Narathemhi

By Naomi Brooks   

“I figured it out!” Eymir pushed through the flaps of my tent, out of breath.

I looked up, frowning at the light blue glow of his bodysuit. Running used a lot of power. Without a properly charged suit, the student from Kiyr could lose the ability to walk in our higher gravity.

“You figured what out?” I asked.

“Look, Mhila!” He crouched beside me and shoved a tablet into my hands. “I’ve computed your sales from the past few years, and you sell multipede shells for an average of five credits each. You have four herds of approximately twenty-seven multipedes each, so that comes to about five hundred and—”

I raised a hand. “Calm down, off-worlder. What are you telling me?”

“I know how much money you’ll make at market tomorrow. See, now you can compute how much you’ll be able to spend, and with the rest you can expand your multipede herd, and—”

“Augh, breathe!” I patted the ground beside me. “Sit, Eymir. Narathemhi.”

“Tell… me?”

“Very good. Tell me about this. Go slow.”

He started again, not slowly, describing how he’d decided to help my husband and me organize our finances, then had gone through our sales records. When he started to explain his math, I raised a hand to stop him.

“Eymir, about these calculations. They’re too small.”

“I can enlarge them on the screen if you want.”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re missing something.”

“Really? I was very thorough…”

“Yes, but you can’t just think about us. You must think about everyone on our planet.”

“I don’t get it.”

I rose. “We should charge your suit.”

“You’re not going to listen to me about these numbers?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Eymir, you’re on this planet to learn, yes?”

He hesitated. “I suppose…”

“Then learn. Now come with me.”

As we walked, I wondered if I could really keep Eymir’s suit charged for the full year of his stay on Hetha. I’d been powering it with tiny portable solar panels for a month, and they wouldn’t last much longer. To help Eymir complete his research, I needed something more substantial.

The regional market met once every untantsol, when the red sun passed in front of the blue sun. According to Eymir, this was approximately every four galactic standard years. We joined the crowd of merchants climbing the paths that snaked around an extinct volcano to its weathered-down plateau.

A pair of multipedes tramped up the path, pulling our cart full of sloughed shells. The pale, hollow undersides of the shells reflected our double suns. When we reached the plateau, I pitched a tent and began to set out the shells. Eymir watched, fascinated. He was taller than us Hethians, and the shells of the larger multipedes came up to his waist.

Meanwhile, my husband, Thel, teased the multipedes into curling up. They would rest while Thel explored the market. “Mhila,” he called, “Anything we need?”

“Look for Zihr’s stall.”

Thel nodded and set off.

Eymir sat next to me in the tent. Despite his suit’s cooling function, his face was already red from the heat.

I pointed through the tent flaps. “See that woman, moving this way? I met her last untantsol.”

“Is that important?”

“You’ll see.” I rose, a sign of respect, and motioned for the woman to enter the tent. “This is Solha, from Lake Epha.”

Eymir shifted sideways to make room as Solha silently examined the shells. I resumed my seat, motioning for her to notice the gleam of the shell and the strong, flexible quality of the chitin. She nodded, appreciatory, and held up two fingers.

“Are your sons grown now?” I asked.

“Yes, one has gone off-world.”

“The other?”

“Helps me now that Kih is dead.”

“Ahh… I am sorry.”

“I manage.”

“Two credits for two shells.”

“Thank you, Mhila.” She passed me two obsidian credit marks. We stood and she thanked me again before walking off into the market, towing the shells behind her.

When I sat again, Eymir turned horrified eyes to me. “You just gave her those shells.”

“She paid me.”

“Barely! You could have made ten credits off of those.”

“She lost her husband and one of her sons left the planet. She doesn’t have ten credits.”

“Then don’t sell to her.”

I shook my head. “There, see? You’re not thinking communally.”

“What? That makes no sense…”

Another customer approached, silencing his complaint. I stood in greeting. Eymir watched as I sold the man three shells for four credits each. He said nothing, but his fingers drummed on the ground.

He waited over an hour, until I sold all the shells, to unleash his torrent of words. “Were you just doing that to spite me? You didn’t sell anything for full price! It was like you were purposefully—”

“Off-worlder,” I said. “Look.” I pointed across the market.

Following my finger, Eymir frowned, then his eyes widened. “What the…”

Thel was walking toward us, dragging a huge, glowing power cube behind him on a cart. Looking up, he met my eyes and grinned. “Do you like it?” he called.

“I love it!” I called back. The cube would easily store enough power to charge Eymir’s suit as long as necessary.

Eymir’s mouth opened wide. “That… That must have cost a thousand credits! You don’t—”

“We don’t have the money,” I said. “You’re right. Last untantsol we gave a discount to a man named Zihr. Since then, he’s made a fortune. He’s grateful and generous.”

“But…”

“That’s what you’ve been missing, Eymir. You must think about everyone. The whole planet, our community.”

Eymir watched as Thel maneuvered the power cube around the tent. Then he looked up, eyes earnest. “Mhila,” he said, “Narathemhi.”

“What?”

“Teach me. Please.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I will go slow.”

“I came here to learn. I can be patient. Narathemhi.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Naomi Brooks is a Catholic high school student from the Pacific Northwest. Although she’s been making up stories ever since she could hold a pen, she began writing seriously after completing NaNoWriMo in 2020. When not writing, she enjoys visiting the library, hiking, and playing piano.

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