Weekly Drabble #268: AWOL (Patreon)

This week's chosen prompts are "uninvited guest" and "predator" from Sam C and Henri Black, giving us a return to Illya Vadokov, former alien assassin, currently trying to find out who and what she is without orders... and not getting caught by enraged human authorities who have a lot of questions regarding what she's previously been up to.

Enjoy!

~

AWOL:

“Welcome,” the lackadaisical airline rep said as he handed Illya’s forged passport back to her, waving her through off so that he could deal with the next passenger. The airline’s indolence continued to work in her favour; after she’d gotten out of the capital, human forces had issued a security alert to all departing vehicles. Luckily, by the time it had gone out, her plane had already touched down at its destination, so there was no turning back. Then again, ‘alert’ was overselling it; an advisory had been issued. The human authorities were starting to think she’d slipped out of their grasp and wanted the last departing vehicles double-checked to be safe, though they had no proof that she’d gotten away. If they did, they would have had a much stronger response.

Even then, additional security had been mustered at customs to double-double check all the passengers’ credentials and the airline had gotten their top people – or at least impressed those they had available with the severity of the situation – but you couldn’t fix sloth with one lecture. The men and women here were various levels of engaged in their duties, but only one or two seemed even remotely effective. To better her odds, Illya had waited in line for one of the least dutiful agents to handle her. His disregard offended her both on a professional and personal level, but this kind of attitude was common to humans.

Among Illya’s people, anything that didn’t function properly was adjusted so that it did, or discarded. She had vague memories of classmates during her training that had disappeared and others that had been altered even more than she had. There was no room for flawed operatives. You served well, or there were consequences.

So you’re never allowed make a mistake?Mitchell had asked her.

No, that’s ridiculous. Mistakes happen. Failures happen, even if you do everything correctly. But mistakes and failures reveal flaws that can be corrected. A pattern of flawed behaviour means the individual must be adjusted. If that fails and the flaws persist, then-

-then you kill them.

One weak link makes an entire chain useless. Do you keep useless machines or individuals around when they are a detriment to your operations?

Sometimes. We call them TV executives.

She hadn’t understood then, and she still didn’t. The agent checking her passport and credentials was inefficient, doing what was required of him but no more – and barely even that. His half-hearted inspection done, he gestured for her to move along, his welcome to the city as sincere as his questions about her flight. She passed through the outer ring of security, where airport personnel and some local police had gathered. A pair of large dogs sat at the side of a human SWAT officer. One barely noticed her, but the other locked on and started to growl, its fur rising. Luckily, an explosion of invective from the security screening immediately caught the handler’s attention as one of the passengers started screaming at the airline agent checking her ID.

Whether the woman had been going through something and this was the tipping point, or she was entitled and didn’t consider herself subject to the same inconveniences as others meant little. Something the agent had said or done – or maybe nothing at all – pushed her over the edge and her infuriated cursing drowned out everyone else in the area. The enraged woman put her hands on the agent’s kiosk, shaking as if she intended to leap over it at the cowering attendant.

Illya couldn’t have asked for a better distraction and she threw a worried glance over her shoulder at the screaming woman, quickening her pace just like anyone else seeking to distance themselves from a volatile situation would. She didn’t let up her act; in addition to the police officers present, this incident was almost certainly being watched by security personnel. A woman nonchalantly walking away from a situation would leap out to any experienced eye, but being one of several passengers curious and concerned about the altercation wouldn’t.

“What’s happening?” one of the crowd asked. Illya paused, glancing back towards the fracas as the police officers moved in. So wrapped up in her rant, the woman didn’t seem to realize the severity of her situation, her increasingly unhinged demeanour fully capturing the dogs’ attention. If she didn’t get ahold of herself very soon, she was going to find herself in the grip of large, humourless men.

“I have no idea,” she said. “One of the other passengers is losing it at the checkpoint.”

That comment caused some muttering among the man and his companions. Illya continued out of the airport, hailing a cab. She gave him directions to a hotel. He asked her if she was sure she wanted to go there. Though he didn’t know it, the question confirmed her choice in tenements. Just as she’d chosen an airline with terrible ratings in customer service, she’d chosen a one-and-half star hotel. It wasn’t a crime-ridden cesspool, but it was far from an upscale establishment. The reviews talked about poor security and no cameras in the halls. That was perfect for her.

After Illya checked in with a clerk more interested in what was down her blouse than her ID, she pre-paid for a night’s stay and went up to her room. Inside her suitcase was some of her people’s technology, spare clothes, additional forged identity papers, a duffel bag and some makeup. She rinsed the dye out of her hair in the shower, replacing it with another colour, taking the cotton rolls out of her mouth to change her jawline and altering the colour of her contacts. She supposed she didn’t need them, but it had been more difficult recently to maintain the false hue and not let the telltale red of her true eyes out.

She added a few minor temporary tattoos, redid her makeup and put on fresh clothes. When she was done, a completely different woman stared back at her in the mirror. Putting her items into the bag, she left the old suitcase behind to be stolen by the cleaning staff. Done with this place, Illya exited the hotel from a side door and took a cab across the city. If anyone did suspect that ‘Andrea Tallman’ was Illya Vadokov and come looking for her, the trail would end in this seedy little hotel. Now, more than ever, she couldn’t be careless. An entire world was looking for her, humans and her own people alike.

The young woman got dropped off at a shopping center, buying more clothes and some new luggage before she took another cab to a new hotel. ‘Ingrid Natalie Southwind.’ signed in, taking a high-end suite for herself. Money wasn’t an issue; Illya had access to accounts so cleverly hidden that the humans would never find them – accounts that the surviving infiltrators didn’t even know existed. She had worked directly under Allen and Gregory and despite being a termination specialist, she had known most of the project’s inner workings. Even if that was now literally and figuratively up in flames, the knowledge she possessed was still extremely valuable. They might not know about her betrayal, but her people would want her back. She couldn’t do that. She didn’t want that.

When this is all over, what do you see yourself doing?Mitchell had asked that question often. She’d been raised, trained, modified and attuned to her role. To do anything else had been quite literally unthinkable.

I used to hate you, he’d told her. Then I pitied you and now... it makes me sad. They took everything from you, Illya. Every possibility you could have had when you born was sheared away and what was left was beaten and hammered into only one possible shape. That’s not right.

It is what we do, she told him. My breeding, my birth – it’s what I am.

Haven’t you ever thought you could be more?

No. Not until... until you started to ask me that.

In her new hotel room, Illya sat on the bed for a very long time, uncertain of what to do. She’d escaped from the human forces and her own people still couldn’t be certain if she was dead or alive. Neither of them knew to look for her here. She was... safe, she supposed. With that immediate concern dealt with, she realized that she really was alone. All her life she’d known what to do. She’d had orders, instructions, directions. Even on missions where she had to think on her feet and adapt, she’d always had over-arching objectives to follow. Now... now she didn’t. There was no one around to give her orders, no mission for her to carry out. At least, none but the one she had made for herself and even that was still guided by specific parameters.

She didn’t know what to do. “Maybe,” she said to the reflection in the mirror. “Maybe I’ll go get something to eat.”

It a very little decision, but it was one of the first she’d really made for herself. The woman stood, adjusting her clothes and double-checking her appearance before she stepped out of the hotel room. She wouldgo get something to eat and she wouldn’t choose where ahead of time. She would be... spontaneous. That was also a very little thing... but also something very big.