Chapter 7

Glancing at his watch, Yakhir suddenly remembered that he had promised Azzi to meet him at one of the cafés that evening. He groaned in frustration because his watch already read 19:15 and he was at least a half hour away from the 19:30 get together. Arriving late for promised appointments was one of those characteristics in others for which he had little tolerance, how much more so when he was the guilty party. He stuffed his pad in his sack and ran down the tunnel and up the shaft.

He was torn between his promise to Azzi and the new trove into which he was burrowing. Master Kevit-Nevar had steered him further down to L40 and a small niche that was unusually secured behind two sets of doors. The cache was documents and e-files stored on early version datacubes, which were stored in a substantial set of trunks made out of a metal alloy with gasket seals. The manifest indicated Kyoto as the origin and the Neo Mandarin indicated a post Fundi War date. Pre-war Kyoto spoke another Asian language, most of which was lost when the capital city of that island nation disappeared in a nuclear explosion.

Little of the written material made sense, and most of the datacubes were encrypted. Only Master Archivists had access to the encryption tools that could pry open such data and Yakhir's master had moved onto to another bin himself, one that Yakhir forgot to make note. He needed a master program; the chance of destroying data while trying to extract it was deemed too great for apprentices and mere archivists. Yakhir would have to track down his master tomorrow and beg him. 'Strike that thought, ' he chided himself, 'he would humbly request him to take a crack at the cubes.' He still had difficulty separating friend from enemy in his new reality.

His thoughts cleared as he stepped into the evening air and wished the watchman a good evening. Yakhir ran as fast as he could down the mountain without endangering his balance, and into the winding streets. Of course Effie's Café was halfway on the other side of the town and he had to offer more "pardon's" than usual as he raced through the thoroughfares. He didn't knock anyone down this time.

He turned the corner and spied Azzi sitting outside the café by himself. The little establishment was a favorite haunt because it sat on a dead end street off of another small street, away from the thoroughfare. Only those who had business walked these few streets. Yakhir plopped into a seat and offered his apologies for arriving late.

"You're not late," Azzi chuckled, "you I told 19:30 and Davni I told 20:00. We know to give you an extra fifteen or thirty minutes to get anywhere. You'll probably be late to your own funeral."

"Let us hope so," Yakhir responded cryptically, as he signaled the owner for a mug of steamed goat's milk with cinnamon and clove. He had not been sleeping well lately.

They kicked around a lot of empty talk while waiting for Davni to arrive. Both of them were nervous for the same reason: would they, could they, should they, try to shift a young woman's desires? They lived with a great superstition that the powers of a young woman's affections were not to be tampered with in a trivial manner. Should such a lass be insulted or demeaned, woe betide the source of her ire. That poor bastard was going to shrivel up and die like a slug in the midday sun. However, Yakhir wanted her gone and Azzi didn't see many choices in the coming years. If the tall man with the kinky hair fancied her, both of them were dedicated to changing her mind, despite the superstition.

Davni skipped around the corner and flounced into a chair between the two. She was dressed in a less modest skirt and a blouse that gave a hint to her cleavage underneath. From her choice of clothes, it was obvious what was on her mind and she smacked Yakhir with a big, toothy grin that he returned weakly. Azzi looked concerned.

Then Davni launched into a running commentary of how important her trivial day was. She worked in a daycare center and someone's baby barfed, and another one refused to stay in a diaper in the building, and so on and so on. She hardly took a breath or sips of her coffee. Yakhir fought his eyeballs from rolling back into his head; he managed by watching Azzi stare at the light brown talking head with longing. His friend's chin was resting on his hands as he stared at her. Puppies could not have been cuter.

Davni was oblivious; Yakhir was convinced he had found a cure for his insomnia as he shook his head to stay awake.

Davni's monologue came to an abrupt stop, which caused Yakhir to raise his drooping chin.

"I really liked the Festival," Davni cooed with a change of topic.

"Really?" Yakhir spoke for the first time with his prepared comeback, "I don't remember a thing. I remember drinking and then waking up naked in my own bed."

"You don't remember anything?" Her eyes went wide with incredulity.

"Nope." He gave Azzi a look, hoping his friend would jump into the conversation.

Davni indignantly spouted, "You are hurting my feelings, Yakhir,"

Yakhir shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could force into his shoulders. If he apologized, she would jump on it as an indication that he liked her. If he refused, then the curse was her only recourse to save face.

"He's not trying to hurt your feelings, Davni. Yakhir is only saying he doesn't remember that night," Azzi finally spoke up.

"He's piling insult upon insult. After he used me and left me bare to the world, he claims he can't remember. He is no man."

Yakhir felt his blood boil. He wasn't sure whether he was angry or just supremely frustrated with her stupidity. He opened his mouth to rip into her with a vicious retort and then deliberately swallowed it.

"Brother!" Janina's voice called out, breaking the impasse. His secret weapon had finally arrived and Yakhir felt his back sag slightly back into the chair. A great relief washed over him as Davni's turned her gaze towards the strolling figure. He had no clue what Janina would say, but she had a way with these sorts of relationship-type things. Give him a datasheet any day, because this date, girlfriend and wife thing was far too murky for him. He liked girls, he wanted girls, or at least one particular girl; he just didn't understand the intricate steps that made one girl his girl and another one not his girl. Why couldn't they have a clear list of instructions?

Janina took the fourth seat and the cafe owner slipped her a coffee without even asking; Yakhir would inquire into that later, thinking that she was entirely too comfortable. The younger three held their tongues out of respect to the older who was savoring her drink.

"Davni, you can't decide whether to make 'moon eyes' over him or slap him upside the head. Which is it?" Janina tossed across the table.

"Your brother is a work of art," the younger woman testily declared hewing to a neutral attack. Janina Al-Tiquir's reputation among her female peers was well known and even Davni was smart enough to watch her tongue in front of the sister.

"He is a work of art," Janina agreed, "expensive, unique and not for sale."

"That's hardly what he said at Festival," Davni retorted.

"Festival is a one night rhapsody from reality. You saw his cock and you played with it; now suddenly you think you own it despite the rules of Festival: most anything goes and nothing counts. Not only do you forget the unwritten rule, you miss the obvious point. You have no clue who Yakhir is," Janina condescended.

Davni would not be moved, "I certainly do." Not that anyone at the table believed her; score one for Janina.

Yakhir felt he was watching two she vipers coiled and weaving. Each was trying to strike at the other with dripping fangs, waiting for the bigger one to make the killing strike. It was fascinating to watch in the same manner a person views a rock slide toppling over one's head.

"Did you know his master told him he was boring. A master archivist, who's personality is best compared to a dead fish, proclaimed Yakhir is boring. When he is home he either pounding on his computer pad or has his nose stuck in a data sheet."

Yakhir's face dropped in astonishment. His own sister was insulting him, in front of his best friend and in public. Azzi smirked at him and motioned with a finger for Yakhir to close his jaw.

If you don't believe me, Davni, watch this," Janina turned to her brother, "do you have your datapad with you?"

"Of course," Yakhir acknowledged as if she was asking him if he was wearing pants.

"Do you know what a datapad is?" Janina turned back to Davni.

Davni hesitated and then defiantly exclaimed, "Yes!"

"Don't lie," Janina chastised, "you do it poorly." Score number two.

Janina went in for the kill, "Do you think the Al-Taquir clan would let Yakhir marry you? You have a good heart and come from a decent family, but you are neither apprenticed nor do you have advanced schooling. Even if Yakhir wanted to, it would never happen, Davni. You have reached for a shelf that is too far above your head."