Where to begin is a question of time.
Number Two was one of the more interesting members of the Kinematic Group. They never called her Number Two, that was her designation. Number Two was a blood line and she had to be pregnant. They called her The bet. In 1982 her mother had stat on a velour chair in the Gold Box room, silent and absorbing. The bet's position was the most unique. She passed down the library. Her life ended softly while sleeping, an easy brain aneurysm. Her mother had been a great soldier.
Her soft facial features and creamy skin sparsely dotted with freckles on her nose and cheeks were framed with care. The bet had tamed curly locks the color of a sunset after an earth release, orange, gold and streaks of blush red that gathered and dropped over her shoulders. She walked tall through the crowd of westerners and Omanis dressed in their dashes and head toppings, some of the women completely draped in black. There was no baby bump for others to see, but some women could see them both.
The bet felt at home as she made her way through the sook stone alleyways. The bet's father had been in United States Marine Corp Intelligence and she had spent a better part of her time in the desert with her sensitive skin. Home schooled but not sheltered. Her father had been her mother’s handler and wife, chosen by the Diwan, she was the same as would be her daughter, the library.
The crowd eased and the air opened up as she came upon the sidewalk. A Range Rovers door opened, she sat down with her knees touching and rotated her legs in as if she was part of the machine. Behind her three men in short sleeve button down shirts and relaxed pants moved in sync with no ear pieces to see. The were the Mythos Rangers, genetically enhanced eunuchs that moved like panthers and looked like gods. Their assignment was her security. Their creation was altogether something new.
She sat quietly as she was whisked away. Then asked the driver to slow down. She knew 13 wanted to be there second and she wanted to be third. Everything had meaning. Everything done with purpose.
...
As they drove down 18th November St she watched the people go by and then she saw pointing to the Gulf. She looked out the other window towards the water and she saw what people were stoping to see. A squadron of manta rays were flying over the glassy waters of the Gulf of Oman, entering again with no splash and then staying mid flight for an odd amount of time.
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