Dream Drive Ch. 06

Maybe that was it. There wasn't any fawning. There weren't any lies. The relationship was plain, simple, and effective. Efficient.

"So," Charles said. "How about we get dinner later? Usually that comes before the hookup, but I'm willing to make an exception for my favorite secretary."

Mivra nodded. "I am sure that we could be more productive if we ate together."

Charles could have swooned.

The foldout on Charles's wrist beeped. He snapped it open. "It's Miller," Charles said. "They've got a preliminary report. Good timing."

"Indeed," Mivra said. "I suppose fornication is one way to pass time."

"We've been doing that since we figured out what goes where."

****

Jackson was getting tired of walking.

"Arm," Shaka said.

Jackson lazily drew the symbol with a finger.

"Good. Heart."

Jackson drew it.

"Demon."

Drawing.

"Cut."

Drawn.

"Forest."

Drawn.

"You haven't made an error in several hours. That is good."

Jackson started to automatically raise his finger before he realized that Shaka hadn't ordered another rune. "Thanks," he said. "Now that I've got my foldout here, I can study easier."

"I was beginning to fear you weren't taking this seriously," Shaka said. "But you see? You only had to discipline your mind." She thumped her switch in the palm of her hand.

"Yeah. Right."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"No, Shaka," Jackson said quickly.

Shaka peered at him between strands of grey-white hair a moment longer, unconvinced, and then turned to face forward. They were striding at the front row of the marching tribe again, Shaka's usual position. The sun was setting over the plains. A line of clouds in the distance were painted in fat bands of gold and orange.

Days of marching had brought the mountain close. It dominated the horizon, a massive spike jutting from the plains, cast in pure black as the sun moved behind it. The narrow peak climbed into the clouds, ending somewhere he couldn't see.

He could feel something below the mountain. It was almost like his bond with Chaki; but this wasn't inside his head. It was set into his chest like a hook.

It wasn't a reminder. It was a demand.

"The march will stop soon," Shaka said.

"Yeah."

"I hear you are training with Hanta and Vuntha at night."

"Yep."

"You are skilled, Jackson," Shaka said, "but I do not believe you can practice quickly enough to defeat Katran outright."

"Maybe not."

"Do you think otherwise?"

"I'm not sure," Jackson said. "I don't know enough about..." Jackson indicated the twisted star-scar cut into the back of his left wrist. "I'm different than a normal person."

"So it is," Shaka said. "Be cautious."

"If the chance comes up, I'm gonna beat the shit out of Boonta."

Shaka's face had the humorless composition of sun-baked granite. "Drana's happiness is in your hands. Is this the time for a personal grudge?"

Jackson thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I'll be careful."

"Indeed," Shaka said. "Perhaps you should extend that conclusion and realize that it is never the time for a grudge."

Jackson shrugged again, but he didn't say anything.

Shaka pointed two fingers at the black rise looming ahead of them. "The mountain comes tomorrow. We will reach it when Guardian Sun assumes his apex."

"You think so?"

"I have walked this way many times."

In a few moments, Yukatan raised his fist, and stopped. Shaka raised hers in response. The unspoken message raced back down the line of the Windseeker caravan. Those in the back continued walking, encircling the position that the elder had chosen for the tribe to spend the night.

Tipis sprung up like mushrooms. The colors and symbols of various families waved from the tops of wooden support poles. Fires were dug and lit. Food was brought out from storage; people gathered among friends and family to eat.

Jackson monopolized Shaka's time during the day, but once they settled her tent, she was sought after by a line of supplicants. She dismissed Jackson from her presence with a wave, then turned to her people to begin her real duties. Jackson made his way toward Chaki's tent.

Landri and Palla were seated around a small fire. They were eating wasna again. It was a good 90% of their meals while they were on the move. Jackson didn't mind at all; in fact, he welcomed the salty bits of meat and dried fruit. He'd survived on processed crap is whole life. Wasna was a serious upgrade.

There was already a small bag set out for him. Jackson clasped his hands, and gave Landri a formal nod. She smiled and waved for him to take a seat.

"Thank you, Landri," Jackson said. "I appreciate it."

"You do not have to say that every day, Jackson," Landri said.

"...I feel like I'm mooching."

"If I am to repay you in wasna for the lives of my children," she said, brushing her waist-length braid back, "then by my reckoning, I owe you at least another five liver-bags."

Palla looked put out. "Mother. I'm only worth five bags?"

Landri's smiled widened. "No, Palla. You and Chaki together are worth five bags."

"Pssh," Palla said. "No respect from my own mother, Jackson."

"Don't embarrass yourself in front of our guest."

"Hanta said he will take me hunting next season," Palla grumbled. "I will shoot down a bison. Ten bison! Then you'll value me a bit more than five bags of meat."

"At least you're ambitious," Landri said. "Our family will once again have a true hunter. You must admit that Chaki does a good job in the absence of you father."

"She shouldn't have to hunt," Palla said. "She works too hard. Next year, I can do all the hunting, and she can finally focus on herself, and being a spirit guide. That is what a brother should do."

"Well, we'll see."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

Palla grumbled something under his breath. Landri swiped his knee. Palla sniffed, then went back to his wasna. Landri sighed.

Jackson wondered about that. He'd invited Chaki to come with him on his journey...to travel through the tower? Defeat demons? He didn't even know.

That was before his outburst. And his promise of marriage.

Maybe he just wouldn't go.

It was a new thought. But the only reason he'd wanted to know what he was supposed to do was because he thought Isis was a game, and a game had victory conditions. This was just life - life part 2. He could set his own victory conditions. Why should he leave the plains?

He was starting to fit into the tribe. People recognized him, and smiled; outside of Boonta's clique, he was widely respected for being courageous and straightforward. It was a free life, open and simple, wandering the plains, living from the land. No laws, no gangs, no money, no taxes, no governments. He had friends - Vuntha, and his relations. Landri and Palla already treated him like family.

And Shaka. Shaka, his spirit guide. He complained, maybe more than he should - but for every time she smacked his hands, she made him smile. She made him think. Jackson could build an optical drive and hack public transportation networks, but Shaka understood how the world clicked together. That seemed infinitely more important.

And then there was Chaki.

He cringed when he thought about how he'd lashed out at her. He made love to her, promised her this and that, and then he'd told her to go screw herself. He'd waffled like a politician on spending cuts, and she voted for him anyway.

It said much better about her than it did about him. But he could put that behind him. She'd given him the chance; she'd given him a blank check. She wasn't going to change her mind. She was serious. He couldn't let her down.

He felt a sense of a responsibility. He felt an obligation. Normally, he'd go out of his way to avoid that, but it wasn't eh fickle annoyance of chores or busywork. It was the comforting weight of honor. Duty.

What a freakish word for him. Duty - it was a word used by G.A.U. officials on the nightly news. It was a word used by politicians when they justified troop movements through another war-torn country. It was a word used to trap people, guilt them into things they didn't want to do.

But before that, before the world poisoned it, duty had another meaning.

There was something here, on the plains. He'd lost it, before, and he was afraid he would never find it again. And so he convinced himself it didn't exist.

He had been wrong. He had never been so glad to be wrong.

So, why leave?

The mountain pulled on him.

"Jackson?" Landri said. "You seem quiet."

"Jackson is always quiet," Palla informed her.

"Palla," Landri said, "do you speak back to your mother by habit, now?"

"...sorry."

"It is fine." She looked at Jackson.

"...just thinking about stuff," Jackson said.

"Oh?" Landri smiled. "What about?"

"Life."

"That is certainly a whole lot of stuff," Landri said.

"Jack," Palla said, "have you hunted before?" Jackson shook his head. "Aww. I thought maybe you could teach me."

"Next season," Jackson said. "We can learn together."

Palla's eyes stretched open. "Really?!"

"If it's alright with your mother."

"Please, mother, please, please?!"

"We'll see."

Palla slapped his knee. "We'll always see! I hate those words!"

"Well, if Jackson will be along, I'll feel much more confident," Landri said. "But since you're still apparently such a child, I suppose not."

"I - but -" Palla settled back in place. "...sorry."

"Palla, I know sometimes it is hard to understand, but I make such decisions with your best interest at heart," Landri said.

"I know."

"Why don't you attend the horses for a time? I wish to speak with Jackson."

Palla nodded. He tied his bag of wasna and left it near the tipi. "I will get water on the way back."

"Thank you, Palla."

He wandered off into the evening. Landri looked back at him. "I had understood from Shaka that you were going to be leaving us after the Mountain Meet."

"...I dunno," Jackson said. "I might stay, instead."

"Hmm," Landri said. "That is good, because I don't know how I'll deal with Palla if your promise is a false one."

"Sorry," Jackson said.

"No need." Landri waved a palm at him. "That is the first time you mentioned any commitment aside from my daughter, you know. Perhaps this has to do with your thoughts on life?"

"Yeah," Jackson said. "It does." He blinked. "Chaki's coming."

"It is uncanny how you can do that," Landri said. "I can see her coming this way right now."

Jackson frowned. As the feeling of Chaki grew closer, he could sense something simmering. It was not happy. He looked in her direction.

Chaki was marching toward them like an angry tornado. She plunged into the firelight with a growl. She kicked dirt away from the seats. "That idiot! That foolish, pigheaded, chicken-brained, flirting little bitch!"

"By the spirits, Chaki, what is the matter?" Landri said.

"She struck me," Chaki said. "She scratched me!" Chaki pointed at her neck. There was a long red line drawn over her shoulder. "I can't believe her!"

"Drana?" Landri asked.

"I wouldn't know anyone by that name," Chaki said. "She's been possessed by a demon!"

Landri stepped up to Chaki and put a hand on her shoulder. "Chaki."

Chaki's eyes were watering. She drew a long sniff through her nose. "Mother, she...she didn't listen to me. She was - I've...I don't know."

Landri wrapped her up and patted her on the back. "Shhh. It's alright."

"It's not," Chaki mumbled into Landri's chest. "Boonta is poison. He's made her think...I don't get it."

"Even the best of friends fight, sometimes," Landri said. "Did I tell you I fought with Shaka, once?"

"...you did?"

"She didn't approve of one of my early picks for a husband," Landri said. "I defied her. It was rather more heated than that, but eventually, I ended up apologizing. I was blinded in the passion of the moment. I am sure Drana will understand eventually."

"She hit me," Chaki said.

"Sometimes, when people have no words, they strike out in the only way they feel they can," Landri said. "Do not nurse the pain. Let it fade. Things will be difficult for a time, but you will speak to her again. It will heal."

"Mmm." Chaki nodded into Landri's shoulder. Landri brushed Chaki's hair back.

Jackson felt a little awkward. He'd just witnessed something very personal. Part of him wanted to shove off and help Palla with the horses. The other half told him to be there for Chaki. He sat in place, churning between the two decisions.

Waffling again. People were too complicated.

"I am going to see to Palla," Landri said. "Jackson, may I trust you with Chaki?"

Ah. They'd be without a chaperone for a little while.

Jackson nodded. "Yes, Landri."

"I will return soon." Landri patted Chaki on the head once more, then left Chaki standing near the fire.

Chaki turned to face Jackson. Her eyes were red. "Hello, Jackson. I'm sorry you...um."

Jackson patted the ground next to him. "Want to sit?"

"Okay."

Chaki sat next to him, and Jackson pulled her up to his side, arm around her waist. She leaned into him and sighed. "I'm sorry. I told you I would support you. This isn't really..."

"It would be weird if things were one sided all the time," Jackson said. "Even I know that."

"I am the North Star," Chaki said. She straightened in his grasp. "I..."

"Chaki, it's okay," Jackson said. "Really."

Chaki let her head rest on his shoulder. "...she's my best friend. Was. What Boonta said...it was true. She was angry about how I flaunted the fact that I turned him down. She said I was the shallowest woman in the whole tribe and trying to stop her from taking the best husband she could get. She said I was trying to move in on every man all at once and that I was fine with everyone else getting the scraps."

Jackson found himself squinting. "Is she implying that Vuntha is scrap? Because then, he deserves better."

"No, she...she likes him. She just appreciates Boonta's position. She doesn't get how bad he is. He's been impulsive with you because you angered him, but he's smarter than he seems when he has time to think."

"He's two-faced," Jackson said. "Some people see one side of him; others see the other side."

"Yes," Chaki said. "That's a good way to put it."

"Whatever," Jackson said. "I'm going to give Vuntha a nice clean shot at him, and that'll end that."

"I don't know if Vuntha can beat Boonta."

"He will," Jackson said. "On the off-chance he doesn't, I'll cut Boonta's dick off and throw it in the creek."

Chaki twisted her neck to look at him. "Are you serious?"

"Not sure yet," Jackson said. "We'll see how I feel if he keeps pushing his luck."

"I admit I wouldn't be upset with that state of affairs."

"I've taken shit from people like him my whole life," Jackson said. "People like Charles Ransfeld. People that are dumber and pettier than him. Ducking my head, scraping under their notice because I couldn't do anything. Well, now I can do something, and I'm gonna fucking do it."

"...good," Chaki said. "Where you run, I will follow."

Jackson met Chaki's gaze. He squeezed her tight. "Thank you."

"...hmm?"

"Chaki...I'm sorry," Jackson said. "I feel like a massive douchebag."

"What's a douchebag?"

"Um...a huge idiotic jerk."

"Why?"

"I fooled around with you," Jackson said. "I flirted with you, and led you on. And then when things got serious, I backed down. And you were still there for me. So, I owe you a serious and real apology. I'm sorry. I won't do that to you again. And if I do, let me know, and I'll try to make it better." He rubbed her side with his hand. "So don't worry if you're not at a hundred percent all the time. I'm the last person that can complain about it."

Chaki nodded. They fell quiet and watched the fire.

"I don't know how to make things better with Drana," Chaki said.

"...sorry," Jackson said, "but I'm not the right guy to help you with that."

"I would like to hear what you have to say," Chaki said.

Jackson shook his head. "The only guy I'd consider a best friend...isn't much of a friend, now. So...I wouldn't know."

"Even still."

"Alright. Well, I guess..." Jackson shrugged. "If I were you, I would give Drana an escape valve. Be the bigger person and say, you know, that you won't hold it against her, and that you were only trying to help her, because she's your friend. And that if she still feels like you can't be friends anymore, that's okay. But you hope she changes her mind." Jackson squinted at the campfire. "Yeah, that sounds alright."

"It sounds better than alright," Chaki said. "I will take your advice very close to my heart."

"...heh."

"Jackson," Chaki asked, "what happened between you and Charles?"

Jackson looked at Chaki. He brushed a strand of hair back from her eyes, then cupped her cheek. She was all shades of brown: dark brown hair; brown, almost-black eyes; tanned skin. He loved the way the colors mixed and matched.

"It's a bit of a story," Jackson said.

"Then take your time."

Jackson gave her a small smile, and nodded. He thought for a long while.

"It started in the sophomore year at Craig Johansen - the second year. I'd been working in a junk shop for a while, on my side of the river. We did a little of everything - pawning, computer repair, parts recycling, and prosthetics. I got pretty good at working with my hands. It's what got me into my school, I guess.

"My second year there, I met this kid - Westley. Westley Prudeau."

****

Jackson had learned two things about the lockers in his school. First, no valuables. Second, inspect before opening.

The problem with electronic lockers was that they were trivially easy to break into. Jackson had petitioned for a bolt locker; the counselor looked at him as if he had three heads and given him some throwaway answer about looking into it. A bolt was not forthcoming.

So, he made vague plans about upgrading his locker's security, but it would involve stealing inventory from the shop. He didn't care about the shop's bottom line, but if he was caught, he'd be in a world of pain. And lose his job.

And so, Jackson dealt with it.

He had vague hopes that, with his second year, the pranks and the bullying would stop. It only got worse.

Jackson squeaked his way over the school's tile, leaving a trail of water from the heavy rain that had taken the city earlier in the morning. He halted in front of his locker. He looked down either end of the hallway. He was late for his first class - the subway had been behind schedule - so he was alone.

He took a thin camera out of his pocket. It was one of his simpler projects; just a lens on a stick thin enough to go into the locker.

The bottom half of his locker was filled with brown sludge. Obviously, they'd been inspired by the rain puddles.

It was a massive pain to carry all his school supplies to and from his home. Dragging around a heavy backpack also increased the chances he'd get mugged by several powers of ten. It was a catch-22. If he kept the necessaries at school, they'd get tampered with. If he took them home, they'd get stolen.

Jackson hit the red help button on his locker, and waited. The janitor was around in a few minutes. The guy didn't speak a word of English - some African country Jackson wasn't familiar with - but he was an alright guy. When he saw Jackson, he put his hands on his hips and shook his head, sighing. Jackson pointed into the locker, then crossed his arms in front of his chest. The janitor nodded, then turned about to go fetch his equipment.

Jackson did a 180 and headed down the hall toward his first class. He'd long since stopped caring about showing up late. If there was one thing political correctness was good for, it was that teachers had to be sensitive to his "socioeconomic status". He would have traded that for actual fairness any day of the week.