Chapter Nine, The Book of Dreams

The Book of Dreams Series, in which Kira and the Z'Dhia catch their first break when they go to Sector 19, the Najiumian refugee district.

If you haven’t already, start the series from beginning with Chapter 1.

The Book of Dreams

It was 13.30 hours, and the klaxons were blowing.

It was the hour of rejuvenation, the hour of sukheri.

Sukheri was a period between the late-afternoon on the last day of the workweek, Tourahnipek, and the following dawn at the start of the workweek, Tourahnibrek. Three days in total of rest, feasting, and celebration. Three days in total of madness. While most Adernites celebrated sukheri indoors with family and friends, many more caroused in the streets and caused mischief. The mischief-making had only gotten worse in the last few years. Petty thefts, harassment, drunken brawls. It wasn't safe to go out during sukheri.

As the klaxons blared, the sun descended behind the western mountains and cast a copper glow across the clouds and sky. Zharkassar-5 ascended over Ingreth, golden and majestic in the ghost light.

In that ghostly, alien mood, the world slowed down even as it accelerated. The markets had closed, and Adernites frantically raced to the nearest transport hub to catch the next gyro. The air vibrated with the steady drone of their rotors as they zipped over buildings to their appointed destinations.

Kira and the Z'Dhia raced through the streets in search of a transport. Every hub they went to was crowded with people shoving and elbowing their way to gyros. Only those in the front of the crowd got picked for available seats. By the time they reached the hubs, the gyros were already filled to capacity and taking off like flies above the bedlam. Their rotors whipped up dust storms that forced the ones left behind back against the walls. The air was thick with desperation. Nobody wanted to be stuck in Ingreth during sukheri. Kira and the Z'Dhia hurried back down to the scooter before anyone took it. They needed to find a transport and get to Sector 19 right away.

Their investigation of Pazza Nuur yielded very little, but it did give them something else: a portal that could open the way to answers. The Najiumian youth Kira had chased through the woods offered the first clue––names. Whether these two names––Von and Lord––belonged to one person or two, they did not know. Lord did suggest what Kira had suspected: That whoever possessed the volume now was an aristocrat. She searched IPPA's database for possible matches, but came up empty. If she had access to manifest logs, lists of interplanetary passports and trade licenses, or space port logs, she might have better luck.

The Z'Dhia was more successful. After scanning the books with The Key, the Transdimensional Coordinator constructed a precise map of every location where they were taken. One of the locations, the most recent in fact, was in Sector 19. Wherever those books had been, the Najiumian youth was likely to have been as well. Without a name it was going to be difficult to track him down. Running sixty-two square kilometers and located in the northwestern quadrant of the district, some forty to forty-five minutes away by foot, Sector 19 was a refugee encampment for Najiumians. Over 33,000 Najiumians had made it their adopted home.

Article 25.

Following the Galactic Wars, IPPA delegation officials sat down in the Starrus 7 city of Indarron and mapped out a binding, nonnegotiable contract with its signatories. Written in good faith that it would bring peace to the four quadrants, the contract, etched in the minds of every citizen of the alliance, stipulated, among many clauses, that signatories were morally obligated to take in and house political refugees. Many were scattered throughout the territories: Xaritians in the Beta system; Najiumians in Zharkassar-5. Their largest settlement was in Ingreth, Sector 19.

The Najiumians faced overcrowding, poverty, and crime, brutal reminders of their intransigent lives in Sector 19. None of which the local government addressed, despite numerous penalties. Though the Najiumians demanded restitution, their concerns were often ignored. A silenced voice can be a poisonous and destructive force when left unheard. So it wasn't long after their arrival when riots and skirmishes broke out. According to old dispatches Kira read, the Security Forces had a reputation in Sector 19 that was well-deserved. The level of distrust between the Najiumian people and the authorities was thick and long-running.

"Can you blame them?" the Z'Dhia said in her ear.

Kira shook her head as they still raced through the streets for a gyro transport. "I'm afraid I'm won't make it any easier. My uniform is a dead giveaway."

"You're a cultural diplomat. We'll need a few of those skills from here on in."

Kira grinned inwardly. It was nice to see him come around on diplomacy, but her sense of triumph was short-lived. She was a cultural diplomat with no experience in cultural diplomacy in the field. She wished she had had time to do the prep work before going into Sector 19. She had gone from violating IPPA regulations to getting shot at with a plasma blaster to racing through the streets of Ingreth on an AV scooter to find a gyro transport before nightfall. She didn't even know what to think of her experiences. What's more she was tired, hungry, and sweaty. Her feet still ached from the running and her adrenaline had only begun to settle. If she had known that working with a N'Dhia would be this dangerous, she would have given the offer a second thought.

Eventually they found a hub nearby where an available transport was landing. Its rotors whipped the air into cream before it landed on the roof of a tall building.

They abandoned the scooter and raced to the top of the building up an exterior staircase. Once they reached the rooftop, they stumbled onto a madhouse. There were at least three dozen people scrambling to climb onboard, an inchoate mass surging toward the vehicle like debris after a plasma blast. The pilot, who was an Adernite, pushed them away with his polymorphic arms, screaming at them to get back. Since the roof was large enough for only one transport at a time, the desperation intensified. People shouted and waved their arms. The pilot chose three passengers from the crowd. He shut the doors of the transport and lifted it into the air. Cries rose along with it, drowned out by the gyro's heavy drone.

Kira and the Z'Dhia ran to the edge of the building. Down below, among the retreating crowds, a pair of traders hopped onto their abandoned scooter and drove away. She exchanged an exasperated look with her partner.

"Now what?"

"We wait." He lowered the hood of his cloak over his face and pulled out The Key.

She stared at him, mystified. How he could change moods so. One moment he was desperate to find a transport, the next he was stoical. Nothing fazed him, and yet everything fazed him. He was turning out to be a bundle of contradictions. He scrolled this thumb across the surface of The Key, his expression a brick wall hiding all his contradictions behind it.

Sighing, Kira turned and stared at the view from the rooftop. It was startling. White buildings drenched in the dying rays of the sun stretched in every direction. The skyline was a jagged edge of bones, round windows with the rictus grins of skeletons glaring in the sunset. Further below revelers gathered in the streets, waving state flags and ululating in the dense, thin air. The crowds swelled as they promenaded in different directions up the streets, pushing, shoving, ululating, and whistling as they morphed into a large mass of bodies. Someone tossed a firecracker which exploded in midair with a loud crack. The people on the rooftop recoiled.

"Khekulas!"

An elegant northern Jendavaran woman nearby grimaced. She directed her hand toward the swelling crowds. "See how they ruin everything?" She glanced at Kira, her fierce blue eyes turned violet in the sunset. "I blame the government. Those fools do nothing, but let this chaos run wild." That was, according to this woman, but one of the government's many failures. It promised but failed to deliver an elevated line to ease traffic, like the one in Tullre the capitol of Aderna. It refused to regulate trade in the outer districts. This "anarchy," she claimed, was all their making. In her eyes the notches against the government's reputation were many.

Kira flashed a tight grin when the woman turned to her for an agreement she didn't particularly want or need.

"Then there are the crimes," she sniffed. "What does the Supreme Council do about that? Nothing, except open the interstellar borders to the Najiumians. What do we get for the trouble? Crime. Drugs. Khekulas. Ugh! They're turning my beloved Jendavar into a cesspool. We never had these problems before until they arrived and polluted our civilization. We were the greatest planetary system of the four quadrants and now look at what we've become." She swept her hands at the crowd massing around her. "Khekulas, savages!"

The Z'Dhia sniffed. "Do you mind? Your desperate need to prove your supremacy is distracting."

The Jendavaran gasped, then snarled. She fell nonetheless into exasperated silence.

Ten minutes passed before the next transport touched down. The crowd surged forward again, a single-bodied mass acting out of the same impulse. The Z'Dhia dove into the frenzy. He disappeared through the crush of people as they surged toward the vehicle.

"Mister..." Kira began, before she acted on instinct as well and followed him.

The crowd held her back. It swelled around her, arms pushing her in opposite directions. She tried to squeeze her way toward the transport. A jetty of arm and shoulders shoved her again with another surge of the crowd. She made one more attempt to break through. She raised her elbows to keep flying hands and arms from hitting her in the face. Someone grabbed her arm. She started to struggle until she noticed it was the Z'Dhia. He shouted something at her but she couldn't hear him over the noise. She read his lips. "Come on," he was saying. She nodded and the two worked their way through the crowd.

The Adernite was already behind the wheels of his vehicle. The door to the passenger seat was closed, but when the Z'Dhia waved to the pilot, it slid open. They climbed inside. A few people in the crowd behind them started to push them out of the way and climb onboard, until the pilot leaned out of the window in the pilot's seat and yelled at them to stand back.

Hands grabbed at Kira as she settled in. The door slid shut with a whoosh, and soon the transport lifted off the roof. The crowd below scrambled backwards to get out of the way, waving their fists and screaming at the pilot.

"This is insane," she shouted above the drone. "Is it always like this?"

The pilot glanced over his shoulder with a grin. "Greetings from Aderna!" he shouted back.

"Get us to Sector 19," the Z'Dhia shouted.

The pilot stared at him through the overhead mirror. His blue-gray eyes widened, then narrowed. "Of all places––"

"I will make it worth your trouble."

The Adernite laughed. He was a jovial fellow, with warm, friendly eyes and a square jaw that reminded Kira of the chisel-jawed actors in the cinemas of old. His enormous, elongated cranium had a ridge that began at the bridge of his nose and ended at the back of his head, where curly, gray hairs sprouted. With all four of his hands, he fiddled with the buttons and levers on the flight console. "Sector 19, we go then," he said. He was amenable. After all, his job was to ferry passengers to wherever they wanted, no questions asked.

"Mum is my mouth," he said and laughed. "Isn't that the Betans say?"

Kira grinned. "Something like it."

True to his word, the Adernite never asked questions. Instead he answered them. Any question they could have asked or wanted to ask if they thought to, he answered. His name was Ulren. He had been a pilot for the transport system for six years. Before that he was a guide in the underground tunnels of Ingreth. He knew every inch of the district and the neighboring district of Uxiua as well. Want to find the best Najiumian basket weaves and the finest mud baths in the district? Ask Ulren. He'll know. He was a font of information about the planet's history and its natural phenomena. Take for instance the underground tunnels.

"They're extraordinary, magnificent. You'll never see anything like it anywhere. They're as old as Aderna itself and are one of the greatest wonders of the world. They stretch for kilometers beneath the desert floor. An entire city can fit in them, I say. You can find any kind of rock down there, if that is the sort of thing you like. Silicone, magnesium, pumice, quartz even. On the cavern walls, there are organisms that glow in the dark. All over, they glow like the northern lights. A most extraordinary thing. They say there's enough organisms down there that you can light the entire district for a single year." He laughed. "Or so that is what they say. I've been down there and it's extraordinary but––" he shook his head––"light an entire district? No, no, you will still need a few torchlights, especially if you get lost. You don't want to get lost down there, oh no. You'll never find your way out. There are legends about those who went down into the tunnels and were never seen again. I believe them. Some caves are 91 meters wide and some four or five kilometers deep. Some wind in so many directions you don't know if you're traveling east or west. Very easy to get lost. But most people risk it. It is breathtaking down there. Some areas have large pools and waterfalls even. Runoffs from the mountain springs, you see. Winters get terrible around here. Massive rainstorms."

"The tunnels protect you from floods," Kira shouted.

"That's right. You know about Aderna. Yourself could give tours."

She smiled. "When I retire, maybe I will."

He laughed again. "Long ago, when I was a boy, there used to be a steam bath down there. They'd steam a large pool with the lava rocks they imported from Mount Vsethri. Very relaxing, very stimulating. Everyone went to the steam baths during sukheri. Very nice, but that was a long time ago, before the war."

During the war, he continued, the Alliance used the tunnels to transport artillery and ammunition to different posts on the planet. The Ro Kannan invaded the airspace in their Manta Rays and dropped incendiary devices on the convoys before they could reach the bases. "Vesturah Lakh," he said. Some of the craters from their assaults were still visible in the desert outside the districts. The tunnels were a lifesaver. The Alliance would not have won the battles here on Aderna if it weren't for them.

Fascinated by the history lesson, Kira asked, "Weren't the tunnels sealed off after the war?"

"They were, but a group of tourist guides persuaded the Supreme Council to open them up again. There was a lot of trade in that industry––people come from all over to see the tunnels. They are a wonder to see. I did pretty good business there myself. Now it's all dried up, which is too bad."

"What do you mean––all dried up?"

"Nobody goes down there anymore. Only if they're working the underground."

Kira exchanged a stunned look with the Z'Dhia. "You mean the illegal markets are down in the tunnels?"

"Of course," he said, "everyone knows that!"

The markets moved underground after IPSF increased their raids. It was easier to evade the forces that way. They set up shop in the many caverns underground, stayed for a day or two, then packed up. They were nomadic. "Like my ancestors," he said with a note of pride. Nobody knew where the markets would appear again. They happened and you either knew when and where it was going to happen or you didn't.

"It is very clever, the way they do it, if you ask me." Then: "But of course, I'm not involved in any of that. I'm only a pilot."

The Z'Dhia asked if he ferried passengers from the space port in Uxuia. "Oh, of course," the pilot piped. "All the time. That's where some of my best customers come from. Tourists, like you two." The Z'Dhia asked him if he ever ferried Betans. Ulren glanced into the mirror above his cockpit at Kira and raised his brow. "I'm ferrying one now."

"Before?" said the Z'Dhia.

"Well, before, no, rarely. You don't meet many Betans in the Zharkassar system. Every once in a while, I will pick up a passenger from Beta-2 or 3."

"I'm from Beta-1 myself."

"Ah, then you are very far from home."

"Did you transport any Betans recently?" asked the Z'Dhia impatiently.

Ulren hemmed. "Oh, no, not recently. No, not that I can recall."

"How about Varmitians?" Kira asked.

"Varmitians?" He paused as he thought carefully for an answer. "Perhaps, but not recently. Like Betans, you don't get many Varmitians in this part of the galaxy."

Kira and the Z'Dhia exchanged looks, each, she imagined, thinking the same thing. The Varmitian was leaving as little carbon footing as possible on Aderna. Their only hope of getting any answers was from the Najiumian youth.

Kira frowned. Their only hope? Field Director Wyzrnu's solemn voice rang in her head. Keep an eye on the Z'Dhia and make sure he didn't break any more rules. She stared out of the window. Below Ingreth appeared like a toy model of white and dun-colored blocks.

When the gyro transport touched down on a hub in Sector 19, the sun slipped behind the mountain range and the sky darkened to dark shades of blue. Clouds streaked across the horizon still bore traces of the strange, blood-orange light. 

Ulren warned them that Sector 19 wasn't safe at this hour. He offered to escort them. He knew the streets far better than they did. The Z'Dhia disembarked without giving an answer, leaving Kira to decline his offer on her own. She thanked him but said that she and the Z'Dhia were fine. They knew where they were going.

"I will wait just the same. You will need a transport to get you back."

She thanked him again before she turned and raced after the Z'Dhia.

They exited the building together onto a quiet street, where old Najiumian men sat in doorways and leaned out of windows. They wore brown robes and long beads woven with feathers. Their hair, from black to brown to gray, were braided and bound with black bands. Their birthmarks began to swell with signs of distrust.

As they passed two men in a nearby doorway, Kira lowered her eyes and nodded. She turned both palms upward in a symbol of solidarity. Their silent, cautious stares made her feel self-conscious. She looked down at her IPPA uniform. In their eyes, she was the authority, the one whose mouth spoke of peace and safety but whose hands spoke of war. She smiled inwardly at her recollection of the Najiumian idiom. It reminded her so much of Earth history and how Earthlings often spoke of peace and acted in war. The Najiumians were a proud people with traditional ways and customs. Like many people the Ro Kannan colonized, they were still struggling to recover. They were so far from home, distrusted and despised, more threatened than threatening. She did not blame them for their wariness.

She heard a startled gasp. A woman glared at them out of the window above. She said something in her native tongue that Kira's translator failed to pick up.

Shouts and cheers arose in the distance. Here and there were the booms, hisses, and cracks of fireworks. Sukheri was underway, far from Sector 19. In a flash, the few Najiumians who sat in doorways or leaned out of windows went inside, shutting doors and drawing latches across shutters in a tumult of thumps and clicks.

They were alone now. Shadows cast from street globes stretched across the paved bricks and climbed walls.

"I have a feeling," the Z'Dhia said, "that they don't much care for sukheri."

Kira checked the news feed on her communicator. Sure enough, there were several reports about revelers harassing Najiumians during sukheri. Local elders lodged several complaints within the last few weeks alone. Najiumian youths had formed committees to patrol the streets and protect the community. Kira suggested they find the Najiumian youth before the revelers arrived. The last thing they needed, she said, was to get caught in the crossfire. She still had her weapon, but she loathed the idea of drawing it again.

  The Key ticked in the Z'Dhia's hands. It led them to the location where the books he had scanned were last seen. Hopefully, the Najiumian youth was there as well. Though there were no guarantees.

"Someone will be there," said the Z'Dhia. "I will get the information I need."

"How can you be so sure of that? You noticed the way they stared at us."

He looked at her. "I have been n'dhia for a long time, Wood. I've come across far more challenging missions than this."

"Maybe, but did they all involve someone who was trying to translate the volumes?"

The Z'Dhia fell silent. She asked if that worried him. The volumes contained valuable, scientific data. Profiteers didn't care about scientific data. Aestheticism, prewar history––these were what collectors and traders valued most. Like many prewar artifacts, the volumes were show pieces displayed in private domiciles. A status of class, like the color purple during the Middle Ages on Earth, or art collections during the twentieth century. It was the most egregious form of appropriation––artifacts stolen from a colonized and disenfranchised people. She also sensed that it was much more than that for the Idris-Sarran. Driven by a desire to recover their stolen history and culture, they were also subsumed by a desire to control the information the volumes contained. Kira recalled something the Z'Dhia had told her earlier. Not even the Idris-Sarran had read the volumes. Volume 143, like the other volumes in the collective works of the Book of Dreams, contained data the Varmitian wanted to access. It explained the sense of urgency.

She repeated her question. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"No more than usual."

She frowned. "What's so important in Volume 143? Why all the trouble to get it translated? Is it dangerous?"

"Knowledge is never dangerous, Wood. The danger lies in what what one does with it."

He concentrated now on The Key as it continued to tick. He nodded in the direction further ahead. "That way."

They advanced up the street with The Key as their only guide. After walking several meters, they reached the end of the avenue, blocked by a two-story building adjoining other taller buildings on either side. Architecture on Aderna was unique and surprising. Main arteries could turn unexpectedly into dead-ends or wound into cul-de-sacs and quads. Kira imagined the map of Ingreth looking like a series of fractals and fleur-de-lys. The windows in the adobe-brick building glowed with light globes. There was movement inside on both floors, shadows drifting left to right and back again.

Within a long breezeway, with open doorways lined along the walls, opened onto the other side of the street. A darkened stairwell with cracked steps climbed to the second floor. Soft, but urgent voices murmured out of the doors. Children's voices rang throughout in sprightly birdlike trills. Two ran out of one of the doors, a boy and a girl, their giggles careening against the brick walls. They each looked to be ten or eleven Betan years, perhaps far older in Najiumian. Their long, skinny limbs, wide, open faces and round bellies radiated health. Their brown hair tumbled about their shoulders, which was the custom among children. Only the young men and women wore their hair in elaborate fashions, signaling their sexual availability. Those who were unavailable wore their hair in braids threaded with ribbons and beads or, as with children, wore it loose. The Najiumians believed that their hair was endemic to the spirit of life––njama. Birth, death, youth, old age, sexuality: All contained within one's hair follicles.

The children were too engrossed in whatever game they were playing to notice the two strangers in their midst. It wasn't until they almost collided into Kira and the Z'Dhia that they realized they were not alone. They seemed to bounce off them, as though Kira and the Z'Dhia were an invisible force shield. Shocked, frightened expressions flashed across their faces. The genetic birthmarks along their features turned dark against their pale brown skin.

The boy, who was smaller than his female companion, was the first to run away. The girl stood paralyzed in front of them, her eyes widening in fear. Kira smiled and held her palms upward.

"Hello."

The girl gasped and followed the small boy.

Kira started to call after her before the adults emerged from the doors like a steady flow of water.

They were all women, their hair braided and woven with ribbons and beads. They wore identical brown dresses woven from dried grass and wrist and ankle beads. Their expressions were impassive, but curious. A group of children ran out of the domiciles or poked their heads out of the doorways before some of the women sucked their teeth and warned them to go back inside. The children obeyed, but they lingered for a few seconds, gazing wide-eyed at the strangers.

One of the women came forward. Her birthmarks, which spotted her jawline and temples, differed from the other women. From what Kira could recall, Najiumians lived together in tight-knit clans, some running into the hundreds. The young woman may have married into this clan. She asked what they were doing here. The Z'Dhia explained that they were looking for someone amongst them, a male who might have some information he needed.

The women exchanged looks and whispered to one another. The young woman who had addressed them gazed at the Z'Dhia for a long time before she turned to Kira. She could tell from the look in her eyes that she was scrutinizing her, determining whether to trust her. Kira reached into her uniform jacket and removed her ID-badge.

"I'm Agent Kira Wood, a diplomat from IPPA. We'd like to ask a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Are you here to arrest him, this boy you seek?" the young woman asked.

"No," Kira said, then looked at the Z'Dhia again.

"Are you the elder?"

The young woman glanced at her sister-clan and laughed. They joined her. "I am not an elder."

"Then I wish to speak to your elder." The Z'Dhia pulled the hood down from his head and revealed himself.

The women gasped and took a step backward. The wary looks and the whispers struck up again.

"You are n'dhia," the young woman said. "We have heard of your kind."

"If you've heard of me, then you know why I am here. I wish to parley with your elder. Take me to him."

"Her," she corrected. "We Najiumians are a matriarchal society."

The Z'Dhia bowed his head. "So commands the universe."

She motioned with her arm to one of the doorways near the back. Her sister-clan parted to the other side of the breezeway to let them pass.

They entered the back room together with the sister-clan following behind. The room was lit with a few braziers whose flames cast shadows across the bare walls. Mats covered the floor, on top of which were pots and other earthenware filled with food. An old woman reclined on a mat covered in embroidered cushions in front of the carpet and earthenware. She looked more than a hundred years old, with wrinkles, folds, and creases on every plane of her face. Faded brown birthmarks stippled her forehead and the space around her eyes. Her thin, icy blue hair fell across her face and shoulders, except for a thin braid that draped down her left shoulder. A large red bead bound the tip of the braid. She was a widow. Her thin body seemed lost in the large red robe she wore. It covered everything but her arms and feet. Her eyes were closed. She barely acknowledged their presence.

The young woman approached the elder and leaned down to whisper in her ear. The woman's eyes remained closed, but she nodded. The young woman addressed them again.

"She will speak with you."

She motioned for them to sit on the few cushions in front of the elder. The old woman did not speak, but breathed serenely with her eyes closed. She reminded Kira of the kind, sweet old women of her childhood, always in the community garden, planting roses and smelling of synthetic jasmine and iced tea. When the woman opened her eyes, a fierce radiance shone inside them. No one trifled with an elder like her. She gazed on the Z'Dhia first, reaching out her hand for his. He grasped it and bowed his head.

"I have never seen n'dhia before," she said, her voice ancient and wise.

"There is a first time for everything."

She smiled. "Among my people, you are more tale than life." She turned to Kira. "And you are human. From IPPA, no less. More life than tale."

From the tone in her voice, Kira could tell she was not impressed. She smiled and introduced herself.

The elder nodded. "I am Kharxissa of the Djokassa Clan of the Valley of the Lakes from the planet Najiu."

"Kharxissa of the Djokassa Clan of the Valley of the Lakes from the planet Najiu, I am Z'Dhia of the planet Idris-Sarra. I seek your audience."

"So you have." She turned to the young woman. "My sister-daughter has informed me that you wish to seek information."

"There is a young man amongst you that we wish to speak to."

"Is he in trouble?" She glanced at Kira.

"No," he said. "We only want to speak to him."

"For what purpose?"

"I am n'dhia, which means all matters concern the recovery of my people's stolen artifacts."

The women gasped and began whispering again. Their voices were a low sibilance, like fabric rustling in the dark.

"Are you suggesting that a member of our brother-clan is a thief?" the elder said warily.

"We believe he has information that will help us in our search," Kira interjected.

"Us?" She grinned. "I see."

"With your permission, we would like to speak with him."

"What is the name of the one amongst us you wish to speak to?"

The Z'Dhia shifted on pillows. "We do not have a name."

Kharxissa looked at her sister-daughter again and laughed. Soon the sister-clan laughed as well, as though obeying on cue. Kira grinned inwardly. She agreed; their search was absurd. So many people they were searching for and they didn't even have the most basic of information: Names. She had no idea how large the Djokassa clan was. There could be hundreds among them living in the area alone. Would Kharxissa know them all? Perhaps, when they were living in compounds on their own planet, they likely had every name of their brother- and sister-clan etched in their memories. They were no longer on Najiu. How much had their ways changed in the new environment? How much had they lost themselves while attempting to eke out a new living, a new home? When Kira's ancestors arrived on Beta-1, they had to shed their old ways and begin anew. The environment was not always suitable for Earth customs and old prejudices. In many ways that was good, an evolution into the spirit of humanity that their ancestors always dreamed of becoming. Still there were others, things lost in translation, lost in the hibernating chambers during the decades long journey to a new planetary system, lost in the intervening century as new generations forged a way of life on the rocky exoplanet.

Kharxissa grew serious and gazed intensely at Kira. For a second, she believed the older woman had peered into her thoughts. Instead, she remarked, "If you do not have a name, how do you know who to look for?"

Good question.

"I have my ways," the Z'Dhia said.

"So I have heard. We have our ways, as well. This youth, this boy, you are certain he belongs to us."

The Z'Dhia nodded slowly.

"If you do not have a name, then you might have a face."

The Z'Dhia turned to Kira. She was the only one who saw him. She began describing the boy to the elder. The most telling and likely description she could offer was the birthmarks. Though she had only seen his face for a few seconds before the youth turned and fled, she was able to describe them from recall. The same observational skills she used in her brief career as a curator came into good purpose at that moment. She tapped her own face with her fingertip to mark each birthmark on the boy's face. She looked at the young woman's face and remarked with a gasp, "Sort of like yours." The sister-daughter blanched, then exchanged a worrisome look with elder Kharxissa.

Frowning, the Z'Dhia said: "You know of whom we speak."

"You said this boy was not in trouble," she said warily, "but you did not say why you thought he could help you. What information does he have that would be useful to n'dhia?"

"We believe he has been working for the one who possesses the artifact of my people. When we last saw him, he had this."

He reached into his satchel for the books, then handed them to Kharxissa. Her sister-daughter gasped at the sight of them. The sister-clan gathered around to get a glimpse. Kharxissa sucked her teeth. "Go, go," she said, and soon the other women were shuffling out of the room, stopping only long enough to take the pots and earthenware with them.

Once alone, the elder began examining the books, turning them this way and that in her hands. She gave one to the sister-daughter, and then the other. The sister-daughter likewise examined the books. A strained look crossed her face.

"Have you seen these books before?" Kira asked.

The sister-daughter raised her eyes. The birthmarks along her jaw began to swell. "No." She thrust the books back at the Z'Dhia. "I've never laid eyes on them before."

The Z'Dhia turned to the elder and then to Kira. There was a look in his eyes Kira couldn't quite read. He smiled and returned the books to his satchel. "That's unfortunate. I was hoping you would help us."

Kira frowned. The young woman did recognize them. Even now, her birthmarks continued to swell. Yet the Z'Dhia appeared to be giving in too easily. Perhaps much too easily.

"We cannot help you," said the young woman.

Kharxissa gazed at the Z'Dhia. "Tell me: What matter is it of these books you present to us?"

"The person we are looking for may have hired the one amongst you to deliver these books to him. Books that translate words into other languages, which would be necessary to read the artifact from my people. It is in a language no one reads except our own elders."

She nodded, then glanced at her sister-daughter again. "This person who has the stolen artifact: You believe that he is known to the one amongst us with whom you wish to speak."

"If we spoke to him," said the Z'Dhia, "he could tell us who this individual is. I must know who this is to recover the artifact."

She smiled. "Such a mission for n'dhia. I heard tales that z'dhian can walk on water and speak through the wind."

"Child's tales."

"Plainly, you are a man, that is true to my eyes. A man with limitations." She shifted on her cushions, grimacing uncomfortably. Her sister-daughter offered help, but the old woman closed her eyes, raised her hand, and shook her head. "My leg is only a little numb. There," she said with a relieved smile. "It is better. Such relief." She was silent for a few seconds before she said, "I know what it is to be aggrieved. My people, we fled our home world to come here, scattered across this planetary system like ashes on the wind. We have lost, but our losses are our own."

"I beg to differ," said the Z'Dhia. "We share a common enemy: The Ro Kannan. If they hadn't invaded and colonized your home world, as they did mine, you would not be in the position you are in now."

"Would we?" She shrugged. "Perhaps. They conquered my planet, killed my people, enslaved the ones they kept alive, and ripped us from our homes. They deserve the ire of the gods for the hell they put us through. These wounds heal in time. It is the self-inflicted wounds that are harder to heal."

Kira nodded. She knew the history of Najiumian politics quite well. The Ro Kannan had invaded Najiu and forced its people to work in their mining colonies. Since the work was treacherous and left a high turnover rate, the planet, which relied on an agronomic economy, served their purposes for a continuous supply of labor. They left sympathetic members of the governing elite in charge, allowing them to profit from the transaction while they turned a blind eye to the enslavement of their fellow Najiumians. After the war, the ruling elite on Najiu remained in power. War, corruption and poverty continued to fester like goiters across the planet.

"Isn't that why there's a civil war? To overthrow the corrupt elite who still control the government that the Ro Kannan left in control?"    

"The corruption does not need permission to corrupt. They were there before the Ro Kannan came."

"And we will flush out the traitors like a disease soon enough," the young woman said.

The Z'Dhia traded glances between both women. The elder explained. "My son and Zhorana are bond. He, as my own bond, has taken up arms in the war. We may never again see them alive again."

"Then justice matters to you," he said to Zhorana.

"Justice is all that matters." Her eyes were ablaze with the conviction of youth.

"Then understand me when I say that as n'dhia my very being is infused with the righteous cause of justice. I know what it is you seek. I have surrendered my life to it. My people fought to rid ourselves of our invaders. We are not a people given to war. It is a concept that eludes us. We took up arms only to protect ourselves. When the Ro Kannan colonized our planet, they allowed thieves to plunder our treasures and our riches. It has taken us a long time to recover those artifacts, but it has become our life's mission. It has become my mission. I told you before that I have no interest in harming the one amongst you who has information I seek. I merely wish to find the man who has appropriated our stolen artifacts. With your help, I can find him. If you believe in the cause of justice as much as I do, then you will see that we are allies. And as an ally, I will aid you as much as I can in your cause as I hope you will do in mine."

Kira turned to the Z'Dhia, struck by his calm conviction. It was true: He burned with an urgency towards justice. It didn't sway her from the sense that this urgency wasn't also motivated by fear. Whoever possessed Volume 143 was attempting to extract information that could be fatal in the wrong hands.

Kharxissa nodded solemnly. "I can see from your words that this is true. The one you described earlier goes by the name Djakvian."

"No!" Zhorana cried out. "This cannot be!"
The elder chastised the younger woman in a tender voice. "You know he speaks the truth. Search for it in your heart. Your bond would speak these words as well."

Zhorana lowered her eyes. The birthmarks grew more prominent. Kharxissa continued to speak to her in a low voice, encouraging her to say more. "He is not a thief," she said at last, lifting her eyes. They had a fierce radiance that vied with the flames dancing in the braziers. "This you must know."

"We understand," Kira said. "No one here is judging him."

"We thank you for your kindness, IPPA official." The spitefulness in her voice took Kira aback.

A few minutes passed before she spoke again. "The one that she speaks of is my brother. We were all that was left of our blood clan. We came here to Zharkassar when we were small. We do not have memories of our planet. The Djokassa clan took us in. When I came of age, I was bond to Khzarkian. My brother came to live with us. When my bond and his father chose to return to Najiu to fight for our people, Djakvian wished to go too. But he was too young. They told him, 'no stay and be with the clan.'" She stopped, frowned. "This planet has changed him."

"Changed," Kira said. "How?"

"He became angry, he lashed out. He became restless, so very restless. All our men have. We women, we have our ways of adapting. We weave baskets and trade them in the markets, grow our food, if we can, turn to each other. The men––they are foolish and stubborn and very proud. The Adernites, they come here and test our patience. They throw rocks at us, call us names, say we do not belong, dare us to challenge them. We tell our young men to do nothing for to give in to their taunts means death."

Kira furrowed her brows. "Death?"

Kharxissa tilted her head to the side. "It amounts to that. There have been beatings."

"Has anyone filed charges?"

"To who?" Zhorana said. "IPPA? They do nothing even as our people are being slaughtered on Najiu. No, we do not have the luxury to think anyone will care. We protect ourselves."

"The patrols, you mean," Kira said.

The young woman nodded. "My brother used to be among them. They say they protect the women and children, but they do it only for themselves. They fight, but for what? We gain nothing here. This is not our planet. We are fighting the wrong enemies. For a long time, my brother did not see this. Now that he is older and a little wiser, he understands. And by understanding, he has grown restless. It is not enough to fight here. He wishes to return home."

"Did he tell you who hired him to deliver the books?" said the Z'Dhia. There was a note of impatience in his voice.

"No. His only interest is in helping our people. To bring us things that IPPA won't. A people needs more than food and shelter to survive. Much more. Respect, honor, dignity, freedom––these things matter too. IPPA only brings us what is material, as if we are only castaways, which is what we've been reduced to. A body needs more than what it can touch, it needs a history, an identity, a home."

"He traded in the underground."

Zhorana appeared stunned. "I did not tell you that."

"Not in words. I speak many languages and not all have words. Djakvian trades in the underground markets. Perhaps looking for weapons."

"You know nothing!"

"Zhorana," Kharxissa rebuked.

The young woman lowered her eyes, but the birthmarks along her jaw were still swollen. When she looked up again, her gaze burned with conflicting emotions. Kira did not know how he knew it, but the Z'Dhia guessed correctly. The young woman and her brother were smuggling weapons. The Varmitian Lord or the Betan promised weapons in return for Djakvian's service. An unsettled feeling came over Kira. She empathized with Zhorana, but as an IPPA agent she had her responsibilities too. The conflicting emotions she saw in the young woman's eyes matched her own.

"Zhorana," the Z'Dhia said, "do you know who hired your brother?"

She glared at him. "No. And that is all I will tell you."

She turned and walked out of the room.

They were silent for a long while before Kharxissa asked if the Z'Dhia had found what he came looking for. He got to his feet. "I still need to know where I can find this Djakvian."

Kharxissa grinned. "Then your search continues. I cannot help you anymore."

The Z'Dhia nodded and reiterated his earlier promise. "We are allies. If you seek help from us, then we will give it."

She acknowledged the offer with a nod. "This is our battle. We will fight it to the bloody end. But I will not be there when it happens. Only through my progeny will I see that bright day."

The Z'Dhia likewise nodded, then turned to Kira, who had risen to her feet. As they started to leave, Khaxissa had one last statement to offer: "Take care. The streets are not safe at night."

Kira and the Z'Dhia exchanged looks before they departed.

Gathered in the doors of the breezeway, the sister-clan watched them leave. Zhorana was among them. Her eyes were hard and cold.

In the next installment of the Book of Dreams, Kira and the Z’Dhia plan go underground to find Djakvian. Become a free or paid subscriber and follow the continuing adventures. As always, comment and share!