Reunification

Reunification

  Two Worlds Book #1

  By Timothy L. Cerepaka

  Published by Annulus Publishing

  Copyright © Timothy L. Cerepaka 2015. All rights reserved.

  Formatting by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  Contact: [email protected]

  Cover design by Elaina Lee of For the Muse Design (https://www.forthemusedesign.com/)

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, send an email to the above contact.

  ***

  Chapter One

  How different the city of Xeeon was from the city of Ra-Dela back home from whence I came. The sun shining above was harsh and unyielding, like the open oven of a baker, whilst large telescreens blared such raucous advertisements for things such as some useless toothpaste that made me wish to plug mine ears and never hear another sound in my life. Even the news reports—one of which currently showed footage of some monster-like robot with a gaping maw attacking another group of robots on the border between the city and the Dead Lands—were so loud and boisterous that I had no idea what they were trying to show me. That I could not read the words on the screen, either, made my stay here that much less enjoyable.

  And the loud engines and exhaust ports of the Spear hover vehicles flying above to and fro like busy bees assaulted mine ears at every turn. 'Twas madness, I tell ye; madness!

  That was not even counting the hundreds and hundreds of people in the streets, all speaking in Modern Xeeonish, an ugly, practical language that I understood not one word of. They bustled along the crowded streets, talking and laughing and joking, shoving aside strangers without so much as an 'Excuse me' or 'Sorry,' and discarding their garbage everywhere. Their collective stench was like oil and concrete, a combination that made me wish to vomit, though I held it down, for I had nowhere to puke it.

  The children were the worst; whereas Delanian children were as meek and quiet as the music of the Old Gods, Xeeonite children were loud and dirty, crossing the streets at random, causing vehicles to blare their horns when they got in their paths, even mocking the robotic law enforcers that protected this city from crime. Where were their parents? Did all Xeeonite parents abdicate their parental responsibility once their children reached a certain age? Mine own parents certainly would not have tolerated such rudeness.

  Not that my opinion of the robotic law enforcers themselves was much higher. As I sat in a pathetic wobbly chair outside the Crossways Cafe, a ram-shackled cafe that was somehow still in business (despite their main product, what they referred to as 'genuine' South Delanian tea, which tasted more like dwarf piss), I kept a careful eye on the J Series Law Enforcement Robots. Only two such robots were out in this part of the city today (at least that I could see), overseeing the hundreds of scurrying people with those cold mechanical eyes that reminded me of Sir Alart's replacement eye.

  In particular, the robots seemed to be focusing on me, likely because my dress—a simple brown tunic, with humble green pants I had bought from a kind old seamstress back in Ra-Dela prior to coming here, and rough leather shoes that were as good as I could afford based on the wages I made—pegged me as a Delanian. Though Dela and Xeeo had not been at war for over a century now, still there existed animosity between the peoples of both worlds. Most of the Xeeonites passing in the street before me paid little attention to I, but every time one glanced at me, I saw disgust and distrust in their eyes, whether they were human or Rathonian or some other Xeeonite species.

  No doubt the clickers looked upon me as a possible threat, even though their records ought to show that I was Rii, a Knight of Se-Dela. The Knights of Se-Dela had worked with the J Series Law Enforcement Robots many times over the years, yet I would be telling stories if I were to say that I trusted any of those dead machines with so much as a cup of water.

  Look at them. Cold eyes, with no sign of emotion or a soul within them … metallic skin, freezing to the touch and reflecting the light of the sun in a way that hurt the eyes … and the way they watched over the people like predatory birds, ready to eat up any lawbreakers their eyes fell upon. Oh! How cruel they can be to any they deem worthy of their attention! Even the Knights of Se-Dela, as ruthless as we are toward criminals, barely come close to meeting the sheer brutality of the J series robots.

  Yet I would admit, though without any happiness, that the bots were indeed effective. Whispers through the Portals asserted that the low crime rate of Xeeo and its many countries was due to the widespread adoption of these machines, and certain whisperers even suggested that King Waran-Una and the Mystical Alliance of Dela were thinking of replacing us Knights with these automatons.

  What a disgusting thought. True, 'twas only a whisper, one which none of us Knights believed, but 'twas a whisper which popped up every so often. It was such a regular occurrence that at times I believed King Waran-Una himself was the source of these whispers, simply to keep us Knights on our feet. Whatever their origin, I pushed them out of mine mind for the time being because today, I had more urgent matters to worry about.

  My eyes flew over the crowds, searching for the Jikorian merchant who had agreed to meet with me on this day. The seller of goods had said, in his letter written in rough Delan to me, that he had the knowledge I sought, but would only meet me in a public place. He had specified the Crossways Cafe, but I had been sitting here for half an hour already and yet the merchant was still nowhere to be seen.

  My tongue grew dry with thirst, yet I was loathe to drink my 'genuine' South Delanian tea. It tasted nothing at all like actual South Delanian tea, but when I complained to the waitress—a young bald woman, an ugly style that was apparently popular among the young women of this city—about it, she brushed off my complaint like I was nothing more than an annoying bug buzzing in her ear.

  Looking at the tea more closely, I wondered how anyone with working eyes (or mechanical eyes, in the case of many of these Xeeonites) could mistake this for the real tea. True South Delanian tea was a rich, deep brown, like the bark of a sama tree in full bloom. This was a muddy, ugly brown, and it smelled like a dead rat.

  I considered asking for water, because the other drinks they offered on their menu—among them something called 'mechanic's delight,' whatever that meant—sounded as appealing as dwarfish beer, but then decided against it. If the owner of this restaurant served such terrible, deceptively-named tea in the first place, their water was likely fit only for the dregs of society, if even that.

  Where was the merchant? I did not know. I kept glancing at my watch, which ticked as steadily as the rising and setting of the sun every day, and wondered when the merchant would get here. I did not have all the time in the world to sit and wait; today was my only day off this week and I would have to leave before sunset, because by the time the sun set here, it would be morning in Dela and I would be expected to show up for duty at first light.

  Though no matter what time I left, I would not be in a good mood. Whilst Dela and Xeeo were similar in some ways, the two had different time zones. When the sun was high in Dela, it was midnight at Xeeo; when the sun was shining merrily over Xeeo, Dela was ruled by the night.

  To wit, I was tired and more irritable than usual. To make this trip, I had had to disrupt my normal sleep schedule. That meant getting up in the middle of Dela's night. 'Twas hard on me; being a Knight of Se-Dela was a herculean task, thanks in no small part to having to lug around a heavy suit of metalligick armor and a skyras sword all day. I valued min
e sleep highly, but I valued the information that this merchant promised me even more, though as he still seemed unlikely to show up, I began to wonder if I had made a foolish sacrifice.

  Mine thoughts were interrupted when a shrill, annoying voice croaked, “Hi!”

  I looked up from my disgusting drink to see who had spoken to me. Striding up to my table from the street was a being I had never seen before in my life. He was humanoid in appearance, but his head was much larger than any human's, with a massive forehead to go with it. His skin was a light green, almost appearing painted-on, though if the stories about the Jikorians were true, this was his natural skin color.

  The newcomer also wore a loose leather jacket, which looked as old as the foundations of Castle Una, and by his side was strapped one of those silly laser guns carried by almost all citizens of Xeeon. Slung over his shoulder was a large white sack, perhaps carrying his goods, though secretly I hoped it would instead contain the knowledge I sought from him.

  Without thinking, I stood up and extended one hand in his direction. The newcomer stopped and reached over the table, grasping my hand with his own. His hand felt slimy and sticky, like mud in a swamp, and an awful stink of wet grass flowed from his body into my nostrils. I would have gagged and declared that I had not smelled such a terrible stink in all my years, but I did not wish to offend the merchant, so I kept my silence.

  We sat at the table, opposite each other. The merchant rested his bag on the ground near his chair, which wobbled under his weight, and he then clicked his fingers. Not snapped; nay, that was not the right word. The merchant's fingernails were long and sharp, allowing him to click them together like the chirping of a cricket.

  'Twas not a second after he clicked them that the disrespectful waitress from before appeared, like a spirit summoned by the gods. She held in her hands one of those strange tiny little handheld computers, a stylus in her other hand, the stylus's tip hovering over the screen of the computer as if she was a scribe recording the Revelations of Waran-Una.

  “What da ya want, sir?” the waitress said.

  The merchant smiled at her, revealing blunt, short bluish teeth that looked like candy. “Whatever my associate here is having, miss.”

  'Twould have rolled mine eyes at the use of the word 'miss' to describe this woman, because I could think of no women less of a mistress than she. Wench, perhaps, or whore, for I suspected she slept with many men, based on how she initially flirted with me before I made it clear I have zero interest in romance or sex at the moment.

  The wench simply noted that order in the computer and was gone again, the back of her red shirt disappearing through the Cafe's front doors.

  I shook mine head and said, “Brother merchant, I would have advised against this 'genuine' South Delanian tea. It is a mockery of the true concoction, a deceptive advertising ploy.”

  “But I like it,” the merchant said. He sniffled loudly, like he was taking in all of the smells around us. “It smells so good. Besides, what does it matter if it's the real thing or not? Taste and smell are the only things that matter to me.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, I would have berated the merchant for continuing to support such deceptive business practices. His attitude toward the subject confirmed what I had suspected about the decadent Xeeonites; so long as they got their fill, they were happy, like pigs in a pen.

  But now was not the time to discuss this. I leaned forward 'cross the table and said, “Now, brother merchant, the letter ye gave me said you know something about my missing sister, Kiriah. Correct?”

  The merchant leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. 'Twas an annoying thing, what he did, because it seemed highly disrespectful to me, but Jikorians were said to be an easy people, so I tried not to take offense.

  “Yep,” said the Jikorian, nodding. “That's right. When your friend showed me those pictures of your sister with that man, I recognized her. That's pretty good for me, because all you humans look the same to me. Not trying to be a bigot or anything; I just don't think you humans are very distinct.”

  I should have taken offense to that, but I cared not for his own nonchalance, for there were more urgent matters to attend to. Perhaps before this was all over, however, I would chide him for his inability to distinguish betwixt us humans.

  Yet to be certain we were talking about the same woman, I withdrew from mine pocket an envelope containing the photographs showing my sister. As I did so, the merchant grimaced.

  “Wow,” said the merchant, blinking. “I forgot that you Delanians are so … quaint.”

  I scowled. 'Twas true that we in Dela still used paper for most of our dealings, whereas those in Xeeo relied mostly on digital and electronic gadgetry to conduct their business. Hardly mattered to I; Xeeonite tech was clumsy and brutish, aside from their Diamusk vehicles, which we Knights use to traverse Dela.

  I placed the three pictures on the table and pushed them toward the merchant. He leaned forward to look over the pictures, which caused his stink to get even closer to me, but again I did not show mine annoyance because I did not wish to offend him.

  The pictures showed my sister, Kiriah, sitting outside this very Cafe, sipping from an emerald cup, similar in color to mine. She was alone in the first two, but in the last one, she sat across from a large bearish man whose back was to the camera. I had already seen these pictures before, of course; had pored over them for even the slightest detail that might explain why my sister was here or who this man was, but I had found nothing, hence why I was speaking with this merchant.

  The merchant's beady eyes scanned the pictures before he leaned back in his seat. “Yep. That's her, though I don't really know her name.”

  “But she looks like my sister?” I said.

  “Yep,” said the merchant, nodding. “She doesn't come here too often, but she's hard to miss because she's sometimes with that man in the third picture.”

  The merchant tapped the third picture with one of his thin fingers, leaving tiny blotches of that disgusting gunk on it. I made a mental note to clean the photographs with the purest water I could find after this discussion was finished.

  “What is that man's name?” I said. “Do ye know him?”

  “Yeah,” said the merchant. He looked over his shoulder so quickly that his head was a blur before he returned to looking at me. “I mean, it's hard to tell from this picture, of course, because if you humans look the same while facing forward, you are indistinguishable from the back, but even I wouldn't mistake that large back for the back of anyone other than who it belongs to.”

  “Delay the revelation no longer, merchant,” I said. I glanced at mine watch. “I have little time to waste going in circles like this.”

  “Fine, fine,” said the merchant, holding up his hands as if to calm me. “He's Xacron-Ah. Ever heard that name before?”

  I frowned. “Nay. 'Tis a criminal?”

  “Actually, he's the Mayor of Xeeon,” said the merchant. “'Course, you wouldn't know that, seeing as you don't live here, but that's who he is.”

  I glanced down at the third picture again. “How can I be sure ye are telling the truth?”

  “Let me show you a picture of the Mayor to back up my claims,” said the merchant.

  I expected him to pull out a little device to show me the picture; instead, he tapped his right forearm, like a pianist tapping a key, and the skin of his forearm slid back, revealing a small screen the same size and shape as his forearm.

  How grotesque. The Xeeonites were absolutely obsessed with using their technology to 'enhance' their bodies, but I considered these aberrations to be nothing more than disgusting abominations that ruined the beauty of nature. Though again, I kept that opinion to mine self, because I was more interested in seeing this Xacron-Ah fellow than in sharing mine thoughts.

  The merchant must have noticed my disgust, because he said, “What? It's an arm screen. Every Jikorian merchant has one. Those little phones and tablets that humans ca
rry are so clumsy. Makes more sense to have this embedded in your body where you can't lose it, right? Well, unless a mad man cuts off your arm, of course, but that happens pretty rarely.”

  The merchant laughed uproariously at that joke, as if it was the most humorous crack on both Xeeo and Dela. I found no humor in it, for I was too disgusted by the sight of the tech built into his arm to find it humorous.

  The merchant then tapped the screen, swiped to the left a few times as he went through a multitude of pictures I could not see due to the speed at which he swiped his screen, and then said, “Okay, here's a picture of Xacron-Ah. Notice any similarities?”

  I leaned forward to get a better look at the Mayor of Xeeon. The photograph showed a large, bearish man standing in front of a podium, perhaps delivering a speech to an audience that was not shown. The man wore a navy blue suit, reminding me of the ocean, though his fingers were metallic, as if they were robotic replacements, though they could just as easily have been covers for all I knew. 'Twas hard to tell with this picture, as clear as it was.

  His eyes were orange, an unusual color for certain (though I had heard rumors that Xeeonite humans often used chemicals to change their eye color, which might have explained it). 'Twas hard to tell for certain if this Mayor was the same man as the one in the third picture, but their body sizes were similar enough, as was their hair, which fell to their shoulders in locks.

  I sat back, scowling, while the merchant pulled the cover back over his arm screen. “I will admit that the two look similar. Does the Mayor have an identical twin brother?”

  “Nope,” said the merchant. “Far as I know, the Mayor doesn't have any family. If he does, they're back in Dela.”

  “Why would they be back in Dela?” I said. “Xacron-Ah is a Xeeonite, is he not?”

  At that moment, the wench waitress exited the Cafe and strutted over to us, as if she was a queen. She placed the merchant's red cup on the table between us, but before she even asked, the merchant said, “Here you go, girlie,” and swiped his hand over her money scanner before she even asked. The scanner beeped and the waitress, apparently happy with that sound, turned and left without saying another word.

  “What?” said the merchant, looking at me in confusion. Then he clicked his fingers. “Oh, right. I just paid for my drink. I know you Delanians use actual paper and metal to pay for your stuff, but here on Xeeo, almost everyone has payment chips embedded under their skin. Way more convenient than lugging around an unwieldy purse, for sure.”

  Under other circumstances, I would not tolerate this attitude from someone like him. Xeeonites were always arrogant, boasting about their technological prowess as if they were superior to us Delanians. 'Twas the main reason I rarely visited this world; I did not need to be chided for my 'primitive' practices, especially from individuals who regularly mutilated their bodies with technology.

  “Anyway, Xacron-Ah actually isn't a native-born Xeeonite,” said the merchant. He took a swig from his cup and sighed contentedly, as if he had just taken a sip of the wine of the Old Gods. “He came from Dela about twenty years back, had his citizenship changed from Se-Delan to Xeeonian, and then won the mayoral election about six years back. I didn't vote for him, by the way; always thought he was an idiot.”

  “Six years ago?” I repeated. “Why, that is the same time my sister vanished.”

  “Maybe there's a connection between those two events,” said the merchant. He tapped the third picture again. “We know your sister and the Mayor have met together at least once.”

  “For what reason would the Mayor take up an interest in my sister?” I said, staring at the photograph glumly. “Mine sister never mentioned knowing any Xacron-Ah, nor did she ever show any interest in going to Xeeo ever.”

  “So she just up and vanished one day, completely out of the blue?” said the merchant. He leaned back in his chair again, this time holding his cup close to his large lips. “What a great sister you've got there, just off and running away on her own like that without telling you where she was going.”

  I slammed my fist on the table, causing my emerald cup to shake. The movement was so sudden that the merchant nearly fell backwards off his chair, but he caught himself at the last minute and brought all four legs of his seat back onto the ground. It gave me some satisfaction to see that he had spilled some of that disgusting South Delanian tea on his shirt, though the satisfaction only lasted for a little while, like a burst of sunshine in the middle of a storm, and was quickly replaced by anger.

  “Speak not ill of my sister, merchant,” I said. “Kiriah was a noble woman who would not simply run away without telling me. We were as close as any brother and sister duo could be; hence why her disappearance has plagued me like a sickness for the past six years.”

  “Right,” said the merchant. “Well, I apologize for that accusation. Since I don't know Kiriah, I guess it's not my place to say what she is or isn't like, eh?”

  He did not sound at all apologetic. No doubt his bigotry towards humans was the cause of his false apologetic tone. I wanted to challenge him to a duel right here and now, but I knew that duels were illegal in most Xeeonite cities, so I refrained from doing so.

  “Apology … accepted,” I said, though I did not level my tone much. “Now, ye said ye have seen Kiriah here at this cafe sometimes. How often is 'sometimes'?”

  The merchant sipped from his cup again. “About, oh, every three or four months I guess. She doesn't stay very long; just long enough to speak with the Mayor, or occasionally, one of his servants.”

  “Where does my sister go when she finishes conversing with the Mayor?” I asked. I looked around at all of the towering skyscrapers around us. “Does she have an apartment in one of these buildings?”

  The merchant shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I'm not some creeper who follows around human females. I never gave her a second thought whenever I saw her. Never even spoke to her before. I only notice her because she talks with the Mayor sometimes; other than that, she's pretty discrete.”

  I grabbed my heart and gave a long sigh of despair. Oh! How I had wished I would find my sister today! Here I thought I would be able to speak with her at long last, but suppose this merchant was honest—and despite his terrible taste in drinks, he probably was—then my eventual reunion with mine sister was to be put off yet again, though for how long, I knew not.

  “You okay?” said the merchant, perhaps noticing how I clutched mine heart so. “Are you having a heart attack or something?”

  “No,” I said, lowering my hand from my chest as I sigh deeply. “No heart attack has struck me. I am simply disappointed that I will not be able to meet my sister today.”

  “Okay,” said the merchant, though he eyed me warily still, as if he expected me to suffer an actual heart attack any moment. “Well, I've told you all I know about your sister. Don't know anything else, so pay up.”

  The merchant held out his free hand, flexing his three fingers like the heads of a trinity snake. As he did so, he loudly slurped his drink, making me cringe at the noise.

  “Didn't we agree on fifty delanes for my information?” said the merchant. “Because right now I should be back at my stall preparing for the rush hour, when all of the office people are getting off work and aren't thinking straight enough to question the prices I set for my goods.”

  I frowned. The merchant spoke the truth. When I first contacted him a week ago, when my friend Sir Alart told me that the merchant might know more about my sister, the merchant had told me he would tell me what he knew only if I paid him seventy-five delanes. Of course, that was highway robbery, which was to be expected from Jikorian merchants, so I negotiated the lower price of fifty delanes, which was still far too much, as I was paid only one-hundred and fifty delanes a week. Still, 'twas a small price to pay if it meant I would get to see my sister again.

  Nonetheless, unlike some individuals, I was a man of honor. Hence, I pulled my purse out of my pocket and withdrew ten five delane note
s, ten rectangular pieces of paper that bore the image of King Waran-Una upon them. His face looked like a lion, with a large gray mane of hair to go with it; having seen Waran-Una so many times, however, I paid no attention to the notes.

  The merchant returned his chair to the ground and took the notes from my hand. He counted the notes with the speed and efficiency of a seller who did not wish to be tricked, but I was not worried, for I knew better than to swindle anyone out of money I owed to them.

  The merchant must have been satisfied, because he rolled up the notes and stuffed them roughly within the pocket of his jacket. “I would have preferred you sent me the money electronically, as that would have saved me a trip to the bank to get this money put into my account, but that's fine. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go. Business awaits.”

  The merchant stood up, the legs of his chair scraping against the pavement, and swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. He then burped loudly, though the sound was almost drowned out by the constant bustling of the city all around us.

  But before he left, I reached out a hand and said, “Hold on a moment, brother merchant. I have one more question to ask of ye about my sister and the Mayor.”

  The merchant looked over his shoulder, like he wanted to leave right away. “Well, I really don't have the time—”

  “Please,” I said, putting my hands together like a priest of the Old Gods. “I want to know if you know why my sister would meet with the Mayor.”

  “No idea,” said the merchant as he placed his now-empty cup down on the table 'tween us. “I've never actually spoken with the Mayor, but if you want to meet him for yourself … well, actually, I doubt you will be able to, seeing as the Mayor only ever meets with people of higher social standing than a Knight of Se-Dela.”

  “The Knights of Se-Dela are …” I shook my head. “Mind not my protests. I will figure out my next move on my own. Thank ye for your aid.”

  The merchant nodded as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder in one smooth motion. “No problem. If you need anything else, just come on down to Mackar's Miscellaneous Stand of Treasures and Antiques. It's located just south of the Xeeon Parliamentary Building, near the Central Office Park. Can't miss it.”

  I looked at him with disbelief. “Do ye try to fool me into buying your wares with your petty advertising?”

  “I didn't say you had to buy anything there,” said the merchant in a false innocent voice. “I just wanted to let you know where my business is located, so that if you need me, you can find me. Do you Delanians just not advertise or market your businesses or something?”

  “Never quite so awkwardly or abruptly,” I responded. “How brutish.”

  “You say 'brutish,' I say 'taking advantage of every opportunity that comes my way,'” said the merchant. Then he frowned. “Wait. Those two aren't exactly the same. Oh well. You get the idea.”

  “As certainly as the sun rises and sets every day, I do,” said I. “Perhaps we will meet again someday, if I ever require need of your services once more.”

  “Looking forward to it,” said the merchant. Then he produced a card from his pocket and slapped it down on the table. “There. That's my business card, just in case you need to contact me again.”

  Then he turned around and left. I watched him go until he disappeared into the crowd of bustling Xeeonians. Then I picked up the card and looked it over briefly. It was a tiny little thing, very poorly made, and it was written in Modern Xeeonish, which looked like little more than gibberish to I. That meant I could not use it to contact the merchant again even if I wanted to, unless I first found someone who could read and translate it for me.

  Nonetheless, I pocketed the card anyway, even though no thought of ever meeting him again currently dwelt in my mind. Whilst he had given me much good and useful information about my sister, I did not like having to pay him fifty delanes. At the very least, I doubted I would return to him for quite some time.

  Yet what did it matter, whether I did or didn't meet him again? I had more important things to think about, such as why Kiriah was meeting with the Mayor here at this Cafe every few months, and what mine sister was doing here in Xeeon at all.

  Because prior to her disappearance, Kiriah had never shown any interest in visiting Xeeo at all. Always she had told me that she wanted to stay in Dela for her whole life in order to serve the Old Gods, a dangerous, yet brave, undertaking, considering how little tolerance the current government showed towards worshipers of the Old Gods.

  Now, however, I knew not whether my sister even worshiped the Old Gods anymore. I leaned back in my chair, scratching my chin, as mine eyes surveyed the busy streets of Xeeon, though in truth, I wasn't looking at the passersby at all. I was looking at mine memories, thinking about the mysteriousness of this situation and trying to decide my next move.

  'Twas an easy decision to make: To solve this mystery, I would need to speak with the Mayor. Though if the merchant's words were correct, the Mayor would ignore any requests on my part to meet him, which may be for the best, because a feeling of illness came over me whenever I thought about this Mayor Xacron-Ah. There was something about the man that I did not like, though I did not know what.

  Mine next move, then, was to speak with the owner of the Crossways Cafe. Though I loathed to talk to the proprietor of such a disreputable establishment, I knew it was the only way I could get the information I needed on the Cafe's patrons. After all, I reasoned, the Cafe's owner likely knew the face and name of every man, woman, and child that visited his establishment and would hopefully be willing to share that information with one of his customers.

  Standing up, I left my half-empty cup where it was and made my way into the Cafe itself. The door opened before I could even lay one hand on it, surprising me and causing me to step back, suspecting some kind of evil afoot, before I remembered that Xeeonite doors opened on their own due to some kind of technology, not due to the wicked or nefarious enchantments of a decadent wizard.

  Nonetheless, I walked through quickly, not wishing to get caught between the doors, which closed behind me as soon as the heel of my left foot passed beyond the threshold. I spared not a glance over my shoulder at the closing doors as I looked around at the interior of the dingy cafe.

  Oh! How terrible this place was. The ceiling was low enough that 'twas like walking into the home of a dwarf, rather than a restaurant for humans. The old floor creaked under mine feet and was stained with a kind of liquid I could not identify, but which I strongly suspected to be dried blood. Of course, it could have been nothing more than spilled beer, but either way, it was nothing less than a total and complete example of the unprofessionalism of the cafe's owner.

  The dinginess of the place was in sharp contrast to the rest of Xeeon, which, whilst not as beautiful or majestic as Se-Dela, was nonetheless a clean city. The tables were scattered about randomly, like die blocks, while the chairs were made of some kind of old plastic, for they were as cracked as the earth during a drought. One of them was even missing a leg, which had been replaced with a tall bucket placed upside down 'neath it.

  The stink of the place assaulted my nose. Did remind me of their 'genuine' South Delanian tea, which made me wonder if that was their most popular drink. If so, then that told me all I needed to know about the tastes of the general Xeeonian public.

  Leaning against the counter was the waitress from before. Her face might have been beautiful if she had not been frowning in boredom and picking at some kind of ugly scab on her skin, while she clicked through a holographic projection rising from her hand like the water from a geyser.

  Above her, to the left of her head, was one of those bothersome and ungainly squares otherwise known as telescreens. This screen showed a news robot that looked like a mockery of a human being, with its finely-pressed suit and red tie, talking about a parade that was happening in downtown Xeeon at the moment. I paid little attention to it because I cared not for the recent news in this accursed city.


  Aside from the waitress, there was no one else in this cafe. 'Twas not even a cashier to take orders, though I supposed that the large, boxlike machine behind her, with a device that resembled a touch screen, might have taken peoples' orders instead.

  “Waitress,” I said. “I demand to see the owner of this establishment right away.”

  The waitress's eyes flicked up from the holograph and I caught a hint of annoyance in them, like she was bothered that a paying customer was asking her anything.

  “Da boss?” she said. “Mr. Ryun?”

  “If that is the name of the owner, then yes, I would like to speak with Mr. Ryun,” I said. “It is of utmost importance that I speak with him right away.”

  The waitress returned her attention to the holograph. I could not tell what the holograph showed her, but whatever it was, it could not have been so important that she had to treat me so rudely and disrespectfully.

  “Sorry, Mr. Ryun doesn't talk to random people like ya,” said the waitress, though she hardly sounded apologetic to I. “He gave me strict orders never to give out his personal number to anyone. Not even to customers.”

  “But …” I struggled to think of something to say. “But I have a … a customer service issue, I believe is the term ye Xeeonites use. It is an issue that can only be resolved by speaking with the owner.”

  “Didn't you just hear what I just said?” said the waitress, looking up at me, her blue eyes shining with annoyance. “Are ya deaf or something?”

  “I can hear as clearly as the day I was born,” I replied, gesturing at my ears. “It is ye, I dare say, who does not understand the urgency of my request.”

  “All I understand is that I'm not being paid to get Mr. Ryun angry by going against his orders,” the waitress replied. “Now, why don't ya get out of here? I know ya hate our drinks anyway. Wouldn't be a loss if ya never returned.”

  “What disrespect,” I snapped, pointing at her. “Why, I will make sure to tell all of my friends and family to never bless this establishment with their delanes, unless they wish to be treated with disrespect by a waitress who is less of a waitress and more of a—”

  I was interrupted by something I saw on the telescreen out of the corner of mine eye, like the shadow of a stalking predator. I looked up at the telescreen, wondering if I had seen what I thought I had seen, while the waitress lowered her holograph and said, “What were ya going to call me, mister?”

  I paid no attention to her at all, however, because I was too busy staring up at the screen above to care about her anger. I could hardly believe what I was seeing, but mine eyes never deceived me.

  The telescreen still displayed that parade in downtown Xeeon I had noticed when I entered this restaurant earlier, though I could not be sure how far away it was from here because all of the text on the screen was gibberish to me, being as it was written in Xeeonish. For that same reason, I could not read the signs that might have told me what this parade was about, but that mattered not. For among the hundreds of faces of individuals from every species on Xeeo crowding in the street, I saw one that I recognized with no trouble at all:

  It was my sister, Kiriah, wearing a long brown cloak that did not look Xeeonite in origin, and she was standing there with everyone else, watching the floats and bands that paraded down the street in celebration of something I did not know.

  ***