Song of Dispossession: Interspecific, #1

Chapter 1

She’s Alright

Isopolis , New Antarctica, Earth

2322 AD, Day 129 of Summer

Lynpat lay on the bench outside his dome with the sun shining on his skin. His eyes were closed, but he could still feel the sun’s glare through his eyelids. The warmth made him feel protected. He wanted to lie there some more but not because he was hungry. Basking for more than an hour was enough sunlight for the photosynthesising nanites in his blood to keep him full until evening. He just didn’t feel like creating ripples in the serene calm that was his life at the moment.

Would you like to buy a carpet, Sir? A voice said, making ripples. So much for my serenity. Lynpat opened grudging eyes to find a grimy man with a confused look on his face.

I’m not your ‘Sir’, good man. Call me Lynpat. He sat up and stretched his arms. They responded with clicks and pops.

An exquisite carpet rested rolled up on the man’s shoulder. It was in great condition too. The man’s meagre and wiry frame hunched under its weight as he stood on the street a few feet away from Lynpat’s feeding bench. You really selling that? Lynpat asked and stepped on the street.

Yes, sir, he replied in a cracked and low voice. His eyes kept darting towards the ground.

Lynpat didn’t need it. Nobody needed a carpet in Isopolis. But then, it would give a nice touch to the bedroom. Dyara always wanted to spruce the bedroom up a little bit.

How much?

Two kilocells, sir.

Lynpat blinked with surprise. Well, first of all, stop calling me sir. I told you already. Secondly, are you price fixing? There’s no way in The Icy Winter’s longest night that price was set by the Pricing Authority.

I need the cells, si—I don’t want any trouble. If you’re not buying then I’ll be on my way. He lowered his gaze again.

"So you are price fixing. You, sir, can get in a lot of trouble for it."

I told you already. I’m not looking for trouble.

Then cite the sanctioned price—

My wife...she gambled away our belongings in Circle67 and now we’re homeless, sir. Please, I need the money.

Demons. Everyone had one. He once had one of his own too, though it hadn’t reared its ugly head for a few years. You’ll get through it. But you’re not doing yourself any favours by violating the Price Law out in the open like this. You’ve got to be discreet my good man—

What’s going on here? You two! a Lawkeeper barked as he appeared from behind a dome with hands on the waist of his bright pink uniform. I got a report of someone price fixing around here. The Lawkeeper eyed the man with the carpet suspiciously.

Lynpat locked eyes with the seller for a second, and saw fear in them. The man needed help. Without a moment’s hesitation Lynpat turned to the Lawkeeper and said, Eternal Summer! What’d you say? Price fixing? I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place. I haven’t seen anyone sell anything around here. I live in this dome right here. Lived here for the last five years, as a matter of fact.

Who’re you? the Lawkeeper asked the seller point-blank. The man just stood there in stupefied silence.

Well, Lawkeeper, Lynpat said, trying to save the carpet seller again. I am simply hiring this man to clean my carpet. And he said it’ll be seventy unicells to do that, which is the approved price. Isn’t that right— Shit! He didn’t know his name. Luckily the Lawkeeper didn’t seem to care.

I’m not asking you, citizen. Do not interrupt my questioning again.

Lynpat blinked furiously.

You, said the Lawkeeper pointing a finger at the seller. You match the description. Are you trying to sell this rug?

The man, seemingly back to his senses, shook his head. You heard him, Lawkeeper. I’m just a cleaner. I’m simply going to clean this carpet, not rug, for him.

Trying to be smart with me? Carpet or rug, it makes no difference. His eyes lingered on the seller for a few moments, and the Lynpat. He scowled at both of them and left without a word. Lynpat waited until he was well out of sight.

That was close. You could’ve gotten both of us in trouble!

I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you. Thank you for not— he trailed off. It didn’t seem like the man was going to give up. And he wasn’t not going to find a buyer in this quadrant. Especially not at that price. It was only a matter of time before he’d get caught.

Lynpat could lend him some cells, but he needed to keep his VoH bank balance as high as possible until the Ascension hearing. If someone else managed a higher balance, all the effort and savings of the last three years would be no different than a pile of ploughed snow.

Don’t do it. Don’t get involved.

How much is your wife’s debt?

Two Megacells.

Lynpat gaped in disbelief. You’re gonna have to sell a whole lot of carpets to cover that. Lynpat sighed and patted his pockets in resignation. He fished out a unicell from the right pocket of his bodysuit, with four hundred cells worth of charge, and held it out towards the man. Take this. It’s meagre, but it’s all I can offer right now. Actually, hold on. There is someone else who can help. Go see Manny at Q2C2D63. You got that address?

Second Quarter, Second Circle, 63rd Dome, the man mumbled to himself and nodded feebly.

Good. He needs help with sorting some ore. He’ll try to get rid of you when you show up, but just refuse to leave and he’ll eventually give up. You think you can do that?

The man nodded earnestly.

Lynpat looked at his watch. He’d better get going too. Better not be late for his shift.

Thank you, sir. I’ll find a repay these cells somehow.

Don’t worry about it. Repay your other debts first. And I’m not your sir!

Lynpat left the seller and stepped into his dome to prepare for departure. He didn’t have any unicells on him anymore for the journey because of the the donation to the carpet seller.

Mumbling to himself, he began running numbers in his mind. I’ll be fine. Their unicell balance in the VoH Bank was more than enough. But he couldn’t afford any more donations. He was too close to an Ascension to a kelite. Too close to risk it on a donation.  His appointment with the Ascension Committee was just a few weeks away. He had no doubt that the committee would approve his Ascension.

Soon, Dyara and he would live the lives of kelites.

No more living in the dome. No daily grind of moving ore back and forth. Access to the most esteemed facilities at the centre of Isopolis awaited him. Luxuries he had only dreamt of. And most importantly, front-box seats for every Levotron match!

He ambled to the entrance of his dome. The dome looked like a face observing him with white walls and a door flanked by twin oval windows. The walls were made out of a mixture of stone, ice, and a thin sheet of an insulating alloy. Its shape was almost like an igloo but less parabolic and more hemispherical.

The circular black door was soft to his touch, and felt neither cold nor warm. He opened the door and entered his dome to fetch his cyan satchel. He skirted around a solid chunk of earth, jutting out in the centre of the room. Underneath the floor, it connected directly to the foundation of the dome. A thin decorative sheet with colourful triangles draped it and hung off its edge, almost touching the ground. It was Dyara’s idea—using the chunk as the center table of their living room.

He couldn’t take her absence anymore. Gone for almost a week now, he ached for her embrace. He longed to make love to her and then sit down on their feeding bench and have long, lazy talks. And then there was their daily evening routine. The partially finished sculpture of the Galapagos hawk. It looked more like a bird after they finished their last sculpting session, days before she left for her mining assignment. The angled wings were recognisable. So was the pointed beak. But the rest of it was still a formless hunk of ice.

Only a few more vapid hours of moving ore around and he would be with Dyara. Her mining shift would end in a few hours and he would surprise her at the mining complex. Well, it wasn’t that much of a surprise since he had done it last two times too. It was more of a routine now, he supposed.

His dull job took up most of his waking hours. But it was good to have a job. Not that being jobless was bad. A majority of the Isopolian population was unemployed. It’s just that a job produced a steady income of unicells that let him afford luxuries that the Council approved Universal Basic Income could not. And who doesn’t like luxuries? Frequent visits to the local pub, ornate furnishings inside their dome and not worrying about going too hungry during the winter. In addition, it helped maintain a thick bank account at the VoH Bank. It served as proof of tangible contribution to Isopolis’ betterment which was key for the Council’s approval to ascend to a Kelite. The acceptance rate for the ascension was less than five percent.

As he exited his dome, ready and eager to head to the Mining Complex, a familiar voice greeted him. Eternal summer to you!

He looked up and found his neighbour Bentan standing with his wide grin and furry green beard, one hand on his waist and the other waving gleefully at Lynpat. He wore a furry orange bodysuit with almost no direct exposure to the sun anywhere on his skin except his face and hands. How could he feed with just that much exposure, Lynpat wondered.

Bentan lived alone in the dome beside theirs and had been their neighbour for the last few years. He reminded Lynpat of Santa Claus, except, like any other Isopolite, Bentan’s hair was green. Lynpat had never seen him without a smile.

Eternal summer to you as well, Bentan! Lynpat greeted back with a wave.

You were really having the sun all to yourself this morning, weren’t you? His laugh was half snorts.

I wish I could do that all day. But work beckons. Got some deliveries to do first. Then I’m gonna surprise Dyara, he said as he swung the door to his photomotive open and tossed the satchel in the back seat.

Dyara isn’t back yet? Really? Wasn’t she really supposed to be really back three days ago? asked Bentan as he sat down on his feeding bench. A sign with brownish-orange words stood next to his bench. It read, Bentan’s Den. Each dome came with at least one feeding bench. Pyramids, where the kelites lived, came with at least two. Some people built additional ones but didn’t necessarily use them for feeding. After all, not everyone needed to lie still on a bench for hours in a day to feed. Many Isopolites found plenty of sun exposure when they were out and about going about daily routines. Lynpat preferred the feeding bench. The time allowed him to wind up and wind down at either end of the day. He looked forward to those moments of nothingness every day.

Soon Dyara and I will be kelites. Days and days of nothingness together! He straightened his daydreaming smile.

Three days ago? U-uh. Her shift ends today.

Not really. The miners docked four days ago. I was at the bar last night with Kel. She said something about their shift ending early, said Bentan and scratched his beard.

Why hasn’t she returned? Lynpat said with a frown. Usually, Dyara sent him a message when she was delayed.

Don’t worry, Lynpat. Really. I am sure she is just being held in the quarantine zone longer. It’s been warmer these past couple of weeks. I reckon we might even have a warmer start in the winter. Last winter was really harsh, he said and shuddered.

There had been a few other occasions when Dyara had been held up in the quarantine zone longer than usual in the past. Now that he thought of it, the weather bureau did report higher temperatures, and they expected it to stay that way.

Every time the temperatures rose, the miners were kept in the quarantine zone for two days instead of one to ensure they hadn’t accidentally contracted the infection and become host to the superbugs. The quarantine zone was like a ring that ran along the borders of New Antarctica, or NeAn as most called the continent. On one side of the ring was the safe zone. Isopolis was at the centre of the safe zone. On the other side of the ring was what Lynpat had only read about in books and seen in informational videos. Nothing and no one had crossed the ring since the Great Pandemic two centuries ago. To go beyond meant certain death. Going beyond and returning meant the demise of the last remnant of humankind’s bastion within NeAn and the last city on earth—Isopolis.

I better head to the Quarantine Structure and make sure she’s alright, he said and began unhooking the photomotive with a bit more urgency. The chains dropped to the ground with a dull clank as he unlocked each one of them with a key. The photomotive would not start if he were not sitting inside, but he still took extra precautions.

You’re really heading to the QS now? I am sure she is alright, Bentan reassured him. But it did little to put him at ease. Ore shipment be moondamned. He needed to go see Dyara at the QS first. It would add another day to his delivery time, but his supervisor would understand. He could always ask Manny to fill in as a last resort.

He grabbed more unicells from his dome for the journey. When he came out Bentan had retreated into his dome. He opened the door to his photomotive and put his sweaty palms on the steering.

She’s alright.

Isopolis was surrounded by rolling snow-covered hills on all sides. Sentinel Range was its name. The tallest point, called Nii Peak towered at almost 4000m. The range provided natural protection from the harsh winds that wandered NeAn. There were two openings in the range to get to any one of the settlements outside the barrier. The settlements included small and remote structures like the Quarantine Structure and some mining checkpoints. There was one opening on the southern side and the other on the northwest of Isopolis.

Lynpat took the northwest exit closest to the Quarantine Zone situated 1300 miles north of Isopolis. He felt the sun right above him.

The shadow of his photomotive, Bluebird, was cast right underneath its belly. Bluebird was shaped like an ancient chariot without wheels crossed with a dolphin. Its shiny exterior, made of the photosynthetic Keddium alloy, had a bluish tint. It produced a flute-like hum at average speeds and a high-pitched screech at full throttle.

Lynpat wiped the cold sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Ominous thoughts kept inching their way into his mind and eventually made their way out as beads of sweat. He struggled to force his thoughts towards planning the evening with Dyara instead. But it became easier as he let himself think more and plan the finer details of his time with Dyara at home. However, his victory was short-lived.

As if some gears had shifted in his mind, his thoughts veered onto the superbugs. 

There had not been a single instance of a human being infected by the superbugs in almost two hundred years now. So there was no way there would be one now. And Dyara of all people?

Impossible. She was always meticulous with following protocol and procedures. Always went above and beyond when it came to precautions. He remembered when she had once grown quite furious once at finding him tweaking Bluebird while lying under it without the safety on the power coils engaged. She had been livid. He couldn’t help but smile a little.

The rearview mirror showed a shrunken Sentinel range. Thanks to Bluebird, he had managed to cover a reasonable distance already. Levitating one foot above the ground, she moved through an icy ravine at 300mph.

Soon Lynpat was at his destination. He swerved Bluebird around the corner of the Quarantine Structure perimeter and brought it to a halt. All ten photomotive parking slots were empty.

The Quarantine Structure, or QS as most called it, stood tall and solitary, with no other artificial structure in sight. The shape of the QS was the top half of a hexagon, the pointy end stretching up towards the sky. He gazed at its shiny metal exterior designed to keep heat out—the only structure designed to do that.

He opened the back door of Bluebird, pulled out his satchel and swung it over his left shoulder as his weary footsteps carried him on the icy ground towards the entrance of the QS.

His last visit had been as a child for his school’s educational tour. But he’d never been inside. Only quarantined individuals, health professionals, scientists and the very top kelites were allowed inside. The air felt minutely warmer, as it always did the farther one moved away from Isopolis.

A clunky thud accompanied his each step towards the entrance stairs. A closed door, triangular and grand, blocked his path. It was large enough to fit two Bluebirds side by side. Superbly smooth and featureless, it might very well have been a wall. But two sleek lines, barely visible, diverged from its top and ran down into the ground, indicating an opening mechanism somewhere. As he ran his eyes along this border, he pried a blue button on the wall to the right. He pressed it, but it gave no indication that it had been pressed. He waited for a few minutes for something to happen. 

Nothing. 

Had he made the long journey only to be turned back by a closed door? No, he wasn’t going to turn back without Dyara. He gathered some patience and turned around, hoping to find someone who could let him in. Or maybe he could bang at the door until someone showed up. He was about to act on that thought when a low and hoarse man’s voice came from the very wall.

Eternal summer to you. What purpose brings you here? inquired the voice.

Eternal summer. Err, I believe my wife, Dyara, is here? I’m here to take her back home, answered Lynpat in an inquisitive tone. He waited for a response, but he was met only with silence.

With one hand resting on the door he looked around as he waited with thinning patience. He noticed a few rocks on the ground beside the building. One perfectly smooth and round, another shaped like a man’s face. It had two misshapen eyes, a dent for a nose and a crack that ran along its width for a mouth. It even seemed to have a beard, orange in colour, made from moss. He had seen the moss-like fungus on many rocks in NeAn.

His moss-watching was interrupted by a loud clicking-clunking sound coming from the sleek door. Evidently, the laconic man behind the voice on the speaker had decided to let him in. The doors disappeared into the wall with a subdued grind. Lynpat stepped through the doorway into the chasm that it had created. His eyes took a few moments to get used to the darkness inside.

He squinted and strained his eyes to take in his surroundings. There was no sign of the man he had spoken to earlier in the high roofed chamber. Instead, grey walls surrounded him. The walls felt rough to his touch and were covered in microscopic dots all over, like an igneous rock but much more uniform. The orange lights embedded in the roof gave the illusion of warmth. A heavy stench of alcohol hung in the air which reminded him of the medical centres. It also reminded him of drinking spirit.

The massive door started clicking and clunking behind him once again. It slid closed and fell silent. Lynpat assumed that someone would eventually show up and lead him to Dyara. But presently, he had no choice but to wait.

After pacing the chamber for fifteen pensive minutes, a small black door that he had noticed earlier slid open to reveal a tall woman, probably in her fifties, dressed in a long white robe that was large enough to fit two of her.

Lynpat, please follow me, she said in a sombre voice and beckoned Lynpat to with her hand in the long baggy sleeve with a smooth welcoming wave.

Where is my wife? Why isn’t she with you? asked Lynpat, struggling to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

If you will follow me, I will lead you to your wife, she replied calmly.

Lynpat had no choice. He stepped through into the smaller room after her. His escort placed her palm on a black nanite scanning panel on a radiant white wall. The pad’s glow turned green and the radiant white wall turned into double doors that slid open silently to reveal the inside of the elevator. Its brushed steel walls diffused the blue light which appeared to dance like eels in moonlight. A keypad in the elevator beeped as she entered their destination.

As the elevator descended, his ears popped. The descent was not trivial. The elevator slowed to a halt, and then the doors slid open again. On the other side of the double doors, the roof was almost fifteen feet high.

His wandering eyes fell on five glass cases with hazmat suits inside them. Accompanying each suit was breathing apparatus hanging off individual headpieces, and tanks seemingly filled with oxygen.

This is a decompression chamber, Mr Lynpat. Please put on a decompression suit, she said, pointing at the hazmat suits.

Why do I need a hazmat suit?

She eyed him with a dispassionate face for a few seconds. Then she walked over to the suits. These are not hazmat suits, Mr Lynpat. These are decompression suits. They will protect you in the vacuum tube we are about to traverse. The tube leads to the quarantine cells. That is where your wife is.

Lynpat had never even put on a swimming suit, let alone a decompression suit. But he religiously followed the instructions depicted on an infographic hiding behind the hanging suit. Soon he was clad in it, including the headpiece and the oxygen tank. With each breath he took, a hiss emanated somewhere under the suit.

His escort did the same but with more fluidity and purpose in her demeanour than him. Once done, she walked to the nanite scanner and turned around just as she was about to scan herself. She pointed to a bar on the other side of the door.

The woman scanned herself, and the panel turned green. Suddenly, a large hiss sucked out all the air, leaving vacuum in its place. Lynpat felt his hazmat suit, or decompression suit—he didn’t really know the difference, swell. A small door opened on the farther side to reveal a small capsule of sorts attached to a rail on the ceiling. He followed the woman into it.

Its bare interiors could fit about ten people. There were no seats, only vertical hand supports. He held onto one as the door slid closed and the capsule began moving away from the decompression chamber.

Butterflies swarmed his gut. All of it seemed too...elaborate. Why go through a vacuum tube just to have him meet Dyara? Something wasn’t right. But he pushed that voice away and kept telling himself what he had been all day.

She’s alright.

Chapter 2

Broken Life Ring

Ttega had been peering into the microscope for an hour. She added another observation to her magnopad and tossed it away with cavalier disregard. She massaged her neck, sore from craning down the microscope’s circular eye piece all day long. It was way past daymidnight. She listened to the clock, and her body, and decided to call it a day. A yawn took over her face as she stretched her arms.

At the far corner of her lab, an orange pot sat on a small round table. It was small enough to fit on her palm. Brown soil filled it to the brim. Ttega eagerly hopped over to it as she readjusted her hair, kneeled by the table and inhaled the air surrounding the pot. Wet earth. She loved it.

It was time. Every day, at precisely 11:22pm, she watered it with exactly 10ml of water. She’d read plants liked routines too. She pulled out the small bottle of water that always sat under the table and poured carefully measured amount into the pot. The soil drank it thirstily, and the fragrance of the wetness intensified.

Today’s a good day, you know? I promise you won’t be disappointed. The sun is still out there waiting for you. But if you want to sleep in there longer, then, well, sweet dreams, she said almost whispering. She lingered over the pot for a few seconds, as if it would hear her and decide to grow out of the ground with a big yawn and outstretched arms.

The pot contained a Purple Pearlwort seedling. It was a gift from Dyara to celebrate her induction into the primary science and research body in Isopolis—Korp Humanity Advancement Division, or KHAD as most knew it, five years ago. It’s one of the rarest plants of Antarctica, and summer may bless me; it was so hard to find its seed! The green-fingered merchant told me that they could take anywhere from a month to a decade to sprout. But the more love you show it, the sooner it sprouts. I know you’ll make it sprout in no time, Dyara had said. It had been five years, with not the slightest hint of sprouting. But it didn’t bother Ttega. She didn’t own the plant. She was just there to give it care and love.

She stepped away from the pot and began humming a song stuck in her head. She gently bounced in place. Suddenly, she began singing at the top of her voice and waved her hands wildly in the air. Then, just as abruptly as she had begun, she stopped. A smile crept upon her face, and all the fatigue built up over the day vanished.

A wall panel reflected her face with fish-like eyes and a mouth that seemed to have a permanent half-smile. She was as tall as most Isopolites. Neither tall nor short. She had never been one to care about her or others’ appearance. She wore a plain black bodysuit with white stripes around the joints—ankles, knees, elbows and neck . It attracted little attention since it was one of the mass manufactured bodysuits freely provisioned by Korp to all Isopolites.

Much to her dismay, others considered her anything but an ordinary Isopolite.

At just 29 years of age, she was the youngest Head Research Scientist that Isopolis had ever had. And as the person in charge of leading scientific research and invention at Isopolis, most of her days and evenings were spent at the Korp Humanity Advancement Division. But, roles and titles meant little to her. It was the problem solving that drove her. 

Wake up every morning, walk to the lab, work until her eyes refuse to stay open, head back home and sleep.

And then repeat.

There was no shortage of problems in Isopolis, after all. Far from it. So, ever since she started almost a decade ago, she hadn’t stopped. Why stop? For what? Or for whom? It’s not that she didn’t have lovers. There had been a few. The last one—Welka, had lasted only half a year. Ttega had ended it with her because things were getting too...intrusive.

It was always she who ended things. And the intrusiveness usually caused it.

So, there was nothing and no one. Only problems and solutions. Solutions that she came up with using science and math and logic. Then turned them into research and discovery and inventions. Just like the nanites in her body that turned sunlight into energy and body heat, she turned problems into solutions.

She turned the lights off. There were few labs in the KHAD building that did not have windows. Hers was one of them. She shunned windows because they were openings that let her attention and focus pour out rather than being trapped in a room with her and doing her bidding. The walls were plain white, straight and thick. Absolute silence permeated her lab. Even the constant summer sun wasn’t allowed in.

She had barely had an hour in the sun on her way to the lab and she was starving. But she had no intention of meandering.

No way. 

Wherever she went, people recognised her. They always wanted to talk to her. Or just gape at her. Ugh! She just wanted to be left alone.

Outside her lab, in the common area of KHAD, she was the only person. Blissful solitude. That was another reason she liked working as late as she did. Nobody to deal with on her way out.  

She made her way out of the KHAD building onto the main streets, drenched in the orange light from the late sun. The air was still. The only sound in the air was the occasional chatter from the people on the street. She strolled on the arterial street made of a hydrophobic alloy. Her feet were light on the rough, matte surface as she walked furtively with her hands in the pockets. A few passersby recognised her and greeted her. She awkwardly avoided their gaze while she kept hers down and quickened her step.

Pyramids lined the icy street on either side. Each pyramid, stark black against the white, snowy surroundings, was between thirty to fifty feet high. They gave way to domes as the streets moved away from the centre of Isopolis. Her pyramid was not too far off the arterial street. The Council had granted it to her when they’d inducted her into KHAD as a research scientist. It also coincided with her ascending to a kelite. Once her genius became privy to the Council, it had taken them little time to grant her the Ascension. 

She had lived there since. But neither did she need the lavish abode, nor was she attached to it. It was merely a place for her to rest, to lay her head while her brain went to sleep. It could very well be the smallest dome in all of Isopolis. She didn’t mind. She spent most of her time working at her lab anyway.

As she approached her pyramid, her thoughts were pushed aside by a figure pacing at its entrance. She stopped and squinted at the lanky man in a deep pink bodysuit with shoulder-length straight green hair.

Another one wanting me to fix their magnopad? Ugh! Then, as the pacing man turned around, she recognised him.

It was Lynpat, Dyara’s husband. She groaned inwardly at the sight of him.

Lynpat? What’re you doing here?

Lynpat stopped pacing and turned his downward gaze towards her. He approached her with hunched shoulders. Something was wrong. Lynpat never visited her without being accompanied by Dyara. But more than Dyara’s absence, his red puffy eyes were the tell-tale sign of distress.

Sun’s grace, Ttega, you’re here. I am sorry for intruding here unannounced, but I didn’t know who else to go. He seemed glad to see her.

That was a first. The two of them had never gotten along. It was often the reason for a sour conversation with Dyara too. Why should she have to get along with him? Or like him? Especially given the fact that the day Dyara had met him, she got to see Dyara less and less every day. And, of course, he was why Dyara had to continue a life of hardships as a non-kelite. But Dyara always wanted Ttega to grow up and see him for "who he was".

But how could she, when he was the reason Dyara didn’t Ascend and become a kelite with her five years ago? Ttega could pick one family member to Ascend with her. But Dyara had refused,