This is the last story told to Jim. I have translated it as best I could.

A teenaged girl crawls through a doorway of an igloo. Her round, brown face and dark black hair reflect little of the light from an electric lamp sitting in the middle of the enclosure.

"Mother! Father!" she shouted excitedly. "Wake up! Wake up!"

The girl turned up the lamp as her parents sat upright, yawning and complaining about the rude awakening.

"What is it, Kura?" asked the father.

"The Great Spirit has visited me. Down by the water's edge."

"You woke us up for this nonsense?" scolded the man.

"Please, Mukta," said his wife quietly. That voice! Jim recognized the voice. As the mother's face came into the light Jim confirmed her identity. It was Kylira, the woman who had debated alongside him in his first dream. She was much older now. Forty years older, perhaps. But her voice was unmistakable. It was Kylira.

"And what did the Great Spirit tell you?" asked the mother sympathetically.

"She said that I must go among the Fish People."

"Never!" cried the old man. "We have lived among them too long. Is it not enough that we speak their language? Is it not enough that we need their batteries to light our houses? That we cannot hunt the whale anymore? That the rest of our people have long since turned their backs on these old ways?"

"Please, Mukta, let Kura speak," Kylira urged.

"Speak what?" Mukta countered. "Nonsense? I tell you, Kura, the Fish People are sick. They cannot love anything--not a lover, not a house, not the land, not even a picture of a beautiful sunset--they cannot love anything without owning it."

"But, Father, you would not want me to disobey the Great Spirit!"

"Bring me to this `Great Spirit'," Mukta demanded.

"She is gone now," Kura explained.

"Of course she is," patronized Mukta. "Kura, you have had a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

"Wait, Mukta," Kylira interceded. "Let us hear her out."

Kura addressed her account to her mother.

"I was watching for a seal when the Spirit came. She said that the time had come. She said I must go among the Fish people. She said I must seek out one of them who is one of us. She gave me this name: Mrs. Walker. And she had me prepare these."

Kura pulled out seven rolled up seal skins and handed them to Kylira. The mother opened them reverently, saw the writing on them, rolled them up again and handed them back to her daughter.

"Kura must leave now, Mukta," she announced solemnly. "Excuse us while I speak with her."

Mukta grunted his displeasure, threw a caribou skin over himself and went back to sleep. Kylira and Kura huddled on the far side of the room and spoke softly, this time in LOOP.

"Do you know what your journey means?" asked Kylira.

"It means I must see this Mrs. Walker--"

"--no, no. That is where your journey leads. I asked you: Do you know what it means?"

Kura became very sullen.

"Yes," she answered gravely, "I do."

Mrs. Walker answered one of the monitors on her desk. Various callers appeared on it. The last of them was a well groomed elderly man in a blue suit.

From her smooth skin and sparkling eyes one would get the impression that her grey hair had arrived too early. Judging from the way she answered one call after another, juggling resources and responsibilities, one would get the impression that every grey hair had been well earned.

"Yes, sir," Mrs. Walker promised the man on the viewer. "My secretary will have that ready for you by noon. Guaranteed."

She punched a button on a console at the base of her monitor. The screen now showed a young man sitting at a reception desk.

"Gary!"

The young man at the desk rose, picked up an odd-looking roll, tucked it under his arm, opened the door to her office and stepped in.

"Gary, make sure you get that report over to the Vice President by noon. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

As Gary made to exit, his boss stopped him.

"Wait a minute. What is that you have under your arm?"

"I don't know," he said meekly. "It's some kind of animal skin. We took it off an Indian girl who keeps insisting on seeing you. We told her that she couldn't see you without an appointment, but she won't go away. She was carrying these. We took them off her. I was just about to take them down to security."

Mrs. Walker narrowed her gaze for a moment, as if trying to access some dim memory.

"Don't bother with security," she ordered. "Just let me see them."

"You want to see them?"

"Yes, just for a second."

Gary handed her the roll. Mrs. Walker cleared her desk and laid the skins down there. As she unfurled the first of them her eyes began to widen. She stifled a gasp at the sight of the last one unravelling. Regaining her composure, she ordered Gary to escort the girl into the office.

"Immediately!"

Mrs. Walker stood transfixed by the writing on these skins as Kura was led into the room. The girl wrung her hands and glanced about nervously. Kura waited for Mrs. Walker to speak first, but the lady was too absorbed by what she was reading. Kura craned her neck for a better view of her hostess. She was surprised by what she saw.

"I was told you were one of us," Kura said in LOOP. "I was not expecting a Fish Person."

"Pardon?"

Kura repeated herself.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Walker apologized. "I don't speak...Cherokee, is it?"

Kura was visibly disappointed.

"The Great Spirit told me you were one of us. I assumed that you would speak the language of our people. And I did not think that you would be a Fish Person."

"A Fish Person?"

Kura smiled awkwardly.

"That is what my father calls your people. Fish People. With big white eyes and skin the colour of dead fish bellies."

Mrs. Walker relaxed suddenly, chuckling at Kura's description.

"Does your father know," she joked, "that we put our children in schools?"

Kura was much less jovial, unsure of whether the lady's last remark was meant to mock her or her father.

"Tell me about these scrolls," Mrs. Walker asked.

Kura was happy to oblige. She stood beside her hostess and pointed out the various sections as she explained them.

"This is our family. Mine is here. You see? Daughter of Kylira. Granddaughter of this person."

"Kolge," Mrs. Walker read the name aloud.

Kura shifted uneasily.

"Among my father's people, it is taboo to speak the names of our dead. Not until a new child is born and given that name."

Kura peeled back the skins and shifted her focus to another section.

"This is your family. Your father. His mother. Her father. His mother. Grandmother. Great grandfather."

"It's like a family tree!" Mrs. Walker exclaimed. "Except there's only one branch."

Kura unrolled the skins, showing how the two lines led back to one common ancestor. Along the way, Kura recounted a short description of each person: their occupation, their contributions to the community and their efforts to establish peace and harmony between communities. She occasionally punctuated these descriptions with "A great Wintaka!" All of the names were very similar except this founding character: Hamatha. When she arrived at Hamatha's name she stopped and looked at Mrs. Walker. Gratified to see that she still held Mrs. Walker's attention, Kura pointed at the name, but said nothing.

"Please," the lady begged, "tell me about Hamatha."

Kura winced slightly, stepped away from the desk and clasped her hands together. Hamatha's story would require some preamble.

"Thousands of years ago, our people--yours and mine--came here. I am sorry that you did not know this. Your father didn't explain this to you?"

"I didn't know him very well," Mrs. Walker explained quietly. "My father, I mean. He died when I was very young."

"So no one prepared you for this?"

The woman shook her head.

"I remember visiting my father with my mother...just before he died. He tried to tell me a lot of things. Crazy things. But the only thing I remember is him telling me that someday I would be visited. I didn't understand. I wonder..."

Mrs. Walker's voice trailed off. Kura went on with her dissertation.

"Our people lived in many places. They lived among the Ainu. On Hokkaido. But soldiers killed them. A man--they called him a shogun--did not like their ways. Our people spoke of peace while others prepared for war. This was called..."

Kura's English failed her for a moment.

"Treason?" Mrs. Walker guessed.

"Yes, that," Kura nodded. The girl caught her breath before continuing.

"Another group lived among the Yi in southern China. They were all killed by soldiers during the Han dynasty."

At this point Kura sounded as if she were reciting a litany of pogroms from memory. It seemed unlikely that the word "dynasty" was part of her normal English vocabulary.

"A third group lived among the Lhasans. When the armies of Genghis Khan asked for free passage through Tibet our people convinced the monks there to ask the soldiers to bypass their land. Our people died with the monks.

"A fourth group lived with the Helvetians. Roman legions under Tiberius killed the last of them.

"A fifth group lived among the Ibo. They were handed over to a rival tribe and slaughtered as evil spirits.

"A sixth group lived with the Unseen in South America. Aztecs under Texochl sacrificed them to their gods.

"The last group lived among the Aztalan. When the Fish People first arrived our people argued against resistance. Our people had great influence at that time. The native people of that area had never known war. Our people had taught all of the tribes sign language. Tribes that could talk to each other did not war with each other. But the Fish People were different. The spirit of the Wintaka was not so strong among them. The tribes were afraid. The Fish People were very powerful. Like angry gods. When our people argued in favour of peace with the Fish People they were massacred. Only two survived. Their chief..."

"Hamatha?" Mrs. Walker divined.

Kura nodded her head.

"...and his son."

"How did they survive?"

"They fled north. But the others chased them. Hamatha knew they could not escape forever. He and his son took refuge among the Huron--rivals of the ones chasing them. Hamatha brought great medicine with him. He saved the young son of the Huron chief from drowning. The Huron were grateful. But their enemies pressed them. Attacked them. Hamatha wanted to flee, to spare the Huron from war, but his son was ill with fever and would need time to recover.

"The attacks grew more serious. Hamatha decided he could not wait. He approached the Huron chief to say good-bye. But the great Huron leader had spoken with his own son. The Huron boy had devised a plan. The pursuers were looking for a man and a boy. Hamatha would be their man. But the Huron boy would be dressed as his son. Hamatha's true son would remain in camp and be raised as the chief's son.

"Both fathers opposed the plan, but the Huron boy insisted. Hamatha had saved his life, the boy argued, and the gods, in their wisdom and kindness, would be giving him this chance to repay the debt. Seeing the determination in his eyes, both father's gave up. Hamatha and the Huron boy left the camp and..."

Kura did not need to finish this tale.

"So this is him here," Mrs. Walker guessed, pointing at the name below Hamatha's. "Kulra."

Kura shook her head slightly.

"Hamatha's son's name was Kiawatane. But Kiawatane and all Wintaka since him took the name of the Huron boy. Kulra."

Kolry. Cory. Kylira. Kura. Kulra.

"Kulra had two daughters. See? Kur and Kyla. Kur fled north. Her descendants lived among the Dene, then the Ejay, and now the Innu. Kyla stayed with the Huron. Her descendants then moved west. You see?"

"Tell me, why have you come to explain this to me now?" Mrs. Walker inquired solemnly.

"This cycle is at an end," Kura explained sadly. "It is my task to gather those who would be gathered."

"Cycle?"

Kura did not elaborate. Mrs. Walker chose not to press the issue.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked.

"This Vice President, Mr. Davidson. He trusts you."

"We've been a team for a long time," the woman agreed.

"You must convince Mr. Davidson to buy us some time. Make concessions. He will be attending a conference this month--"

"No, no," the lady corrected. Mr. Davidson is the Vice President. It's the President who will be at the conference in Zurich."

Kura looked away. Unable to face Mrs. Walker, she changed the subject.

"Can you tell me about these drug wars?"

"Drug wars? Yes, of course. Vicious business, really. Ever since the President's proposal to end matters, things have heated up."

"And what was the President's proposal?"

"Simple, really. We just built some drug centres. Like casinos. People can go there, take whatever drug they want and sleep it off in one of the rooms. Drug users are happy we're not prosecuting them. The rest of us are happy that the users aren't mugging us in the street anymore. Everyone's happy."

"Everyone?"

"Well, no, not exactly. The drug dealers are up in arms. Right wingers are upset. Distillers don't want the competition."

"Distillers?"

"People who make alcohol. Isn't that funny? A century ago they were the drug dealers of their day. But you don't see bootleggers shooting up our streets anymore. Not now that they're legitimate. No. Now you find them living the high life. Perfectly respectable, tax-paying citizens now."

"So the President has a lot of enemies..."

Mrs. Walker was about the chime "Yes!" when she realized that the girl was not posing a question. Slowly, the truths, like a chain of pearls, flashed past her.

"The President...?" she croaked in horror.

Kura nodded.

"And everyone...?"

Kura stood still.

Staggered by the impact, the lady collapsed in her chair, clutching one hand to her chest and the other to her forehead.

"Mrs. Walker," Kura asked, "are you going to be alright?"

"Please," the woman begged, "call me Margaret."

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