed wary to return to the base. He was undoubtedly just a scout, on the lookout for enemies.

"Ill lead the way." He said, nodding coolly.

The mosquito sped forwards and the Hyperion followed after it.

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