Chapter Four, Book of Dreams
The Book of Dreams, The Book of Dreams Series, in which Kira meets the Z'Dhia and gets a trippy introduction to his time and space machine.
Read the series from the beginning below.
Kira returned to her quarters, collected her belongings, then took a hyper-lift to Dock 13 on the other side of the station. Pinned in the back of the crowded car, she bumped, butted, and jostled into the other passengers, muttering apologies along the way. The car was filled with Betans mostly, but there were a few Oellings, a Starrian, and a Jendavaran. The Jendavaran was a fierce-looking creature with a long, angular face covered in soft white furskin, pale blue eyes shaded under a ridged brow, and a luxuriant white mane. He muttered insults to himself, and sneered and grimaced with each jostle of the speeding car.
When the lift reached its destination, Kira shuffled out into the bay with the other passengers. She turned to the Jendavaran and asked where she might find Dock 13. He glared at her, snarled his upper cleft lip to bear sharp, but very humanoid teeth, and pointed right. "Stupid human," he barked. "Do you not have eyes or are those wormholes in your face?"
Jendavarans generally lacked the art of self-editing. They blurted out whatever was on their minds, no matter how blunt, insulting, or appropriate. They held blunt honesty in the highest regard. As a cultural researcher, Kira had written plenty of debriefing papers on the social conventions of many species in the Alliance, including Jendavarans. The correct protocols when visiting member planets were based on her findings. So she was well-prepared for the perfect response.
"Fuck you," she said.
The Jendavaran stopped, turned to look at her, and grinned approvingly.
Kira continued in the direction the Jendavaran pointed. The nearest shuttle bay was Dock 12, which meant Dock 13 was on the other end of the long corridor. She rolled her eyes. She was supposed to meet up with the z'dhia at 13.00 hours. Since she had no idea what her traveling accommodations were going to be or where she was going, she spent an hour deciding what to bring with her. She ended up packing at least one of everything in her closet. The bag on her shoulder was heavy with indecision. By the time she was ready to leave, 13.00 came and went. She only hoped, unlike Oellings, Idris-Sarran didn't favor punctuality.
Along the crowded corridor, IPSF recruits streamed out of the dock and greeted commanding officers. In their Security Forces uniforms, they looked every bit as overwhelmed as they were eager. She recalled her own first arrival to The Cloud. It was intimidating, but exciting too. Of course that was before the reality of what she had signed up for sank in, but those first few hours were thrilling. She spent that first day wandering the environs, mouth agape at the size and scope of it all. She met her first Adernite on that excursion. He was a flustered fellow, eyes agog, four arms flailing about, speaking to her in broken Betan-English. It took her some time before she realized he had gotten lost and wanted to find the commissary. If she hadn't felt bad for him, she would have found the entire encounter comical. By the end of the year nothing was comical. Such was life on The Cloud.
Though most of the recruits were Betan, there were a few Najiumians and Starrians among them as well. They were no doubt so very far away from their home worlds. When you joined IPPA, there was no way of knowing where they'd send you. The process seemed so random. Kira herself could have been assigned to Starrus 7, Zharkassar-5, or even Tyrannia in Q-I. It was pure, random luck that she landed her first assignment on The Cloud. If it had been elsewhere in the four quadrants, she might not have been able to leave IPPA. So far away from home on a strange and alien planet, with no support networks, stuck in a job that made her miserable––Kira shuddered at the thought of what could have been.
She smiled and nodded at a few rookies who walked past her. They returned her silent greetings with stern gravity.
Kira lugged her belongings until she reached the other end and found Dock 13.
The shuttle bay was empty. No shuttles, freighters, workers loading and unloading containers, pilots reviewing manifests or any of the familiar sights. Three walls, steel gray, walkways, and the long runway that led toward the exit where, behind the air locks, space baited––that was all. Kira glanced back at the entrance. Had she gotten the right address?
She took out her communicator and tried to reach her superior officer. When she at last linked through to oer office, she learned that the field director was in a meeting. The assistant asked if Kira had an appointment.
"No, I don't. I just fin––"
"What is the purpose of this call?"
Kira could tell the voice on the other end was not Oelling. There was a note of frustration in her tone, and none of the cool, soothing meters so familiar to Oelling speech. She took that as a sign she could persuade her to let her speak to the field director.
"This is important. I need to speak to––"
"If you wish to speak to the assistant director, then you'll need to make an appointment."
"I don't have time for that. Look, my name is Agent Kira Wood. I was told by the field director that I was to meet someone in Dock 13. Well, I'm at Dock 13 right now and there isn't a living soul here. I need to know if I'm in the right location or if there was a change in plans."
"Did you receive a message from the field office on your communicator?" the assistant asked.
Kira skimmed through her message box. "No, I don't think so."
"You would have been notified if there had been a change in plans. Regulations stipulate that all agents in the field be kept up-to-date on any changes in plans or schedules."
"Fine," she said. "I still need to know if I got the right address. Please, I just need to speak to the field director to reverify instructions."
"Hold please." The voice on the other end cut off and she was put on hold. Canned music played on the other end. When the executive assistant returned, she told Kira that she could speak to the field director for two minutes between 18.14 and 18.16 hours.
"That's four hours from now."
"Field Director Wyzrnu looks forward to your correspondence."
"Wait a minute. I need help now––" But it was too late. The connection dropped and Kira yelled at dead space.
She turned off her communicator with a grunt. It made no difference. There was no arguing against IPPA regulations.
She glanced around her surroundings and wondered what could have gone wrong. Either she had the wrong address or, far worse, the z'dhia left without her. Didn't Field Director Ito mention something about him already having a new assignment? Tired of waiting for an attaché he no doubt resented, he likely thought her tardiness was the perfect excuse to leave her behind.
With a sigh and a shrug, Kira clutched her bags and walked toward the entrance. Her disappointment wasn't surprising, though she wished she could say it was. She had been bracing for it ever since she left Tura City. Once bitten, as the ancient saying went.
As her footfalls resounded in the empty bay, a voice, which seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere at once, rang out.
"You're late!"
Kira turned sharply on her heels. A few meters away, a tall and trim man gestured to her from a walkway. Behind him was the staff entrance, which she had not heard open or close. His face was partially hidden under the hood of a dark, mottled cloak, under which he wore a crimson shirt opened at the top collar, dark trousers, and black, steel-toed shoes. A canvas satchel hung from a strap on his right shoulder and rested on his left hip. From the few photographs she'd seen of Idris-Sarran, their cultural attire tended to be ceremonial. Robes of white and gold. Long tunics with loose trousers. Flowing gowns with geometric blocking and embroidered details. Head coverings. Nothing at all like what the Z'Dhia was wearing right now. She imagined this was what a n'dhia wore to look inconspicuous, though this Z'Dhia would stand out in a crowd no matter what he wore.
"I waited two days for you." He spoke to her as if they had known each other for years. A casual familiarity that softened whatever disappointment he was feeling. It put her at ease.
"I'm sorry," she said in the same tone, "but it was out of my hands. I had to be deputized and debree––"
"You're human," he said.
She was taken aback by this comment. It never occurred to her that being human might be an issue. "Is that a problem?"
"No, it could be worse." He started toward the stairs. "You could be an Oelling."
Kira laughed. He had a sense of humor. She imagined Idris-Sarran, z'dhian in particular, to be stoic and logical people, like the Mr. Spock of the classical serials she used to watch with her father. She appreciated that this Z'Dhia was personable.
As he reached the bottom step and started to approach her, he revealed himself by pulling down the hood of his cloak. He was far younger than she imagined, and more handsome as well. His hair was short cropped and highlighted with henna streaks. A goatee, also hennaed and sculptured to a fine point, gave an aesthetic symmetry to his angular face. He was humanoid in every respect, except for his eyes. They were a bright silver with dark rims around the irises, metallic and haunting in relief against his smooth black skin. Despite his sartorial choices and flashes of humor, there was a calm solemnity to his features, grave and intelligent as a scholar or a wiseman.
He reached into his cloak, removed a round, black object, and began scrolling his thumb across it. She noticed the hennaed tattoo of ornate ideogrammatic circles beaded together on his hand.
"We haven't introduced ourselves." She offered her hand. "I'm Agent Kira Wood, cultural diplomat and attaché in the Department of the Hall of Justice of the Interplanetary Peace Alliance, ID-Badge number A-67900-x, from the branch office of Beta-1 in the Beta planetary system."
"Yes, I know who you are." He was still preoccupied with the object in his hand. "You're my minder."
"Minder?" She lowered her hand. "Is that what I am?"
"It amounts to that." He looked up. His penetrating eyes caused her heartbeat to quicken. "That's why IPPA sent you to watch over me. To make sure I follow their rules."
"I'd think that after your incident with the Ro Kannan, you'd appreciate someone who was trained in cultural diplomacy."
He laughed. It echoed in the cavernous, empty bay. "You've obviously never met a Ro Kannan, because you would know that diplomacy doesn't work on them."
"No, I haven't," she said, "but that doesn't mean you couldn't use a little diplomacy." And in more ways than one, she thought. "As a member of IPPA's department of cultural diplomacy, I have access to its databases. I'm also authorized to call Security Forces if I need to detain and question suspects. My badge can open doors you didn't have access to before. I can be an important asset to you."
The Z'Dhia stared at her, thoughtful. "A portal to the universe."
"That's one way of putting it."
"You're right," he said after a few seconds of consideration. "That would be helpful. As long as it doesn't interfere."
"If it weren't for diplomacy, we wouldn't have peace in the four quadrants. It also kept tensions from escalating when that business between your people and the Ro Kannan happened. You'd welcome my kind of interference."
She held his gaze. The door tipped open. She waited for permission to enter, but instead, he grinned and ascended the stairwell.
"Peace is not the absence of aggression, Wood. It is the absence of fear. As far as the Ro Kannan are concerned, I am not required to be diplomatic to them or anyone who colonized my planet, brutalized my people, and appropriated our relics." He leaned against the guardrail on the walkway and stared down at her. "If we're going to work together, then you need to understand that."
"Listen, I'm a Betan of American descent," she said testily, "a descendant of enslaved ancestors. Most people looking at us now would say we were distant cousins in more ways than one. I respect the work you and the Idris-Sarran are doing. That was one of the reasons why I accepted this assignment. But I'm also an officer of the law; I have my obligations too."
"Well, then," he said, looking back at her with a grin, "it looks like we both have our duties."
She approached the bottom of the stairwell. "There's no reason why we can't work together. I'm here to help you. Despite our differences, we do have a lot more in common than you think."
"Is that so?" There was a note of skepticism in his voice. She imagined what he must have thought of her, this overeager civil servant.
"I used to be an archivist too. On my home planet, I was a curator at a museum that archived artifacts from the Solar and Beta systems. I guess you can say I'm a bit of a z'dhia myself."
He raised his eyebrow. "It's n'dhia, in your language. Z'dhia is reserved for the article, as in the one and only. But, if you will, z'dhia," he added and not too sarcastically, "why don't we get started? I'm eager to get to work."
He held out the black round object in his hand and began pressing his thumb across it. It gave off a quick, low-pitched beep. The staff entrance at the end of the walkway began to glow an orange-red, as though from some unknown source of heat.
Kira dashed up the stairs and joined him on the walkway. She still had so many questions.
"I noticed there aren't any vessels in the shuttle bay. How will we get around?"
"Get around?"
"Yes, travel."
The door to the crew quarters slid open. The Z'Dhia turned to her with a broad smile. "You have your portals; I have mine." Then, turning his back to her, he entered the doorway.
"Wait, where are you going? Hey, mister!"
She darted through the door, expecting to enter a corridor leading to the crew quarters, then froze.
Space, in all its vast blackness, spread out in a curved dome before her. In the distance the milky band of the galaxy curled. Beyond that a matte of stars of varying luminosity, stardust and gas clouds, nebulae, and spiral galaxies––she was standing in the middle of the universe!
One of the many things she learned when she was a small child was that space could be beautiful and awe-inspiring, but also dangerous. Men and women died traversing the galaxy because of its imperious nature. Death in space lasted no more than thirty-seconds, but it was an excruciating process. The depressurizing of the lungs, the asphyxiation, the blockage of air in the throat, the blockage of blood to the brain, the bulging of the eyes, the turning of the skin color, until death, with the body floating in the endless deep space, encased in its own icy coffin. That grim reality cemented in the minds of every child in horrifying detail. Children of centuries past had fairy tales to keep them on the straight and narrow. Betan children had space itself. Kira often imagined how a person experienced those final moments. The pain, the dread, the hopelessness and the loneliness. How so very lonely.
Kira's heart raced, her head turned light, her lungs contracted. A chill filled every extremity of her body. Now she had become that imagined victim in her childhood grasps at existential horror. She opened her mouth and let out a tiny squeak of fear as she looked down and realized nothing was holding her up. She dropped her bags and threw herself against the door frame.
What was happening? Was this an illusion? It couldn't be real. The asphyxiation she waited to come, the rush of air being sucked into space––none of it happened. She exhaled. Air. Pure air, cool and sweet. And warm!
She shut her eyes.
Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. It couldn't be real. Not as real as the starry night sky on those cool Betan evenings in their compound when she and her parents tilted their heads to marvel at the infinite universe.
The universe may be big, but it ain't that big!
She felt dizzy.
Across the universe, a voice called. She opened her eyes. In the distance a rotunda stood in space, propped up by nothing at all. The Z'Dhia stood in its portal, motioning for her to come.