Celestial Subterranea, Part 4

A helocopter gunship

Wikipedia.org

A swarm of sleek, flat, polygonal helicopter gunships with powerful searchlights penetrating through the mountain brush with a search and destroy vehemence. He withdrew himself from looking at the oncoming dread and refocused on his companion who was steadily regaining consciousness. “#9!” he began, “we have to get moving now! They are coming for us! “ Upon this last utterance, the one referred to as “#9” quickened his pace, rising and removing his helmet, revealing an aesthetically pleasing face with a pale turquoise hue, eggplant colored eyes that shined big and bright like a female manga character, and short cropped purple hair like a Caucasian female rocker. It coughed thrice and vomited what appeared to be translucent chlorophyll before taking in a few virgin breaths of the pollution filled air of Neohades. It seemed a fit- ting reaction for a royal who had never set foot outside of the
antiseptic hive. However, even this reasonable observation and inference could not reveal the full truth of this odd fugitive couple sojourn on to such dangerous grounds. After shaking itself into awareness #9 asked, “Where are we? What?”… “ No time for that now,” said the tall young man in a stern tone. “We must go deep into the city where we can hide amongst the nice people I was telling you about.” At this point they disrobed from their flight travel suits and began guiding their way down the mountains and into the heart of the city tunnels, hand in hand, hoping not to be too keenly observed by the passing populous. “Cover your head very well, lest we be seen by the authorities,” said the young man. His companion followed the order briskly as they weaved through the subterranean entry point of the city. Prior to meeting the human guards at immigration, they pulled out a small remote control sized gadget and then the man pressed a button. That button then spread a membrane of light over them for just an instant. Then low and behold, the odd pair appeared to the naked eye as an Octogenarian Gaist monk with his young Black apprentice in rustic brown Dunlop cloaks and san- dals, bearing no load with them but a rucksack of leather bound holy texts. As they approached the checkpoint with its full screen body x-rays and four well- armed Ifrit the “old man” said, “Do not be afraid my child. I accessed the main- frame data of the field operatives and the station chief is a devout Gaist, at least pretender. Due to his ‘piety’ we
should be able to have at least a 70 per- cent chance of scaling through.”

(to be continued)

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