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(The next part about Jackson and Crecia)

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Jackson and Crecia hurried along, winding their way through the alleys and back streets of Outopia. Jackson glanced up at the sky. “It’s getting dark,”

Crecia’s eyes followed his up to the sky, “Yes, it is. We’d better hurry. I want to get there early to tell Beta 7.9 about the message,” the worried look returned to her face.

“You’re scared aren’t you. . . about them taking that message to the government?” Jackson ventured hesitantly.

At first she didn’t speak, only ducked her head in agreement. More and more she found herself liking the simple, honest way he spoke. Finally she raised her head and looked him in the face again in the dimming twilight. The curious periwinkle eyes were looking down at her, “I know they’d probably get a reward for turning it in. . . and if the government gets a hold of it—the information it contained was very important. I just hope Beta 7.9 will understand. . .”

“Don’t worry about that. He’s a great guy. He’d probably be more worried about that wound on your head than about the message,”

“You’re probably right, but that message was super important!”

Jackson’s curiosity had been growing this whole time. Now he could not resist anymore. “What did the message say?” he blurted eagerly, turning to her.

She stopped too and looked up at him as if not sure he was serious, “It was classified information Jackson,” she said ominously, her dark eyebrows slanting downward, but a brown twinkle shining under them.

“Aww. . . come on Crecia. I’m a rebel agent, I have just as much right to know as you do!”

“No, otherwise the informant would have given the message to you and not to me,” her voice was full of playful superiority.

“Clever,” he replied dryly, “Come on Crecia–”

“No.” she replied domineeringly, with an impish smile, “If you want to know, you can ask Beta after I tell him,” she turned to walk on.

“You!!” Jackson’s boyhood spirit came on him in a rush and stepping forwards, he gave her braid a hard tug.

She whirled around. At first her chestnut eyes were sparking with anger, but as his face shifted into a sheepish smile, they relaxed and her mouth slid into a smirk. “Well. . . if that’s how it is,” She gave him a playful shove.

He laughed. She joined him, glad to let out some of her stress in innocent fun. He leaned down and, grabbing a handful of snow, threw it at her. She ducked, at the same time scooping up a snowball of her own and hurling it up at his face. The battle was on.