Still moving, rolling down and up and up and the dark the lights the the- Ker, where are you? Ker! We need to level off we're spiraling twisting need control Ker hurry hurry WHERE ARE YOU KER?

It stopped we're stopped Ker we're fine gravity I feel gravity KER!! Where are you where are we what planet you're the navigator dammit where where- what is this you're leaking Ker don't leak don't die no no NO NO NO KER!

______________

So sensors show this planet as seventy percent water, and we just had to crash in a damned desert, Eri thought as it climbed out of the crater made by its ship. It extended a pseudopod to try to collect some moisture from the atmosphere - nothing. Dammit.

Eri trudged back to the ship. The water stores were nearly empty - microasteroids and inadequate shielding had taken care of that - and whatever moisture that was in the ventilation system was dissipating into this hellish environment faster than the speed of light. But there was still some water-

No! Ker deserves better than that! Eri slumped in the meager shade provided by the wreckage. It could just die right here, and that would be just fine. It was alone on an alien world with no water and no food. Eri closed in on itself, gathering its membrane into a sphere. A smaller surface area would help to conserve water lost by evaporation, but not by much.

The bright, young sun burned its way across the sky. A hot breeze stirred up the sand, bringing with it a strange assortment of odors. Eri perked up and extended a pseudopod, hoping to find a hint of a stream or watering hole in the wind. Instead, there was the unmistakable smell of organic tissue.

Mindful of the sharp rocks scattered across the landscape, Eri climbed back out of the crater and oozed over the sun-baked earth. It probed its surroundings and found more life than it ever thought possible in a waterless wasteland. It stopped to examine a large plant encased in a thick, waxy skin. It could sense the water inside, but the plant was covered in short spines that would surely poke through its membrane no matter how careful it was. Eri moved on.

There were organics everywhere, it realized. Plants covered in barbs, multi-legged animals hiding in shadows and burrows, scaly animals that rattled, lunged, and narrowly missed tearing through Eri's fragile outer membrane. Desert life tends to evolve scarily efficient methods of self-preservation with which an injured alien used to being pampered by technology and readily available food cannot compete.

I'm going to die here. The thought stopped it cold. It had always known that death was a possibility; space travel is exceedingly dangerous, claiming thousands of lives a year. But Eri had never felt so vulnerable as it did now. Even right after the crash, after finding Ker dead, there was still the tiniest hope that survival was possible.

Eri let its membrane soften in the sunlight. The desert air leeched the moisture from its body and carried it away on the breeze. Take it, Eri thought. Take it all. Give it to the plants or the clouds. I don't need it anymore. Eri let its consciousness ebb.

Darkness was coming.

And then Eri heard a sound.

______________

It was animal, nearer to death than Eri was. It was a vertebrate, and a technologically advanced one at that; it wore manufactured fabrics and carried objects cast out of metal. Another vertebrate stood nearby. It was clearly a different species, and it was decked out in what appeared to be riding gear.

Eri reached out a pseudopod and began to examine the first animal. It rummaged through what it remembered of its biology and exobiology classes. From what it could tell, the animal was wounded in the worst place possible. Its head was bloodied, most likely from a collision with a nearby rock. Eri felt a twinge of guilt as it realized the animal's mount had probably thrown it after being frightened by a large, metallic object screeching across the sky and smashing into the ground. A piece of the animal's head was missing, revealing a mass of soft, pink tissue - neural tissue, Eri deduced. There was nothing it could do to help. However, the animal probably knew where there was water; Eri shuddered and plunged its pseudopod into the crevasses of the animal's brain.

The damage was extensive, but there was enough synaptic activity that Eri was able to absorb flashes of the man's life. It couldn't find any information on water, but apparently there was a town not too far away by the name of Tombstone. That would have been good news, but this species believed itself to be alone in the universe, and a giant amoeba-like blob oozing into town would start a massive panic, and he'd be more likely to be killed than get help. There was only one option left.

The man, whose name was William Carter, by the way, died soon after Eri met him. Eri grieved for the loss of this life, then set about becoming him.

______________

Eri gripped the reins and pulled its - no, his - newly solid frame into the saddle. The transformation had nearly done him in. He should have ingested this William Carter for nourishment. A body is just a body, after all, and this one was most assuredly food for the desert scavengers anyway. But it felt wrong, just as he couldn't bring himself to absorb the moisture from his dead navigator. It was not necessary, Eri concluded, since the horse would be the one walking to town with him perched on top like a sack of grain. And so he nudged the horse into a walk, and William Carter's memories led them to Tombstone.

It was dusk when they reached Tombstone. The town wasn't large by any definition, yet all the empty buildings made it seem bigger than it should be. William Carter's memories shouted out something about silver mines going bust after the shafts penetrated the water table. Lucky silver, Eri thought, and his virgin vocal cords sputtered out a laugh. With Carter's help, Eri aimed the horse down Allen Street and hoped for the best.

______________

"Sir, he's back!"

Sheriff Slaughter looked up from his cards and glared at young Burt Alford. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of somethin' here, boy?"

"It's Carter, sir. He just rode into town." Burt sighed. "Did you hear me? William Carter's back!"

"I heard you, boy." Slaughter threw down his cards. "Full house. See that? You hadn't burst in here, I'da cleaned up. Apologies, gentlemen. Time to go to work."

______________

"Water- need thirst- I- I am thirst- need water-" Eri pushed the unfamiliar syllables out of his throat. He lay on the ground, although he'd be lying if he said he knew how he got there. People milled about, looking at him and whispering to each other, but none made a move to help him. Finally, a man with a star on his chest pushed through the crowd and knelt by his side. Fear welled up from the part of him that was William Carter.

"Son of a gun." The man spat without bothering to aim away from Eri. "Burt, get this man some water. I want him healthy before I shoot him. William Carter, you are under arrest for the murders of John McIlroy and his boy James." The sheriff grinned. "Welcome home, Billy!"

Althea looked out the portal at the intense blue of the Caribbean Sea. She was sure that she ought to be happy, or at least excited, but she missed her friends back in London. Althea gave a deep sigh and pasted a smile on her face. Her uncle was a great believer in cheerfulness in the face of adversity. This might not be adversity she thought to herself, but being so close to the legendary treasure of Captain Mossbeard was an achievement deserving of a smile.

She spun the wheel to unlock her door and carefully stepped through the hatch. She dogged the hatch behind her and made her way up the hall to the Bridge. It still bothered her that the seamen in blue would stop and stand against the wall to let her pass. Her uncle had explained that giving her the rank of midshipman meant she had the respect of the men without needing to stand watches. She wasn't sure respect was the right word to describe what the men felt toward her. Resentment perhaps, resignation certainly.

"Ah, Althea," her uncle called from the bridge, "there you are. We're almost ready." He was dressed in a uniform that was more gold braid than fabric, but then the inventor and captain of such a fine submarine could wear whatever he pleased. Msgr. Verne might write about such a craft but her Uncle Oswald Slacker had made it real.

"I'm not sure what to bring on such an adventure," Althea said, "I've never been treasure hunting before."

"No mind, no mind," her uncle said, "The bosun will get one of the men to put together a kit for you." She restrained a wince and just nodded. Another man who would mutter under his breath at the Captain's spoiled niece.

"Come here and look at the map again," he waved her over to a table covered with paper. An old brown parchment held pride of place, preserved carefully beneath glass. Althea peered at the map and wiped a smear from the glass. It seemed perfectly clear to her, but the others found it a complete mystery. It was the fault of this wretched parchment that she was here instead of practising her plies at Mme. Ashfield's Ballet Academy.

"It still says the same thing, Uncle." Althea said, "The symbols form a mathematical function which give a longitude and latitude of 14.43468,-75.313111."

"Are you sure you haven't reversed them?"

"Well since the reversed coordinates would put us somewhere in Antarctica, I am reasonably certain that the order is correct. That island is the final proof that we are in the right place. I'm as sure of your navigation as you are of my mathematical ability."

"But I don't understand how you can read it," her uncle glared at the map as if it were a personal affront that he couldn't immediately comprehend the complex lines and symbols that skittered across the paper.

"Uncle," Althea tried to explain yet again, "each line is its own equation. The solution to the equations is the latitude and longitude."

"I don't see any mathematical symbols."

"It is a matrix, Uncle. The symbols are implied."

"If you say so, dear."

"It is why you have brought me on this voyage."

Her uncle fired her a look that had made seasoned sailors pale and tremble. Althea tried not to sigh. Her uncle hated sighing.

"Bosun, organize a landing party," her uncle ordered. "I want to be on that island within the hour."

"Captain," Mr. Crumpest, the first mate spoke up. "I must again register my disapproval of the girl landing on the island. There is no telling what you will find there. Someone of her delicate gender should not be exposed to danger."

Althea found the first mate's protectiveness even more annoying than her uncle's doubts. She heard him puffing after only a couple of trips up and down the ladders to the conning tower. She bit her lip and kept the sharp retort behind her teeth. No matter how irritating he might be, he was her superior officer.

"Disapproval noted," Captain Slacker snapped and glared at his mate. Mr. Crumpest turned just a little pale and nodded. "Bosun, where's my landing party?"

"We are ready at the boats, Sir. The middy's kit is in the boat." It took Althea a moment to remember the she was the middy; the only other officer on the submarine besides her uncle and the first mate. She hadn't figured out whether the bosun approved or not.

"You have the bridge," Captain Slacker said to his mate.

"I have the bridge, Sir." Mr Crumpest saluted. Althea thought he glared at her. It was hard to tell, the mate's glare was not nearly the magnitude of her uncle's.

Althea walked easily down the gangway to sit herself at the back of the boat. Her uncle sat beside her and they pushed off. Four other men crouched in the boat while others rowed easily to the nearby beach.

"With your permission, the boat will stand off the beach while you explore."

"Good idea," Captain Slacker said. "I expect to be back by nightfall. If I am not, fall back to the ship and await a signal."

"Very good, Sir."

Althea was so happy to be back on solid ground that she did a couple of pirouettes a and some jumps.

"If you are quite ready?" Her uncle's voice held that tone that promised yet another lecture on maintaining the dignity of an officer. Althea didn't care. She could move again. No close bulkheads or awkward hatches here. Her smile was genuine as she followed her uncle and the men up the beach. One of the men waited for her to walk in front of him. He gave her a wink as she passed.

They walked silently as Captain Slacker looked carefully at a compass. They came to a break in the wall of the jungle and he looked back with her and nodded before leading them under the green canopy.
The jungle was almost as close as being back in the ship, but instead of oil and grease, Althea smelled exotic flowers and instead of the thump of the powerful steam engine she heard the calls of birds. She skipped and jumped over the fallen trees on the path, and once, when her uncle wasn't watching, spun a pirouette.

Soon however the novelty of being on land and surrounded by green gave way to irritation at the bugs and sticky heat of the jungle. Althea took a long drink from her water bottle. They walked on for hours before they reached a small clearing with a flat stone in the centre. It was so covered in vines that she could only catch glimpses of the stone through them.

"Sit and rest, while I take a reading," Captain Slacker said. He put down his pack and pulled out a sextant and began muttering to himself while he figured angles and times. The men threw themselves to the ground, but without exchanging any words they made sure that they could see all parts of the clearing. Finally Althea couldn't stand her uncle's muttering any more.

"Perhaps, if I could have a try?" she said, "I need practice with the sextant, and you can correct me later."

"Fine," her uncle grunted, "here."

Althea closed her eyes and imagined where they were on the globe. Her uncle could get them to the island, but the coordinates from the map described a spot on the earth within inches. Carefully she stood on the stone and faced the sun. She could just see it twinkling through the green of the jungle leaves.

"What time is it?"

"It is going 4:34 in the evening Greenwich Mean Time," her uncle said.

"Thanks," Althea said, and let her internal vision point her toward where the sun ought to be if they were were she thought they were. She let her fingers set the angle for the sighting and lifted the sextant to her eye. When she opened her eyes the sun was exactly where it was supposed to be.

"We're here," she said and jumped down from the rock.

"Where exactly is here?" one of the men muttered and the Captain glared at him.

Althea ignored him and began pulling the vines from the rock. The man who had winked at her came over and helped. The other two shrugged and one helped with the vines while the others kept watch. As the vines came away she could see symbols.

"Another matrix, dear?"

"I don't think so." Althea walked around the stone and thought about what the marks on the stone meant. "I think they are geometric. You," she pointed at the sailor who had muttered at her. "go stand there." She pointed to a spot in the clearing. He walked over and stood where she placed him. She placed all the men, including her father. "Points on a graph," she muttered under her breath, so the next point in line will be over here. She walked to the edge of the clearing and found a stone. "Follow me," she called and headed into the jungle.

Walking through the jungle was much different than walking on the path. She was bending and weaving through tangles and thickets while she was trying to keep a look out for the next stone marker. She missed one and had to backtrack, but eventually she led them to a rock face. A black crack split the rock from top to bottom.

"I hope we don't have to climb that," one of the men said, "I don't like heights."

"A sailor who doesn't like heights?" another said.

"Why do you think I serve on a submarine?"

"We don't go up," Althea said, "We go in." She walked up to the entrance. "But we need light."

"Shouldn't be a problem," her uncle said, "I have a light here." He pulled a contraption out of his pack and cranked a handle on one side. The end began to glow. Althea nodded and slid into the crack followed by her uncle. Two of the men followed while two watched the jungle.

The crack quickly became a cave with a sand floor and walls that had been smoothed by tools. They came to a split and Althea went left. At the next she went right.

"How are you choosing?" her uncle asked.

"Prime numbers," she answered, "the series started out in the jungle."

"What's a prime number?"

"Later," she said. She could almost hear her uncle's frown, but she was too busy for polite explanations.

The tunnel ended in a round room with a hole in the floor.

"Can we get light down there?" she asked.

"Sure," her uncle handed his light to one of the men who cranked it vigorously. Captain Slacker pulled a stick from his bag and shook it. It gave a sickly green glow and he dropped it down the hole. It showed a large room paved with different coloured stone. Althea looked at the stones.

"Fibonacci," she said, "I need to get down there."

"Fibo who?" asked the man without the light.

"Not until one of the men checks it first," her uncle said.

"If they go down, they could collapse the floor," she said, "There's a pattern that we need to follow."

"We could put a rope on her," the other man said.

"Do it."

Althea soon found herself standing in the room. She put the light stick in her waist. "One, one, two, three, five, eight..." As she spoke each number she stepped, then jumped the same number of stones. It became a dance as she let the rope take more of her weight and moved faster. She spiralled through the room until she reached a new tunnel.

"Wait a moment," she called and walked down the short tunnel.

"Well?" demanded her uncle.

"Let's just say," she called back. She looked in wonder at a huge room full of gold; lit from by sunlight from an opening far above. "you are going to be able to buy me a lot of dance lessons!"

“Just one word, I’ve just got one word to say to you… steam.”

“Thank you Mr. Coen.” Like his beloved steam, I slipped through the opening in his conversation to escape Mr. Coen’s clutches, only to have another of my father’s colleagues pull me into his orbit.

“Ah, our young Mr. Gandry. Shant be calling you little Neville any longer now. Congratulations on your recent matriculation.”

“Thank you Mr. James.”

“So what shall you be pursuing now? I hear that your father has already planned to leave the family law firm to your brother Winston.”

“Yes Mr. James.”

“Were I to be so bold to suggest, you should seriously consider this airship business, a young gentleman of your intelligence should stop that German fellow from getting one first. What’s his name… oh blast it all… Zep-something.”

“Zeppelin. Thank you Mr. James.” I didn’t let him get in another word, deftly maneuvering away before he could strike at me again with his scathing advice.

This time I was able to elude the many masses of milling industrialists and find a small degree of solitude outside on the balcony. I looked out over the Thames, towards parliament and Big Ben, who was drawing his breath before having to strike twelve. Leaning backwards against the cool, cast iron railing, I pulled a cigarette and matches out of my jacket and lit up. I had received no less than seven pipes from various friends and relatives this past week, but they were all still in their boxes. Many of the givers were here at this party. I peered through the glass doors at their gaiety. It was a whole different world in there.

Ding.

Their expensive pipes and fine tobacco.

Ding.

Snifters of brandy in their right hands.

Ding.

Finely dressed wives to their left.

Ding.

Three piece suits and gold watches.

Ding.

Silk ties and leather shoes.

Ding.

Oiled mustachios.

Ding.

A lifetime of absolute etiquette.

Ding.

Of socially tempered opulence.

Ding.

They all had different advice for me.

Ding.

But in the end, it was the same.

Ding.

They knew I should have their life.

Ding.

But did any of them know me?

I finished my cigarette, but hesitated at entering again. The night air had a definite chill which seemed welcome compared to the warmth of the crowd. Besides, it was now past midnight; something about the clock striking twelve made gentlemen turn from thoughts of business to thoughts of marrying off their daughters. But, I suppose, with them, marriage was just another business proposition. I saw the gleam in their eyes; it was so obvious that they might as well have been salivating over the prospect of marrying their daughter into the Gandry family. Legal advisors to several members of the royal family, most prestigious legal firm in the nation, even as the lesser of two sons I was quite the prize.

Ah, Winston. I couldn’t actually see him through the crowd, but it was easy to tell where he was by the way the throng congregated around him. He had an even stronger gravitational force than our father. He had always been meant for this sort of life. Born to finesse and be courteous really. When he was merely seven, he caught my mother with an elbow on the table during dinner one night and refused to talk to her for a month. Our father had reserved a spot for him in Oxford to study law by the time he was eleven. Winston was the supreme manifestation of the life our father wanted for us, and he absolutely reveled in it.

And they all wanted me to be the same. In fact, largely due to my ability to act and avoid questions, most of them thought I was the same. Certainly not as good at it as Winston, but nevertheless the same. But I am unequivocally not.

If only I were so certain as to who I actually was.

I pulled open the door and reentered the fray. It was a matter of moments before I was attacked by a pair of coattails.

“Ah Mr. Gandry, congratulations on your graduation, I hear you did quite well.”

“Thank you Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m sure you’ll do quite fine in whatever you choose to do. Have you met my daughter Lorraine before? She just went to go fetch me another drink. Ah, there she is.”

She was indeed a striking girl, but in an entirely un-striking sort of way. Her curled hair piled on top of her head perfectly accentuated her plump face, the way every other girl at the party kept it. Blue eyes stood out like beacons around a carefully powdered nose, much like the other faces around me. “Miss Barnes,” I said, tenderly pulling her gloved hand to my lips but not actually kissing.

“I’ll leave you two to become acquainted, thank you for the drink dear.” Mr. Barnes took his leave of us.

I was well practiced in the art of avoiding conversations, but hadn’t quite grasped the trick to escaping the introduction to a daughter. We looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments.

She broke the silence, remarking “I hear you did quite well at Oxford, Mr. Gandry.”

“Yes.”

“Did you study law like your brother?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She suddenly seemed slightly less interested in me, yet also curious and confused since that was the degree of choice for most gentlemen, and therefore, most everybody she ever met. “So what did you study?”

“I’m not sure either,” I said, honestly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” I took advantage of a current in the crowd and jumped in, letting it carry me away. As I drifted, I chided myself for the poor form of my retreat. It’s not that I particularly care to be accepted by these people, but the rumors even a little deviation causes aren’t worth the trouble. Lorraine would tell another girl that I was a tad strange, that girl would pass it forward, as would the next girl, and somewhere along the line an implausible story would be attached to explain exactly why I was a tad strange. Eventually it would reach the ears of my mother, who would make my life miserable with veiled questions revolving around the implausible story. Since I wouldn’t know what the rumor was, I wouldn’t be able to act my way out of it, so her suspicions would be confirmed, she’d consult my father, and I’d have yet another painful conference with him in his study. 'Neville, my son,' he’d always start, sigh a little, take a sip of his brandy, then begin a long moralizing sermon about some virtue of gentlemanly conduct or another. I wouldn’t mind so much, but I’ve never actually been able to find out the exact nature of any of these implausible stories that have been attributed to me.

A top hat pulled me out of my reverie, saying, “Mr. Gandry, must feel good to graduate and begin moving on with life.”

“Yes, Mr. Chapman.”

“You should consider the India trade, we could always use more decent, urbane men such as yourself to civilize that colony. It’s remarkable how much the natives change after even modest exposure to good, British society.”

“Of course, Mr. Chapman.”

He leaned in closer, “Have you met my daughter Angelica? I shall have to introduce you.” His head swept side to side searching for his quarry. “Ah, just over there, do wait here a moment, I will summon her over.”

I was still contemplating whether I would be able to disappear before he could return without causing a fuss or not when her brown eyes took my breath away.

Mr. Chapman was leading his daughter back towards me, but it was not Angelica who caught my attention, but rather her handmaid. Black hair cascaded down around a thin face, which was brown like a polished wood. A large, hooked nose stuck out prominently. She was beautiful without even a touch of powder or paint. But what caught me was that single instant she looked up at me and our eyes met. I had never seen such… such… dismissal, distain, disinterest in my life. She had looked at the exterior I used to blend in with this crowd, smiled slightly thinking she had learned all she ever needed to know about me, and had put me out of her mind.

I had missed Mr. Chapman introducing Angelica to me entirely, hadn’t even noticed that he had left. I took Angelica’s gloved hand and kissed it politely. She was talking to me, but I wasn’t exactly sure what she was saying. This Indian girl next to her had completely filled my mind. I wanted to show her that I wasn’t what she thought I was. Angelica was asking me about my schooling, so I jumped on this opportunity.

“I didn’t study anything, really,” I said, talking to the enchanting girl next to Angelica while looking at Angelica’s face, “I graduated with a degree in nothing. Instead I just studied everything I felt like. I had four different professors thinking I was their protégé. Chemistry, biology, history, philosophy, I studied them all. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I had studied law like my father.”

“Oh,” Angelica replied. “Oh…”

“I never found what I was looking for there, all I knew was that I needed to get away from here. From this life. I’m still looking.” My eyes strayed involuntarily to the handmaid. I needed to know her name. I devised a quick plan. I drained my glass, eyes nearly watering from the way it burned going down my throat. “Excuse me, Angelica, could you send your girl to fetch me another glass?”

“Absolutely. Rashmi,” she said, indicating my glass. So her name was Rashmi. She took the glass from my hands.

As Rashmi was walking away, I watched her seductive hips sway, her simple robe accentuating each curve in a way the most perfectly tailored dress never could. But, I realized, I wasn’t attracted to her. Beautiful as she was, I wasn’t interested in her body, only to reverse that distain, to prove I was something different.

Angelica kept talking at me, and I had a lifetime of schooling on how to nod and agree while not actually paying attention to the content of a conversation, but I was busy in my own mind. What was I proving by telling this Indian servant who I wanted to be? Was this courage? Rashmi came back with the drinks in her hands, never looking me in the eyes, though I could swear she was grinning just slightly. No, I had to prove myself some other way, not for a girl’s sake, but for my own.

I stood up to take the glass from Rashmi’s hand, and in one motion taking that bare, work-worn hand and bringing it to my lips for an authentic show of affection. “Thank you, Rashmi.” Angelica looked shocked beyond comprehension. Rashmi looked similarly confused, but she was most certainly grinning. Maybe she understood. It didn’t really matter. I tipped my hat to the bewildered Angelica and took my leave of them.

Plowing through the crowd I found the man I wanted to speak to. “Mr. Coen, salutations again.”

“Ah, Mr. Gandry, a pleasure.”

“Steam, it’s usually used in only very large machines, is it not?”

“Spot on, unfortunately, not economical to put it in anything but large generators and trains as yet.”

“Were I to find a way to make it smaller, what could one power with it?”

“Why, I’d say, anything, Mr. Gandry.”

“Exactly, Mr. Coen. Exactly.”

Lily looked down at the floor in disgrace.

"My dear, this just will not do. Your poor mother would turn in her grave if she saw such tardy needlework."

Mrs. Appleton proceeded to take out her scissors and set about unpicking Lily's hard work.

The sound of hooves and wheels on the cobbled stones announced the arrival of a carriage in the courtyard below. Lily's demeanour changed as she twirled across the drawing room and flung open the window.

"It is Samuel home from boarding school, I must go at once to greet him." Lily did not wait for an answer from her governess before continuing her balletic pathway to the door.

Mrs. Appleton looked up for a moment before returning to the task of dissecting the piece of needlework before her. She had been Lily's governess for the last eleven years and was still no closer to making her into a lady.

Samuel alighted from his carriage to be greeted enthusiastically by his sister.

"I have missed you my dear brother, you could not believe how intolerable Mrs. Appleton has become."

Lily pulled a heavy travelling case from the carriage before dancing across the courtyard. Samuel instructed the footman to bring the rest of his luggage to the house before following his sister through the heavy oak front doors into the atrium.

"Is father home yet?" Samuel inquired.

"He is due back from Oxford before sundown. Aunt Maude has arranged a dinner party this evening."

Samuel groaned out loud, he certainly did not share his sister’s enthusiasm for social events.

"Cousin Richard will accompany my singing on the pianoforte, and Aunt Maude has promised that I may dance also," Lily enthused.

Servants bustled around quickly removing Samuel's luggage to his room before preparing tea and cakes. Before long the couple were sitting on the terrace overlooking the gardens discussing the events that had passed since Samuel had been away. When they had both exhausted every piece of news, conversation returned to the dinner party.

"Which poor man has Aunt Maude invited this time to be your potential suitor?"

Samuel knew that it was indeed their aunt's intent to have Lily married to a rich nobleman before she turned twenty. After the death of their mother, Lily and Samuel's spinster paternal aunt had taken the children under her wing, and it was she who took responsibility for their upbringing.

"Everyone we know will be coming, and some that we don't. It will surely be the social event of the season. Aunt has even invited Mr. Lambert, your old tutor, she insists that you show off your mathematical skills for father and the other Oxford professors."

Samuel's dread of the evening's proceedings suddenly increased tenfold.

"And which skills may these be? Neither do I want, nor am I good enough to be a mathematician."

"Why do you not tell him so?"

"I have tried. It was only the end of last semester when I spoke to father of my desire to become a member of the clergy. He laughed and replied that there in no need for mathematics in the church. If I do not follow in his footsteps I will always be a failure in father's eyes."

"You are not alone, brother. I too feel both father and Aunt Maude's expectations weighing heavily on my shoulders. My desire is to become a dancer, but father says it is no profession for a lady. They insist that I learn needlework skills and deportment and etiquette. These are the skills that a good man will look for in a wife. Maybe I do not want to marry, maybe I shall run away and join the ballet."

Samuel began to regret complaining about his career prospects when he knew his sister's were considerably more limited than his own.

The two parted company to make preparations for the arrival of their father and for the evening's proceedings. Lily tried on all of her dresses in an attempt to choose the perfect outfit while Samuel pulled 'Principles of Mathematics' from his travelling case for some last minute revision.

Albert Butler arrived at Marlow House after a long arduous journey from Oxford. He was greeted enthusiastically by his twin sixteen-year-old son and daughter. Albert felt guilty that he did not see his children often enough, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that his sister, Maude, thought of them as her own children, meaning he could continue his work as a Mathematics professor, a role which he was passionate about and which provided the financial security required to send Samuel to the best school in the country and give Lily the best chance at marriage within the highest social echelons. After Samuel and Lily had opened the gifts their father had brought for them, Albert retired to his study.

Maude Butler opened the front doors wide. Along the gas light driveway the carriages made their way to Marlow House. She had an unfamiliar feeling of trepidation. Tonight was the ideal opportunity to find a suitor for her niece of the right social class. What made Maude nervous was Lily's unpredictability. To this end she had made a deal with her niece; if she promised to deport herself as a lady should in return she would be allowed to showcase her dancing talent, she prayed that this would not deter potential suitors.

Lily was introduced to each of the guests. Maude took more time when introducing her to any eligible bachelors of the correct social standing. Samuel, in the meantime, found himself in the company of the son of one of his father's colleagues. William Lyon was a few years older and unlike Samuel had a great desire to follow in his father's footsteps and hence had just finished his first year of the study of Mathematics at Cambridge University.

"Sam, my good fellow." William slapped Samuel on the back. "Your aunt tells me you are going to be showing of your mathematics later. Good stuff."

"She tells me the same thing," Samuel stuttered, trying his best to hide the nerves he was feeling.

"Where may I ask is your sister? Surely the lovely Lily is here."

"Aunt Maude is trying to find her a husband," replied Samuel pointing to his sister.

"Surely that is not Lily, she has grown into a very beautiful young lady, you say she is looking for a husband?"

Just then the bell rang for dinner. Albert sat at the head for the beautifully carved table, his children at his side. Maude had ensured that the man she felt was the most worthy to marry her niece was accordingly placed next to her while Maude herself was seated next to Samuel. Maude kept a close eye on Lily throughout the proceedings.

After dinner the guests were lead into the ballroom where Lily performed several songs accompanied by her cousin on the pianoforte to the great delight of all. In Maude's eyes she acted like a perfect lady. The announcement that Lily Butler would now be performing a dance to the music of 'Swan Lake' was met by considerable mutterings from the older guests and great intrigue from the younger ones.

At the end of her performance all would have agreed that Lily was certainly a very accomplished dancer, she would not have looked out of place in the theatres of London or Paris. Both Albert and Maude brimmed with pride when guests congratulated Lily on her performance, Albert took the credit for introducing his daughter to the art of ballet when in 1882 as a ten-year-old he had taken her to see 'Swan Lake' at the Bolshoy Theatre during their trip to Moscow.

After the majority of the guests had left the family and selected guests retired to the drawing room.

"The time has come for my nephew to show his talents, may I introduce Samuel Butler and Mr. Henry Lambert."

The small gathering began to applaud.

"We shall begin with some simple arithmetic," Mr. Lambert announced. "Samuel, what is nine multiplied by sixteen?"

Samuel thought for a moment before answering, "144."

"Correct. What is 26 multiplied by 39?"

Samuel felt his heart beating faster, he quickly calculated, "One thousand…" He looked towards Lily, "and fourteen." He could see his sister nod.

"Correct."

The questions got harder and harder and Samuel began to struggle with the calculations. Each time he looked to Lily for confirmation.

To Samuel's relief he answered the final question correctly. He could see his father applauding loudly.

Albert Butler knew his son disliked mathematics, but was convinced that he would have inherited the talent from him and this impressive display had confirmed his theory. With pride he introduced his son to one of his colleagues.

"You have met Professor Lyon and his son, William."

"Yes, I have had the pleasure of their acquaintance."

"That was an impressive display," Professor Lyon congratulated him.

"For sure it was," William added, "Professor Butler, you are fortunate that both of your children have inherited your abilities."

Albert laughed. "You must never have seen me dance."

"It is not Lily's dancing prowess of which I speak, but of her talent for mathematics."

Both professors looked confused.

"Did you not see that Lily calculated the answer to each question, and even more quickly than I could?"

"It is true," Samuel confirmed.

There had not been many times that Albert Butler had been lost for words, but this was one. There followed a detailed interrogation of Lily's ability, only Samuel was not surprised by the results.

"Lily, you have an amazing talent," her father began, "how have you learned these skills?"

"Just from listening to Samuel and Mr. Lambert and reading your books in the library father."

"I will need to speak to Mr. Lambert, but I am sure that he will tutor you."

"Father, I may be able to do calculations, but I want to dance, I would like to study ballet, not mathematics."

Lily thought to herself, "at least now Samuel may be free to join the clergy."

Emmeline’s breath shimmered in the singular beam of moonlight which penetrated the remains of the underground tube station; a light breeze fanned her auburn hair in the gloom. She said nothing but stared at the precious item she held like a whisper in her hand. Eliwick, stricken with grief, withdrew into the shadows.

Emmeline gathered her thoughts, strengthened her resolve and turned to leave. She had fallen into that four letter word that begins with an “L” and inevitably ends in despair.

“Goodbye Eliwick” she said softly, her words echoing around the broken chamber.

Eliwick started to cry out but before he could muster a response she had scrambled back up through the hole in the debris through which she had entered. He returned to his makeshift seat in the darkness and ruminated on their fateful meeting just a month ago.

Whilst on a survey mission studying the current conflict on Earth his ship had been hit by a stray German V2 missile somewhere high above the Essex countryside, unconscious he had crash landed into the East London tube station he now sat. The locals, war weary and accustomed to such catastrophic events, were oblivious to the unusual nature of the craft that had been buried deep under the rubble. There he had lain for three days, broken and bleeding until finally he had heard someone approaching. At first he had become frightened, knowing little of the human condition other than their propensity for war which he had been studying. He had cowered in the seat of his ship, peering through the shattered windshield. But instead of a savage warrior at the window came the face of a tender young human, not more than 20 years old, fair in complexion wearing what he recognised as a nurses uniform. She had gasped as she saw him lying there too weak to move, his unrecognisable uniform, strange to her eyes, torn and blood stained. But instead of retreating in horror she had helped him out of the ship, bound his wounds and put a splint on what she realised was a broken leg.

From then on she had visited him every evening. She brought him an amazing, rejuvenating elixir which he later learned was the water which was in such abundance on the planet, as well as solid foodstuffs which he had no use for but ate anyway to placate her insistent requests. As he crept in and out of consciousness he wondered why this strange girl from another world was helping him. The truth was he intrigued her. His wrecked aircraft was nothing like the German bombers she had seen on the newsreels and the material of his uniform was quite bizarre; it appeared rugged yet felt as smooth as silk. As his wounds and injuries healed, at an extraordinary rate she noticed with some surprise, his features gradually sharpened. He had a strangely ethereal beauty, young yet wise at the same time.

For the first few days these events were held in solemn silence, he was too badly injured to speak and she did not know whether he would understand English. Finally, it was she who broke the silence on the third night.

“Sind Sie ok?” she uttered quietly, venturing him to be German.
Eliwick had studied several of the main languages of Earth as part of his reconnaissance training.

“Ja, danke” he replied breathily, shifting awkwardly where he lay.
Emmeline’s knowledge of the German language had been exhausted, she smiled nervously whilst trying to place his accent, which didn’t sound remotely Germanic.

 “Do you speak English? “ She enquired.
“Yes, a little” he breathed, almost timidly.
“My name is Emmeline” she said.
“I am Eliwick”
“How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thank you. But if I may ask, why are you helping me?”
“It’s my duty as a nurse to help, whether you are a friend or the enemy, I cannot let somebody suffer.”
“But how did you find me down here?”
“To be honest I was scavenging, food is scarce, and I thought I may find some discarded supplies in the rubble, but then I saw your plane and, well, you. Your plane, I’ve not seen anything like it before, where are you fro...?” Sensing his unease at the change in conversation she faltered slightly.

There was a pause whilst Eliwick ruminated upon the best way to answer the question. He didn’t want to scare her off and he really needed her help.
“I am not involved in your war” he replied finally. Then, changing the subject he continued.
“If you thought me your enemy why did you not alert anybody else?”
“I’ve seen what they do to spies” she said bluntly. “When I found you I didn’t know what to do, what was for the best. But now if they find out I’ve been helping you I’ll be in trouble too.” She wrung her hands nervously as she spoke.
“Do not worry” he said. “I am not planning on moving anywhere or conversing with anyone. My people will be picking me up soon, I was alone out here so it may take some time but they will come and get me.”

Emmeline seemed relieved. “Ok, I’ll bring you as much food as I can spare, although it won’t be much I’m afraid. I’ll try and visit you every night after work but I won’t be able to stay long, I don’t want to arouse suspicion at home.”

He looked into her eyes, so deep that she felt his gaze brush gently against her very soul.
“I am so thankful for your kind help” he said with such gentility and warmth that his words seemed to permeate her body and cheer her heart. Emmeline was slightly taken aback by this sudden rush of emotion; she staggered backwards before catching herself on a nearby boulder. She quickly gathered up her things and left without saying goodbye. Eliwick had felt it too, they were forming a connection.

She spent the whole of the next day thinking about him, she counted the hours and minutes till she could finish work at the nursing station and go and see him. She made silly mistakes through lack of concentration and her colleagues teased her saying that she must have a boy on her mind. Emmeline ignored them.

At six o clock she darted through the hospital doors and ran all the way through the ruins of East End London to the place where her secret friend lay hidden. By the time she got there she was out of breath.
“Are you ok?” He asked.
“Yes” was all she could manage between breaths. She composed herself.
“How are you today?” she asked.
“I grow stronger every day, all thanks to you.”

Emmeline blushed and averted her eyes from his gaze; she didn’t want to be stricken to her knees like the day before. They conversed awhile; he asked her questions about her life whilst cannily avoiding her queries, answering in vague paraphrases. She captivated him, delighting in little things like the way she held herself and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. He knew they were forming a connection; a deep bonding between two people on his own world, but he had no idea how it was happening with somebody of another race. He knew that she felt it too.

Over the following weeks Emmeline’s intrigue in her new found friend grew. They spoke for long periods each evening yet as she replayed the conversation back in her mind later she realised that he had hardly given away anything at all. He was now fully recovered and was impossibly beautiful, physically perfect. She could sense her own burgeoning attraction to him despite knowing it was a hopeless situation.

One evening as she sat mindlessly toying with a pebble whilst plying him with stories from her day, he suddenly interrupted her.
“I have had word from home. They will be here tomorrow. I am leaving.”

The floor dropped out from underneath Emmeline, the shadows in the station engulfed her and suffocated her thoughts. Infinity came and went. A touch of his hand on her arm brought her round, a dizzying surge of elation coursed through her veins like an electric shock.

“We both knew that this day would come.”
“Yes, I know, but, yes.” She stammered, resigned to the fact she was losing him.
“I want you to have this.” He said and took out a small cloth bag from his pocket. He handed it to her.

She opened it carefully, inside was a small transparent glass sphere. As she took it in her hand it felt warm and shone with a brilliant luminescence. She recognised the feeling, it was the same emotion she had felt just a moment ago when he had touched her and those weeks ago when he had looked deep into her eyes.

“To remind you of me” He said.
“What is it?” she asked mouth wide open, aghast.
“It is a soul stone, they are unique to my planet, I have infused it with my essence so that you may never forget me.”

She was not shocked at his confession; indeed she had half known it ever since she had felt his gaze upon her.
Emmeline’s breath shimmered in the singular beam of moonlight which penetrated the remains of the underground tube station; a light breeze fanned her auburn hair in the gloom. She said nothing but stared at the precious item she held like a whisper in her hand. Eliwick, stricken with grief, withdrew into the shadows.

She gathered her thoughts, strengthened her resolve and turned to leave. She had fallen into that four letter word that begins with an “L” and inevitably ends in despair.
“Goodbye Eliwick” she said softly, her words echoing around the broken chamber.

18th January, 1774
My Dearest Rosalie --

I hope this letter finds you well, both recovered from the illness you contracted on the long voyage to England, and better accustomed to the colder climate there. I miss you terribly, and I know you must feel much the same. Hopefully, despite your fears, you are finding it possible to engage in stimulating conversation in such a large city as London, and perhaps even to gain access to books which would allow you to continue your studies in private?

As for me... do you recall the words of our tutor, reassuring me that my own studies would progress twice as quickly once he could concentrate his instruction on me alone? Well! He was sorely mistaken; it rather seems as though each lesson drags on twice as long without your presence. I have asked of Father that he attempt to find another local family who could send their child or children to our town-house to benefit from Herr von Hagen's tutelage alongside me, but he claims that of children of the proper ages, all are too far removed in either station or heritage for it to be proper for him to ask such a thing of their fathers. So it seems I must endure the drudgery.

Father remains convinced that it is my destiny to become a mathematician, not without Herr von Hagen's agreement, of course. That I have rather less interest in than skill at figures remains a moot point. I have been able to send messages to Sylvie and her friend Marie through Sylvie's brother Claude (who is still called upon to bear messages from the country estate to the town-house from time to time, fortunately; how lucky it was that Sylvie fled so nimbly when our diversions were discovered!) and have their reassurances that they have suffered no punishments for our transgressions. It seems no one suspected Sylvie at all, and I understand Marie's mistress to have said that your and my "disgraceful behaviour," as she put it, was Father's fault for being so permissive with the young ladies of his household! I am quite certain Father did not hear her opinion on the matter, or we should have heard of it before you even left the island.

Little else has changed here, aside from your absence and my being restricted to the town-house and, when properly chaperoned, within town; I miss the freedom of the grounds, the spacious gardens, the bustle of the plantation fields, but none of them as much as I miss you. Though as I've said I don't believe Sylvie is suspected, and Father rejected the suggestion that it was being allowed around dark-skinned servants that led to my "lapse in judgment," all the younger women from the town-house staff have been sent to the country estate, and a few older women sent here. So when I must be rigged up like a sailing-ship in "proper attire for a young English lady" it is now Father's own nurse, Nannette, helping me into all that nonsense, and back out again as well! She's quite kind and good-natured about it all, and has told me privately that she looks on me almost like the granddaughter she never had, all her own children having died in infancy. There's certainly no chance of her dancing with me, though, humped and stiff as her poor old back is.

The dry season began soon after you left, of course. (How lonely Christmas-time was without you!) As ever, it was welcome at first, but it grows so hot and close inside the town-house that I wish for a downpour heavy enough to disguise the way it would plaster my clothing to my skin. I have all too few opportunities to walk during the heat of the day along the harborside where, though the odours may offend, at least the ocean breeze is cooling; it has also been decreed that I may not use the "widow's walk" atop the townhouse without a parasol, as that would be "unseemly." But here I am complaining of a few minor curtailments to my freedom, when you are in distant England, beset by thousands such! Sometimes I almost wish I could have gone with you into exile, so that at least by sharing our misery we could comfort one another.

Your ever-faithful cousin,
Sophie

9th February, 1774
To my beloved Sophie --

How good of Captain Dwight to deliver me your letter, and arrange to return before his ship sailed to take my response back with him! Hopefully you shall have my letter in your hands sooner than yours took to reach mine, with its detour to the Carolina Colonies. Do be sure to express to him our thanks, as I have done on your behalf as well as my own.

No sooner had I recovered from the terrible seasickness I suffered during my passage to England than I came over ill with a terrible pleurisy. The doctor my Father called to attend upon me feared at first it might be consumption, but fortunately that seems not to be the case! There was snow for my first Christmas in England, but alas I was not well enough to leave my sickbed until a few days before Candlemas. I grow stronger by the day, and have learnt that while snow is quite pretty when freshly-fallen, the traffic in London's streets soon grind it to a sandy sludge.

I have not yet been able to attend yet, of course, but our Cousin Bess has told me (mostly by letter, though she lives but a few minutes' ride away) that there are many "salons" put on by the young and idle such as ourselves, at which current literature, notions of natural history, music, the theatre, and politics, are all discussed in great depth and with both interest and intellect. How I long to participate in my first salon, though it would hardly be the same as studying and conversing with you.

Cousin Bess is being courted by a composer whom she says is quite dashing, though I've yet to meet him. She says, however, that she mentioned to him your facility for music and love of dance, and you shan't believe what he said: That you sound the perfect partner to help him develop the staging of his compositions! For he loves the ballet, but his skill is evidently limited to the musical score.

Your ever-loving cousin,
Rosalie

A young man striking out on his own.
London, England
1888
--------------------------------

He stood on solid land once again and swore never again would he travel across the ocean. Never again would he see his home and family. He tried to feel sorrow at the loss, but his mind could only experience relief. Never again would he put himself through a voyage of that magnitude, not even to see his mother and sister again.

The crossing had been treacherous, it had also lasted two weeks longer then expected. Each of those days he had counted as his stomach had swirled its protest. His mind adrift and unable to focus on any one thought. The trip a nightmare from start to finish, and all he had hoped for had been death. Pleasant, sweet; death would have been a welcome close to the never ending shifting below his feet. The water he’d been drenched in time and again, the taste of salt a constant companion. Death, he would have gladly welcomed then, but now, he had no intentions of repeating the experience.

He still couldn’t believe that he’d decided to cross the ocean and begin his life in England. What had he been thinking? What had his mother and sister thought when they had agreed to help him with his dream of traveling? Had they known what torment would await him? His sister had traveled by ship before and she had never given him the idea that it would be such a rough crossing. Had she lied? Or was she one of those rare people who did not feel every rise and fall of the waves that were constantly buffeting the ship?

He thought briefly of writing her and asking, but quickly dismissed the thought. He would never admit to his sister, or his mother, the embarrassment and discomfort of the journey. He would never tell them that he never planned to return. The thought of a return trip was just too much for his mind to wrap around at the moment. He was just very grateful to be once more on solid land.

He looked around, the sun starting its slow decent, the sky clouding, night falling, the smell of salt still heavy in the air as waves beat against the shore. He moved farther from the docks, through the winding streets, his steps echoing on the cobblestones. He needed a place to sleep, a comfortable bed, a hot meal, but the last thing he thought he could tolerate was being closed up within walls. No matter that they would be a building, and one on land. He didn’t care to be restricted, he needed air, freedom to come and go, to move around as he willed it and not as someone else ordered.

He continued, never really paying attention to the turns he took, he allowed his mind to wander as his body did. Left, right, he could have been walking in circles, he didn’t care. He was moving and that was all that mattered to him. His hand gripped the small bundle that contained his belongings. All he had was contained within it, all he had thought to bring with him. He patted his pocket and felt the money he had stashed away. He would be fine for awhile. He would seek a meal and find some place out in the open to sleep; tomorrow he would worry about finding a room.

He continued to wind his way through the streets. His mind still not focused on where he was going, a body brushed his, a woman. He stiffened and turned, his eyes focusing on her retreating back. He watched as she moved quickly away from him and turned at a crossroad. His eyes going to the glowing lights that rose above his head, he realized that all around him was dark. Night had fallen and still he had no idea of where he would sleep, where he would find a meal. He turned back around, the woman forgotten. A man walked swiftly by him, he shuddered at his passing. His body turning to follow the man’s movements, he saw him hesitate at the first crossroad and saw his head turning left and right and then sprinting to the next crossroad and again looking quickly left and right before turning right. His mind tried to make a connection, but it was tired and hungry and cared not for what a man or woman; woman, that was it, the man had taken the same path as the woman.

He dismissed both as a smell wafted to him on a sudden wind and he let his sense of smell guide his feet. Hunger overriding his curiosity, he would eat first then find a place to sleep.

Later, he sat on the ground, his stomach full as he wondered if it would be safe to sleep in the park. He could see the path from where he sat in the shadows, the lights glowing and flickering but not really chasing away the darkness. He felt safe, secure, he lay back on the ground, his bundle tucked under his head as he turned his gaze to the sky and started counting the lights in the sky.

He jerked awake, and slowly sat up, his ears straining to pick out the noise again. He’d heard something, but didn’t know what. Some noise had reached him and pulled him from sleep. Was he still safe? Should he move? He knew there was a waterway close; he had crossed a foot bridge to get where he was, the water in it sluggish and dirty. Had it been what woke him? His eyes strained as his ears did, he moved the leaves of the bush he was behind out of the way and searched the surrounding darkness.

To the right he caught movement. He heard the flutter of clothing and the muffling of voices; one male, one female. Were they a couple arguing? His body was moving before he was aware of it, closer to the couple he crept. He found himself hidden behind a small wall, his body tense, waiting. He inched closer. He heard the tearing of a garment saw a body spin and watched as it tried to race down one of the lighted paths. The woman’s face showing clearly as she sped under one of the lights. Her face a mask of fear as her eyes shifted left and right; a caged animal looking for a way out.

He watched as the man hesitated a moment, his head whipping from side to side; as if looking for him. Could he feel himself being watched? Did he know they weren’t alone? The man shrugged; he’d watched as his shoulder rose and fell, and then he raced after the woman. He caught a glimmer of reflected light at the man’s hip. His eyes stayed on the man, his breath hitching in his chest as he waited for him to pass under the next light.

His body propelled into action as the man passed under the second light and he caught sight of the knife the man gripped in his left hand. He gave chase without thought; the woman could be his sister, his mother. He knew it wasn’t, but he knew he couldn’t stand still and do nothing. He raced across the ground avoiding the lit pathway and sticking to the shadows. His body protesting the pounding, he was still weak from the voyage, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. Heart beat accelerating, his legs cramping, his stomach aching from the food he’d ingested not that long again, his feet continued to pound the ground as he raced after the man.

He looked ahead and saw that the path turned to the left about fifty feet further up. He put a bit more speed into his gait, the path would turn and he would cross it. If he could just pick up a bit more speed, he could beat the man to the turn and surprise him.

He wasn’t going to make it he realized. The man would make the turn before he reached the path. Heart pumping, hands fisting, he lowered his head and begged his body for more, more speed. He watched his feet slap the ground, he could see the small tuffs of dirt that flew behind him as his feet lifted and smacked the ground again and again. He looked up, almost there.

He turned his head slightly to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the man, to see his progress. The man was making the turn, gaining on the woman. He didn’t think, he launched himself through the air as the man picked up speed and was about to pass him. They collided and tumbled to the ground. Hard earth impacting and vibrating through him as he continued to allow his momentum to roll him away from the one he had tackled.

He staggered to his feet. His breathing harsh and ragged, his heart beat pounding in his ears. He looked around wildly trying to find the woman and assess the situation as it now stood. He saw the swish of her dress as she rounded another turn in the path, she never looked back. He gazed down trying to find her attacker in the darkness. The pounding in his ears slowly lessened and he strained to hear the night around him. All was quiet, and then he heard a ragged breath, another, a soft sigh and then nothing. The quiet closed around him, he took a hesitant step and then another. He moved up beside the man, nudged him with his foot, nothing. He leaned down and gripped the man’s coat and pulled him under the nearest light.

He gasped in shock as he saw the knife now sticking out of the attacker’s side. He’d never killed a man before, even accidentally. His eyes shifted down the man’s body and saw the blood trail he left from dragging him into the light. His breathing hitched in his chest, and his mind churned.

He looked around and held his breath as he listened and confirmed that they were still alone. He still heard the slight softly slapping soles of the woman’s shoes as she continued to put distance between herself and her pursuer. He didn’t have long before she’d hit the city street and maybe find someone who would help her, someone who would insist on coming back through to see for themselves that nobody trailed the woman.

He sighed and reaching down again he gripped the dead man’s ankle and continued to pull him away from the light. The sound of running water reached his ears and he remembered the canal. He looked up, gauging the distance and continued to move in that direction. Reaching the wall that ran the length of the canal, he hefted the man up and watched him tumble down into the murky water, his dead body making a loud splash as it hit. He watched as the body; pulled down by the weight of the coat, sunk below the surface. He retraced his steps and kicked dirt over the blood that he could see. He passed a bush and stopped; he leaned down and worked to free one of the branches. Once he freed it, he swept it along the trail he walked until he stood once again where he had tackled the man. He picked up his bundle from where it had fallen and slowly made his way out of the park.

Maybe another voyage on a ship wouldn’t be so bad after all. He walked briskly now, a purpose in mind, as he tried to find his way back to the docks.

Yawning, she ran the numbers through her head again. She sighed, bored. Her radio playing a soft tune in the background, she stood and stretched then moved over to her exercise bar and did warm-ups. Relaxing as she moved through the familiar patterns, her mind drifting and working the night’s homework out without her concentrating on it.

She moved slowly away from the bar, her body moving in time with the music and in her head she saw the math problems lined up like a dance. She followed the pattern in her head. Moving gracefully around her room, she spun around the only chair and leaped across the twin bed, landing with barely a sound on the other side. Her head thrown back, her body arching, she slid across the hard wood floor and finished with a slow spin that ended with her tucked close to the floor, her upper body draped over her legs, fingers scrapping the floor.

Panting from the exertion, she stood. Her feet digging into soft sand, as a light breeze blew her blond tresses around her shoulders. She felt the heat of the sun warming her back. Confused, she opened her eyes and gazed around. A palm tree dipped as the wind gathered momentum. She froze, her mind a blank.

"Daydreaming, must be daydreaming", she thought. She kicked her foot out and watched the sand lift and then getting caught in the wind it was tossed back into her face. Her eyes watered trying to clear the obstructions; she rubbed away the gritty feeling.

"OK, stellar move Stella!" it was one of her favorite expressions and she mumbled it now. The beach was still here, the sand still warm beneath her feet. She did a three sixty and took in her surroundings, still palm tree’s, still sand, still blue water, "Yep, a beach."

"OK, think Stella. How are you on a beach in goodness knows where?" She played over in her head what she had been doing before finding herself on a beach. "Homework, ugh!" she grumbled.

"OK, so homework would send you to a nice clean beach?" She muttered.

"Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice!" she answered herself.

"Arguing with herself was not going to solve this, and arguing with herself out loud was definitely not going to help." she thought.

She ran her mind back through her morning and the math problems she had been working on for school. She remembered the radio playing and getting up to dance. She recalled how the music had made her relax and how the math problems had suddenly seemed alive to her, like a dance laid out in her head.

She stopped, realizing that she had been slowly making her way down the beach. She concentrated and tried to recall the exact song that had been playing on the radio, she let the music relax her and hesitantly she thought of the math problems that had so bored her earlier.

They took shape in her mind again, once more looking like a dance. She followed the pattern, her body repeating itself as she spun and leaped and slowly finished with the spin as she folded herself into her final pose, the music in her head stopping as she did.

Her breathing rough, her chest heaving, she stood. She curled her toes, but no longer found sand, her foot encountered hard concrete. She took a few measured breaths to calm her racing nerves and took in her surroundings once again. Buildings reached towards the sky and she had to crane her neck backwards to see the tops of them. She moved backwards until she bumped into one of the buildings.

"An alley, where?", she thought. Her breathing quiet again, she strained to listen and made out the noises of traffic, of people passing. She inhaled deeply and coughed; vehicle exhausts and the mixing of different foods assailed her nose. She made her way slowly to the mouth of the alley and peered out.

"New York? I’m in New York!... Mom is going to kill me!" She gasped in shock. She turned back to the alley and in her mind she measured out the distance. There was not enough room to complete the mathematical dance here, she would need another location.

She went through what she knew of New York, but she wasn’t sure where in New York she was, or where anything else would be. Already the light was fading and she didn’t want to be here when full dark hit.

She closed her eyes and took a guess. Moving away from the alley she turned left and made her way through the people walking on the sidewalk. She continued walking, taking in her surroundings as she moved.

She kept walking until she saw the perfect location, a sand lot, the kids slowly making their way out of it. "Probably heading home for dinner." She thought. "If I just wait a bit longer it should be completely cleared out of kids and then I can go home." She hoped. Fear now curled within her chest as she realized she might never make it home, at least, not this way. She might actually have to figure out how to catch a bus or a cab. She shook her head, "too far to take a cab" she mumbled.

She watched as lights starting flickering along the street and quiet drew itself around the neighborhood. She moved cautiously into the lot and looking around to be sure no one lingered, she let the music enter her head again. Her body swayed as it caught the rhythm, then the math problems followed. Her body once again following the dance her mind laid out for her. Her fingers brushed the ground, no hard wood met her seeking fingers, instead cobblestones wove their way through her vision. The air heavy with moisture, she shivered, not from the cold but that she now knew herself to be even farther from home.

She crumbled to the ground and let tears overcome her.