NOVEL NEXT 69: Enter The Dreamer
PEYDRAN
I wondered if Ren would fall into sleep like Ryst, but he just stopped chanting the moment she fell silent, shook his head, and turned to me with a broad smile. I put a pillow beneath Ryst's head, and we went outside on quiet feet.
The night air was chill when I pulled Ren into a tight hug and whispered, "You miracle, Ren Crieve! You miracle! Four years I've been trying to get details, and you just sang her into a vision more clear than anything we've gotten before. We've got details now. We've got a building shaped like a candle. A man younger than Ryst who is accomplished and wealthy. And something about Earth and the Galaxies."
"Well, we know how Earthens left Sol." He said it like it was a matter of fact as obvious as the sun.
Hoping that Ren could pull stuff out of thin air like Ryst, I decided to start questioning him, "What do you mean, Ren? What do we know about Earth?"
"Well, the story. They had to form Trade Guilds and join the 9 Galaxies like everyone else does."
"And what does that have to do with Her Ahtah?"
He started looking off into space. "Hmmm. Why would that matter now?" He shook his head and returned to looking at me and spoke matter of factly, "You'll figure it out, Pey'o. Let's look for the building."
And so we did. We started with Sturm. Nothing stuck out that looked candle-shaped. Ren asked, "What's a tall building that isn't an office? What else, Peydran?"
Neither of us knew much about skyscrapers. We lived in little desert huts. The buildings we were scrolling through were like a stream show, not real life. Tall buildings. What were they? Offices. Hospitals. Hotels. Hotels? We started focusing on hotels. Still nothing on Sturm stood out. So we looked Galaxy wide.
Eventually Ren stopped me again, "Wait, back up, yeah— that one. Phallic!" He started giggling. I did too. "What is that?" Ren giggled again with a bit of a snort. We were being quiet so we wouldn't wake Ryst.
Ren was right. It was a rather phallic-looking skyscraper: a giant circular hotel with a sperm on the top. It was actually called "The Teardrop." So, it wasn't a phallus, it was a hotel with a teardrop on top of it. Which kind of did look like a lit candle. And something else that wasn't a candle. Or a tear.
"Do you think that looks like a candle, Ren?" I asked snickering.
RYST
I woke to an empty house. Ren and Peydran must've left. I closed my eyes again and let my mind drift over all the new information I'd gotten from my Ahtah.
Rivers of gold. Young, but accomplished. Confident. The Galaxy. A building shaped similar to a lit candle. Skyscrapers that weren't offices. Hospitals? Shopping centers? Manufacturing? Hotels? Hmmm. Earth. Great wealth. The Galaxy. Well, you'd have to have great wealth to leave Earth, right? He'd said the story. What was the story?
My eyes flew open! I sat up and grabbed my pad. How did the Earthens leave Sol System? Yes, on starliners, but they left because they formed Trade Guilds! You can't have great wealth without trade. And to be younger than me and be accomplished and confident and have great wealth meant one thing: Ministry!
I pulled up all those 15 million unmarried black men in Sturm and added a new filter: Ministry. Thirteen. There was one at the top: a twenty-three year-old Galactic Minister of Hospitality. Nayth Carmidee. Hospitality. Hotel.
I started shaking and trembling all over with the magnitude of the moment. I searched images of Sturm for hotels that looked like candles. Nothing. I searched wider— all of Andromeda. It was worse than a needle in a haystack. There were so, so many buildings.
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No, wait. Look for Carmidee Hospitality hotels shaped like a candle. There were still too many buildings, but eventually there was an odd— wait, what was that? What kind of hotel was that? Could you call it a candle? I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped my lungs.
PEYDRAN
Ren was still giggling at the not-quite-candle-shaped hotel when he pointed to a new image. "Look at this picture." In the photo he pointed to, the Teardrop Hotel had flowers shooting out a hole in what should have been the roof— the apex of the drop. It was a giant phallus building spurting flowers out its top. We rocked with quiet laughter.
Then I pulled up the hotel stats and stopped laughing. The Teardrop was on Floria. Which wasn't far from Sturm. And one of our new details was that he had two worlds. The corporation that owned the Teardrop Hotel was Carmidee Hospitality. And the CEO was Nayth Carmidee. And his home world was Sturm. And he was black. And handsome. And 6'3." And Galactic Minister of Hospitality for Andromeda.
"Mmm," Ren hummed appreciatively.
"Yeah, handsome devil, isn't he? Ren, this is going to be the biggest recon I have ever done. If there's any chance at all that he is or is not Her Ahtah, we have to find out everything—everything on Nayth Carmidee. The picture looks like it fits right now. But we have to take our time. Because Ryst can't take anymore heartache. We have to know. These financials are going to take a lot of time to go through. He's a quad. This is wealth unimaginable."
"For a 23-year-old to have that kind of wealth and be a Galactic Minister, there are skeletons in his closet, and I have to find them. Can you take the family— go through stream sites? Everything public. Every photo. Every video." I threw data at Ren's pad, and he started combing through it.
RYST
"Kiss Me Always"
Alone like the tide
questions of a storm
tear in the moonlight
and always you.
Skin on skin.
Hips on hips.
Lips on lips,
and
always you, baby.
Kiss me always
and never stop.
Don't you stop, baby.
File name: Untold Stories
Passcode: 8675309
The Teardrop Hotel was the only candle-like building I could find, and it was owned by Carmidee Hospitality. It wasn't hard proof.
It was only an inkling, but Nayth was 6'3," a quadrillionaire, and lived on Sturm, and he was black and single and exceptionally accomplished. To be a Galactic Minister at all was an enormous accomplishment. To do it under age 35 was practically impossible. There was a story there.
I couldn't find any clear pictures of his hands. He was a sexy as you could get, but his eyes were kind, not arrogant. All of this fit the picture that my Ahtah had given me, but it wasn't hard proof. It was still speculation.
So, what was I going to do? I didn't have a strong feeling pushing or pulling me in any direction. Nothing said, "This is your Ahtah, run to him now!" But nothing said, "Run away, this is a monster!" either. It was just a pause. A pause to take a moment to think.
Did I want to walk away from this picture of Nayth Carmidee that was peering at me through my pad screen? No, no I did not. And I decided. I would follow this through and find out.
And then, once I was decided, I felt it. It was small. It wasn't certainty. It was a thread of possibility. Nayth Carmidee may not be my Ahtah, but putting a plan in motion was the right choice. I just had to keep following that thread and see where it would lead.
I looked at his photo some more, pondering. Nayth. That would be Nati in my first language, Starlend. I wondered what it would be in Shurwinn? Natin? Naten?
PEYDRAN
"I like the sister," Ren said a bit later. "I like Floria. Can we go to Floria?"
"Yes, love. Let's go to Floria and stay in a giant phallus hotel."
Ren started chuckling again and murmured, "And make sure there's a flower festival. It will be celebratory."
I spluttered out a quiet laugh but kept processing data like a mad man. Looking for anything and everything. So far, all I had found was above board. But was it too clean? What was Carmidee hiding? I had to keep digging— "Buzz" went my pad. Text appeared. Ryst was awake. And she had beaten us to it.
Ryst: What's the Shurwinn name for Nayth? Natin?
Peydran: Natan. We're coming in.
Galactic Minister Nayth Carmidee.