The Halferne Incubus

"Where are we?" Serah asked.

Parrino allowed his eyes to adjust to the near darkness. "Service tunnel between the transit route and a storage depot, I suspect," he said at last. In what little light there was, he made out rows of crates stacked ten or fifteen meters in the air all around them, making something of a makeshift labyrinth in the gigantic loading dock. A series of dim lights flicked on, indicating the path to take through the warehouse.

Serah's eyes widened, and she stepped back two paces. "Who is doing this?"

"Whoever it is, they want us alive," Parrino thought for a moment, "or at least you anyway. I may be lucky because they couldn't crash the aircar with you in it."

"So, do they want to help me or capture me? Maybe we're better off waiting here for Division 4 to catch up with us."

"You want answers? They're this way. You want to give up and stay ignorant in a holding cell in Paris? Wait here." He didn't wait for the response and instead motioned for Serah to follow him as he cautiously led them through the illuminated path.

The lights led them to a large open area where automatic cranes were loading a boxy freight vehicle. The door to the freighter's pilot cabin opened as they approached, and the interior cockpit lit up. Parrino signaled for Serah to hold back and cautiously approached the door. He peeked inside, noted the cabin was empty, and slowly started to climb in, half suspecting the door would shut abruptly and decapitate him. "Come look at this." He gestured to Serah that they were safe for the moment and pointed to the heads-up display in the freighter's cockpit. A map of France was displayed on the navigation console. It highlighted their current position in Lille and four points on the Mediterranean coast.

Serah pulled up her datapad and began searching for something.

"Stay off the Phrame," Parrino warned. He leaned in to see that she had a map of France up and was attempting to identify the destinations indicated on the map.

"Don't worry. I locked it in isolation mode back at Croydon. It's not connected to anything." She waved him off. "I've got this. You check out the area and make sure we're safe," she said, climbing into the hauler.

Parrino cautiously circled the car, making sure they were alone.

"Hé, toi là-bas!" a voice came from the darkness behind them. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?"

Parrino gulped. He had a pretty good idea of what had been said but did not know how to respond.

"Tout va bien," Serah responded from the freighter's cabin with a near-perfect accent, at least to his ear. "Le contremaître nous a envoyé pour vérifier l'endommagement d'une des palettes bosselée uniquement sur la caisse et non sur le contenu." She climbed out of the cabin, holding the datapad in front of her and pretending to type frantically on it with one hand.

"He's speaking French," Parrino offered.

Serah smiled slightly, "A lot of French people do."

"Yes, but what are you telling him?"

"A passable bluff, I hope."

"À quelle caisse fais-tu référence?" the dock worker responded. "J'ai personnellement inspecté tous ces éléments et aucun n'a été endommagé."

Serah's face turned sour. "Maybe not quite passable," she muttered to Parrino, then yelling back to the Frenchman, "Celui-ci, B78274." The man grumbled under his breath, something neither of them could make out, and then walked back into the office area behind him. Serah exhaled a sign of relief. "I think that went well," she smiled.