Gryphons
Chapter Eight

Rating: R
Category: Original Fiction
Warnings: Drug use.
Summary: Dahli’s in the clink, and Draephus is in the drink.
Notes: I think I explained this before, but it can’t hurt to explain it again. Not to mention I got a letter from a very nice woman who was ripping her hair out over how to pronounce certain names.

The capital CZ at the beginning of Draephus’ surname denotes Imperial lineage, though in his case it’s possible he’s not related to the Imperial line at all. But the double capital CZ is pronounced as an ‘s’, so Draephus’ last name is Sim-COKE-ee-us.

The capital c small z combination in Czamkiar’s name does not denote Imperial lineage, and is pronounced as a ‘z’. So his name is pronounced Zam-kee-AR.

Then there is Khandi’s name. In some languages, ‘kh’ is pronounced as an ‘h’ sound. In Sferkkaan, the kh is pronounced as a k, but it changes the ‘a’ following to a short ‘o’ sound, like in 'Honda'. So his name is pronounced CON-did.

And thus concludes this demonstration of just how much time and how little life I have.

Dahli awoke to the harsh sound of the morning bell, and rolled out of bed automatically, before her brain had time to fully register that she was awake. She sat on the edge of the cot, a bad taste in her mouth. Her hair was scruffed up at odd angles, and her back and shoulders ached. She had learned to get up without thinking about it, just sit up at the sound of the bell. It made life easier. Since she had four-and-a-half months left of a six month sentence, anything she could do to make life easier was worth it.

Diza had come to visit her a few times, bringing letters from some of the people at school. Many of these were from people she did not even know; it seemed she had become something of a local hero, which struck her as odd. She hadn’t taken the Faylan to gain the approval of a lot of kids who, for the most part, had never cared she existed.

Teirra had come to see her, too. After the initial outbursts of rage and tears when Dahli admitted the entire story to the news media, Teirra hadn't said much about the incident at all, resigning herself to the idea that Dahli was determined to make her point. The school had offered to drop the charges if she gave the body back, but she'd refused to do so. She also refused to name her three accomplices, and insisted she had acted on her own. Nobody believed that, of course; the LEOs had pictures of the tracks up and down the school hallways, including a spectacularly large set that could only have come from an adult male Siriusian. However there was nothing anyone could do to get her to implicate her friends.

Dahli was as loyal as she was hard-headed. That meant she got to enjoy her prison sentence alone.

Dahli ran her hand over her face, musing upon that warm Oneday when she had marched cheerfully into the office of Second City News Services and announced the whole story. Somehow she honestly hadn't expected it would come to this. Summer would be long gone by the time she got out. At least with the educational programme within the institution, she wouldn't be behind in her school work.

"What a plus," she muttered sarcastically as she rose from her cot and wandered out of her cell, making note of the fact that it was the first day of the week. "I don't like Oneday," she grumbled quietly.

She picked listlessly at the crumbling paint on the walls as she walked down the hall. Prisons were expensive, and there were more pressing things to spend the money on. It was cheaper to simply send prisoners to Second City than it was to build more penitentiaries and detention centers, and there would be no more built until sewer systems, running water, and electricity were available everywhere in Second City, as opposed to only a few areas, and the underground fires were finally put out in Avalair. In the meantime, law-breakers were kept in rather nasty cells, and the bare handful of female inmates was segregated to a few rooms of prisons meant for male inmates. Those who complained received the same form letter from The Emperor;

“If you can’t find something better to do with your time then break the law and bitch about the prison that YOU put yourself into, then go šukat yourself.”

Behind Dahli trailed the two girls with whom she shared the cell, Crystal and Ember. Fine, upstanding girls, both of them. One was a thief, and the other had beaten up an old man. Both were from far away; Dahli wasn’t certain exactly. Dahli was the first person they had met who had stolen a dead body. They had all exchanged stories one night as Dahli shared out the cigarettes Diza had smuggled in to her. Dahli liked them well enough, they were okay. At least they were somebody to eat breakfast with.

They filled their trays and took their places at a long table. The food wasn't bad, usually, just bland and very basic, as though the stuff had been cooked by people with no imagination. The Emperor’s stance on the food in prison was much the same as it was on the décor. Dahli took a bite of something that may have been toast and chewed thoughtfully.

"Well?" asked Crystal. "How's it taste today?"

"Liiiike..." Dahli took anther taste. "Old paper soaked in ditchwater."

"Always one of my favourites," said Ember. She took a bite of a brownish square. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

One of the inmates was making her way around the small room that served as their mess hall; there were only six females in the detention center altogether. She was handing out the day's mail, and dropped four letters in front of Dahli before wandering on her way. Dahli picked the letters up and looked at them, Crystal and Ember eyeing her a little enviously. Probably no one in the whole place got as much mail as Dahli did. There was a letter from Atterick and Teirra, one from Czamkiar, and another from Diza. The fourth letter had no return address, and she didn't recognise the handwriting. The letters were blocky, printed rather than written, with a slight quaver to them. She assumed it was from one of the many teenaged fans she now had, and she opened this one first. There was no date, no perfunctory greeting, it simply began with a line;

Heia donselle. Quite the number you pulled on my conni.

Dahli blinked and re-read the line, then continued down the letter;

Got it re-painted, but they're still working on the upholstery. And I can't get the smell out of the trunk. I didn't figure out what it was until I read the story in the newspaper. Raski keeps calling it the `Reek-mobile'. I haven't told him what the smell is. I'll wait until it's been fixed and he's in it. Then I'll tell him.

Why am I writing you. Good question. I don't even know if you'll read this far. I didn't put my name on the envelope so you wouldn't see it and toss this letter away without at least opening it. After all, I'm the last son of a feralyke you want to see, right? You're pretty tough, takes a lot of nerve to do what you did. Sorry you ended up in there. No place to spend the summer.

It's fourhour in the morning, I haven't slept for days so I don't know if I can be held responsible for writing this. Raski walks up to me today and says; `What do you call a guy who hangs around musicians?' I said `What?' and he says; `A drummer.' I was so tired that by the time I figured it out, he was gone and I couldn't thump him for it. I think I'll telcom him in a moment or two and ask him what a five-letter word for clarthead is.

Anyway, take care. I'm gonna call The Rask and then maybe go to bed. Or maybe I'll take a wander out to this little pond in my field I sometimes go to. It's a good place, good quiet place. Has trees all around it, and a little statue. I like to sit there sometimes and watch the world go by.

Here's my address, you can write if you want.

- Draephus.

Dahli read the letter twice, astonished at what she was holding in her hand. He'd written her. She had no idea why he had, but here was the letter, in his own handwriting. Why would he even bother trying to communicate after what she had done? And the remark about the pond; had he found the body? He must have, why else would he mention the pond specifically? That was probably the reason for the letter. He wanted to let her know he was aware of the Faylan, and that it was all right with him that she had buried it in his field.

Maybe he wasn't such a clart after all.

She read her other letters, taking her time with them as she ate her breakfast. Then she replaced them in their envelopes just in time to be chased out of the mess hall. It was time for classes now, which were a wholly different experience than they had been in the `Real World', as Dahli had come to refer to life outside the detention centre. There was no šukating around, not if she wanted to eat or spend any time outside of her cramped, musty cell. Sitting by herself in the room was no fun, she had learned from experience. Better just to be a good little drone and follow orders.

Their instructor was a man named Donsa Sappil. Dahli assumed he was a man, but truly she wasn't even certain if he was from their planet. Donsa Sappil was the only person in the whole place Dahli truly liked. He had time for all of his `little delinquents', and if one wished to learn, he would teach. If one wished a fight, he'd go for that, too. He had a face like a rock with a headache, and a tattoo of two feralykes killing each other on his right forearm. But he was a fair teacher, and he alone of all the instructors seemed to have the affection of his students rather than grudging respect. Dahli gave him a smile as she walked into class. He smiled back and passed her a note on pink paper; a reminder that she had a counselling session later that day.

“Awwww… I don’t wanna go…” she whined.

“Now, Dahli,” said Donsa Sappil, gently chastising, “what did I say about the councillors?”

“Just humour the idiots so I can get on with my life?”

“Smart girl. Take your seat.”

Everyone had to go to a councillor once a week, it was mandatory. And it seemed there was no one who did not despise the two councillors. The first of the two, Donsa Newark, had decided sometime in early childhood that there was no one on the planet he could not bully into seeing things his way. He was what Crystal called a `friendly monster'. When one first met him, he seemed an attractive, helpful and sympathetic person. According to the stories Dahli had heard, he was anything but. He could be belligerent, insulting and abusive.

Dahli had the second of the two, Donsa Ris. She wasn't sure who was worse, and several times she found herself wondering if it would be less of a pain to have Newark insult her than it was to be frustrated to madness by Ris. She honestly couldn't decide who was the more loathsome of the pair. However, of the two, Ris somehow seemed less dangerous than Newark, who appeared to delight in abuse. He had, indeed, elevated it to an art form. Dahli thought about the drunken and snide Councillor Dowan back at school, and wondered if all councillors were such a mess, and if that was how they came to be in the profession in the first place; they were patients who had been promoted. As far as she was concerned, `Greasy Ris' served only one purpose. She saw him once a week, and this would be the seventh time she had seen him. She was now seven weeks into her sentence. At least he helped her keep track of time.

She got through her three hours of class, and began heading for the laundry room. It was only tenhour by this point, and she had two hours of dirty laundry to look forward to before lunch. Then, after lunch, she got to clean floors. Yay! If she survived she vowed never to leave Teirra with all the laundry ever again. And dishes, she'd never stack up dishes either. She'd done piles of them, and it was like a nightmare, scraping plates and washing them in water so hot it turned her skin red. Then there was always bed-making, that was fun, but not as much fun as cleaning toilets. Dahli swore some people sat up all night just thinking of new ways to clart on the seat.

She walked into the laundry room's steaming heat. Upon spotting her, one of the two girls dropped the load she was holding and slogged wearily out of the room. Dahli picked up the clothes and stuffed them into the ancient washing machine. No one ever seemed to have anything to say, they just put clothes in, took them out, folded and sweated. It was hot work, and hard. Dahli was always glad when it was over.

By the time lunch rolled around, Dahli was in a haze. Nothing made sense; the heat had cooked her brain. When the bell rang announcing the end of her time there, it seemed too good to be true. She dropped the load of dirty laundry she held and stumped towards the door. As she left the heat of the room and felt the cooler air against her damp, sweaty flesh, she mused upon how she was going to deal with Ris in this state.

She located Ember and Crystal in the mess hall, and slumped down beside them with her tray. "I hate laundry," she grumbled. "I'd rather go naked than wash anything else." She stared down at the dubious-looking bowl of soup. "What is this clart?"

"We don't know," said Ember. "How's it taste?"

Dahli took a sample. "Liiiike...decaying meat, boiled. The noodles have a distinct, snot-like texture. No idea what the green things are."

"That's disgusting," said Crystal morosely, allowing some of the clearish broth to dribble off of her spoon.

"I want some real food," said Dahli, dropping her spoon into her soup with a small splash. "And some real clothes, and cigarettes. Who's gonna break out and get us some real food?"

"I will," said Ember. "What do you want?"

"Everything. Absolutely everything. Whose idea was it to come here, anyway? I'm going to be mad by the time I get out of here."

"You'll survive," said Crystal with a little sympathy.

"I wanna play my cylinders," pouted Dahli. "I want to go for a stroll at night, watch the Visual, and sleep until thirteenhour."

Ember laughed. "Look at it this way. Every hour that goes by is an hour closer to all those things."

"Yeah," said Dahli, "but every hour with Ris is like an extra two days on my sentence. I'd rather do anything than see him. He frustrates the clart out of me. I'm sick of him trying to get me to confess to having some sort of fascination for dead bodies."

"Ah, just admit it," said Ember, "I admit to everything he suggests. That way he thinks you're learning to be honest with yourself."

"But I DON'T like dead bodies!" said Dahli. "And I'm not going to say I do just to make him happy."

"Oh sure you do," said Ember, "Come on, just admit it. You think about that cold, smelly flesh..."

"I'm trying to eat," said Dahli.

"Okay," said Ember, "You eat that clart, and you won't own up to liking dead bodies. You have problems."

Dahli grinned. "I like little boyyysss…" she leered.

"Well at least now you're being honest with yourself."

"Yeah," said Dahli. "Now do you think they'll let me out if I ask real nice?"

"Doubtful," said Ember. "Very doubtful."

Lunch passed all too quickly, and Dahli was not even allowed the privilege of lagging on her way to Ris' office. If she was late he would submit a report and have a few of her meagre privileges lifted. Dahli had an hour in the yard coming up that day, and she wasn't about to lose it.

It was exactly thirteenhour when she arrived at his office, knocking once before entering. She stepped into the small, over-warm room. His office always had a stuffy, rancid smell to it, as though he never left it. Dahli wondered idly if his house smelled the same as he did. As far as she could tell he never bathed. His hair was always slicked back with its own oil, and his skin had a shiny, greasy look to it. His shoulders were always liberally covered in dandruff, and he wore dark colours to ensure that it was noticeable. Dahli didn't know if she was glad she had eaten before she had seen him. Certainly she could not have afterwards.

He stared at her as she sat down, piggy eyes watching as though her smallest action could relay information to him. He continued to stare for a long moment, then said, "How are you today?"

"Fine," said Dahli, "and yourself?" She didn't really care. But he was attempting to teach her how to hold a conversation these days. As if she had ever had any difficulty. But he seemed convinced that she had difficulty communicating. Draephus could have assured him that she could get her point across just fine.

"Good," he said, though it was an appraisal of her new-found conversational abilities, not a comment on his health. Dahli could already feel the irritation rise as she watched him scribble in his notebook. "Now," he said, "is there anything you'd like to discuss?"

"Yeah," said Dahli. "The food here stinks. The stuff we had today tasted like somebody died in it."

"I'm sure nobody did," Ris soothed consolingly.

"Well, I hope not," said Dahli, just so he wouldn't begin to formulate some thought that she liked to eat dead bodies. She wondered if he was the one with the body fixation; he seemed to think about them an awful lot.

"Now let's talk about the Faylan," he said, his voice cutting into her thoughts. Dahli couldn't wait to hear what new and wonderful ideas he had come up with today. "Tell me again why you took it."

"I thought it deserved better than to be cut up by a science class."

"You felt you should protect it?"

"I suppose you could say that."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Why did you feel this way?"

"I think any normal person would feel the same way. I like to think I live in a place where dismemberment of a person is distasteful if not illegal."

"Of a person?" said Ris. "You consider Faylans people."

"Yes," said Dahli. "They're more closely related to us then Siriusians. A Siriusian and a Sferkkaan can't reproduce. A Sferkkaan and a Faylan can."

"I see," said Ris. "But there are no documented cases of this happening."

"Yes there are," said Dahli. "What about General Medarine, two hundred years ago? I studied him in History. His Faylan gave birth to dark-haired children who could speak."

"Legend," said Ris with a dismissing wave of his hand. "Just like the one of the First Emperor of Sferkkaa being born of a red deer."

"Might be true," said Dahli. "A red deer? When you look at the legend they may even be talking about a Faylan."

"How would it have got here?" countered Ris. "We had no interplanetary travel that long ago."

"It is well known that the Kyphisians travelled to many planets, including Fayla and Sferkkaa, long before they became hostile towards us. It was from them we acquired our knowledge of space travel."

"Yes, yes, yes, but that is fact, not fiction. Kyphis does exist, they are real. The rest of it is just legend."

"All legends have a basis in truth," said Dahli.

"Well, perhaps at one time these too held some grain of truth," said Ris, "however, what we are discussing is pure myth, a child's bedstory. I understand you live with your sister. Where is your mother?"

"Where do you think?” she snapped, surprised at the amount of rage the question aroused in her. “She left the house one day and never returned. You do the math. That's when I went to live with Teirra. I was only twelve."

"Do you miss her?"

Dahli shrugged. “I don’t know. I think the strain of looking after me under the circumstances made her crazy." Dahli had often wondered if she had truly been abandoned, or if her mother had simply succumbed to the strain of trying to keep her daughter alive in a world that seemed destined for death.

"You feel qualified to make a statement on your mother's mental state?"

"I don't need to go to a fancy school to learn what crazy looks like."

"I see." He nodded, looking thoughtful. After a moment he reached out and picked up his pen, scribbling into his notebook. "So," he said as he wrote, "perhaps what you were actually doing when you broke into the locked school and took the Faylan, burying it in what you concluded was a safe place, was rescuing your childhood self and hiding it where it would be safe."

Dahli wanted to scream at him. Then she recalled what Donsa Sappil had said. "Maybe. You could be right, I guess."

Ris smiled, evidently pleased with the progress Dahli was making. "So what you did in effect was make a belated move to defend yourself."

"Does that mean what I did was normal?" Dahli decided to shift from argumentative to enthralled. Sure, she'd play up to him if it made him happy. He was easier to get along with that way.

"Normal, yes, but it was not right to steal the body. You understand that."

"Yeah, I guess," Dahli stared down at her shoes, the chastised child.

"Will you tell me where the body is?"

"No."

"You don't wish to return what is not yours?"

"Not any one else's, either. It's against the law to own another person."

Ris ran his hand down over his face in agitation. "Look, we've discussed this before. A Faylan is not a person."

"Sure it is. They walk on two legs, stand upright, feel emotion, have two arms, two eyes, hair, teeth, noses, skin...only difference is they bark and we talk. A lot of people lack speaking ability. That doesn't mean they're not people."

"But a Faylan is not human."

"I see," said Dahli, mimicking his voice. "And are you an anthropologist? Are you qualified to make that statement?"

Ris slowly leaned over his desk. His face was red, his jowls quivering dangerously. "I DON'T NEED A DEGREE TO TELL ME THAT ANYTHING THAT BARKS AND SPENDS THE BETTER PART OF ITS LIFE UP A TREE EATING BIRDS IS NOT. HUMAN!"

"I didn't say they weren't a little strange. We probably acted much the same a few thousand years ago."

Ris was on the verge of exploding. His entire body may come across the desk top at any moment to throttle her. Then he turned his pig-eyes up to the clock on the wall.

"You hour is up," he said, seeming relieved. "You may leave. I expect you to be back here at the same time next week."

"Sure," said Dahli. "I'll see you then." She stood and walked to the door, being certain to say good-bye so he wouldn't think she was lapsing in her conversational abilities. Then she left, heading deeper into the building. Washing floors was going to be a joy after that.

It was after supper when she finally got her hour outside, and she thought it was probably the most depressing hour of her life. The sun was low in the sky, a warm orange glow behind the purplish-grey of the cloud cover. The birds chirped lazily in the trees across the street from the large concrete lot in which she stood. Other inmates roamed the bleak yard, or else stood in small groups and talked. A few of the boys were kicking a ball around, but Dahli was alone in her section; there were only five other girls in the whole facility, three of them from a place so far off they did not even speak the local tongue. None of them currently had outside-time.

The detention centre was divided into two parts, one for female inmates, and one for male, though the section for female inmates was, understandably, much smaller. When out in the yard, Dahli could see the youths in their section. Usually they were hanging from the chain link dividers like apes, trying to get the attention of the girls. They, like Dahli and most of the girls she sometimes shared the yard with, had committed non-violent crimes. One boy, a scruffy youth named Shae, was in for stealing feralykes and selling them. Dahli liked him, and would speak to him whenever she saw him.

She searched the grounds for Shae, but didn’t see him. She did however see one kid hanging upside-down on the fence like some impossible frog, trying to impress her. Well she was definitely impressed. She hoped he didn’t fall and splash his brains all over the concrete. Somehow Dahli suspected it would be a small splash.

Dahli wandered over to the high mesh fence that separated her from the street and the fields across it, listening to the hum of power surging through it as she stared at the distant skyline of the city. Dahli could hear the distant sound of the traffic, and found herself wondering how far she'd get if she did manage to climb the fence. Then a guard strolled by, and her thoughts turned to how much her sentence would be extended if she tried. She didn’t want to stay here any longer than was necessary.

Dahli thought about Czamkiar, Diza and Randish. They'd be down at the Contempo right now, or maybe over at Czamki’s, and suddenly the time she had to spend in this hole seemed like forever. What if she never got out? What if she died in here, or did something stupid and got more time? She was developing a fixation with that thought; it plagued her dreams at night. She saw Ris coming towards her, saying she would have to stay another year, or sometimes twenty. When she had these dreams she would wake up in a cold sweat, and it would be a long time before she could calm down.

Dahli watched the day end, the softly-coloured Sferkkaan haze darkening. Three tiny satellites shot by, round balls of rapidly moving orange light. They flew towards the city, where they would reflect off of the silvery glass of the tall buildings. Dahli tried to recall what their purpose was, and couldn't. Another trio of the little satellites shot by, and she yelled after them; "Hey! Take me!"

A couple of people standing close by laughed. Dahli watched after the lights until she could no longer see them, feeling depressed. She'd sent herself to this place; somehow she hadn't expected that at all. She thought there would have been some sort of a reaction to what she had done, but six months in a detention center was not what she had envisioned. She thought she would have brought enlightenment to the masses about the plight of the Faylan. A few people had contacted the media, declaring she had been right to take the Faylan. But it seemed the outcry had been fairly short-lived. In the end, she was in jail, the Faylans were still in their cages, and everything seemed to have been for nothing.

***---***

‘Lights Out’ came, and Dahli and her roommates stayed under the covers just until the guard roamed past to make certain they were asleep. Then they all converged on Ember's bed, where they would make use of the dim light of an outside lamp to read their letters to each other. This practise had become an almost nightly ritual, one for preserving sanity. It was a form of excursion, a trip outside of the centre. Ember read her letter first, since it was her bed. The first of her two letters was from her mother. Letters from Donselle Analia were always full of weeping and wailing, promises of an early death, and very long sentences. Listening to them, Dahli could understand why Ember would do anything, even break the law, to get away from her. On paper she was funny; in real life she would be a nightmare.

The second letter was from her morose brother. His letters were never terribly entertaining, save for rare moments when he would be so blackly depressed he was funny whether he meant to be or not. Then Crystal read her one letter from her painfully dumb boyfriend. Dahli found it difficult to believe anybody could actually be that brainless, and often wondered if it was an act. As Crystal finished reading, Dahli shook her head.

"Somebody had better take good care of that boy. Doesn't sound like he could do it himself."

"He's not very bright," said Crystal fondly. She replaced her letter in its envelope. "Now you read yours."

Dahli read the one from Czamkiar first, as she always did when he wrote. Ember and Crystal had seen him briefly when he had come to visit Dahli, and now both were in love with him. The infatuation had not worn off despite the fact that he did not write terribly exciting letters. They invariably began with; "Hi, I'm writing to you in Math class..." or, "I'm in Science right now..." Not that Czamki was so smart he could afford to miss a class.

Diza's letter was next, filled with loads of information about who was doing what to whom, and who knew about it, and why they'd done it, and where. In short there wasn't much happening at school that Dahli wasn't kept current on. Duone Bathers apparently had not tried to get a second Faylan, and many parents and guardians were not pleased there had been one in the class to start with. At least that was one small victory.

Next came Teirra and Atterick's letter, filled with a dual portion of `we-miss-you' and smug notations about places they had gone. Teirra apparently wasn't so old that teasing her younger sister didn't still hold some appeal.

"Well," said Dahli, putting the letters away, "that's it."

"You got four letters," said Ember. "You're holding out on us."

"Oh you don't want to hear that one. It's just some guy I know. It's boring."

"From your boyfriend?" asked Crystal.

"I don't have a boyfriend," said Dahli.

"Then who is he?"

She squirmed, dreading the inevitable hysteria that would ensue should they turn out to be Mortified Gryphons fans. "Just… someone I sort of know."

The two studied her. "Come on, Dahli,” said Ember. “You know we're not going to take `no' for an answer."

"I just don't know what you're going to think when I read it. It's not as though I actually know him or anything." Dahli briefly returned to her own bed, pulling the remaining letter out from under her mattress, returning to Ember's bed and sitting on it. Drawing a deep breath, she took the letter from its envelope and read it.

"There," she said when she had finished.

Crystal and Ember stared at her. "You know him?"

"Not really. I hit him with a door, then I stole his conni. I guess we're sorta pet enemies. I'm surprised he didn't say something like `ha ha serves you right’ because I'm in here."

"Write and ask him to lean on some people for you!" said Ember. "He'll have you out of here in no time!"

"No," said Dahli quietly. "I mean, first of all, I don't think he would after what I did to his conni. Second, I don't know him well enough. The times I have been with him total a few hours. And the last time I saw him… I sorta spit on him."

"You SPIT on him!?" Ember yelled. She was abruptly shushed by the other two girls. They listened for the guard, but when they did not hear him coming, they kept talking.

"You spit on him?" Ember repeated quietly.

"He was making me angry," said Dahli. "Anyway, he left after that. And now he knows what I did to his conni, so I doubt he would do anything to get me out of jail."

Dahli's two cellmates just stared at her. "Dahli," Ember finally broke the silence. "You are just not real. How could anyone spit on Draephus?"

"I was getting back at him for starting a fight in this club he and I had gone to."

The two girls were silent, exchanging glances. "Aren't you going to write him back?" asked Ember.

Dahli looked down at the letter she held, turning it over in her hands. "I don't know," she said softly. "I'll have to think about it."

They went to bed shortly after this, falling asleep in the all-too-sterile room. Crystal and Ember dreamt nothing. Dahli dreamed of running through the halls of the centre, trying to find an exit.

***---***

The days all seemed to blur into one, and after a time Dahli realised she was having difficulty recalling what happened when. It seemed she had only seen Ris yesterday when she had to see him again. The end of the week reprise was no different than the weekdays; schoolwork and chores happened all the same. Every morning they rose at sixhour, and they were in bed by twentyhour. Twice weekly they were permitted into the yard for exercise. (As though they never got any, Dahli mused as she scrubbed the floors one day.) When she did not have studies or chores, she sat in her cell and stared at the walls. They weren't in there to have fun, she realised. As she had heard Raski Jervyas say in an interview once; `jail is to let you know you've done something stupid.' She doubted she'd ever do anything to ever warrant more of this deathly boredom.

She was in her cell doing a little wall-staring one day when the guard walked in. Dahli pried her gaze from the flat surface to look at the man.

"That wall has almost eight hundred bricks in it," she announced.

"Wonderful," said the man. "I'll put that in my book of useful things."

Dahli grinned. "Come back next week and I'll tell you how many bricks are in the whole structure."

"I can hardly wait. Well, can your counting wait awhile? You have a visitor."

"Really? You mean like somebody I know from the Outside, like a real person?" Dahli was fairly leaping up and down, the guard watching her warily.

"Yeah, now calm down and I'll take you out to the visitors' area."

Dahli followed the guard out of her cell and down the long, dim corridor to the visitors' area. The guard stepped forward and opened the door, Dahli walking in to find the tiny room full. Teirra bounded forward to greet her, Atterick, Diza and Czamkiar not far behind. Dahli let out a screech and grabbed her sister around the neck, hugging her tightly.

"Everybody's here!" she exclaimed, looking about at her friends and family.

"You look like clart," said Atterick.

"Oh, thanks, groutnoll. Let's see what you look like after spending all your life indoors." She threw her arms around him. "Oh, Atterick, in a weak moment sometimes I even miss you. How's the band?"

"Not bad. However Anthony has been spending so much time with Mars that I worry the Gryphons may give him a better offer."

Dahli grinned, then behind him spied an array of brightly-wrapped packages on the small bench near one wall. "Have you been shopping?" she asked. "What are the packages for?"

"Right, Dahli," said Diza.

"No, really, what's up?"

Diza stared at Dahli as though she had lost her mind. "It's your birthday, groutnoll."

Dahli had known she had a birthday coming up, but in the sealed-off world of the centre, she had no idea when this day would come. There were no timekeepers other than the relentless clocks in the building. Dahli stared at Diza with a stupefied expression.

"My birthday?"

"Yes!" said Diza. "Didn't you know?"

"No," said Dahli. "I guess I lost track of time. I didn't think it would be my birthday for a while yet."

Her voice had become quiet, and the increasingly familiar feeling of depression crept up on her. It was her birthday, and she was spending it here. Teirra watched Dahli's face as realization sank in. Her skin had a pale, unhealthy look to it. She had bags under her eyes, and she looked older than she had eight weeks ago.

"Well," said Teirra. "Since we wasted our money on you, hardened criminal that you are, would you like to open your presents?"

"Oh, sure," Dahli said in her familiar rant. "You break into one building and steal a lousy body and suddenly everyone thinks you're a criminal." She was trying very hard not to let circumstances ruin the day. She picked up a small, slim package from Teirra, then shot a sly look at the bored guard. "Gee!" she said loudly. "My very own metal file!"

The guard yawned and ignored her. Dahli unwrapped the box and opened it, finding a slender chain made of the fiercely expensive, smoky-grey metal czilbein. She drew it out slowly, gazing at it with wonder. Even in the bad light of the small visiting room, it shone with the surreal glow that made it so valued.

"Teirra, it's beautiful!" Dahli turned it over in her fingers. "Thank you."

"I thought you'd like it," said Teirra. "And if you have your own czilbein necklace, it will stop you from borrowing mine all the time."

"No it won't," said Dahli. "Of course, it will be awhile before I'm borrowing jewellery from you." Dahli picked up the next box, this one from Czamkiar. The package was rather large; Dahli tore the paper from it, opened the box and peered in.

"A bird cage, Czamki? It's nice, but why a birdcage?"

Diza picked up a small box and passed it carefully to Dahli. "In case someone gets you a bird."

Dahli took the box and gently opened it. She reached in and took out one of the two tiny, blue-white birds. She placed it inside the cage, then put its companion in with it. They flitted from perch to perch, cocking their heads as they studied the people around them.

"Do you like them?" asked Diza.

"Yeah, I do," said Dahli. "They're so tiny!"

"They sing nice," said Diza, "and they're smart. You can teach them to come when you call. The old woman who lives next door to me lets hers go sit in the tree in her yard. Then when it starts to get dark, she calls them and they come back in."

"What are you going to name them?" asked Teirra.

"No idea," said Dahli, studying the tiny white creatures, which had yet to utter a sound. Then she grinned. "I'll call this one Delaes..."

"Dahli Sandiniti, if you name that dear innocent bird `Delaes', I'm taking it back to the pet store right now!"

Dahli laughed. "All right. I won't call it Delaes. I'll call him Draephus."

"Now there's a name I never expected to hear you utter ever again," said Teirra.

"Yeah, well," said Dahli. "I don't know if I hate him as much as I thought I did. He wrote to me. He apologized for the way he acted and said I could write to him if I wanted."

"Will you?" Teirra asked.

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it. I'm still pretty angry at him." Dahli laughed a little. "Remember when I would have shed blood and switched sides to have gotten a letter from him? Now he's just some person I'm annoyed with. I think I liked him better as an unreachable demigod."

"He say anything about Yuri?" asked Diza casually.

"No, Diza. If I ever get a letter from Yuri Stracona, I'll be sure to let you know."

Diza smiled at her friend, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "Just don't hit him with a door."

“Or kick him in the ribs,” said Czamkiar.

All too soon it was time for everyone to leave. Dahli felt a sick, leaden sensation in the pit of her stomach as she watched Teirra gather up her presents to bring back to her bedroom, which seemed so far away and unreal. She could feel tears starting to sting her eyes, but she fought them back.

"Hey, Teirra..." she suddenly said.

Her sister glanced back at her. "What?"

"Is all of my Gryphon stuff still in the attic?"

"Sure it is. I wouldn't throw out that."

"Maybe someday if you and Diza are feeling ambitious, you could… put it back in my room for me?"

Teirra smiled. "Sure."

She stepped forward to give her a hug, and Dahli was hard pressed to stop the tears. She managed to keep them back, watching as Teirra, Atterick, and her friends left. It was only after they had gone that she permitted the tears to flow.

***---***

Draephus sat on Ysith Beach, a stretch of glittering white sand on the far side of the island. The island had two good beaches, but Ysith Beach was rarely used; hellish battles had been fought here, and there were still dead soldiers lost somewhere in the surf and deep sand. The only people who came to the mile-long stretch of sugar-white sand, flowering beach shrubs, and small trees were people like Draephus, who had fought here, and lost friends and pieces of their physical and emotional selves, wandering down to the tide-line to drink at night with the dead. Draephus was sitting mere meters from where but a few years ago he had crouched with a long-muzzled Night Stalker gun, firing at creatures that were once Sferkkaans, turned into mindless killers by Kyphisian technology.

The early summer breeze that blew was cold, and he shivered a little. His glazed, faded blue eyes watched the softly rolling waves in the darkness of the night. He had spent a lot of time here when he had been younger. He and Raski would come down with some friends and swim in the ocean. But that had been a long time ago, and it gave him an eerie feeling to be here now, alone. He wondered briefly where his old friends had gone, then shook his head when he thought he heard someone call his name.

He tried to light a cigarette, but couldn't make it connect with the fire. He tried closing one eye and that seemed to help. He closed the lighter and replaced it in his pocket, then dropped his free hand down to the soft white sand, reaching for the bottle he had brought with him. His arm ached slightly as he lifted it. He thought about Raski as he drank some of the burning liquid from the bottle, thought about all the times they would sit together on this beach. They would lean on each other drunkenly, talking and philosophising. Draephus wondered how many songs had come into being on this beach, and then shook his head. Life had changed so much in the past few years, mostly for the better. The war was over, Vesper had a few more years added to his life, and Raski had said he would wait for him. So what was he so miserable about? Apart from the fact his bones were slowly turning into powder, and his joints into tormenting balls of fire, and his days as a musician were rapidly coming to an end because no one who had to shoot mushroom resin six times a day in order to be able to move could have the speed and reflexes needed to play the drums, his life was great. Mushrooms eased the pain, but they did not improve one’s comprehension or co-ordination. Draephus would not long remain a drummer, and that meant either replacement or dissolution of the band. Great. Nothing like going down in flames and taking your friends along for the ride. He had to tell them, but… not yet. Not now. Things were good. Let them stay good a little longer.

He heard his name again. Some šukating seabird, he thought for no rational reason. Then he heard footsteps approaching.

"I don't believe it," said a voice. "Draephus CZimcocious. I cannot believe that there are people on this planet who will actually pay to see you, when there were so many times I would have paid to get away from you."

Draephus looked up slowly and stared for a long moment at a face he knew he should know. Finally he recalled the name. A drugged smile spread over his face.

"Namerea. What are you doing here?"

Namerea sat down next to Draephus. "Just out for an evening walk. It's been a long time since I've seen your ugly face. How are you?"

Draephus wavered, then without meaning to, slowly fell over backwards. "Fine," he said, his voice distant.

Namerea laughed. "So I see. What are you doing out here in this state?"

"I'm a hero. I can get into my altitudes wherever I like. Hey, Namerea, you think I should move Raski into my house?"

"That's up to you."

"Actually, it's up to Raski, and whether he wants to child-mind me constantly, or just continue to do it on an occasional basis. Poor Raski. He'd be so happy if I wasn't always making life hard for him."

"I'm sure he doesn't mind. Speaking of life, how much longer do you think Vesper will survive?"

"I don't know," said Draephus. He took a swallow from his bottle. He wanted to just lie there forever. The sand had become soft and warm. He took another drink, not bothering to question how Namerea knew about Vesper. "I spoke to him tonight. He’s in Trae Dae Mu with some buddies of mine. He sounded all right. It could be years before he gets sick enough to die."

Namerea nodded. It did not matter that Draephus had his eyes closed; he saw the gesture. His mind began to drift to other things, the main topic being the quality of the drugs he had injected, his joints still sore despite the narcotics.

"Lousy resin," he bitched. "You can't get good resin in Second City, but I was out of the South Continent stuff. I wouldn't share this garbage with people I didn't like, never mind my friends."

"Just as well," said Namerea. "You're alone."

The last two words rang through Draephus' mind almost leeringly. He was alone, wasn't he? He opened his eyes and studied Namerea calmly. He smiled back at him, a warm affectionate smile. A tiny black crab fell out of his mouth. Draephus thought nothing of it.

"Well," said Namerea, "perhaps if you have any left I could try it and tell you if it's as bad as you think."

The statement held implications. Mushroom resin lowered morals and inhibitions to the state of virtual non-existence in some people. That was the main reason that the Kyphisians had been so opposed to the stuff. Can't have people having fun.

"No," said Draephus. "I'll keep it. I may need it."

The beach was becoming longer. Draephus could feel it stretching and changing beneath him. Above him, the sky began to gently lower, the cloud cover softly approaching. Soon he was hidden in warm fog. However the sand was getting cold. As the beach continued to stretch, the sand layer grew thinner. White objects, thin and twisted, began to rise out of the thinning surface.

"What are these?" Draephus asked quietly as the bones grew like demented plants.

"Things you've buried," said Namerea. He pulled a bone out of the sand and held it out to Draephus. He stared at the offered object, then shook his head.

"I won't take back what I have disposed of."

"But you want it back, don't you? Don't you want things to be the way they were before life stopped being fun? You could stay with me on the beach."

"No," said Draephus. "I admit I have been thinking about how good it would be to come hide on this beach again, in the past, hanging out with old friends, but I can't. They’re dead, you’re dead, the past is dead. Only place to go is forward. And I’m gonna do it, even if I have to crawl."

Namerea’s features were beginning to slide into odd positions. The skin on one cheek was beginning to develop what appeared to be worm holes. "Are you sure you won't stay?"

Draephus slowly forced himself to a seated position, reaching for his bottle. "No," he said, and sighed. "I didn't much like you before you killed yourself; you're even less fun now."

He slowly pushed himself to his feet, then looked down briefly at the seated corpse. The sand was once more thick and soft, hiding the skeletons. He turned and began trudging away, heading down to the water's edge. The walking was easier here, and the dark water lapped over the toes of his boots to form tiny whitecaps. He was staggering, his movements stiff and wooden. He stumbled along, like a feralyke with the foaming rage. He could feel Namerea's eyes on him, watching him go, hating him because he could.

Draephus paused in his tracks and looked out over the water. The waves were small and gentle, edged in silver, soft, and inviting. He loved the water, loved to swim in it, to dive as deep as he could into the ocean, and watch the doings of small incomprehensible creatures until his lungs screamed for air. He wondered how cold the water was as he began walking into the ocean. It felt warm enough. He waded in up to this waist, feeling how peaceful everything was. Perfect for a late evening swim to wash away his own dark thoughts and misery.

He tried to leap forward, but the weight of the wet coat permitted him only a clumsy flop into the darkness. The water closed over him, and suddenly he realised it wasn't warm at all. It was colder than a tomb.

***---***

Khandid Stracona lay under a warm blanket on his bed, gazing out the open balcony doors, dreaming over a cup of herb tea as he watched the sky lighten. In the background, he heard the complex sounds of Yuri playing his quinticord, picking out impossible musical combinations. Musically, Yuri was something like a secret weapon; a six-fingered, self-taught quinticord player was bound to attract some attention. More than one musician had called demanding to know what in the Emperor's name they had done on this or that song. Khandi always told them to buy the cylinder and study it real hard. As most cylinders were the length and diameter of a woman's finger, one would indeed have to do a lot of studying in order to notice Yuri's hand in the small picture.

The music stopped, and Khandid heard Yuri set the quinticord in its stand. A moment later he walked onto the room where Khandid lay. He strolled over to the stone railing surrounding the balcony and stared down into the garden, watching the luminous flowers glow softly. Khandid studied Yuri's long back and smiled.

"What are you thinking about?" Khandid's tone was amused.

Yuri pushed his long black hair out of his face, a heavy curling mane that went down to his thighs.

"I was just thinking about that girl...what's her name...the one who hit Draephus."

Khandid thought for a moment, then said; "Oh you mean Dahli Sandiniti."

"Yes, her."

"Whatever for?" Khandid rolled luxuriantly onto his stomach, blinking sleepily at the new day.

"Well, you knew she is in jail?"

"No, but that's not surprising, what with hitting people with doors and stealing their conveyances. Only so much of that society will tolerate, you know."

Yuri glanced over his shoulder at Khandid and smiled. "That isn't what they locked her up for. Don't you ever pay attention to the news?"

"I don't have to, love, I hear it from you."

"She stole a dead body."

"Oh Yuri it's too early in the morning for necrophilia."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Think, Khandid, back to the days when you used to have intelligence."

"I'm a professional musician now, love, I don't have to think."

"That's your opinion and only yours. She was protesting the dissection of a Faylan. Claims they're human."

"She and Draephus would have lots to talk about. He's always on the same tangent. He used to keep Faylans when he lived on the South Continent. Apparently all the drug runners had them. Practically worshipped them. That's where he got the pair he has now. "

"I don't think they should have jailed her," said Yuri, watching the rain.

Khandid glanced up. Yuri was a black silhouette against the brightening sky. "What do you suggest?"

"Make her repair the damage she did, obviously. If she isn't any good with tools, at least make her pay for the work that has to be done. But I don't think they should have put her in jail. I think perhaps somebody should have begun looking into the situation. The Grey Boys did so many things to us I'm surprised we have the audacity to experiment on anything alive."

"Well I'm not surprised that you feel this way. After what they did to you."

Yuri looked at Khandid. "You mean like putting inserts into my bones to make me taller?"

Khandid flinched. "Yes, that. And other things."

"Like the fact that I owe my very existence to Kyphisian scientists, who decided to mix the chromosomes and DNA of several different aliens and came up with me? I don't even know what I am, and trust me, it weighs on my nerves heavily at times. I've no parents, no siblings, and no place of origin." Yuri shook his head, disagreeing with Dahli’s fate. "We have no business as a race experimenting on the Faylans. Someone should let that girl out of jail. I'm going to talk to Raski about it. He knows everything."

Khandid sighed. "Let it lay, Yuri. Our revolution is over. Let Dahli fight her own. The time has come for us to just do what we are good at and let others fight the wars. I for one have had a belly full of causes."

"But we can help."

"But it's not our battle anymore. If we keep leaping onto every cause that comes along people are going to start to think that we're another one of those bands who can't deal with the fact that the war is finally over."

"I suppose," said Yuri. "Of course, if we don't stay politically active to some extent, then all of our fans will abandon us, and Vortex will become the most popular band on Sferkkaa."

Khandid roared with laughter. "VORTEX? REPLACE US?" He screamed with uncontrolled hilarity. "Oh, there's a thought. How did that last wondrous ditty they came up with go? `I'm so glad to see you, dribbling with goo, icky icky poo, woo woo woo.' Something to that effect. `I think of you all the time, even when I have no brain, I think of you when I pick my nose, and when I go down the drain.'"

Yuri smiled. "That's not quite how it went."

"Basic concept though. Do you know why they called themselves `Vortex'? In honour of the space between the lead singer's ears, no doubt. Replace us in the charts. I never heard of such nonsense. You've been awake too long."

"Perhaps. I'm hungry. Let's have a bite to eat and then I'll go to bed."

"I like that idea. Turn on Base Four, we can hear what's going on in the world."

They walked into the huge kitchen. Khandid began to dig through the cold box while Yuri turned on the base receiver.

"...was found washed up on the shore of Ysith Beach early this morning. He was brought to Second City Hospital, unconscious, with a large quantity of drugs in his system. Hospital staff are saying little at this point, though one doctor did comment that his situation is grim..."

"Sounds like something Draephus would do," said Khandid, head within the cold box.

The telcom sent up its soft electronic beeping. "I'll get that," said Yuri, when Khandid made no move to do so. He walked into the next room and lifted the receiver.

"Heia?"

It was Delaes Randerick, the fastest mouth in Ra Khan Roll.

"...always was a lunatic you know but by the New Empire this is beyond anything I ever thought he would do I just had my receiver on for a moment because a friend of mine thinks I should listen to the news more so I only turned it on what was he doing do you think it was a suicide attempt but that really doesn't sound like Draephus he'd never kill himself because he wouldn't be able to beat people up does Raski know?"

Yuri gave his head a shake. "Delaes, what are you on about? Better yet, what are you on?"

"I only had some mushroom and a few rams of some other stuff you're not telling me that you haven't heard you people are all so disgustingly tight with one another..."

"Heard what, Delaes?"

"They found Draephus on Ysith Beach just an hour ago Yuri I'm sorry I thought you would know I was just calling up to ask how he is he hasn't any family but you know that you don't have any family either do you well I'll go now I'm sure you have people you have to call I'll talk to you later."

There was a click. The telcom fell silent in Yuri's hand. He set the device down and walked into the kitchen slowly, feeling as though reality had just left the premises. He paused in the doorway to watch Khandid stuffing his face.

" Khandi..?"

"Whaf?" he said, his mouth full. He poked about inside the cold box for anything interesting.

"That was Draephus they found on the beach. Delaes just called to ask how he is."

Khandid abruptly straightened up and looked at Yuri, simply staring at him for a long moment, blue eyes huge with disbelief.

"Call Raski," he said finally, "he'll want to know."

Yuri went back to the com and called Raski's number. He heard the com beep once, then Raski snatched up the receiver.

“Heia?”

“Raski? It’s Yuri. They…”

"I know, I'm on my way to the hospital now."

He dropped the ‘com, not managing to get it onto its hook. Yuri heard Raski cross his room at a run and bound down the flight of stairs, banging the door behind him.

Yuri sighed and hung up the ‘com. "He knows.

Disclaimer:

All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings.

(C) 2008 Alyx Shaw