Requiem

"Requiem: 1. A mass said or sung for the repose of a departed soul.  
	  2 a: a solemn chant (as a dirge) for the repose of the dead 
	    b: something that resembles such a solemn chant
	  3. Rest; quiet; peace. [Obs.]"
			--from Webster's Dictionary

"You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
 A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
 And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
 And the dry stone no sound of water."
			--T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"

Chapter 1: Beginning Again

"Walk with me, I've done this by myself
 I can't go faster than I am right now
 And I have never felt so lonely..."
		-Harvester, "Kahiltna Strip"		

It was a rainy afternoon in Berkeley, surprising for the middle of summer.  
Summers were normally foggy and dreary in Berkeley, but a freak storm had 
come in off the Pacific, cleansing the dirty streets and sending merchants on
Telegraph scattering for shelter.

In an apartment on Haste Street, a figure looked down upon the wet street. 
She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, wondering offhand why her 
prescription lenses were so blurry. 

She looked around the apartment, just right for two people, and thought of the 
events of the past month.  A simple month ago, she'd lived here with her best 
friend in the world.  Although she'd known the plain truth, it hadn't seemed
to matter much.  After all, her friends, her family, her whole complete life 
had taken place here.

But then, she'd been forcibly returned to Marraketh, and the horrors that were
there.  It had turned out to be a game of kill or be killed, and for the first
time in her life, she'd killed.  

But now she felt extremely guilty for doing what needed to be done. 

She wandered across the living room to the hallway, and looked inside Josh's 
room.  The sign was still there, and the door propped slightly open.  Katze
pushed the door open a little further and looked into his room.  

It still looked much the same as it did before, except this time she felt no
fear in disobeying the sign.  Josh was dead, shot in the back with a crossbow
bolt.  With this thought, she entered the room, feeling as if she was entering 
a shrine for the dead.

She looked around the room, at the video equipment in the corner.  She finally
understood why.  In the second corner sat Josh's computer, flicked on, with 
the flying toasters happily progressing from one corner of the monitor to 
another.  She jiggled the mouse, and found there a letter.  

As she read the letter, she realized how deeply Josh had been caught in between
two great forces.  On one side had been obligation, and on the other had been
friendship.  He had forsaken one for the other, in a dungeon several dimensions
from the place where she was standing.  [He was always my friend first...if I'd
just been honest with him,] she thought.  The thought grieved her.

She took a picture off the wall above his bed.  It was a photo one of their
friends had snapped at Sober Grad, and then framed for Josh.  Katze had a 
similar picture, shot later that night, that had the two of them in a mock
swordfight with Nerf swords somebody had brought to Sober Grad.  But Josh's 
photo caught the two of them just smiling for the camera, best friends 
forever.

She looked at the two innocent faces, and just could not stop the tears from 
coming.  She sat there on Josh's bed for a rather long period of time, holding
the framed photograph, with tears dripping down her face.  Her heart cried out
for the friendship destroyed.

The earth continued spinning and meandering its way around the sun, baseball 
games continued to be played, and picnics continued to invite ants.  But for 
one girl in Berkeley, grief was the only emotion there was.

***

The grief over Josh's death turned into a general malaise.  Katze would rarely
go outside, relying on Greg Wu to go get groceries and do other things for
her while she moped around the apartment.  She thought briefly of taking summer
classes but couldn't muster the energy.

Greg took to living in the apartment with Katze, afraid that every moment he
was away that she would do something risky and stupid.  But Katze was not that
depressed.  Sure, she wasn't going anywhere or seeing anybody, but oftentimes 
Greg would come home to find piles of paper all scrawled all over, as if 
Katze was trying to make some sort of decision and couldn't fit all the 
possibilities in her head.

This combined with the occasional strange visitor (Greg thought of the loud
screechy short one that seemed to pop in from nowhere) whom Katze would quickly
escort back to her room, closing the door behind them, made him wonder what was 
going on.  Combining this with the mysterious disappearance of Josh, Greg 
began to wonder if maybe Katze was on drugs.  He didn't know how to go about
voicing this suspicion to Katze, though.

One night after the short screechy one showed up again, Greg's curiosity 
won out over his respect for Katze's privacy.  He took a water glass from the 
kitchen, cursing himself for not bringing some of his nifty electronic gadgets
that did the same thing over to Katze's place.  He crept up upon the door, and
placed his glass to the wall, hoping for something that would explain Katze's
malaise and weird activities.

The voices through the glass were hollow and scratchy, but he could tell the
two apart.  The lower voice was Katze's, so the higher pitched one must be her
strange visitor.

"Oy, Katze," said the strange voice.  "I wish you'd conk out of this.  We could
use you."

The voice he'd recognized as Katze gave out something that sounded like a sigh.
"Remember how I used to whine about how useless I was?  Hell, now I'm even more
useless.  I don't have any idea what I'm doing and I'm afraid my temper's gonna
get the best of me and I'm gonna kill someone.  I already killed Josh through
my inaction, but I'd kill through action too.  I don't know.  Let me have the 
time."

"Katze!  And how are you going to break out of this?"

"I don't know.  I haven't been able to see that far.  It's like those magic 
eight balls.  'Answer unclear.'  I'm not sure when, or even if, I'm going to 
return to active duty."

"You are wallowing in your own self-piety."

"Self-pity.  And sure I am.  But I'm not sure what else to do."

"You know, it's not just VR that you need to be concerned about.  The Grand 
Admiral has been hinting rather obtusely that your vacation needs to come to
an end."

"Sigh.  Try to hold him off for another month, willya?  Another month, I should
know what the hell is going on, and whether I can continue on within the Jihad.
One more month.  Please?"

"Okay, Katze.  Good luck."

"Hey, I'll be alright in the long run, just in a bit of a funk."  The door 
suddenly flung open, and Greg's eavesdropping device was pointed right about 
Katze's stomach.  

"Your stomach sounds good.  Nice and healthy," Greg said, as he attempted to
hide the waterglass.

Katze looked at him oddly, and Greg feared for a moment that Katze's infamous
temper would flare up at him.  Then a smile cracked her face, and he saw her
laughing for the first time in days.  "My stomach sounds fine.  This is what he
says when I catch him eavesdropping."  She laughed some more.  "I knew you were
there the whole time, Greg, and I'm about to explain some really weird things
to you.  Honest to god, it's the whole truth, though."

Greg blinked and pulled back out the water glass.  "You're on drugs?" he 
said, hoping and praying he was wrong.

Katze snorted.  "Of course not!  Is that what you thought this whole time?"

Greg grinned a sheepish grin.  "Yes."

"But I want you sitting down before I start telling you this story, as you're
probably at first going to think that whomever thought this up had to be
hitting the crack pretty hard.  But I swear to you that this is 100% honest
truth."

The two of them walked into the living room, where Greg took a seat on the
couch.  Katze pulled out a video tape, stuck it in the player, and stood behind
him, remote in hand.  She frowned, and then went in the kitchen and pulled two
bottles of Jolt out of the fridge.  "You're going to need this."

Greg frowned at the Jolt, and then looked back at the TV.  What he saw upon
the screen was an ordinary kids show.  Sure, he and his friends bashed it all
the time, but...

Katze hit the pause button.  The scene froze with a great big purple dinosaur
right on center screen.  "This goes off in a second, I can't stand this.  Josh
had the tape lying around, makes for a bit of a good object lesson.  This is 
Public Enemy Number One."

Greg had just taken a swig of his jolt when Katze said that.  He immediately
proceeded to spray it all over the coffee table, the television set, and 
himself.  Once he got his throat clear, he howled, "Barney?  A children's 
television character is Public Enemy Number One?  Have you completely lost 
it?"

Katze shook her head, and removed power from the television.  "I wish it was 
that simple.  Then everything could be explained in terms that I'm clinically
insane and should go directly to the local looney bin.  You may decide, once
I'm done talking to you, that this is the best course of action.  But I'll 
tell you now--" there was a slight pause, then Katze resumed speaking, 
"--there isn't a looney bin or jail cell in this world that'll hold me."

The first part of the speech came from behind him and to the left.  The second
part came from in front of him, and he blinked to see Katze standing casually
next to the television set in front of him.  "What the..."

"There isn't a place in your belief system for the unpredictable to happen?" 
Katze asked.  Greg just sat there in near shock.  "'There are more things in 
heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'  But this is going to
explain a lot of weirdness, Greg.  It was either this or break off my 
friendship with you, and I couldn't do that.  So you'll have to hear me out, 
okay?

"I was born, not as I've often claimed in the small town of Weaverville, but
in Rhye, Marraketh, a few realities over from this one..."

"So, there are other universes," Greg said.  "I mean, people have talked 
about it, but nobody's been able to prove it either way.  And now you're 
telling me that not only do they exist and can hold habitable life, but that
you're from one of these universes?  I don't know, Katze.  You're going to 
have to offer more credible evidence."

"What is credibility?" Katze shrugged.  "What evidence can I offer you that
would make you believe?  This is something that you'll have to take on faith
for once.  Trust me, please?"

Greg looked at the earnestly pleading face of somebody who had been his friend
since the first year of college, and relented.  "This is strange, Katze.  I'm
being forced to change everything I once believed to be true, as well as most
of my freshman physics classes.  You know this, convincing me isn't going to
be the easiest things."

"Alright, accept for a moment that I'm from Somewhere Else.  Okay.  Now, I've
joined what might be considered a terrorist group.  We like to think of
ourselves as freedom fighters, and that's probably the most accurate way of
thinking of us.  We call ourselves the Jihad, and our primary task is that of
defending the world against the Wyrm and his minions."

"Who's this Wyrm?  Barney?"

"Yeah.  Strange to think of a children's television character as an evil out to
destroy us all, I know.  I wish it hadn't come to that."

"Okay, Katze, this is a crazy story...I'm trusting you, that you're right, and
God knows I'll never look at Barney in the same way again...but do you have any
proof whatsoever of this?  Something tangible?  Please, Katze?"

Katze sighed.  "No...I don't have much in the way of proof.  It's not really a
good idea to carry things that easily identify one as Jihaddi...except..."
Katze unclipped a case off her belt, and slid what appeared to be a PDA out of
it.  With a quick motion, it was handed to him to look at it.  Greg's jaw
dropped.  "Where did you get this, Katze?"

"JihadLinker.  Standard issue to all Jihaddi."

Greg examined it.  "We're nowhere close to being able to make things that
small.  We keep trying and hit failure...and you guys have managed to do it.
Amazing.  Hell...just amazing."  He handed the Linker back to Katze, who folded
it back up and put it away.  "Alright, Katze.  I know you don't lie to your
closest friends, and I appreciate the honesty in knowing what's going on.
Although this probably means that I get to spend the rest of my life glancing
over shoulders and making sure nobody's following me."

"You know, Greg, if you want to join up, I've got contacts with the R&D labs
that make stuff like the 'Linkers."

"No...I'd much rather try to make it on my own in the real world.  I don't want
to enter some world of cloak and dagger secrecy.  I just have two final
questions for you.  One...where's Josh?"

Katze's face twisted in a sad expression.  "Dead.  Shot in the back with a
crossbow bolt a couple of realities over from this one.  As he was letting me
out of a cell in which I was being held..."  She looked at her shoes, and
whispered, "He proved he was a friend to me..."

Greg nodded.  There wasn't much else that could be said to that.  "We have to
go on, sometimes.  Continue fighting.  Continue breathing.  Continue struggling
for what we know is right.  Katze, you need to go back to the Jihad, a cause is
probably what you need right now."

"No, it isn't. I don't want to go back to that, not without knowing who I am
and where I stand in this world."

"Which leads nicely into my next question.  Why so much paper?  Trying to make
a decision on whether to leave or not?"

"Yeah.  I don't know what to do anymore.  Quit, and do what with my life?  I
guess I could help you, but I'd still have to watch my back every second of
every day...or go back, and be changed by the whole bloody experience, and
perhaps become so blinded with hate, I don't see what I've become.  I can't let
that happen!"

"You're neglecting a third option here, I think.  What about going home?"

"Home in what sense?"

Greg thought about the question for a second.  "Both senses, I guess.  I was
thinking Chico, because you're going to want to see your dad, right?  But I
guess you ought to set yourself straight with your other home, too.  You took
another month.  Take the time to see where you're from, and maybe it'll help
you see where you're going...at least, I hope so."

"You're right.  Guess I'll head onto Chico first, and then go onwards from
there to Marraketh, and see what there is to see..."  Katze looked up from her
shoes.  "And Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for caring."

***

The summer in Chico was like a blast furnace compared to the relative coolness
of Berkeley.  The land was dry and parched, and in the open, unirrigated
fields, the starthistle and the dried foxtails reigned supreme.  

A figure sat in a patch of shade, resting, listening only to a nearby lawn
sprinkler being ran in the heat of the day.  The sound of metal hitting metal
*ka-CHINK* *ka-CHINK* *ka-CHINK* every time the sprinkler turned led the figure
to contemplate how very silly humanity was.

Katze sighed.  It was too easy to think of humanity as a them these days.  And
Dad hadn't helped.

It had started well enough.  David Brenner was delighted to see his daughter
home for once.  He immediately started preparing her favorite dinner, and
asking how school went.  Katze listened idly, until his dad found the one sore
question.  "How is Josh?  I don't see him with you, which surprises me."

Katze's memory flashed back to Josh crumpled upon the ground in a dungeon
several dimensions over and she winced.  Luckily for her, David's back was to
her.  How was she going to tell her dad the truth?  He was so depressingly
normal.  "He's, uh...fine.  He stayed in Berkeley to finish up some summer
classes."

David nodded and went back to working on dinner, mercifully sparing Katze the
rest of the third degree.  Katze quietly fretted to herself how she was going
to handle this.  David Brenner had been understanding of the interesting
scrapes she got herself into as a kid, but she wasn't sure he was going to
understand this one.  

But then again, he had met the two strangers that had turned out to be her real
parents.  Perhaps he'd have sympathy for her, if she reminded him.  But then
again, who knew?

She waited for an opportune time to bring it up to her father, but the time
failed to present itself.  She caught David giving her weird looks, as if
she had grown an extra head or something.  She finally asked him what was wrong
with her.  

"Nothing, nothing at all," he hurriedly said.  Then he took another look at her
and blinked.  "But there's something missing and I can't seem to place what it
is."

Katze grinned.  "You might as well be asking how I can hear you, Dad."

He looked confused and then stared straight at her.  "Oh my..."  He turned his
head skyway.  "Oh God, you know how I prayed and prayed, thank you for
answering my prayers."  

Katze started to squirm a bit on the couch.  Religion was an uncomfortable 
subject between her and David these days.  Since she had gone away to college,
he had fallen into an oddball group that believed the Rapture was imminent, and
that devils actually resided inside people.  Katze, on the other hand, had
picked up on the Berkeley agnosticism, and didn't hold much stance on religion.

She then thought of the experience she had in a dungeon several realities over.
Where did the line get drawn?  Was her father's religious experience anything
like the one she had?  There was no other name for having four dead
Marrakethians appear in your cell.  

She grudgingly decided to let her dad have his beliefs, as she realized she
could no longer call herself an agnostic.  Granted, if she even dared to
mention her beliefs to any normal -- including the one in the chair across for
her -- she will have herself a one way ticket to the nearest looney bin.  But
she had to try to explain.  He'd understand, or so she hoped he would.

Two days passed.  Katze went to church with her father and sat in the pew
watching the people as everybody else worshiped.  She attempted to understand
what was going on when people started screaming odd things and running around
the sanctuary waving flags.  Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, and got up
as Pastor Bill entered the sanctuary to cheers.  She watched to see if anybody
noticed, but all eyes were facing front on the new entrance.  It bothered Katze
quite a bit to see all these people -- supposedly rational, thinking creatures
-- give in so easily to a smiling face and the so-called 'Word of God.'

It was four or five hours later when David Brenner finally came out of the
church.  Katze had her nose buried in an Asimov novel she'd found in the local
used bookstore, but she put it away as she saw her dad approaching the car. 

He got in, put the keys in the ignition.  "Well..."

"Well, what?"

"Why are you reading that trash?"

[Because it's not trash?] Katze thought, but decided not to vocalize it.  "And
what would you have me read?"

"Maybe if you read the Bible once in a while, you'd understand what was going
on in there."

"I understand perfectly well what was going on in there.  And it's a shame that
you've managed to turn yourselves into such an odd mockery of religion.  I
mean, it's church, not a Chicago Bulls home game."

David nearly broke the key in the ignition.  "You know, I'm tired of your lip.
You seemed interested in going with me, and then you walk out before the
sermon.  I have never been so embarrassed to be your father in my life.  I
cannot believe you would do that to me.  You, my only child, and you make a
mockery of everything I believe in.  Now believe me, miss, you'd better come
clean about what you have done the past couple years in Berkeley or I'll throw
you out of the house."

Katze winced.  It was one of those now or never moments.  "Okay, but let's go
home.  I'd like to talk about this in private.  Maybe a walk through the
neighbor's orchard?" she offered, attempting to make a peace offering.  Her dad
loved to walk through the orchard.

David closed his eyes and nodded.  "That will work."

The rest of the ride home was cloaked in silence.

The trees swayed gently in the breeze as Katze and her dad walked down the neat
rows of the neighbor's almond orchard.  Katze gestured, and her father nodded.
"You see, Dad, this is what I've been up to.  I've gotten a job helping to
fight the Ultimate Evil..."

"Satan?"

"Well, no, not really, but if it helps for you to understand that way, then,
sure you can think of It that way.  He takes on the guise of a children's
television character -- Barney, you know, the purple dinosaur?"

"Pastor Bill said that Barney was evil, because of all the magic and stuff."

Katze groaned.  This wasn't gonna go well.  But she had to work with it.  Maybe
some of her old dad, the kind and understanding one was hidden somewhere under
there.  "Right.  Well, basically, it goes like this, Dad.  You remember the
strangers that brought me to your doorstep?  The ones you told me about when I
turned sixteen?"

"Okay.  I remember them.  Odd people, they were...they spoke with a strange
accent.  Almost perfect English.  They refused to tell me your name, though, he
said, 'Our name, dear sir, is Katze.'  The only place he bungled the language."

"There was a reason for that, Dad.  A reason I didn't understand at the time,
but I do now.  You see, the couple was from a place called Marraketh."

"Marraketh.  I've heard that name before."

"You've probably heard of Marrakesh.  A lot of people confuse the -th and the
-sh sounds.  Marrakesh is a city in Morroco.  Marraketh, on the other hand..."
Katze paused, not believing she was about to say this.  "...is, ummm, a few
dimensions over."

"Pastor Bill said there is only this Earth."

"Pastor Bill is wrong, Dad.  I've been there, it's as real as here is.  And
that's where I'm from.   The people you met were Tyrene and Horetia Katze, my
real parents.  I KNOW this sounds farfetched, Dad, but you met them."

"I don't know if I can believe this."

"I don't know how to...okay, actually, I do know how to prove it to you.  Watch
closely."  Katze concentrated with a nod and then blinked at the slightly
different perspective in the orchard.  "See?"

The look on David Brenner's face went from confused to panicked to angry.
"DEEEEEEEE-MON!"

"What....Dad!  Listen!  It's still me!"

"Demon, demon, begone from this body!  Leave it, and leave my daughter alone!"

"Dad!"

"In the name of Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Savior, I command thee, Satan's
minion, to leave now!"

"DAD!  LISTEN TO ME!  I'M NOT A DEMON!"

"You're a persistent one, demon.  You will not tempt me.  Leave!"

"Okay, fine, Dad, I'll leave!  But I'm not..."

But David Brenner had turned his back on his only child and refused to
acknowledge that Katze was even speaking to him anymore.  Katze turned towards
the house.  "I'm getting my things.  And then I'll leave."  She carefully
attempted to keep her voice from breaking, but it cracked on the last word.

David's final words were said in an ice cold voice.  "Begone, demon.  You are
no longer welcome in my house, even though you wear my daughter's body."

The words struck Katze hard even in the shade.  She'd been walking for nearly
an hour now, as David refused to even give her a ride to the bus station.  So
she had begun the trek, mulling over those final words.  What had she done
wrong?

She got up from her spot in the shade, scowling at the sound of metal on metal.
"Stupid humans," she whispered, and continued the trek towards the station.

As she was coming into the downtown area, a figure stepped out of a doorway.
"Tjarlin," a simple voice spoke.

Katze turned.  "Who dares address me by that name?"

The figure stepped more fully out in the sunlight.  "I do."

Katze eyed the newcomer.  Tall and lanky, clothed in an odd style.  His tunic
was grey, with what appeared to be rank patches on the sleeves, and his pants
were dark.  The hands held a knotted wooden staff, worn where his hands were
gripping it.  The face was calm and bland, and Katze was surprised that she
recognized it.  "Gary?  What the hell are you doing in Chico?"

The figure smiled.  "Come to pick you up.  And the name is Grahm, not Gary.
Grahm Valkurk, associate of Mikje Mrythen and member of the Guards.  And a
friend."

"But...I remember you as Gary."

"Part of the exile.  Gary Wilkins worked much better as an alias in this crazy
world.  And you're right, I was your linguistics GSI in Berkeley."

"But why?"

"There are important things coming to pass in Marraketh."

"And this has some relevance to me?"

"Perhaps.  That is what the debate has been raging about.  Besides, there are
some people who would like to see you again, and not as a prisoner.  And not
when they were under the spell of the Master."

Katze sighed.  "I'm really not up to it right now."

"Indeed, I can tell you are world-weary.  This is a difficult world, but they
have done much better at fighting off the Master.  You wish to stay here and
not know your place?  You are angry at this world.  Perhaps it is best to leave
it for a while.   I can't claim Marraketh is a paradise, but it is your home."

Katze looked down at her feet.  "And I need to figure out my past to see what
the future holds."

Grahm nodded.  Katze sighed, and spoke.  "Alright, Grahm.  How do we get
there?"

"It is a simple matter, which you will probably master by the time it comes
time for you to return to this world.  But for this moment, I ask that you hang
on to your things, because I'll have to do you and then me."  Grahm leaned on
his staff.  "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Grahm nodded.  Katze closed her eyes, bracing against a memory.  And sure
enough, the ground dropped out from her and she squeezed her eyes tighter,
hoping Grahm had everything right.

***

To be continued in Chapter 2: The Green Hills of Marraketh.