Annastasia

by Vos Mos Amplio

Annie's Origins. Notice: There will be a small hiatus before I move into Act 4. However, the story is undergoing rewrites currently ranging from chapters 19-24 to add more detail to the scenery, cultures, mannerisms, characters, language, and possibly more references. Rewrites for chapters 1-18 are done. Thank you for reading, and for your patience.

20. Apex Fauna: Part 1

Annastasia

20.

Apex Fauna (Part 1)

Grace-Ann usually enjoyed certainty about a lot of things. It came with the territory of omniscience that was afforded to her by telepathy. This time, however, she was certain that something was wrong. Her sister was coming.

The woman's fountain pen almost lolled out of her slack grasp; background objects came into unwanted focus as everything inconsequential became distracting: the softness of the chair cushion, the paling green of the large potted fern that needed sunlight, the patch of peeling grey paint, the breaking dawn of the sun in the east, and the smooth polished surface of her wide desk. Realizing that she was distracted, Grace-Ann tried to ignore the reoccurring certainty of imminent misfortune. Taking a deep breath, Grace-Ann finally returned to the paperwork before her and failed almost instantly when she heard a yell inside her mind – it was her sister calling out to her. Listening keenly to the woman's mental voice and beyond it, she heard murmurs that something was wrong, something about a possible anarchist. Then her sister was asking for them to meet in her plain fashion, that she was on her way to Grace-Ann's office.

If her sister was here, that she was concerned and presently on this side of the country which was the standard portal for refugees to enter the country, then something was exceedingly wrong. Suddenly worried, Grace-Ann wondered if she had missed something embedded in the cacophony of internal voices of the city around her. In the silence of her office, save for the idle dotting of her pen against a logistics sheet that was already spoiled with ink, Grace-Ann focused on everyone she heard, listening for key words and signs of trouble. No one sounded suspicious, and every problem she heard seemed inconsequential and ordinary. Small incidents, nags, quarrels about inconveniences, and unvoiced complaints kept in check from spouses. This fervent grave-digging through everyone's minds wouldn't get her anywhere, not unless they were actively thinking about whatever intents they had. Regardless, no one could perceive threats better than her sister and if she was here, then it was serious.

Coming here, however, additionally meant that something terrible was happening without Grace-Ann being aware of it, an irksome reminder of her possible ineptitude and a predicament that was intolerable to the Chess government which relied on her abilities heavily for its employment management. Using that troubling thought as a motivational stick, she stretched her mental prowess towards the limits of gleaning all the information she could – it was like scarfing thousands of bland loaves of bread to find the one with a single raisin that mightn't even exist – but to no avail, and she gave up.

I shouldn't let it get to me. Screening out possible terrorists isn't my job. I'm only here to manage the refugees and designate them at work sites according to their talents and strengths.

That wasn't entirely true. Grace-Ann occasionally had to assess possibly dangerous people based on their past crimes, though she usually referred to her higher skepticism and had them barred from Chess just to be safe. Radicals, past anarchists, agitators of installed authority, they weren't welcome in Chess.

Now, however, someone was here. They had evaded her notice and entered the country.

Her sister wasn't working in Immigrations, and this possible radical wouldn't be her priority; there were other more predominant issues that her sister was responsible for. Rather, she was working on the more physical branch of the country's security and was the onlyand strongest deterrent that kept the Gigans from trying to invade the Chess Kingdom. The price of having a golden age country was to induce everyone's jealousy and eagerness to get their slice of it, whether it be by begging for it like the refugees, or them cutting it for themselves with a sword like the Gigans, who weren't known for being servile or easily controllable.

Again from far away in Niederlande, Grace-Ann heard Annie's threat to keep quiet about her discovery, and the begging and pleading from the girl's father. It was somewhere around the fourth set from the Van De Sterrens that morning, and possibly the five hundredth that week. Ousting the concern from her mind, the woman finally skidded her chair away from her desk while balling up the spoiled report and dropping it into the waste basket beside her, pretending that the Van De Sterrens' thoughts followed the paper into the bin. With a sigh, unconsciously counting down in the back of her mind, the mind-reader approached her office door slowly and deliberately. Finally, she wrenched the doorknob and sharply pulled the door open, just as her sister on the other side was about to knock.

Oh, the woman thought clearly to Grace-Ann, knock-knock. Is it bad manners that I never got to knock, or was it rude that you didn't let me?

Her deeply tanned face didn't mirror the jibe that her thoughts had projected. Though the sisters resembled each other visibly enough with largely the same features of their primate feral heritage, the younger of the two didn't seem to have outwardly maintained on her list of priorities, which Grace-Ann frowned upon. The woman's face was unwashed and her scruffy short bob auburn hair was uncombed. Her clothes badly needed mending: Grace-Ann immediately noticed that at least two pleats had popped apart at the thigh in her sister's battle tunic, and a seam under her armpit badly needed sewing before it yawned open and showed everyone her bare midsection underneath. Though Grace-Ann was jealous that her sister wasn't as thickly furred as she was – it being more like a soft sheen of unidirectional hairs that made people easily believe she had auburn-complexioned skin even up close– she was in no way acceptant of her sister possibly showing off her breasts from the side if the stitching ripped when she raised her arm too suddenly. It was made easily noticed by the large pole-axe she held in that specific hand that was a foot taller and had a blade almost broader than she was at the shoulder.

"You look like you've been out in the rough and damp for too long. Hello, Amara," Grace-Ann said pleasantly enough. She didn't add anything to the courtesy. Amara had a preternatural knack for knowing when things weren't genuine. If anything, Grace-Ann would be better off cutting straight to the truth. "You said that something's wrong. Talk here, or elsewhere?"

You know me, I'm not much for staying still. We can go find the problem while we talk. The woman laughed with silent chuckles and outwardly offered her elder sister a happy grin that revealed a gap in her teeth where her upper left canine used to be. The smile was cheerful enough by itself, but with the gap, it made the woman look harmless and a bit older than she actually was, perhaps like a middle-aged woman who'd lived to see her children establish themselves in the world. Despite the loss of the tooth that made her appear ordinary, Grace-Ann doubted that whoever caused it was still alive, much less recognizable enough for a named grave; Amara could be very vindictive whenever she was harmed or offended, and anyone who knew her was already informed by the woman herself that she suffered neither fools nor enemies.

"Nice smile," Grace-Ann said flatly.

Thanks, Amara thought with blatant sarcasm. The tooth got shaky after a fight, then I lost it in a dumpling.

"Hope you didn't kill the chef."

The silent woman laughed breathily without a sound. No, no. In fact, I congratulated her, she's an old refugee cook. She made them with grated carrots. Tasted so good that I didn't realize I swallowed the tooth. Got a bellyache, though.

That was cleared up easily enough, but it didn't explain how she got injured. It was rare when the woman was such a proficient fighter. "Who did you fight that could hurt you?"

Some Gigan imbecile. I warned the whole lot of them across the border to stay where they were, but they must've thought I was inviting them across the fence for teatime. Had to kill them all.

She had allegedly fought multiple Gigans at once, but it was entirely believable as it had happened before. Grace-Ann folded her arms in skepticism of another fact. "They're afraid of you. Why did this one fight you? Did you make them fight you?"

No. Of course not. The smile fell into a pursed crease on the woman's face. Let's go, we've got bigger problems.

It was an invitation, finely threaded with a warning. Amara could sense when her sister was rifling through her mind, so Grace-Ann was at great pains to distract herself with the thoughts of others to keep from listening too closely to her sister's subconscious thoughts and memories that lurked below. The woman's mind was a placid lake with unstirred waters, and it was above thereof that Grace-Ann was usually allowed to stay. Still waters ran deep; under the surface was an inundated chronicle of every man and woman and child that were sunken below in the unfathomable abyss that Amara had watched die, whether she was party as a witness or slaughterer.

If she was asked that she hated fighting, she'd say that she hated it. However, she was caught up in it so much which always resulted in the death of her adversaries that the better question to ask was whether she enjoyed killing her enemies. If one should accuse her, she'd claim that she only liked winning.

Grace-Ann gave her a flat expression that only she was capable of, and repeated her question: "Did you make them fight you, or not?"

I didn't hold them to ransom, Amara said in thought, And I wasn't about to roll over and let them have their way with me. At least I have more respect for their corpses than they have for ours. I let the earth have their bodies. They preferentially have ours with a barrel of mead to wash us down their throats. Maybe you'd prefer if one of them were to knock on your door next time.

Grace-Ann very nearly said out loud: That wasn't the question, but she didn't press further. Closing her office door behind her, she followed her younger sister, trailing in her brisk stride. They led towards the train station in the center of the capital that currently housed one of the two west-bound trains, and Grace-Ann asked her what they were doing and what the problem was.

I was far south at the border. It was dinner, just three days ago. It was red-bean soup – that same refugee cook that I said made the dumplings? – she made the soup, it was wonderful, just like mama used to make every Saturday. Grace-Ann caught a brief flash of a memory of the girls in their mother's home having the soup, followed by the memory of watching the refugee cook preparing the same meal, and the apparent contentment of the memories was enough to make the mind-reader smile momentarily, despite the current situation. The cook didn't have many of the original ingredients, but she made do with what we had on hand: thyme and leeks that were growing wild, some of my scotch peppers, and diced chicken meat. She rolled a few small dumplings in that too, for filler. Amara's voice in thought sounded like she mulling over fond memories. She was such a sweet lady, so concerned about me. Asked me if I could manage her dumplings–

Grace-Ann interrupted, "What's the point?"

Amara grinned again, that same pleasant grin with the distracting gap that pulled Grace-Ann's attention instantly. The soup was perfect, everyone said so. Everything is balanced. All the right amount of peas, the filler, the meat, the seasonings, the salt. I put in a few extra peppers in my bowl though, like always. Amara sighed regretfully as if she'd hated the lattermost act. Wished I didn't have to. Anyway, the next morning, I feel like there was something EXTRA here on your side of the border. You've got everything balanced. But there was something extra.

"Extra?" Grace-Ann boggled. "Whatever are you talking about, 'extra'? I screen everybody as best I can, and that's as best that anyone can. If you haven't noticed, not a single refugee has committed a crime since getting here."

That's fine. You do good work. But you screen them on their past to determine if they're good enough for Chess. You know their minds. I know their intentions, their hearts. As to the soup and your outpost, I had a feeling, a signal that an extra ingredient out here was interfering with the pot. You've got too many peppers out here. Don't know how they slipped past you, if they haven't done any crimes, or if you haven't been around recently, or you're getting careless. But this person's some kind of crazy. Not funny crazy, maybe a religious fanatic. Maybe pull your eye out and flick it into someone else's mouth kind of crazy before they slit your throat from ear to windpipe, understand?

Grace-Ann winced at the vivid description, uncertain as to her sister's sickening imagination. "So they're mentally ill?"

Amara shook her head. Her pace hastened, and despite being shorter than her elder sister, Grace-Ann nearly couldn't keep up with her brisk strides. No. Not mentally ill. Don't think so. This person is extremely fixated, and loud, but I'm sure that they're extremely sane, or sort of gives off that feeling. Definitely a radical, some religious zealot. If I 'listen' closely, I can hear focus on protecting something, or someone, and getting a rock for… a goddess, or some other such bullshit.

Grace-Ann froze. Her mind raced at a hundred thoughts in a second, spanning thousands of people she met and their specific mindsets. Chronicles flitted by. Annie showed up an instant later, the rock that she continually pestered her about, insisting that she kept it secret or she'd tell everyone that she was a mind reader. Normally, if Annie was any other person, she wouldn't have found out or have been informed – as friends – about Grace-Ann's ability to read minds, much less attempt any sort of blackmail. Even if she did, she would have been black-bagged by a government official and jailed until she died which, in all honesty, would have resulted until they wearied waiting for Annie to die before guillotining her head off. However, this was a friend who was telling Grace-Ann to please remain quiet about her secret out of anxiety, and her father (who was far more polite but exigent about it) because he feared that Annie was at the center of some plot orchestrated by the Skullheart.

She had every reason to doubt it, she always did. Now, circumstantial evidence was proving it all too true.

Grace-Ann stiffened; no doubt that Amara had sensed her influx of racing thoughts and rising apprehension, and stopped to turn around to look at her sister. Before the warfighter's suspicions could mount and take her by surprise, Grace-Ann volunteered: "So an insane religious person made it past me? Who else knows about this? You didn't tell the higher-ups, did you?" A few of Amara's thoughts stirred up, predominantly out of belated sisterly concern.

Worried about your job, is it? I was starting to think you knew something about this. But you're right. No leaks. We better find this goddess-damned radical before the government finds out. You know they expect us to be perfect. I've always disliked how they don't trust us to be in these big roles since we aren't natives.

Grace-Ann couldn't lie to her sister, no one could, just as no one could lie to her either. Instead of blatant mind-reading, however, Amara could sense intentions, and recognizing dishonesty came with the territory. It'd have to be buried under the truth. "Yes, our jobs. But I'm worried about not knowing what all of this is about. What could be so special about a rock or a girl they're targeting? And how could they get past me?"

Amara rolled her stark gold eyes, grabbed her sister's hand and pulled her along, trying to hurry her up. I can't get a proper read off them either, just the intentions. They're too one-track-minded, like an animal; just this one direction, and that's where their mind keeps going. Protecting, and finding, and if they had been a bit more spread out like normal people, I wouldn't have even suspected that something was wrong. Maybe that's why you didn't know about them; it's even possible that they're an animal or some new kind of freak.

"You mean feral like us, or Dagonian?"

Amara hesitated to ponder on this in silence. Summing up what she knew based on experience and assumptions, she shrugged. I mean FULLY animal. I can't tell. Finally, they made it to the train station and slowed through the crowds of refugees to a near standstill. They're somewhere here. Where's this train going?

"It's going west."

Amara folded her arms and sighed while pointing at the head of the train and its direction with an impatient huff. Obviously. I'm mute, not blind.

This morning was a never-ending trial of patience. "It's making three stops. Two of those are for ordinary transport for the citizens. The biggest stop, the last, it's in Niederlande. The people here are muscle to deliver parts and materials for building a power station and temporary living barracks."

If I could just cut down the lot of them and be done with it–

"Of course, you can't. They're refugees," Grace-Ann reminded, just as her sister started brandishing her pole-axe wildly which earned her terrified stares and a wide berth as the people scrambled away from her. "We promised their protection," she said pointedly, "and we can't hurt them on principle. Both Chess's principle, and yours. You want to hurt the people who're trying to escape Canopy and its problems?"

Amara silently looked out at the decidedly poorer-looking citizens milling about in the crowd on the platform, trying to find their allotted cab and seating. I know, like we used to be. But there's a spy here. I want them found. If they escape and we later find out that they found some girl tied to a boulder with some mutant eating her heart out as a ritual sacrifice, we're going to be in a whole lot more trouble than just for jailing and killing the whole bunch before it happens.

"It's still a failure if we do the killing instead of the insane person."

Amara's pole-axe knocked against the ground, clacking loudly against the concrete. It's Chess's failure if we let the killer do it. It's a precaution and perfectly justified if WE do it. You know that!

"Are you going to kill the refugees now?" Amara, even in her mind, was blank. Grace-Ann was driving home her point. "It's really easy. Use your axe, and chop their heads off. Why am I even here? I can't fight. You could fix this on your own…" Grace-Ann trailed off. "And where's your squad? They can help you round up the criminal, and arrest anyone abetting them. Just control the criminals, it's all you're good for."

The woman was still silent, processing things to herself in her mind. The mind-reader reconsidered what her role was in this affair, and despite it becoming quickly apparent that she couldn't read the mind of the likely dangerous radical that had somehow entered the country almost completely unnoticed. She hadn't interviewed this person, she was sure. While she wasn't present for every interview, she screened everyone in categorical groups when they entered the border, and those she handpicked as potential criminals would be quietly detained by the guards at the Immigration Office, escorted elsewhere under the pretense that they were going to be interviewed in another place.

If this ill-intentioned person had come before her, she would have recognized them as a blank slate, and not be trusted. While she didn't have trust issues generally, she did have a large amount of skepticism for things beyond her knowledge and understanding – it was safer that way, and she was usually right. Circumstances were rapidly waxing bizarre, and behind every mysterious door through which they led, Annastasia was usually there waiting.

Stories, reports, evidence, testimonies, and paranoia, summed up by a man and his ongoing struggle against age and fear that Annie had always been the center of it all, locked in a great conspiracy by the Skullheart. If it had been possible, Grace-Ann would never have found out about the Something if the Van De Sterrens could keep their thoughts hidden, but the true horror of it all was that this potential enemy knew. They could also be a mind reader, one that stood above both her and her sister, simply by being invisible to them. Worse, they could be supernatural, like the Skullheart itself. How else would they come after Annie so soon as if they had picked up somehow on an indication that their investment had finally come to fruition?

Investment. What a word. That was Conon's word to describe all of this.

The only thing worse than whatever machination that could be perpetuated by the Skullheart, if it was true, was the fact that there was an insane amount of risk that her sister could find out about Annie. That absolutely cannot happen!

Amara was looking at her now. She wasn't a mind-reader in the same approach as herself, but Amara could – without a doubt – sense any sort of palpable emotional change. They were telling, almost as effective as Grace-Ann's herself, though Amara used her variety of telepathy in more fully potent and dangerous ways.

Grace-Ann noticed her suspicious stare, and reflexively thought of her sister giving Annie that stare while the girl was introducing herself – it wouldn't end well.

In fact, none of this could end well if things or Amara were allowed as far west as Niederlande.

Worse yet, Amara was now suspicious of her. The mental message was broadcasted clearly: You know something about this? She didn't answer, she couldn't. There was no way she could answer that: a blatant lie would be recognized for what it was, and the truth would damn the situation further.

"Tell them…" Grace-Ann said after a while, deciding to dodge the question, "Tell them all to get off the train and form lines for inspection."

You want me to do what? Amara asked, flabbergasted, You want ME to take control? Hearing her sister's mental retort, Grace-Ann thought the better of it; Amara being in charge of the situation was the last thing she wanted, worsened by the fact that the woman had very little empathy for anyone.

"Nevermind. Go round up the security guards instead. I'll get everyone to form a dozen lines." Walking off, she could feel her sister's stare in the back of her head and tried her best to ignore it. She called for everyone's attention as she made her way through the crowd to the front by one of the train's doors. Most of the crowd didn't consider her to be of immediate relevance, not until she announced herself as an officer of Human Resources from Eastern Immigrations. The bustle and hubbub ceased almost instantly; her position in the management of one of Chess Kingdom's most important affairs carried an extreme amount of weight in both the public and private interest, especially since – on her authority – anyone outside of the government could be kicked out of the country with no questions asked. Without even asking for it, a few men obliged and pushed over a large wooden crate of construction supplies and gave her a leg up so that she could stand atop it and be easily seen above the gathering.

She thought, Public speaking… If there's one thing I'm better at than her…

She searched for her sister close to the back of the platform where she had left her. She was gone, presumably already soliciting the help of the station's guards and perhaps a few nearby policemen, and with her personality and pole-axe in hand, she probably wasn't being nice about it. Should they recognize her, she being famous and notorious enough, they'd keel for her all the more like struck dogs.

If I were these people, I'd want to know what this is about. Maybe fret if the woman standing on the box is going to send me home. But it's whichever radical that's the problem. Her eyes squinted, hesitating to begin as she continually looked around at the massing sea of concerned faces. What if they can't actually read minds? Can't read mine? I can't make them suspicious of me. When we catch them, they have to be unawares right up until the last second, then Amara can deal with them. Problem solved.

There was another hesitation: what if she didn't immediately kill the probable troublemaker, and chose to interrogate them instead? Amara was prone to rash action, and while Grace-Ann was hoping to use her sister as a lethal soldier against the threat to Annie, the woman couldn't afford to delude herself into believing that this could all smooth over easily.

I'll cross that bridge when we get to it. She had been quiet for too long. She called out, "Good morning, everyone! First, apologies on behalf of Immigrations and the Arnh'm Centraal Station Security, there will be a delay. I cannot say how long that delay will be…" The woman nearly winced; any sort of tardiness and untimeliness in Chess was always met with a stern reprimand, and she could hurt her job just for hindering the power plant construction. "The delay will last for however long it takes for us to find a criminal." Already, there was a buzz, and she didn't bother trying to pick through them for a thought as the perpetrator couldn't be properly detected by that means. "We have it on good authority that someone is trying to smuggle a firearm onto the train. It will have to be searched, then your persons, and your luggage."

"A gun? Who could get a gun, and why?" a refugee cried out above the din.

"Yeah, why?" Another shouted. Another person yelled that Chess didn't permit them to enter with firearms, and the overall stress of the crowd started to skyrocket, and everyone was panicking that the smuggler would secret the firearm into their luggage without their knowledge. Things were going from bad to worse in a new direction, but becoming settled, Grace-Ann was already thinking ahead to solve the problem, easily calmly reactive to any difficulties thrown her way. Nimbly letting herself drop off the crate to the ground below, she didn't walk too far before her sister reproached her straightaway.

I don't know if you're clever or insane. A GUN? In CHESS?! What are you thinking? Do you know what could happen to us when the Government finds out about your lie –

Grace-Ann pulled her aside. "I needed a big excuse to delay the train, but I couldn't let the radical suspect we're looking specifically for them. They might not be able to read our minds, and for all we know, they might think they're doing a good thing, and not even remotely criminal."

Still sounds risky. They could run off, and we'd have to track them all over again. And I'd wager that you don't want me to take charge of this. You don't want me treating these people like the sheep they are, but you're willing to take on this insane amount of risk? Chess doesn't make guns, much less allow them. The higher-ups are going to have you publicly whipped for this.

Grace-Ann paused, gazing at her sister. Her usually hardened expression was soft, furrowed with worry. It was not an expression she was accustomed to seeing, especially in recent years. "Yes, it is risky, but you know as well as I do that the government doesn't tolerate screw-ups."

I could take care of the government.

"Sometimes, people are aware that they are being manipulated, and they don't like you using your powers on civilians. It ruins Chess's image," Grace-Ann said seriously. Let me do this my way. We'll find the radical, or at least have a gun to show that I wasn't lying."

What'll you do?

The mind-reader had all her answers ready. "This radical is abnormal. They exude an intent you can sense, almost read, but I can't read their minds at all, I'm sure. You'll find the radical and I'll go procure a gun to use as evidence, or I'm sunk." Before the warfighter could react, Grace-Ann continued. "Empty the train, and you and the guards can do a mock-search to make sure it's empty, no one on board, and no 'gun' to be found. Then, you'll just sense each person that the guards search before they send them onto the train. Might be a good idea to have extra security posted at the exits too in case the radical tries to run, like you said."

And what'll YOU do? Find a gun that doesn't exist? Amara repeated more pointedly this time, though she was already convinced by the sensibility of her sister's plan.

"I'll go back to Immigrations, get a gun from the impounded storage. All the guns taken from the refugees are stored in there. Then I'll come back and help with the search. Goddesses willing, we'll find the radical. And I'll stash the gun somewhere in the station to denounce them–"

Falsifying evidence? This isn't like you, Grace. Amara thought while grinning widely. It's as if you want to find the radical even more than I do. While the mind-reader was very reluctant with her methods, she could easily convince herself that it had to be done, and swallowed back her nervousness at her sister's implication. Maybe she truly was taking on too much risk, and ought to let Amara take control of the situation. If she let her take charge, she could control the criminal long enough to execute them on the spot. This was a criminal, a very dangerous extremist that could avoid mental detection, and was surely going after Annie. Secondly, her job was now on the chopping block, and she needed both it and its benefits to continue managing the refugees.

"I'm going. Try not to miss even a single person. We better have this person in chains within two hours so the government doesn't think we're losing our edge."

Miss them? You, maybe, but not me. And chains are the least if they so much as try to put up a fight. The shaft of her pole-axe banged against the ground in anticipation. If they do, they're going to end up in a pine box.

There was a flash of something, perhaps a thought or pheromone or an uncanny feeling that hazed in, and once she felt it, Grace-Ann almost leaned in on instinct but backpedaled in fear instead. It was almost as if that Amara had wanted to embrace her but hesitated at the last moment, and deferred to idly looking at her pole-axe before walking off towards the train to attend to the inspections. The instant, as brief it was, had lasted long enough to be off-putting to the mind-reader who was unaccustomed to her estranged sister's attempts at friendliness and familial love, but it didn't happen. She was inclined to convince herself that she was sad about how she reacted before she reminded herself that it was Amara who had started it and prematurely ended it. If she had returned whatever feelings that Amara had doubtfully wanted to share, it would surely make her upset to say the least; the warfighter didn't seem to care much for any sort of feelings usually associated with affection.

Worse yet, Grace-Ann was sure that she could smell blood on her, could've been an enemy or the flesh of a meal; the fact remained that she hadn't even tried to bathe to get rid of it this time.

Grace-Ann retreated as soon as her sister was out of sight and walked alone back to her office, not daring to let her thoughts wander too much to Annie or the rock she had found. There was something out there. No, Annie had called it the Something, able to create anything out of nothing–

No, just get the gun. Keep the mind focused on getting a gun. Get a gun. Get a gun. Get a gun. Her pace sped up, hoping to get back as quickly as possible. She easily recognized the folly of a unidirectional want: she was broadcasting her intent to her sister. She can't read minds. It's safe to think of Annie, but I can't let her suspect that I'm hiding something from her. And what if she does? What do I say? We're sisters, but she'd turn on me just as quickly.

This much wasn't assured as fact but could ring true. They both held refugees in high regard and had a lot of similarities of character, but Amara was the one who was rumored to have once argued with a man close to the southern border that soured to the point that she had killed him and then cited the man as a terrorist threat. That was what she had heard, and she hadn't since tried to scour Amara's mind for the details – it was a needless way to put the warfighter on edge. Distractions, always pouring in. Grace-Ann tried to lid them out, reminding herself of the present danger and the task she had.

Her office was back at the Eastern Border Gate Outpost – the outpost was a massive disconnected rectangular compound with a gate on one of the long sides (that would also be the border wall of Chess) that opened up the property and filed through it like a street to a second gate on the opposite side, which would allow access into the rest of the Kingdom. The compound was comprised of encompassing buildings in the rectangle which all housed and served different purposes: this ranged from barracks of the soldiers who lived on-site to inspect the refugees' belongings to the Immigration Ambtenaar's office who arbitrated the eligibility of the people migrating to Chess, and officers who managed merchants and the like as well as the taxes on their wares. There were also sizeable on-site depots for wagon and carriage storage, items that were liable for possible contraband scrutiny, and confiscated illegal pieces which almost always consisted of drugs and guns.

Guns had a special anti-charter in the Chess Kingdom: they were both entirely advantageous, and yet completely useless. In a golden age of magic, where the best of its common offensive nature could burn a man down to ashes or flay him to shreds, all soldiers could be relied upon to fight more than their fair share against any army should war be declared or if simple duties demanded it, but magic could be just as easily expended the more the intensive the usage was, and the depleted magic couldn't be relied upon again until a day had passed. When not necessary, each soldier was also armed with a standard sword or halberd, or a baton if all that was required was internal policing.

Guns on the other hand, while affording anyone promised lethality against their opponents even at ranges that exceeded the capability of magic, were slow to operate and reload, and remained expensive to outfit to everyone. Guns could effectively put anyone on par with an average soldier who was capably apt at killing, provided that they were accurate and had ammunition to spare, but a gun was just an expensive metal stick once the bullets or gunpowder ran out.

Chess didn't need guns, and although they were common enough in the Canopy Kingdom to be likened to magic on a whole, they believed that they were better off without them, and made them unlawful to use. But to admit that they weren't without benefit would be foolish – the mind-reader was fully aware that Chess kept all the armaments they confiscated from the immigrants, possibly for some event where wars would be fought with them or otherwise needed.

Far away, Annie was threatening her again to keep quiet about the rock.

After presenting her identification to a guard and stepping inside one of the depots primarily used for guns, Grace-Ann was surprised to find it almost empty. She'd been in here before, only a few months ago. At that time, if she had stood anywhere in the room and thrown a bullet anywhere with her eyes closed, she had better odds of hitting a gun than not.

All that was here were a few repeaters on a shelf, one or two muskets that badly needed cleaning, and a flintlock pistol. Some rounds were gathered carelessly in a wooden bowl close by.

Someone took away all the guns. Where? How? When? Grace-Ann didn't know. She supposed that it made sense to store the weapons further inland than the border, but at the border was just as safe as it could get. She was there! A mind-reader who knew everything for hundreds of miles!

"Oh, sure," she muttered angrily. "Didn't know about that freak that's going after Annie and that rock. You didn't even know that they moved all the guns right out from under your nose. So how's anything safe just by you being close to it?"

The scant few guns here were probably newer ones that came in since the haulage; it didn't make sense for them to be left behind when everything else was taken. Conjecture could get her so far, but she was amassing doubt by the second. The Chess Kingdom's motives aside, she was slipping; she knew everything, she was supposed to know everything. But the guns were moved, a radical had slipped into the country and now a girl somehow possessed a piece of creation when Grace-Ann herself had stood not ten feet away from where it had been discovered.

She should have been happy, pleased that her sometimes-aggravating omniscience had gaps. It tended to ostracize her from actually getting to know people comfortably (or correctly, she'd rather say). She picked up the repeater and the flintlock – both were loaded but the latter was unprimed – and packed them into a stiff cardboard box with a few extra rounds for additional criminally damning evidence, feeling mixed emotions. Grace-Ann realized that although doubt and certainty had their benefits, both now assaulted her with the worst they had to offer.

Calm down, they moved them while you were sleeping. No… No, I only sleep at night! Why the hell would they move out the guns at night? They didn't want me to know? Was it unlawful? She ought to ask, though the woman was already in enough hot water if the higher-ups found out that she was in the guns depot without a satisfactory reason. Adjusting the cardboard box under her arm carefully to make sure the flaps hid the contents, she left the depot, nervously but as earnestly as possible to avoid pulling the attention of all the soldiers and other personnel that ambled and carried out their duties about in the compound.

No one looked at her. Maybe they were pretending. She read their minds. Some of them were thinking of her, consciously making an effort to look away inconspicuously. They were afraid of her. She could fire and exile half the country.

Annie was thinking loudly again, halfway through her usual threat. Instead, it became more personal, not directed to Grace-Ann, but completely to herself. Regardless, the mind reader still heard it: Annie was fretting if the primate feral had told anyone her secret, that Chess would try to take the Rock away from her.

"I haven't told anyone about it, Annie," she whispered to herself, "I wish you knew how much trouble I'm putting myself into just trying to protect you–"

All of a sudden, there was a mental yell from Amara, strong and seething, then silence. Immediately following was a cacophony of inner screams from the train station in alarm and disgust, fear permeating throughout. Amongst all the mélange of emotions, Satori could catch the gist from the guards, who were mulling over what had happened in the reports they were already writing in their heads: Amara had killed a mother and child in cold blood.

She hurried to her sister as soon as she was outside the gate, almost running in some places back to the train station, making the twenty-minute walk in just under eight. The stop-and-search was delayed for palpable reasons: though finely blood-spattered with her bloody pole-axe stuck into the ground beside her, Amara was searching everyone by herself before they got on the train, methodically going through their belongings and more focused than at any other time that Grace-Ann had ever seen her before.

Not too far away, there used to be another line to enter the train; at the head of this pre-existing line were the butchered bodies of the mother and her son. The woman was completely bisected from left shoulder to her right side with her entrails spilling like an overturned wagon of meat, and the boy's corpse beneath with the wide crying eyes – he was somewhere between ten and twelve – was almost cut clean through like his mother in the single stroke that had killed them both. Blood ran thick with gore in a spreading pool, with rivulets that traversed in the cracks in the ground like veins. The air was overpowering with the sharp smell of iron, and flies were drawing in.

For a brief moment, despite her horror, Grace-Ann was consciously aware that Annie was laughing at a joke she'd been told by her father, and was thinking of a response.

People were already gathering around the mind-reader, pelting her with complaints and concerns that the woman with the pole-axe was going to murder them too, and Grace-Ann was at pains to keep them from jostling the box out of her grip or possibly damaging it just enough for the rifle to poke out for everyone to see. After shouting for order and demanding for the guards to manage the crowd, she managed to slip away long enough to get to her sister who was continuing the search all alone for the line of people still brave and confident enough to face her.

They might've known what had gotten the woman and her son killed, Grace-Ann believed. She tried to read their minds. She didn't get much from them, other than them collectively believing that they should get the inspection over and done with. Knowing all too well what was happening, she had to refrain from slapping her sister – she'd already picked up on her intentions. "What are you doing?! Why did you kill that woman and her son?"

If you read everyone's mind here to know that it's a mother and son, then you must know why I killed them. They had it coming.

"They were refugees! You're out of line!"

Amara shook her head, not even looking at her sister as she continued the inspection. Not these. Just refugees in name, but came here for a 'better life'–

Grace-Ann interrupted, "And that gave you the right to murder them?"

There were no more words. It was just Amara, going over her memories from her perspective, willingly showing Grace-Ann what had happened. Just a woman, tugging her son by the arm to the front of the line after he hesitated to come closer to the woman with the large weapon stuck upside-down into the ground next to her. The woman didn't want to upset her with non-compliance, she probably knew what it meant and how to defer to authority. The inspection of their personal belongings went quickly enough; Amara wasn't committed to the physical search for an obvious gun that did not exist, but more so a mental check for the radical they were pursuing – she was having difficulty picking out the radical in the hundreds-strong crowd.

It was then that Amara had noticed that the boy was wearing a pendant, a carefully-made piece of glass jewelry on a silver chain. It made no sense for him to wear anything of the sort, least of all when the mother didn't have any visible jewelry of her own. That was when Amara saw the small piece of flesh inside the glass. It was supposed to be a good luck charm, commonly found amongst the Renoir soldiers. The jewelry on the silver chain might have been his father's, and she had guessed correctly.

Amara couldn't speak. She pointed at it, silently requesting for it. The mother, still acquiescing to authority, removed it for the woman to see, already explaining that it was a good luck charm just in case the woman was unfamiliar with it, and that it was the only thing the boy had from his father who was now deceased. After a moment of observation, Amara had walked away with the intent to bury it nearby in a dirt patch, but when the boy raised a protest accusing her of stealing it, she immediately returned and gently pushed the mother out of the way so that she could kill him without interference. Despite the imminent threat of her large axe raised in one hand, the mother pleaded for the warfighter to spare her son, going so much as to try shielding him, Amara nonetheless killed them both on the spot, before quietly resuming her task of burying the necklace in the dirt-patch while praying silently without further interference.

Grace-Ann was horrified at what had happened, and more so to learn of the details.

"He didn't know! You killed him, and he didn't know! If it's that important–"

Amara turned on her quickly with a glare, and Grace-Ann checked herself hastily. If it was important?

"It is important," the mind-reader admitted, "but the boy was innocent–" Wrong phrase. She knew it was wrong the instant it dropped from her mouth, she was getting flustered under her murderous sister's intense gaze which signaled that her nerves were on a razor's edge. "He had nothing to do with it." Still wrong, and Amara's glare grew hotter. "It was just a necklace to him."

Sounds like you really pitied the boy. Maybe you don't feel sorry for our mama. Defend him, will you? But you won't defend her? Or anyone else from the tribe, just this kid, his father, all the soldiers? Oh, don't worry! The fingers will grow back! They'll grow back as if nothing ever happened. Just let the soldiers cut off what they want. Mine didn't grow back. Must be my fault. Her mental tone got even more quick and frigid, almost incoherent but still every bit as deadly serious. Maybe YOURS would grow back? Why don't we cut it off and see?

It was hard to argue with Amara, not so much when she was so intimidating, a deadly sociopathic warfighter with very little consideration for consequences, but also as her little sister who was also a victim of the senseless amalgamation war, and she made so much sense. Grace-Ann would never admit it, but she agreed with her. But the killing had to stop somewhere. Some people didn't ask for the war, and neither did their loved ones. They never participated in it, knew of its horrors, nor approved of any of the bloodsheds on both sides, regardless of which faction won or lost.

"The boy didn't know," Grace-Ann whispered.

Didn't he? You're going to tell me that you read his mind and he didn't know?

"I had to get the…" she paused, considering they were in public with people in earshot. "I had to find the evidence. Have you forgotten why we're here? There's a dangerous radical here." Grace-Ann whispered, "You didn't need to kill the boy." Close by, people in the line were confused by the one-sided conversation.

Amara looked thoughtful, pondering on some things that Grace-Ann only partially caught. She was tempted to dive for them, but the mind-reader was sure she'd be caught peering in.

The nerve of the child, wearing THAT around his neck and accusing me of stealing! And the mother. She was calm. Didn't mean to kill her, but if she's willing to die with him, I just let it happen. Maybe she knew. She could've thought that I would hesitate. Or she was confident that it would work out. Good luck. Good LUCK?! A finger in a piece of glass. That's all those things meant to them, our fingers, our lives! Good luck?! See where it got them? See what it got us?! Amara sighed. But look at you. You know something about this, don't you? I can tell. Grace-Ann was as quiet as Amara, externally. On the inside, she was raging, and afraid. You're invested in this, more than I am. You've never worried about your job. You could have this radical in chains as soon as they commit a crime… but they could be harmless. I just wanted to know what they were on about… just curiosity, mostly. But after I told you what they're after, you're all the more insistent that we catch them, and BEFORE they get what they want.

Grace-Ann said hotly, "It's my job to screen potential criminals and keep them out of Chess. One criminal is the same as any other. And if they can avoid my detection, we have to find them! We have to find out if there are others, too."

But you're so invested, staking your job, and you're even willing to break the law and falsify evidence –with a gun, no less! – just to find this one person; that's so unlike you. You know something, and I want to know too. You can tell me now, or you can tell me later. Your choice.

There was no telling her later. It was either confessing now, or she'd find out later. Neither would end well. She hesitated and in the end, Amara made the choice for her.

Fine, then. Amara looked like she had lost interest, but her sister knew that this was the farthest from the truth. In fact, she had a growing curiosity about what she knew, and Grace-Ann knew that this was already setting up for the worst-case scenario if she ever found out about Annie. You can tell me later when this radical finds who or what they're looking for. But for now, at least the guards have found what they've been looking for. As if prompted by some unknown signal, one of the said guards approached Grace-Ann to take the box from her and entered the train with it whilst another one called for everyone's attention, informing them that the weapon – evidence that the first guard had likely just planted – had been found in the dead woman's luggage. Everyone was moving like clockwork. Amara was in control and was using Grace-Ann's efforts for her own exoneration of the murder. It was an ironic twist, but Grace-Ann was upset.

The crisis was averted, the guards said, and all the passengers could now board the train. As morticians came to retrieve the corpses and an investigator who seemingly ignored all the damning eye-witness statements, Grace-Ann wondered whether or not she was complicit in the murder, partially responsible for all of the killings over the years as Amara went unchecked.

Annie wasn't very quiet, despite the immense distance; the mind-reader was conscious of always picking up on her loudest thinking whenever she was upset or feeling strong emotions, likely because she always had some sort of concern about the un-aging girl. Now, Annie was a bit loud, fervent about some white creature that had stolen her lunch basket just as she was locking her front door.

Amara asked, Suppose I'll come on the train then? I haven't been on it for a long time. Might as well take a break and see some of the country, Grace. We can catch up.

Bonding? No. Amara was tightening the screws, probably wanting to know what the mind-reader knew, trying to find out what she was hiding; it wasn't by forcing her, but by coercion with the effect of presence. Even if she was telling the truth, Grace-Ann didn't believe that any sort of bonding would lessen the divide between them. The mind-reader shied away when Amara stared at her keenly – she was afraid that Amara suspected that she had a flintlock pistol jammed down the front of her corset, almost two pounds extra underneath her breasts and weighing on her heart. Amara broke out into her large smile, that same good-natured grin with the missing incisor and looking like a diminished predator, but Grace-Ann only saw the blood spatter that she had neglected to wipe from her face.

Far away, Conon was thinking that the white thing was probably a parasite and that Annie should leave it alone in case it was dangerous. Annie was adamant that she ought to do something about the creature that had made off with their lunch.

Grace-Ann felt something in the air again, maybe pheromones or stance or just instinct, something that told her that Amara wanted to embrace her. Her younger sister, missing some pieces here and there, pieces of herself that were lost in the war, lost in the mines, lost while protecting a country that wasn't hers. Lost her parents, her friends, and her wedding finger. Lost her voice, and a lot of things since then. Grace-Ann was acutely aware that she was all her sister had left to lose, but couldn't bring herself to hug her, and not just for the sake of hiding her gun.

Amara made a face and walked away; she must've just become aware that she was opening herself up, the deadliest woman in Chess coming across as a little vulnerable girl wanting her sister's affection and reassurance.

Grace-Ann didn't have to remind herself that her sister minutes ago killed a mother and her child in cold blood just for wearing an heirloom of a Canopian soldier.

The crowd of refugees and Chess citizens that thronged the train station seemed oddly quiet. The mind-reader hadn't even noticed when they had fallen silent. As Amara boarded the train, they quietly filed in after her, as if completely forgetting that they had rebuffed her because of the murder only moments before.

There are more dangerous people than food-stealing parasites, Conon, Annie, she thought, wishing she could warn them, warn them of the radical that had no doubt entered the train, warn them of her deadly sister. Far more dangerous, and we're all coming to you.

The flintlock pistol still weighing on her chest, she entered the train, and Amara invited her for them to sit together in the front car.

=X=X=

---

It had been a long train ride, and Grace-Ann was certain that this was the longest it had ever been. Niederlande was coming up soon. How soon, Grace-Ann wondered out loud and perused the conductor's mind. He thought it would be in another half-hour. He was also still wondering how long he could avoid the primate ferals in the front car nearest the head of the train. It was empty except for the ferals, and people who could've been sitting there in the empty seats were instead standing uncomfortably in the other cars because they were afraid of the sisters, particularly the mute one who wielded a massive pole-axe.

Grace-Ann didn't feel sorry for them in the slightest. They had a choice in where they could be, but she was forced to sit next to her sister, with her sleeping head resting against the vibrating wooden wall just adjacent to the window. She had been eagerly looking out and conversing now and again throughout the journey up until fifteen minutes ago.

The mind-reader glanced at her sister's face. She still had the blood-stained across the shoulder of her tunic, neck, and cheek.

Maybe she got exhausted after all that murdering, she thought bitterly.

There was no way to defend it. No doubt at that moment, a nun was conducting the rites for a pauper burial of both bodies in a single casket, and the area at the train station was scrubbed clean. Any refugees who could've mourned the woman and child – possibly having known them – were here on the train with the killer, double-checking their valuables for anything offensive for fear of offending the woman in any way and paying for it with their lives.

And yet, sitting next to her sister, the killer whose face had gone soft with slumber, Grace-Ann felt sorry for her.

The train vibrated vehemently for a moment, but Amara didn't stir. She must've been tired. Maybe not, Grace-Ann reminded herself that Amara was right at home in the outdoors, living off the land, sleeping on grass or in trees. Dozing on a jarring train wouldn't disturb her. This wasn't a boon – the mind-reader counted it as a loss to be tallied with all of Amara's missing pieces. While Grace-Ann didn't consider herself as pampered, she couldn't ignore how much her sister had suffered throughout the years. She was so skilled now in battle, a warfighter and survivalist, able to take on a country with nothing but her bare hands and scavenge as she wore it down to shreds, but was still always made to lose something at some miserable point.

Fate worked out in strange ways. The soldiers thought it was luck, and massacred the primate ferals for it. On the other hand, the primate ferals believed that the goddesses were on their side and that any oppression was something that would ultimately turn around into their net benefit in the future, as all their tribulations usually did. Amara retained a lot of certainty in this traditional fidelity, that she was made to suffer sometimes because she was a martyr for the right cause. Grace-Ann had long ago learned the truth that the tribe had been completely wrong, it was something esoteric, amazing, and unbelievable.

She kept that to herself. Telling Amara the real workings behind their inherited gifts would only serve to make her upset.

Perhaps she had a right to be upset. Maybe, Grace-Ann thought, that she wasn't angry enough like her sister. Angry at the Renoir army for their genocidal extermination of the primate ferals, angry at how the soldiers pursued the last two almost to the gates of the Chess Kingdom itself, angry at how they had treated her sister. Annie threatened her again to keep quiet about her secret. Grace-Ann felt anger at the little privileged girl who was blessed with immortal youth and had the nerve to threaten a government official with a secret that was told to her in confidence. Anger at the girl who was the sole reason why the Renoirs were so capable of pushing their war against the territories, against the ferals, the reason why they all perished. Anger at the girl who was provided with so many welfares throughout her life, always fed, always clothed, always sleeping with a roof over her head.

Grace-Ann was fuming now. All the while when Annie was benefitting from the money gained from the rifle's invention, war was prevailing, the ferals being massacred for their fingers which were worn around the necks of the soldiers as a good luck charm. All the while, a holdout of parents were fighting off the soldiers long enough for their children to at least escape to the border of the kingdom, children that were being shot at and hunted like foxes. Of the two dozen that had taken off running through the woods in the dead of night amidst the flaring blooms of fifty rifles, more than a hundred miles later, only two girls had survived, one barely alive and being carried on the back of the other.

I never should have allowed you into Chess. You and your father, I fell for your stupid sob story. I don't care if you didn't know. I don't care if you were trying to take her away from the graveyards, away from the danger of the SkullHeart. I'll have you removed from Chess with the first chance I get, she vowed to herself. It's better for everyone that way.

Taking out a small handkerchief from her pocket whilst maneuvering the rifle bullet carefully to keep it inside, she licked a small corner of the fabric and started to clean her sister's face. The white cloth turned pink very readily but cleaned her skin easily enough. Moving to her neck where her smooth auburn furs were, the blood here was harder to spot but Grace-Ann wiped it clean as well. Though fully aware of it, the mind-reader didn't ignore the pale scar that split the furs across her neck when it had been ineptly cut by a soldier. Amara hadn't said a word since.

Annie was a hemophiliac once. She didn't have synchronicity. She would've surely died if she had gotten cut like this. Annie knew pain then, though, and's known pain since. That was undeniable; she was fully aware of how much suffering Annie had put herself through, both physically and mentally. Fights took a toll on her, and vexations and frustrations tried her to the point of self-destruction; she had even tried to wish her life away on the Skullheart. Too often, Annastasia was her own worst enemy, always ostracizing herself and blaming her existence for everyone's misery, and it was difficult for her or anyone else to convince her otherwise.

This was without synchronicity. If she had been a primate feral, everyone – Grace-Ann's parents, her uncle, even her sister – would say that she would have a bright future waiting as a reward for her past suffering.

The mind-reader sighed tiredly. She had thought it would be better to eject Annie from the kingdom, safer for everyone. But was it? Conon had convinced her that the Skullheart was after Annie and that it would be better for her to stay in Chess for her protection. But hardly a week after Annie had found the rock, it was as if the Heart itself had come for her.

She looked at her sleeping sister. Despite being a bit smaller than her, the woman was the strongest person she knew, undoubtedly the strongest alive on the entire continent, and that was even without fate on her side. She could protect Annie.

If she knew Annie's history, would she do it?

They could get along, sure. Amara could and would annihilate the radical in the blink of an eye. Annie would undoubtedly make friends with her, despite her flaws, her sociopathy, and her missing pieces. But the moment that Amara found out that the Van De Sterrens was the source of the Repeater Rifle, the force behind the genocide of everyone she'd cared about, she'd torture them both to death as slowly and agonizingly as possible with some kind of magic healer close by to make sure they didn't accidentally die of shock.

Grace-Ann was lost in thought, trying to think of her next move. Eventually coming to decide that she would have to protect Annie somehow on her own, the train finally started to slow down as it approached the station at Niederlande, and she cursed. She had to make her way quickly through the train and use some sort of means to arrest the radical. You mean to arrest the Skullheart itself, or some animal that works for it? she berated. I have to find someone whose mind I can't read. How the hell am I supposed to do that on a train with hundreds of people? The jarring motions of the applied brakes were enough to cause Amara to stir, but Satori found herself past caring. She'd already made up her mind to do the impossible without her sister's help.

So we've made it? We're here? Amara said in thought. Looks like a rural town trying too hard to be urban. Shouldn't there be some farms at least?

"Not from this lot," the mind-reader answered as she got up, "but past the hill, you'll see the other set of people who are farming."

Oh. One of those places. Let me guess. That other lot's stupid, so they farm. Grace-Ann wouldn't put it even half as bluntly as that, but it was partially accurate if one considered the gaps in education between the two castes. So, how long will the train stay before it heads back to the capital? Amara lifted her legs to lie across where her sister had been previously sitting so she could recline comfortably. I wouldn't mind stretching my legs for a bit– She paused suddenly, gaping through the window and pointed at the field of purple plants outside. Hey, look at that heather. Looks good enough to sleep on. I want to try. Want to come, Grace?

Grace-Ann wondered how a warfighter and an engineer – both well into their thirties – could come to the same senseless conclusion about wanting to lie on waist-high grass just because it looked thick.

"I'll have to decline." She looked away to the door leading to the other cabs down the train, and Amara folded her arms whilst still lying down on the seat.

You want to go after the radical? I already found them – it's a human woman. Suppose that narrows your list a bit, doesn't it?

"But you let them go?" Grace-Ann seethed.

I didn't approach them, she admitted, but like I said, you're so invested. Do you want me to show you where they are? Maybe make them come to you?

The mind-reader didn't answer. She would want this, but Amara knew that she disapproved of her powers; if Grace-Ann answered in the affirmative, it would tell her that she valued the radical's target far more highly than Chess Kingdom's rules and her personal values.

"No."

Hmm… that's a lie, isn't it? Amara asked while laughing without a sound. Grace-Ann almost winced but managed to keep her, just barely.

"It is what I want," she said slowly, "but I'll do it on my own. You've done enough as it is."

You're still upset about what I did? Her 'tone' was casual as if she'd done nothing but some petty annoyance. Grace-Ann could've been used to her outlandish behavior by now if her deeds weren't so barbaric from time to time, and she tried to oust the matter from her mind.

"You're the one who came to me about this person. I could've continued to do my job uninterrupted: I've got so much to do, reports, billings, requisitions, interviews, working resource management –"

And easily plead ignorance when this radical get what they want, maybe crucify some girl and carve out her heart, drag her intestines out of her while she's nailed to a cross, who knows? You could report that you didn't know. And if the government doesn't believe you, I'd MAKE them believe you. It doesn't have to be obvious, just a little suggestion. But you won't let me. You insist on doing everything yourself.

"I'd take your help if you weren't so unreliable, dangerous, unconscionable!"

Amara sat up as soon as she heard this, and to her credit, Grace-Ann didn't flinch away in fear that she had offended her, yet she shook visibly when the warfighter finally got up and approached her, afraid of what her reaction would be. Amara wasn't speaking in her mind as she usually did, but was trying to talk out loud. All that came out were stifled whispers that were barely interpretable, and she woefully gave up.

You're afraid of me? Why?

"Have you ever thought of anyone who could possibly beat you? Anyone that you couldn't outmaneuver? You're strong. The problem is that you have no conscience. You don't feel anything. Nothing. No one can stop you, no one can beat you. No one can argue with you. You take what you want, and kill everything else. Do you know what I think? You should've been dead a long time ago. You've reached your evolutionary dead end. You can't grow anymore, and your lack of morality makes you dangerous for everyone."

For the first time in a long time, Amara looked dismayed. What does that mean?

"That's your synchronicity. It's what the soldiers killed us for. The so-called good luck that we all inherited as primate ferals. Your fate. If you're the best at fighting and still manage to get hurt, it means that it's just the 'luck' keeping you alive and that you need to do something else. You need to stop, and reflect–"

I'm not listening to any more of this. I don't WANT to hear–

"Or what? You'll kill me to shut me up? You're going to cut me to pieces like that woman and her son?"

No! Of course not, Amara entreated, Why'd you even say such a thing? My own sister saying that I ought to have died–

"That's what I said, but you don't understand. You're like a dead person walking. I don't want you dead. I just want you to stop doing what you're doing!"

You want me to let the Gigans invade Chess?

"That's your interpretation. Your distraction. You're so eager to influence the Government to do whatever you force them to think, but you could've made them put you in another job post at any time. You just wanted to keep fighting." The train was slowing down even more, but instead of getting ready to disembark, Grace-Ann sat down again. "I'm not only afraid of you, but I'm afraid for you. But you're not. The abilities we have aren't invincibility, Amara. It's just a means for us to keep learning, and growing. But you've stopped. It's either because you refuse to learn, or that you've already learned everything you can. Our inheritance is all that's keeping you alive."

For a reason, I'm sure, Amara argued, I'm not dead for a reason.

She wouldn't understand, and she was refusing to, she was obstinate. "People do grow, Amara. They have hopes, dreams, fears, and nightmares. They love and hate. They consider the consequences of their actions, make plans, and react whenever they hit a stumbling block. They don't just stop and sleep whenever it suits them, wake up for the sake of getting up, eating the closest thing they can get their hands on. They always have something to look forward to, and things they try to keep behind them. But you don't."

And I suppose that you do? Amara thought bitterly. She sighed. I enjoyed talking with you this morning. It felt good seeing you again. I came all the way from the south, and it's like you didn't even want to see me. If killing those two spoiled your mood, then I do regret it. She glanced away. This girl that the radical is after? You care about her a lot, don't you?

"I care more about what happens to her, honestly. It's not just responsibility for a refugee, but she's also a friend. I think."

Amara threw her a look of voluminous impatience. You think?

"We had a rough argument," Grace-Ann answered, knowing that her reply sounded foolish, "she's Canopian, and she thinks I don't care about the refugees."

We know that's not true.

"Things could've been better."

Yes. They were both quiet for a while, the silence in the cabin being the only one prevailing while noise and excitement built up everywhere else. Some distance away, at the worksite, Annie was thinking that she heard the train, and wondering if the mind-reader was on board like she said she would be from the previous week.

"Yes I am, Annie," Grace-Ann whispered. "Yes, I am here."

Is that her name? Why'd you say that?

Grace-Ann didn't bother trying to dodge the question. "She's annoying. Sometimes. I can hear her at times, all the way back in the capital. Sometimes I answer – I know it's stupid, she can't hear – I don't mean to." Her tone was unsure.

Means you're always listening for her, doesn't it? Do you listen for me?

"I rarely do," she admitted.

Amara nodded. Musing on a previous point, she said, We were working in the coal mines. It was so dark. Lanterns down there were dangerous, and sometimes it was useless; the walls were so dark, it was as if they were sucking away all the light. We were digging out the coal, side by side, and then you got surprised, asked me why I said I was afraid of Chess keeping us down there to work in the dark. Naturally, I hadn't said a word.

Grace-Ann said, "I'd read your mind."

Yes. You could suddenly read minds, and mine was the first you heard. Then I felt like you were trying to figure out how to comfort me. I could read your intentions. I didn't want you concerned about it, so you just went back to work. I'd influenced you. I didn't realize.

"Was only a minute later when both powers combined," Grace-Ann muttered, "and we both shared the same powers. I could do everything that we do separately, and you could read minds just as well as I do."

It was the best feeling of my life. Grace, you were all that I had. Being united – she tapped her head – up here was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. We knew everything about one another, and knew everything for miles around us in the entire Kingdom. We could've done anything at that moment. We could speak and share where no one could reach us, where no one could hurt us.

"I was only happy to know that I could hear you again. I didn't care about how we got the power."

But now, you do. After it wore off and we split again, you could read minds, but I couldn't. You were left as the only one who could enter my mind at any time to know what I was thinking, how I was feeling. I couldn't do the same for you. All I knew about you was what you chose to share. But even so, I knew you were afraid of me, I always did. You were afraid that I could control people, make them do what I want them to do, and would make you act whatever I wanted you to do, and feel. I would never do that to you, Grace. No matter if I could make you love me as much as I do you, you're all I have.

There was a pricking feeling at Grace-Ann's mind, something signaling her. It was her sister's mind opening up, the impassive lake receding, and all the submerged events laid bare to see. People she had fought. Her favorite meals that she wished she could taste. Her last scream as the soldier trying to prevent her escape attempted to slit her throat. Gigans she had slaughtered when they tried to invade. The phantom pain from the stump on her half-tail. Her reflections if she'd ever find someone to share her life with, and having no left ring finger for them to adorn with a ring. Her love for her sister, and wondering if she was still loved in return. Her discovery of the glass jewelry around a child's neck. Examining it, the wrinkles on the joint, the shape of the nail, the disfiguring cut on the side incurred when the owner had been sharpening a machete. It had been their mother's thumb.

Under that was utter sadness for everything she'd lost, and currently wondering if she had already lost her sister.

But you have me, Grace-Ann tried to say mentally, all but verbally screaming it at her sister's mind hoping that she would hear, but it was as if it was hitting a concrete wall and falling flat. You have me. I love you, Amara.

It didn't work. She couldn't hear. Just as she had said, Amara only knew whatever her sister chose to share, and it was with the startling revelation that Grace-Ann realized that she hadn't told her so for years. As much as she scrutinized Amara's faults and was upset for being locked out, Grace-Ann had been even worse, and this was exacerbated by the fact that she was the one who could speak and read minds, and her sister couldn't.

The train finally screeched to a stop. People were starting to disembark, and no doubt that the radical had slipped out and was amongst them, making their way to the worksite, to Annie.

She said, "I love you, Amara, I really do. I only hate the choices you make, I hate how you carry yourself, the disparity and damage to your clothes – it's a mess, and I hate your work. But it'd never stop me from loving you. You're all I have too."

But I'm not all you have, am I? Amara answered. You still want to go after that girl. Can't we just spend the day together? We could go see the sights in this hick town, maybe climb that hill. I hear the sea isn't too far from here, we could go for a swim or… we could still go lie on that grass, eh? Her face was unusually coy. Don't make me go by myself.

"I can still care about other people," Grace-Ann accused. "And if you help me, I'll get Annie to go with you. It was all she talked about, lying on that damn grass you're fawning over."

Really? She can't be that bad after all. But I'd much prefer if it was just us, not some stranger I haven't even met yet. It was clear that she wasn't about to change her mind. Though most of the trepidation she had around her sister had already dissipated, Grace-Ann found it hard to convince her. She tried promising that they could go out for fun after they'd accosted the radical, and Amara still refused. You're so selfish, she whined.

"There are lives at stake and you want to lie in grass?! And you call me selfish?" Amara didn't answer and refused to budge. By now, the train was surely half-empty of passengers, and it was far too late to try mentally checking for the radical. It would have to be her final ditch-effort tactic, but the only thing left to do was to try to get to Annie first when the radical had a head start. How much did they know about the girl? They knew where she lived, that being her job posted in Niederlande. This was one week after she found the rock. They could know her exact location. Throwing the train doors open, Grace-Ann took off running onto the platform and beyond through the far gate, huffing like a madwoman as she hastened to the work-site.

As Amara watched her leave, she picked up on her sister's clear intents: find her, find her, find her now. Something was clearly important about this girl for her sister to be so extremely fixated on protecting her, especially given the fact that someone else's intentions sounded so much similar.