It was in the early hours when Yanin left the home she had known, the little apartment over the gym. She left a note to Thuat telling him the gym was his now, and to do with it what he willed. She took all the items and clothing she cared to take, stuffed them in her fathers old backpack, and walked away. There was an airfield on the outskirts of town, and she decided to go there. Something inside told her that's where she needed to go, and that's where she went.
She drifted through the dark streets, pulled by the string she could not see or define. It simply was, and that's all there was to it. It pulled her through places in the town she would have avoided otherwise. Drunks who had stayed out for far too long stumbled into the street, still drinking despite the early hour. They eyed her with hungry looks, emboldened by liquor and loneliness and raw, seething lust. Yanin ignored them. They were nothing to her, and she didn't fear them. She knew they would do better to fear her.
Inevitably, a group of four lurching out of building ahead of her caught wind of her, and stumbled towards her. The biggest one moved in front of her, and she stopped, waiting impatiently for this little scene to play out.
"What?" she snapped, irritated.
"Little girl, you shouldn't be out," the stinking man said. "You might run into bad folks."
"I'm a woman," Yanin said impatiently. "I'm twenty-five. Is it too difficult for you to speak to me like I'm an adult?" She was short compared to others, and often mistaken for a teenager. It irritated her when it happened, and it was irritating to her now.
"Look at the mouth on this one!" he said to his friends. "Twenty-five, are you? How about I walk you home, little g-" He was unable to finish his statement, as Yanin had reached both hands for the earth, allowing her to raise her leg up to his head. The movement was as quick as the blink of an eye, and her shin drove into the side of his neck. He drifted through the air almost gently to collide with the nearby wall. He stayed there for a moment, drool and broken teeth flecking his lips, before he slid down the wall, sobbing like a child and touching his mouth with trembling hands. Two of his buddies stumbled over to help him up, and the remaining one stared dumbly. He turned back to Yanin to find her inches from him, her child-like face set and glaring.
"You could try it," she said. "Fight back. Show me who's boss. It won't work. I see what you do before you know you want to do it." She waited, boring into his eyes, the silver of hers burning and wrathful. The man cowed, backing away, submitting. She sniffed, and continued on her way.
By the time she made it to the airport, the sun was already cutting pink across the eastern sky. It reminded her of savory sweets and iced fruit, and she found her mouth watering. She was rarely hungry in the morning, but today she was and she wasn't sure why. She followed the rusted, chain-link fence that surrounded the field, thinking of breakfast, as she came near the unguarded entrance. It was once a great airport, but not so much, anymore. Almost all of the hangers were occupied by private companies or pilots. The better airfields belonged to the Royal Family, and housed military planes. This one was more haphazard.
Which hanger? She passed the fence and studied each hanger. Which one will take me to where I need to go? Which one will take me far from home? The string pulled, and she followed. She wandered into a large one with open doors and a two-engined, propeller-driven plane seated inside. It was a large cargo aircraft, of a kind that had seen a resurgence in this part of the world due to it's simplicity and efficiency. Even the military was using turbo-charged prop planes, at least until jets could be put back up. She stood in the hanger, studying it, until a very pretty woman exited a door on Yanin's left. She was wearing coveralls, and her long hair was loose. She caught sight of Yanin, and paused.
"I'm sorry, hon, are you lost?"
"I was looking for a plane," Yanin said. "Is this one yours?"
"It is, sweetie," the woman said. "Have an eye for planes, do you?" The woman wasn't being rude, but Yanin knew this woman thought she was a child. She crossed her arms and eyed it.
"Not especially. I know they can get me from point a to point b with little hassle in between," she said. "My name is Yanin Timkul."
"Phiyada Kongkran, at your service, sweetie!"
"A pleasure. I'm twenty-five, so…you don't have to baby me."
"I'm sorry. You look so young," the woman said, unembarrassed and still polite. Yanin shrugged, studying the woman and seeing something that others wouldn't see so easily.
She was a kathoey. It wasn't that there was anything in her stance to give her away, or her voice, or her appearance. Phiyada was very pretty, in a way that was painful to Yanin, for it made her wonder if she herself was pretty. Odd thoughts that didn't seem appropriate to her, or especially important, but so important when standing in the presence of Phiyada. Thoughts that made Yanin judge herself in comparison.
Analyzing these thoughts within herself, Yanin returned her attention to Phiyada. The woman standing before her had once been a man but was no longer one. She was of a third-gender, trying to move out of that ambiguous place into one more settled.
Yanin knew this, because she could see that the soul of Phiyada was that of a woman's, while the flesh was that of man's. The flesh was shaped by the soul that inhabited it, and the flesh moved to the tune that the soul sang. Yanin knew this, but Yanin could see things in ways others couldn't. How else could she defeat so many on the mat? Or know where she was pulled? She knew when those who would harm her would move. She knew where she supposed to be when she was supposed to be there. And she knew Phiyada was a kathoey.
It was trivial information to Yanin, but the fact that she knew it somehow made it seem important to her. Why should she know it? Was there something in this that spoke of Phiyada's character, or the nature of things to come?
Something about surface and depth, Yanin mused. We all move to the stirrings in our depth. Monsters in the deep places.
"I'm envious," the woman continued in her musical voice. "I bet when you're sixty you'll start looking twenty. I'm thirty-five, and I have to fight for my good looks every day."
"You don't look it," Yanin observed, studying the plane. It was a big, two-engined cargo plane, one that looked as though it would have the range to make it where she needed to go. She wasn't sure if it did or not, because she knew nothing about planes.
"So, what can I do for you today, hon?"
"I need to book passage on your plane," Yanin said.
"Where to?"
"Manchuria."
Phiyada scoffed, but it wasn't a rude sound, merely a surprised one. "Only that?" Phiyada asked.
"Would that be a problem?"
"It might be." The woman disappeared back into the office, and Yanin followed, knowing the invitation had been offered. The interior of the side-office was crammed with papers, photographs, models of planes. "That plane out there has the range to make it Hong Kong, refuel, and come back. Do you know how far away Manchuria is?"
"The northern part of China," Yanin said.
"Yeah, and right now, China's not a hot place to be. The Three Generals are feuding."
"Feuding? I haven't heard of that," Yanin said, crossing her arms. Neighboring China was under the control of a military committee, last she heard. Limited to the coast and river plains, not as big as it once was, but unified and strong.
"Oh, yeah. There'll be a war, and passage will be tough. It always happens in China, you know. There'll be a strong dynasty, then bam! Warlords take their little pieces, and it all starts over. It's good for China in the long run, but crap in the short run."
"You're a student of history, Phiyada," Yanin teased.
"Yeah, and a keen observer of economics. I might have been able to make a trip to Manchuria once, leapfrog along the coast, but now? Might be difficult." She was pouring two glasses of mango juice, and handed one to Yanin.
"Thank you," Yanin said, accepting the glass.
"Now, while we're on it, how do you intend to pay?" Phiyada asked.
"I'm not sure," Yanin admitted, sipping the juice. "I was simply told I needed to come here."
"Told? By whom?"
"I don't think you'd understand if I tried to explain it," Yanin replied. "The best I can say is that I live my life as if pulled by a line, and follow it to where it leads me."
"Sounds kind of aimless," Phiyada said with a smirk.
"No, it's not," Yanin said. "I'm aimed by someone, and I'm aimed at Manchuria right now. I have to meet someone there. And you and you're plane will take me there. I'm just not sure how, when, or why."
"A mystic, are you? You should become a nun," Phiyada mused. "Mysticism doesn't pay bills."
"I'm not a mystic. I just know things," Yanin said. "I know you were a man once, for instance."
She studied Phiyada's face as that was said. The fine features had frozen in a look of barely contained hurt, shock, and fear. Yanin did not feel guilt for evoking it, or fear of being turned away. It was enlightening, instead, to see what Phiyada had suffered through for her decision. Something about it endeared her to Yanin in that moment, something honest and unseen. Yanin began to understand a bit more about why that particular bit of information had glowed into her vision.
"Understand it means nothing to me," Yanin continued. "You are what you are, and as a woman, I think you fit together a lot better than I do. I just wanted to demonstrate that I know things."
"Who…told you?" Phiyada asked quietly, her earlier confidence gone. Yanin shook her head.
"No one," she said. "You are what you are. I can see people for that." Phiyada searched Yanin's face for some clue as to what she meant by that, and found no vehemence or cruelty. Yanin had made an honest observation honestly. It was difficult to fake that sort of thing to someone used to dishonesty from close quarters.
"Well…" Phiyada sighed, putting down her glass and laying her hands on her lap. "I assume something was off in my…appearance or presentation?" The question was odd, but it was also pleading. It took Yanin a moment to understand it, and it occurred to her that Phiyada must have worked hard to become who she was now. Any slips in the life she constructed would show she had failed somewhere. Yanin shook her head.
"I already said, you're more of a woman than me," Yanin pointed out. "I'm envious, frankly."
"That's kind. I'm not all the way there…yet," Phiyada said, folding her hands in her lap in a way both protective and ashamed. It drew Yanin's eyes to that area, but they didn't stay there, returning to hold Phiyada's gaze. She shrugged, indifferent. Kathoeys occupied a strange place in Thai society, not vilified but not exactly accepted, either. Once, they could live fairly well for themselves, if limited in where and how they could move. In the current climate, were seen in less than sympathetic eyes due to the lower population following Third Impact. Royal edict had decreed the need for a boosted population. Kathoeys were one line away from treason if they completed their transition. Things had changed in the world, and changes were rarely kind.
Yanin didn't care, very much. Humans were humans. They had blood, organs, flesh to hold these things and bones to support the flesh. They ate food, passed the corruption, lived their lives, and died in the end. They were all shapes, all sizes, and all hues. What was that to Yanin except variety?
"What can I do to book passage to Manchuria?" Yanin asked, tired of the conversation and wanting to return to business.
Phiyada smiled ruefully, and she returned to herself again. "Pay, for one," she said, "And calm the Generals down, for another." Yanin smirked, and finished her juice.
"Perhaps I should just stay around here until a solution presents itself," Yanin suggested. "I've already left my gym with such grand finality. It would be a shame to back."
"Feel free, hon," Phiyada said. "Just don't think you can bat your puppy-dog eyes at me and that'll solve everything."
"I will if it works," Yanin said. "Would it?"
"On a more generous day, yes. You caught me off guard, so I can't be too nice, can I?" Phiyada said with a devilish grin.
"I suppose not," Yanin admitted.
As it was, the solution that presented itself was one unique to Yanin's particular skill-set, for a group of soldiers showed up that day to harass Phiyada. Yanin had been dozing in the office when she heard the commotion outside, and walked out to find an officer with a squad of troops confronting Phiyada. The man towered over her, but Phiyada was in his face with a dominance that was hard to match.
"I noticed you aren't harassing the other pilots," Phiyada hissed. "Why me? What's so special about my plane?"
"It's size, for one," the officer snapped, "It's range, for another. The military needs all the cargo craft it can spare. It would be a civic service to hand this plane over-"
"Forgive me for not being patriotic enough!" Phiyada suddenly hollered. "I mean, I just need to eat, right? Pay my taxes and all! Handle my life the way I need to handle it! Explain to me how I'll do that without a plane? I'm a pilot!"
"Then go work for someone else, and fly their plane!" the officer snapped. Yanin had slowly sidled up to the edge of the crowd, and three of the soldiers watched her warily, their rifles panning in her direction. "You can send the bill in cost of the plane to-"
"I don't want to send a bill, because I don't want to sell my plane!" Phiyada raged. "It's my plane, not the King's plane, or the military's, but mine! It's my livelihood, my blood, sweat, money and love!" The officer shook his head, finally lost on patience, and tried to push past her. Phiyada tried to shove him, but he was larger, and two of his soldiers walked up to restrain her.
Yanin moved in that moment, and three men were on their hands and knees, vomiting or spitting blood. Those who had been watching her gaped in open surprise as she was now in the midst of them, trying to understand how she had moved so fluidly. In that moment, fingers broke, teeth shattered, and bones split as she moved once more. She surveyed the damage, and turned in place to face the officer and his two soldiers who were standing by Phiyada. All four of them stared in shock and terror at Yanin, and the rifles of the soldiers drifted in her direction.
"You can try to shoot," she said. "It won't work. Pull the triggers and prove me wrong." The two looked at each other, then back at their officer. He glanced at them, and shook his head.
"You're a good leader," she noted. "Some of these men can walk. You should all leave." The officer gestured, and the three of them corralled up their broken squad and the lot of them wandered away.
"What…the…hell…was that!?" Phiyada asked in shock. Yanin turned and looked at her.
"I told you I see things," Yanin said.
"That wasn't seeing things, that was being a human bomb," Phiyada asked. "Oh, God, you shouldn't have done that!"
"I didn't like doing it," Yanin said. And truthfully, she didn't. The soldiers were not like the boxers who had invaded her home, or the men who accosted her. They were soldiers, doing their duty to their king and the country of Thailand. Their duty, in this sense, was somewhat odious, but it wasn't that they were evil. Still, she had done what was required of her in that moment, and she knew why. "It seems we need to leave."
"We? No, you need to leave. I wasn't a part of that. I was over here being restrained. I have an excuse!"
"You said some rather unpatriotic things," Yanin observed, "And what's to say I'm not being associated with you right now? We need to leave." Phiyada made the connection in her mind, and her face grew ugly.
"You set this up, you sneaky…little…"
"I didn't set anything up," Yanin sighed, rolling her eyes. "I simply did what I was supposed to."
"Stop that mumbo-jumbo crap! You've…oh, I could strangle you if I didn't think you'd fold my fingers backwards!" Phiyada screamed.
"I wouldn't dare," Yanin said, offended, "How else would you fly the plane?" Phiyada crossed her arms, glaring in fury at Yanin, but also a little respect and admiration. She was trapped, as far as she knew. Perhaps she could worm her way out of it, but she would still lose her plane, and there was still enough doubt over Yanin's connection to her (in the minds of the soldiers) that it would take some time to convince anyone of it's nonexistence. Easier to cut and run. Easier to up and move. Phiyada shook her head.
"Just…get your stuff. It'll take me some time to warm up the plane, okay?"
"That's fine," Yanin said, walking back to the office to grab her bag. Phiyada glared after her, and marched to the plane.
"I bet I regret this more than Singapore…" she grumped to no one in particular.