Chapter 2

   “Sorry, Sigur. Yes, we need to get moving. I.. got lost in thought.”, I said to him.
“That’s fine, Ana. But if we don’t get to the meeting spot quick, we’re toast”, said Sigur.
“Damn it. This is why I hate being in the city. There’s none of this sneaky crap when we’re airborne”, I said.
“Yeah, we just blow ‘em up and hope they didn’t get on the wireless too fast”, Sigur muttered under his breath. I barely heard him, and apparently wasn’t meant to, so I stayed silent. We started to run down the alley, and I slipped my carbine into the holster I made for it under my coat. Thankfully, the only noise we made was the swishing of our coats, as our boots had soft, leather soles. We rounded the corner, and, once we gave the doorkeeper the password, entered the cavern underneath the old laundry.

  We’d come only to pick up a package that needed to be delivered across the country. It was one of our most important jobs, being the only safe way to deliver parcels and letters free of the Estovakian government. We’re often referred to as “pirates”, as we operate in much the same way as our sea going predecessors, but we have a much more noble cause. We were the main source of communication between the different resistance celols scattered across Arcadia, from Cambridge on the South Sea, all the way to the Northern Mountains, were our base was located. We refer to ourselves as the Messengers, as that’s what we’re best known for.

  It was the usual pickup, an inconspicuous leather satchel with brass buttons. It was a little heavier than usual, I noticed when I handed it to Sigur, but then again, nothing they were asked to transport was usual. Often, it was a lot more than a satchel, and we needed to bring more of the crew with us, as long as the truck. The truck was risky, cause it took a long time to offload it from the ship, but for small pickups like this, Sigur and I were the only ones needed. We’d stashed the wings under a manhole cover a couple of blocks away from the meeting spot. We told the man who had ordered the pickup that we’d need to stay awhile, an hour, while things cooled off outside. He nodded in agreement, as this was the norm. Pickups in Cambridge were always risky because of the Estovakian government had set up shop in our old Parliament buildings and were using them to run the country.

  After the man paid us, the doorman let us out, and silently pulled the door shut behind him. Sigur and I Walked down the street, listening intently for the telltale sounds of an ambush- rifles clicking, shuffling feet, electrical buzzing, but we heard nothing.

  Which is why I was shocked when Sigur’s head exploded.

  Half a second after it happened, I heard the telltale whistle sound of a steam rifle firing. I rolled onto the ground, next to Sigur’s corpse just as the wall behind me exploded outward from the bullet smashing into the stonework. Damn, he was fast! He must have a spotter with him to work the steam valve, otherwise the rifle could not have recharged that fast. I wrenched the satchel out from underneath of the body, slung it over my shoulder, and set off at a flat out run for the sewer entrance where we stashed the wings.

  I used my crowbar to lever up the manhole cover-damn, Sigur had made it look easy- and dropped in. Sliding the cover back over the hole, I could hear soldiers overhead. They must have heard the scraping sound the cover made when I slid it off. Thinking quickly, I pulled off my belt, slid it through the handle on the bottom of the cover, around the rung of the ladder, and fastened the clasp. It was a cheap, poor quality belt, but it would hold long enough for he to find a way out of the sewer. I picked up my set of wings, strapped them on, and set off at the fastest pace I could without making a sound.

Chapter 1

   “Ana,”.
“Ana, we need to get moving. They’ll have heard the shots. We need to go. Now”.
I heard him speaking to me, but it sounded far off. We had been walking down a back alley on our way to the meeting, when we came across the two men. Before I could even think, I had brought up my carbine and shot them both in the back. I was horrified by what was once unthinkable, had become reflex. Sure, I’d done this before, but then it had been completely different; the atmosphere had been one of fright and a need to stay alive. But these men… they had just been standing there. Guarding the entrance to the adjacent alley for sure, but seven years ago…

   Ah, hell. Seven years ago I would have never been sneaking around back alleys, taking part in secret resistance meetings, wouldn’t have been participating in the war effort at all. I was a little girl back then, only in my 4^th year of school, and without a care in the world. But whatever. I don’t like to think about my past, because it’s hard enough to keep my emotions in check already. When I think back to how it was, I always end up in tears, and that doesn’t end well in the new Arcadia. In the new Arcadia you have to be ready for anything at anytime. Be ready to fight or flee.

   My name is Anamirian. And welcome to the latest Estovakian military annex: Cambridge, capitol of my homeland, Arcadia. When the Estovakians invaded in 1912, my country was prospering, finally beginning to develop our outdated industrial economy, all based on steam. As it would turn out, the Stovies had already dropped steam technology by the wayside, instead moving on to build more powerful machines of war than we could have ever imagined. When they marched across the border, there was nothing for our military to do but surrender. We Arcadians were made into slaves in our own cities, being forced to work to support the new Estovakian leadership for meager pay. We were kicked out of our homes and sent to live in prefabricated communal housing.

   I’ve never seen the inside of one of these new “homes” that they built for us. When the Stovies invaded, they killed off nearly half of our native population. Including my parents. I was ten