Book 2 - Moon
Part 3
This thread is intended to be paired with Voyage of the Homebound (2.3)
Monday, February 20th, 2023
Arzaalnay, Daabab 32nd, 412
“So, how many people have signed up for your little militia?” a tired Anahid started to Azniv at their weekly meeting.
“Thirteen thousand,” Azniv responded with a sly grin, to which Anahid looked up in surprise
“I… hadn’t expected that many.”
“A day.” A day?
“Excuse me?” Anahid wasn’t sure she had heard her right. That would mean… more than fifty thousand people had signed up to help. “Don’t tell me you were offering some sort of incentive.”
“Besides basic pay, benefits, and recognition? No… although the benefits are pretty good.”
“But then why would that many people sign up?” Anahid asked. She felt stupid, and if there was one thing she hated, it was not understanding something. It was clear that Aldaar was a sinking ship - sure, they would try (it was their job after all) but it wasn’t like it really mattered. Why didn’t they run away, try to save themselves? Why were people so willing to lose everything? Anahid looked up, and saw Azniv wearing that same grin. Just like a fox, Anahid supposed. Her fellow advisor whispered something she couldn’t quite hear, and then spoke up.
“Come with me.”
Two hours later, and an extremely regretful Anahid was sitting in Azniv’s car listening to the new album from The Eclectics, a popular Aldaari electro-pop band which it seemed like the young vulpine loved, given that she was able to perfectly sing along to all their songs from memory. Azniv was a surprisingly good singer, too, and Anahid had no clue how she was able to hit the lower notes considering the band was all liintat - Aldaaris preferred their own word, because the Staynish term kinda sucked and was some weird acronym or something. At least Azniv’s car was nice, a baby blue convertible custom-fit to travel around the harsh desert in style. Anahid’s family had been well-off, but never this rich, and it was quite nice. Eventually, Anahid saw their destination on the horizon - the Nafaq Oasis, although she still had no idea why they were going there. On the open road, they had been going close to 80 with few other cars around - despite being a highway between two major cities, the conditions of Aldaar meant that flying between the cities could end up being cheaper in the long term, and travel wasn’t massive anyways. People tended to stay within their communities, and would often die within a few blocks of where they had grown up. Out west, anyways, where they were.
Modern poets had often compared Aldaar to the ocean floor, which Anahid had always thought was weird, because the Anabat is, on average, the driest continuously inhabited place in the world. While the coastal areas, like Mukarras, could actually get up to 20 inches a year, which was pretty high, many inland areas only got up to 3 inches a year max. But Anahid supposed there was some beauty to the comparison itself - the thought that, despite the massive and obvious differences, there was still some unifying factor between even the most disparate things. But even more so, in some ways the comparison rang true. Both were mostly unknown to the wider world, for one. And both were some of the weirdest and most diverse places on the planet. Even in a rural towns, you didn’t need to travel far to find a Norgsveltian, or a Tretridian, or a Packilvanian, or someone from a myriad of other countries, other worlds - some who had been here for centuries, others who had only arrived last month. It didn’t hurt that, of course, Aldaar had no caps or requirements for refugees or migrants. Aldaaris didn’t need to travel the world; the world had brought itself to Aldaar. It was a beautiful notion (One Anahid was sure to incorporate into a film) and seemed especially apparent as Azniv’s car slowed to a crawl as they began to enter the city of Nafaq. Horns were blaring, people were talking in… at least seven different languages, all as the smell of kibahb wafted through the streets. A small group of felines seemed to recognize Azniv and ran through the busy, but luckily now stalled, traffic, to the car where the advisors were sitting.
“Arham, min amesol!” Azniv yells at them, in a language Anahid recognizes as Packilvanian. “Silnazrapor mibayeet, khawayar mupramaanarud nethul!” A young girl from the pack nods, and Azniv turns to look at Anahid. “Come with me,” she says, climbing over the door and handing the girl 2,000 Muhaarat, or just over 100 Kiribs, with Anahid quickly hurrying after her.
“Thanks!” the girl yells in accented Asahri, as the two Advisors quickly scramble off the busy road while Azniv gives instructions in some Asahri-Packilvanian creole to a man who Anahid infers to be the leader of the group. As they get off the road and into the shade of a tight alley, far from the hubbub of the main road.
“What… just happened?” a slightly dazed Anahid asks. “Aren’t you worried she’ll steal your car?”
“Of course not. Theft is bad for business.”
“So… she just takes your car somewhere?”
“Yeah, people pay them to deal with the traffic. You can tell the real ones because they’ll be in groups, like those were. I did only pay for a pretty nearby place, though I left about 6,000 more muhaarat in the dash and gave her a note.”
“Why?”
“Well, chances are with a Packilvanian group that leader guy is taking about 60-70% as his ‘cut.’ That way, only she gets it.” Azniv says all this like it’s completely natural, and it is here that Anahid begins to realise just how little about the world she knows, even at 44 years old. How little about her own country she knows.
After weaving through back alleys for what seems like forever, Anahid and Azniv finally emerge into a wide open clearing filled with trees in neat rows amid a pristine field. Azniv stops for a brief second to turn around and look at Anahid, who has almost collapsed from all the exercise. She isn’t exactly athletic, even though she tries her best, but… how is that vulpine even still standing? she wonders.
“We’re almost there!” Azniv pipes up cheerfully.
“Almost… where?” Anahid asks, doubled over, but Azniv has already started walking. With a sharp gasp for air, Anahid follows her. It’s only another minute or so before they walk around to the front of a small single-family home, attached to the orchard they had seen. As Anahid drags herself over to a bench to sit, Azniv knocks on the door.
“Arham!” she cheerily says, and a woman’s voice responds in kind.
“So glad to see you again, miikha.” Wait, miikha?
“Good to be here. I’ve brought someone for you to meet.” As Anahid realizes what’s happened, an older vulpine woman steps out of the doorframe. “Mom, this is my coworker, Anahid Terzian. Anahid, this is my mother.”