Continued from Bethany, Narinder and Christian

The Mustang roared angrily as Christian barreled between two buildings. In contrast, its driver was calm, collected and suave. Narinder hated him more as the man remained as cold as ice, no matter what the situation.

"They don't seem to be following," Christian said after a moment. He settled more fully into his seat, his eyes on picking out the path ahead of them.

Narinder tried not to think about what might be distracting them as they raced further and further away from one of his best friends in the world.

"Where are we heading?" Narinder asked, angry dark eyes tightening further as his chauffeur appeared to ignore his question, choosing to respond with a terse "Buckle up." Christian's dark eyes were in constant motion as he drove in silence, even as his hands remained rock-steady on the wheel of the convertible. He reached over and adjusted the driver's side wing mirror, twisting it so that it angled more upwards than straight behind. He made a short noise of satisfaction: the mirror would cover the skies above and behind the car.

Right now, knowing what was above you was important.

He slid the Mustang around a corner, turning up a main street and headed north, handling the car with panache as tires screeched. He avoided the freeway, tempting as the on-ramp sign was. A fast moving target on a wide open road was just too noticeable, and there was no way C.H. Blues was going to attract any notice if he could help it. Instincts both innate and trained were kicking in: when the heat came down hard, duck and run. Don't hide, don't panic, and move with purpose. Old, cold eyes in a young pleasant face glanced at Narinder.

"I've got a rat-line. A way out of the U.S. into Canada and a place to lay low." He smiled abruptly then, the eyes warming with wry mirth as they went back to scanning the road ahead and the mirrors. "Never thought I'd have to use it, least of all because of a damn alien invasion. What about you? Got a place you want to be dropped off?"

Nari was silent for a long moment, long enough to make Christian think that perhaps the other man was too distracted by the situation to have heard him.. or too angry to want to answer. In his mind he rummaged through his possible options, trying to push aside the image of Bethany standing there, waiting for her fate. Finally, the grave-faced ambassador motioned towards a gas station they were quickly approaching.

"I do not know. Could you pull into this gas station up ahead? I need to make a call. Satellite communication has been disabled, so my cell phone is useless."

Christian glanced at the station as he approached it and shook his head firmly. The line was snaked out of the parking lot, and gas had leapt three dollars in the last hour. It was disgusting to Nari and yet unsurprising that even with such a disaster, people were more concerned about making a profit than they were other people's safety. He grit his teeth with frustration, but refrained from arguing with his cool-headed driver about it. He was probably right, anyway. They drove in silence for another few moments before his gaze fell on an empty telephone booth next to the abandoned bus stop - people were too desperate to get out of town or hide somewhere to bother much with public transportation, especially with no guarantee the buses were even running. He motioned quickly towards it.

"There. Let me use that one, then. It will take only a moment."

Christian nodded curtly, pulling over to the side of the street as Narinder hopped out of the car. He ran over to the phone, picking it up and rummaging his pockets for some change. Then he dialed a number and carried on a hurried but hushed conversation. It took him only a few moments before he hung up the phone and hurried back over to the car, slamming the door as he got back in.

"I am going to Colorado, to a city called Aurora. This rat-line.. does it take you straight north, or will you be heading first to the west?"

"Straight north, more or less. Def'nitely nowhere near Colorado." C.H. replied calmly as he pressed down on the gas once more. "Sorry, my man, but I'm not getting anywhere within a state's distance of Cheyenne Mountain with an alien invasion going on. At least, not without a damn good reason." They drove in silence for a short while, Narinder not wasting time fuming or making emotional appeals, which at least gave him kudos in the ever-pragmatic C.H's book.

They'd left Washington behind and were taking the highway north when the young musician (who was obviously used to playing some tough gigs judging by the hardware in the back seat) appeared to reach a decision.

"Look, I won't need the car once I get to the Lakes. You stick with me that far, you can keep the wheels and go wherever you like. There's a small cabin with a trailer full of gasoline there, so you'll have a full tank and a night's sleep before you set out again." The youth shrugged, the look of ancient wariness giving way to an impish grin for a second. "Or we can look for a car for you before that. Either way, I'll give you that much help."

Narinder regarded him quietly for a moment, then nodded in agreement, looking somewhere between relaxed and resigned. Perhaps he might be able to convince the matter-of-fact young man to part with a couple of his weapons once they split their paths - surely if he wasn't taking the car he wouldn't be able to carry them all anyway.

"That sounds more than generous.. I thank you for it. I will travel with you until then, two is better than one if we come across any trouble."

He was quiet for a moment, looking at the buildings as they passed by. Then he spoke again, though his voice held the coolness of someone used to controlling their emotions instead of letting themselves be overwhelmed by them.

"Bethany said your name was Christian, but you said you prefer C.H.? My name is Narinder. How did - how do you and Bethany know each other?"

"It was their tenth anniversary. The Senator and Mrs DeCoursey, that is." Christian said, turning on the stereo as he drove. Coltrane's "Blue Train" played dimly as he explained. "It was right after I graduated from Juilliard, and it turns out the senator had heard me play at some point and wanted me to play at his party." Christian smiled as he remembered. "Yeah, the senator appreciated good jazz. Cool guy, not what I'd expect of a politician. Knew his jazz and blues, too. Preferred hard bop, which is how I knew he had taste and discernment." He grinned at Narinder before turning his eyes back to the road. Despite the speed he was driving and the tension of the situation, he was otherwise completely relaxed in his seat. It would be hard to picture him any more laid back without his being asleep. However the diplomat, a skilled people-watcher, noted that C.H's dark eyes never stopped watching the mirrors or scanning the sky as he drove.

"Anyway, Mrs DeCoursey was a really nice hostess. I think she introduced me to practically everyone, especially the single and pretty female guests." Blues chuckled at that. "I remember thinking that was really sweet and cool of her. And then when my folks died two months later, they noticed and sent me a card with a note inside saying if there was anything they could do, I should ask. Good people." C.H. finished with an easy smile, as though he weren't talking about someone he'd left behind alone to face god-knows-what alien menace.

Narinder nodded slightly, trying to ignore the feeling that someone had wrapped their fingers around his heart and was squeezing painfully. He remembered their tenth anniversary differently, but that's because he hadn't been able to make the actual party. He had been out of town on business at the time, he'd had a trip to Mumbai that he'd been obligated to attend. So he'd flown into Washington two days after, and insisted on taking Bethany and Daniel out to an celebratory dinner. He'd reserved their favorite restaurant - not any of the fancy hotels or ritzy D.C. restaurants they frequented so often during dinners with other political friends.. but a small hole in the wall restaurant in nearby Fredericksburg that served the best Peanut Pad Thai anywhere on the east coast south of New York City. It was Bethany's favorite.

"Then it is only by chance that we have not met before. I was out of town for their anniversary party. But they always did throw exceptional parties."

He was quiet for another long moment, and when he spoke again it was almost too quiet to make out over the rush of the air all around them as they sped down the streets with the convertible's top down. Indeed, it seemed almost as if he was talking to himself more than to the cool-headed man in the driver's seat beside him.

"Daniel will never forgive me. I promised to bring her home to him."

C.H. glanced over at his words, dark eyes inscrutable, then shrugged with one shoulder as he took another turn. This highway would take them north by northwest, and Christian settled in for the long drive. Slim fingers plucked a cereal bar from the stores in the back seat and offered it to Narinder before he took another for himself. John Coltrane gave way to Nina Simone on the CD changer, and the two men drove awhile in silence which, if not entirely comfortable, was at least companionable.

The roads rolled away behind them and slowly, Narinder fell asleep. Christian focused on the road, his eyes open despite the long day he'd had. The music was soothing; it was good music to think to while worrying over thoughts like a loose tooth with a tongue.

They were near Pennsylvania at about four in the afternoon. Ahead of them stretched a line of debris over the road. Even from here, they could see the hulking, familiar ship behind the debris. People seemed to be lining up in rows, heading toward the ship.

"Crap." Christian said as he slowed the car to a stop, his tone one of mild frustration. Narinder began to wake next to him, blinking once or twice, then sitting bolt upright at the sight before them. C.H. smiled wryly at him. "They would have to park themselves on the road." He glanced around, seeing if there were any obvious alien soldier-types around. He was fairly certain they'd stand out, despite never having seen one before.

"Well, we can look for a way off the road and to go around." C.H. said, scanning their surroundings with a cold eye. "But in case they've already spotted us, you might want to help yourself to some of the goods in the back seat."

Narinder nodded with a small grimace, and reached into the backseat. He looked for the simplest weapon he could find, for guns and violence were something that Narinder was only acquainted with on more of an academic level than any practical one. He settled on a basic handgun, fairly certain that he could figure out the basics. He checked the safety to make sure it was on, and then checked to make sure the gun was loaded. He held the weapon tentatively on his lap for now, and nodded curtly to Christian.

"Let us try to avoid seeing if I can use one of these for now, shall we?"

Then he reached up and pulled the seat-belt into place with a quiet "click" before resuming his grip on the gun in his lap and staring nervously at the alien ship directly ahead.

Christian started to turn around, only to find one of those ships darting in low to hover before the car. Cannons underneath swiveled around sharply to point at them. The intent was clear.

"Turn around." The voice was heavily accented with Grecian tones, but his English was clear. It seemed to be broadcasting from the ship. "Take your place in line for the census."

"Well fuck." C.H. said as though he'd suddenly found a mile-long tailback in front of them rather than a hovering alien death machine pointing high-tech doom at his prized Mustang. He sighed and glanced at Narinder, then shrugged and turned the car around again, driving towards where the rows of people were lining up.

"We don't have much option right now." he told Narinder quietly under the rumble of the engine. "But I'll be dead 'n damned before they microchip us or whatever. Stick close and follow my lead, and if you're a religious man pray that their guns and spaceships make them stupid."

As he drew closer and parked about 200 metres away, C.H. studied the lines of people leading up to the ship. Somewhat more keenly, he attempted to discern whether anyone was coming out. Getting out of his car, he picked up his saxophone case from the back seat and hung it by the carry-strap from his shoulder. Throwing Narinder a wry smile, he shrugged once more.

"Hey. Maybe they like musicians."

Narinder let out an amused yet sarcastic noise, and climbed out of the car with Christian. He considered the gun for a brief moment, but with all these civilians around, the presence of armed alien guards, and his general inability to do much more than identify the end you point with from the trigger, Narinder knew it would probably hurt them more than help them. So he dropped it in the seat with a sigh, and the two men started to walk towards the queue together. He made an amused noise at Christian's statement, and his lips twisted wryly though he kept his voice low.

"Well then, I am certainly out of luck. No one likes politicians."

They waited for a while. It was cool today, autumn's bluster a mere promise in the air. Gradually, a woman came around with drinks - cans of soda and bottled waters in a wheeled cooler. She was dressed oddly, in a white tunic. It was vaguely Grecian; a soft blue tunic that fell to her ankles, tied around her middle with a woven red belt. A lightening bolt had been marked on her forehead in black ink. It was, the two men judged, a henna mark or a recent tattoo. She smiled shyly at them, but any attempt to talk to her was met with a shrug and a coy shake of her head - until Narinder tried Arabic. His simple greeting brought a confused look to her face, and then she said, "You say godly words!" It wasn't exactly Arabic that she spoke, but the linguist's ear caught that her alien language had a tie to this human one.

Narinder smiled fetchingly and tried, "What is your name?"

The girl said something too quickly for him to piece together and turned from them. Lifting her skirts, she hauled ass back to one of the guards, speaking quickly to him. When she pointed back at Narinder, the Hindi man realized that conversing with the natives hadn't been the best idea.

The guard began to walk toward him, as the girl trailed beside, still talking quickly in yet another tongue. As they neared, Narinder thought that language was familiar, too.