Anastasia Vanyevna was not a fan of nuclear power. She found the concept to be selfish and unwittingly destructive.

Having lived long enough to witness Hiroshima and Nagasaki, her perception of the Brighton and Hove Nuclear Power Station was that it was just a nuclear bomb, only larger and with people running around inside it. Why cant people be content with water and sun? She often asked herself, but then she would remember that this was Britain. Sunshine was a rare thing, and although water was in ready supply, it would be difficult to persuade the British people to vacate their homes so that the necessary cables could be laid. This particular power plant was not to be opened formally for another week, but checks had to be made to make sure that the machinery and security systems were working correctly. Thanks to Kristianas ability to create illusions, the motley crew of Nordic and Eastern European men and women who called themselves Arctic Wine had managed to pass themselves off as personnel. Now it was just a matter of blowing up Brighton without getting caught. Aleksandr Petrikov first met Anastasia in 1920 when she was just two years old. He had been a Seeker for a while, he could not remember how long. There had been a fire, and he had been in the vicinity, heard the mothers anguished cries for help as her husband and children were trapped in the house. Nobody was helping because they thought it was a lost cause the fire had destroyed most of the infrastructure and nobody was brave enough to risk their lives. Aleksandr came running to the scene of the fire. My daughters and my husband! the woman cried, grabbing onto him and sobbing. They are dying! Aleksandr tore loose of the woman and flew into the fire without being harmed. The fire only tickled him, did not singe or burn his flesh, or even his clothes. He sensed a body to his right, turned and saw a well-dressed man trapped beneath a burning beam. He ran over and hauled the beam up from the mans unconscious body, then tossed it to one side as he lifted up the man. He carried the unconscious man out of the burning building and lay him on the snowy ground before rushing back in. he concentrated, felt the presence of two young bodies above him. He could also sense that the ceiling above him was weakening, so he would have to be swift. The stairs had almost all been burned away, a fact he only discovered after he had begun to climb them. He fell through the space where the middle stairs should have been and grabbed hold of the hot iron banister. Fire will never harm me, he thought ironically, but hot metal can burn my skin? Groaning with pain and exertion, he dragged himself up the remaining stairs by keeping his hands and feet on the banister until he got to the upper landing. He stood, breathless and sweating, as he tried to locate the two younger bodies. They were to his left, so he headed in that direction and ploughed through a flimsy charcoal door. The room could have been a nursery the melted and burned toys scattered around were evident of this, as well as the crib near the window. In the corner, a young girl of about five years old was huddled and crying. He ran through the fire and picked her up. Anastasia! she sobbed, pointing at the crib. Anastasia! Aleksandr wrapped his arms around the little girl to protect her from the smoke as he made his way to the crib where he found a sleeping toddler of about two years old. She shared the five-year-olds curly gold ringlets and soft white skin. He struggled to pick her up one-handed, and as a result of his struggle she woke up, saw the fire and began to scream. Nyet! Nyet! He begged. Screaming children got on his nerves, even more so now that he was trying to rescue two of them from a fire. He spotted a window overlooking the street and jumped out of it, landing on his feet in the snow. He looked for the woman who had grabbed him and saw her tending to the man he had brought out of the house. He walked heavily to her and set the two girls on the ground. When she saw them, she crossed herself and kissed him once on each cheek, then set about thanking him for saving her family. Aleksandr nodded and accepted her thanks, then sped off.

On the second of July 1947, Anastasia was in the United States on a trip with her family. They would be meeting her fianc later that evening at a formal dinner; she was looking forward to seeing him again, despite having only met Byron Carmichael a few months before. Anastasias family had escaped the Soviet Union with his help, and it was her hope that their marriage would grant Byron some political influence so that he might be able to enter into an election and come to some sort of truce with the USSR before the nuclear bombs were fired. Her father, Vanya, was driving the car, and her mother was in the passenger seat. Anastasia was sitting in the back with her sister. They were driving through the desert when they saw the other car heading towards them at full speed. Vanya stopped the car and got out, slamming the door behind him. The other car had stopped an inch from theirs. What do you think you are doing? Vanya shouted, his voice strangled with anger. He was also red-faced and breathless as his lungs had been damaged in a fire many years ago. The driver of the other car got out, rounded his vehicle and landed a knock-out blow on Vanyas head. His wife gasped and got out to see to her husband, but she was knocked out as well. In the blink of an eye, the driver was by Anastasias side of the car, and she and her sister began to scream. Her sister opened the door and fled, calling back that she would return with help as Anastasia was pulled from the car. Her assailant turned her to face him, cupped her chin in his left hand and squeezed so that her lips puckered. Such a pretty little princess, he said harshly, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pressing her close to his body. Anastasia tried to scream, but the best she could muster was a strangled mewling noise. She closed her eyes and kicked the mans shins, but he ripped at her dress and bent her over the back seat of the car. She fought back tears as fear clawed at her. And then there was a flash of bright, searing white light. Something fell lifeless on top of her. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and saw a hairless, featureless face pressed against hers. She screamed and kicked it away, sitting up on the back seat of the car so that she was as high above the thing as possible. She felt a hand touch her back. She screamed and turned around, lying awkwardly on the back seat with her legs poised ready to kick. There was a man with concerned red eyes and heavily flushed skin looking at her. Please, I will not harm you, he said in Russian. My name is Vadim. Take my hand, he extended his right hand, and I will show you I mean you no harm. She was sceptical and tried to move away, but the man called Vadim grabbed her ankle, and before she could scream she could see a vague picture of herself. She was standing in a huge metal room standing next to a man with a stern jaw, combed-back black hair and thick muscles. He took her hand and smiled. Anastasia felt comforted by him, like he was an old friend. When Vadim took his hand away, she thought that she recognised the man she had seen, although she could not say where from. I know him personally, Vadim explained. The two of you share a single destiny. Come with me, and you will meet him. In 1963, they met again. Aleksandr had to save her from danger a second time. The jazz bar he performed in every Thursday had seen little business thanks to the passing trend of rock and roll, so the owner could no longer afford to pay his acts or the rent, and the old bar was to be remodelled. Aleksandr had gone there one hour before dawn because he wanted to see it in the sunrise one last time before it was demolished. The life and love that Aleksandr had experienced in that bar was something he had previously thought non-existent. When he was in the army, fighting for Russia in the Finnish War, he felt mechanical and useless, like he was just waiting to die and be replaced. The bar had given him meaning and warmth. His stilled heart aching with disappointment, he pulled away the boards from the side entrance and snuck in, hoping to have one last look at the once-lovely interior of his first true home before this part of his soul died. The air inside was humid and musty, the surfaces coated in a thick layer of dust. Aleksandr would miss the jazz bar. Up on the stage used to sit his grand piano. He had played several of his own compositions upon that piano, including duets with local singers.

He sat on the stage and clasped his hands between his knees, not caring that his black pants would get dirty. Aleksandr, he heard Vadim say. Hello Vadim, he said thoughtfully, looking around the place. Good to see you. And you. Vadim walked towards the stage, stopped and looked around. If I could save this place, I would, he offered. I would never ask you to, Aleksandr said with a wry laugh, I owe you too much already. You could look at it that way, Vadim said. But sometimes destiny gets in the way. What? Vadim smiled and shrugged, then walked absently around the space before casually bringing up that day in 1920. Do you remember that day in 1920 when you stupidly ran into a burning house? he asked. Of course I do, Aleksandr said fondly. My proudest moment, and you called me stupid. I died in 1809 for the country that made me, and that day I realised that I should help individual people. Why do you ask? No reason, Vadim said with a wry smile. I have a new Seeker, but shes getting a bit of a handful. Take her off my hands for a while. Does it count towards my credit? Aleksandr asked bitterly. One credit per year you take her on. One credit? Aleksandr scoffed. You can keep her! Im too far from my credit-line to scavenge meagre scraps of credit that you offer! Fine, Vadim said. You can tell her yourself shes just over there. Aleksandr turned around, and his heart, which had been still since 1809, began to beat. Blood rushed to his face and his stomach felt like it was being touched by an angel. Her thick, wavy blonde hair reached her shoulders, her eyes which were forest green and marbled with silver lit up the room. She was broad-shouldered and broad-hipped and had a gorgeous heartshaped face with thick red lips and rosy cheeks. She was beautiful. He-hello, Aleksandr stammered. Hello, she said nervously. Vadim tells me that you will help me adjust. Will you? Aleksandr nodded, not taking his eyes off her. She held herself well, and dressed impeccably as though she were about to meet with members of high society. He felt embarrassed to be wearing his black pants, white shirt and suspenders. Vadim has been kind to me, she told him. Ive been working for him since the second of July 1947. The UFO crash? Aleksandr asked, laughing. Youre an alien? That would explain a lot! she replied with a flourish, and they both laughed. It explains how youre so beautiful, Aleksandr said without thinking. He instantly felt awkward, but she laughed it off and thanked him. He felt slightly relieved as he turned to face Vadim, but his Creditor was nowhere in sight. His spine began to tingle, like it always did when something bad was about to happen. We need to leave, he said suddenly. Now. What? There was a crack like thunder, and suddenly they were flying up into the air. Huge chunks of wall and floor flew with them, the stage splintered and cracked, the roof caved in. Aleksandr landed awkwardly on the stage, while Anastasia became trapped under a large chunk of roof. Seeing her like this sent a knife of guilt running across his chest, and he knew he had to do something so he stood up awkwardly and stumbled over to her, carefully picking his way across splintered wood, precariously balanced bricks and ominously-hanging wires. When he got to her, she was trapped. He came face to face with her and told her he would get her out. Worried tears dropped from her eyes as she hyperventilated and struggled to push the segment of roof off by herself, but to no avail for the roof had landed in a position which would have severely harmed a human: the roof covered the entire left half of her body and most of her lower back, trapping her legs and left arm, pinning her to the ground.

Ill get you out, he promised, pushing himself up onto the unsteady ground of debris. He stumbled, grabbed onto the roof for support. He cursed under his breath as he gripped the edge of the roof. Anastasia let out a pain wail as Aleksandr pulled at the wood. It groaned under the pressure until it eventually snapped and a large chunk of splintered wood was in his hands. He tossed it aside and assessed the situation: he had managed to free her shoulder. She could crawl out if I lift it up, he thought. But there could be something else pinning her down. He crouched down so that they were face-to-face. She was crying. Hush hush, he soothed, Is there anything under the roof? Anything else pinning you down? She shook her head, no. Okay, he said. Im going to lift it up, and when I do you need to crawl out. Understand? She grimaced, nodded. Aleksandr stood up and gripped the wood just above her lower back, then pulled with all his strength and the wood came up with little effort. Anastasia crawled out painfully, the debris scraping the skin from her elbows and hands. When she was fully out, Aleksandr let the wood drop and hurried to help Anastasia to her feet. She leaned up against him and coughed. Are you okay? he asked. I will be, she said. Sixteen years of this shit and Im still feeling pain. You get used to it, he said with a chuckle. They made their way out of the ruined building, passing by some very confused and panicked construction workers who tried to catch them so that they could make sure they were okay and wouldnt sue. Aleksandr and Anastasia ignored them and continued on their way. Aleksandr took her to his car and drove her to Chicago, where he had an apartment. Stay as long as you need, he told her as he showed her around. As youve guessed, we dont need to sleep, so the bedroom is fairly useless. So what do you do when normal people are asleep? she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the bedroom door. He smiled modestly and said, That keyboard in the living room? Da? I keep it here for practice. You are a musician? That is rather impressive. Da, he said, slipping into Russian. I used to be a regular at the jazz bar before it was demolished. She looked impressed. It gets boring, being a Seeker, he said. Youll eventually have to learn a skill. Like prostitution? she joked, smiling. She was shorter than him, but if she had been a couple of inches taller, they would be able to see eye-to-eye. Aleksandr melted inside as he admired her warm smile. I was thinking along the lines of singing, he told her. I am well-practiced in the violin, she told him. Why do you recommend singing? If your voice was as beautiful as your face, Id get larger audiences, he said with a wink. Anastasia smiled modestly and nodded. Thank you for this, she said. No trouble, he told her. No trouble at all.