Intermix Nation (4 page)

The rebel leaders shuffle outside as
Nikolaus shakes hands with Gloom and Doom. From the bewildered
looks on their faces, Nazirah guesses they don’t know why she’s
here anymore than she does. Aldrik sneers as he walks past,
intentionally bumping into her as he ushers the remaining
stragglers out the door.

The door closes with a heavy thud. Nazirah
and Nikolaus are finally alone. Nikolaus’s back is to her as he
studies a wall map of the bullet train system. Nazirah slowly rises
from her seat.

“You’re late.” He diverts his attention from
the map, turning to face her.

Nazirah walks up to him, rubbing her arm
where Aldrik knocked it. She plunges into a mock curtsy. “My
apologies, Commander,” she says breathily.

“Quit it.”

“What’s Aldrik’s problem, anyway?” Nazirah
asks, arm still smarting. “Old age getting the best of him?”

“You are, I’d guess,” Nikolaus says. “I
don’t imagine he’s very fond of you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Nazirah scoffs. “I
don’t imagine I’m very fond of him either.”

“You’re eighteen years old, Nazirah,”
Nikolaus chides. “Stop acting like a child.”

“I’m not acting like a child!” she says,
crossing her arms. Nikolaus raises a bushy eyebrow and Nazirah
quickly uncrosses them.

“Yes, you are,” he says emphatically. “And I
don’t just mean right now. Lateness, missing meals, skipping
classes, not turning in assignments … your ingratitude here is
legendary.”

So this
is
about her lackluster attitude!
Nazirah makes another mental note to find a garden snake and put it
in Bairs’s desk later tonight. “I never asked to be here, Niko!”
she complains. “I don’t want any of this.”

Nikolaus circles his chair and stands before
Nazirah, leaning back on the desk. Up close, Nazirah can see
exactly how tired and strained he looks. When he speaks, the
annoyance is gone, replaced by exhaustion.

“And what exactly
do
you want,
Irri?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she
asks. “I want us to leave here, get away from all of this war and
violence! I want us to be a family again! You
do
have a sister who still lives, in
case you’ve forgotten.”

Nikolaus’s face hardens, eyes darkening. If
Nazirah wanted sympathy from him, she won’t get it now. “Of course
I haven’t forgotten!” he spits, slamming his fist on the desk.
“Don’t be such a martyr! I’m doing all of this so that we will have
a place to go home to! So that we will always have the same
opportunities as everyone else, will always have enough to eat! So
our children and our children’s children can finally be safe! And
I’m not just doing it for us. I’m doing it for every intermix, for
every territory-born in Renatus. And you want to – what? – run away
and let someone else fight your battles? Let someone else die for
you? Do you not understand what we’re trying to accomplish
here?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

That’s exactly what she meant. She’s ashamed
to admit it to him and especially ashamed to admit it to
herself.

“You need to start pulling your weight,”
Nikolaus continues, on a roll. “I’ve had it up to here with your
moping, piss-poor, woe-is-me attitude. Everyone in this damn place
is either an intermix or a refugee. You think you’re the only
person with problems? The only person who has suffered?

“You will start going to classes, every damn
one! I don’t care how much you hate them! You will show an active
interest in the rebellion and everything we aim to achieve, because
you are my sister. You’re a role model.”

Nazirah winces; he sounds exactly like Riva
and Kasimir. She is so tired of being everybody else’s
disappointment. “I’m terribly sorry if my mourning the death of our
family is belittling to your authority, Commander,” she says. “You
know what? Screw your authority! Our parents wouldn’t have wanted
this!” Nazirah waves her arms at the room. “Our parents were all
talk, books, and ideas, and look where it got them! Dead … fucking
dead. And here we are, orphaned, practically sprinting into the
exact same trap.”

“Nazirah, you’re wrong.”

“No, Niko!” she shouts. “We’re turning into
exactly what Riva and Kasimir never wanted us to become! They would
roll over in their graves if they could see us now!”

“They weren’t buried –”

“It’s an expression, you ass!” she yells.
“If they were here, they would tell us to get as far away from this
war as possible! You know I want to avenge them as much as you do”
– Niko’s eye twitches – “but our parents were fools to think they
could change anything in this world! And since we can’t, they would
want us to be safe!”

Nikolaus is quiet for a moment. And then
gently, so incredibly gently she isn’t expecting it, he takes her
shaking hands into his own. “Irri, look around,” he says. “There is
no ‘safe’ anymore. Not for people like us. There never was, really.
That’s why we need to keep fighting –that’s exactly what we’re
fighting for. Riva and Kasimir would be proud of us.” He continues
holding her hands, like he’s afraid she’s going to break. “We
cannot go back, Nazirah, do you understand? We can only go
forward.”

Nazirah doesn’t want to believe him but, in
her heart, she knows he’s right. Probably knew it all along. She
nods sadly, wanting to leave and crawl under her covers and stay
there for good. She takes a small step towards the door, but Niko’s
grip on her tightens, preventing her from leaving.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry to burden you with all this, but
there is still more that we need to discuss.”

His tone is different now, cautious and
unsure. Nazirah looks at him warily because, of the many things
Niko is, he is never hesitant. “Okay.…”

“I know our opinions often differ, and that
you are not happy here or with my choice of what to do to protect
the remains of our family,” he says. “You have been through so much
in the past few months that I don’t want to trouble you with
anything else, but I need you to do a favor for me.”

A favor?

“I can try and go to class more,” she says,
hoping this is what he’s getting at. “But I’m not promising
anything long term.”

“It’s not that,” Nikolaus says, “but I would
appreciate the effort.” His eyes dart towards the door, making sure
it’s completely closed.

“Niko, you’re freaking me out.”

“Do you trust me?”

What kind of a question is that? He’s her
brother! She may not always agree with him, she may not even like
him half the time, but of course she trusts him.

“You know I do.”

“I can’t tell you much,” Nikolaus says.
“We’ve had a request for an amnesty agreement and I need you to go
to the Deathland prison to close the deal.”

Now Nazirah is really confused. Amnesty
requests are nothing new. In the four months she’s lived at the
compound, Nazirah has heard of several, although she doesn’t know
the details of any of them. Amnesty agreements are official pardons
granted by the rebels to various Renatus lowlifes and criminals, in
exchange for crucial information about the government. Between its
strongholds, the rebellion has illicit connections with several
prisons around the country, so it’s able to make these negotiations
under the Medi radar. Many prisoners request amnesty, but most are
rejected because their information is not valuable enough to merit
it.

Amnesty pacts are highly classified. The
conditions of negotiation and information provided are known only
to the commanders. Sending a mere recruit like Nazirah to go and
confirm the pact is unheard of. And in the Red West, no less! Is
Niko giving her some sort of test?

“I don’t understand.”

“Look, Nazirah,” Niko says. “I know you’ve
never done anything like this before, and I know it’s a lot to ask,
but I need you to do it for me. It’s an extremely important,
time-sensitive matter. We’ve already negotiated the prisoner’s
terms, and he’s agreed to ours. You don’t have to talk to him if
you don’t want to. You don’t even have to look at him. All you have
to do is give him this.” Niko reaches into his pocket and holds up
a small pendant. Nazirah recognizes it as the necklace every person
granted amnesty must wear. “Oh, and get him to sign his name,” Niko
adds as an afterthought. “That’s it, I promise.”

A million questions race through Nazirah’s
mind. Amnesty pacts are sacred to the rebels, and are not something
entered into lightly. “Why me, Niko?” she asks. “Why can’t you go,
or another Commander – or even Aldrik?”

“Because they don’t know about it,” Niko
says. “I haven’t told anyone else yet. Not until after the pact is
officially made. And I can’t go. Everyone knows who I am, and
everyone knows I’m a commander. I’m too noticeable, Irri. People
may know your face because you are my sister and because of what
happened to our parents, but they won’t recognize you as easily.
You’re small, smart, and can think on your feet.

“Listen to me carefully: this amnesty pact
is what we need to tip the scales in our favor. What the prisoner
is offering is invaluable. I need you to do this for me. You’re the
only one I trust to get it done.”

Nazirah remains skeptical, but Niko has a
point. And if this is what the rebels need to help them win the
war, and get Nazirah home faster, then so be it.

“Of course I’ll do it, Niko,” Nazirah says.
“I still don’t understand, but I’ll do it if you really want me
to.”

“Thank you.”

“Who’s it for?” she asks.

Nikolaus is silent then. He searches her
face, eyes asking something she does not comprehend. Nazirah has
the sinking feeling that something is about to happen, something
important. Something, something, something … but she cannot begin
to imagine what it is.

“Tell me!” Nazirah cries, voice high and
pleading.

And he does.

“Adamek Morgen.”

Chapter
Three

Nazirah looks out the dirty bus window. The
early morning light streaks and highlights her face in patches. Her
long brown hair is hidden under a crimson headscarf, which is
traditional for native women in the Red West. She tries to appear
relaxed, like she’s made this journey dozens of times. If anyone
were to glance at Nazirah for more than an instant, however, they
would realize she’s no Deathlander. But as people shuffle onto the
bus and find seats, they don’t pay her any notice.

Red Westerners are dark skinned, their brown
faces warmed by the hot desert sun. They have a melodic lilt to
their accents, so every sentence sounds like a song. The women wear
henna on their hands, jangling bells on their feet. They move with
a natural, fluid rhythm.

Everything about the Red West is
intoxicating. Nazirah has only seen images of this part of the
country before. She probably would have learned more about it in
Territory History, had she ever bothered to go.

Nazirah remembers one evening when she was a
little girl. Kasimir traded all day in the illegal marketplace and
brought home a Red Westerner to join them for dinner. The peddler
delighted Nazirah and Nikolaus with fascinating tales of his
homeland. He showed the Nation children the Red West tattoo on his
forearm, a gleaming red sun. Kasimir had his own, a white tree from
Osen, as did Riva, a black fish from Eridies. All territory-born
citizens receive a tattoo on their forearms when they turn
thirteen, so that the Medis can easily identify the races, and more
readily instigate propaganda. Intermix tattoos are forbidden.

The peddler explained why the Red West is
commonly referred as the Deathlands. He said it was because a
shaman long ago cursed the territory, so that any man with ill
intentions who crossed its border would instantly perish. Years
later, Nazirah learned the real reason is because the desert is so
arid that no life can easily survive. But the man’s story stayed
with her long after he had gone, and she always associated the Red
West with magic, mystery, and strangeness.

Before the peddler departed, he gave Nazirah
a small memento: broken mosaic tiles in a jar. Nazirah thought it
was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and immediately
placed it on her dresser. She would take the tiles out every so
often, carefully sifting them through her fingers, imagining she
could smell exotic spices wafting her way. She begged Kasimir to
take her to the Red West, but her parents forbade it.

And here she is, years later, traveling on
her own through the Deathlands. White clay houses stand
perpendicular to the hilly ground in a jagged line, a crooked smile
on the face of the horizon. Minarets and intensely blue doors and
shutters add to the territory’s flavor. The aromas of spices and
other smells, and the loud sounds in the outdoor market overwhelmed
Nazirah early that morning, as soon as she stepped off the train
and onto the platform in Rubiyat.

The red dust the territory is so infamous
for – that permanently settled in the area centuries ago from some
biological organic attack on the Old Country’s soil, which is the
cause of the constant aridness and the incredibly difficult lives
of the natives – is everywhere. Women hit rugs outside with wooden
sticks, beating away the crimson grit. Nazirah feels it in her
eyes, in the pores of her skin, in the lines of her hands. She
nearly choked on the dusty blanket as she walked around, looking
for the rundown charter bus Nikolaus hastily described to her
before she departed Eridies.

Life in the Deathlands is an unending
battle. It is no coincidence that the Deathlanders are known
throughout Renatus for their brutality and violence. Water and food
are scarce. The natives are dependent upon the Medis for resources,
which are never enough to adequately feed everybody. Nazirah,
raised by the ocean, cannot fathom a life so devoid of water.