The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1) (21 page)

    
Where is the anger that I
saw in the Spheres? Is the spirit of rebellion, so strong in the Spheres, going
to actually manifest in the real world?
he fumed, wanting to grind his
teeth in fury and frustration as the transport took them to Secondus, and the expected
crowds were there, just as they had always been.
Where is the protest, the
unity to fight against the injustice of the Initiative? Are people not able to
find a way to bridge the air-gulf between their words and their actions? Do
they still need the Alighter, even though I can’t be that for them, because of
my punishment? Will the people of An’Siija be as compliant?

     He stared angrily out of the
transport at the listless people, angry at himself and at them. At himself for
his inability to do anything, and at the masses, for their incapacity to do
anything. But as he watched the people his anger melted to something softer,
something that cut deeper, not despair or anger, but more akin to – sympathy.
Some of them, having sat for so long, could they just jump up to action, as he
wished to do?

     He was torn, frankly, torn
between feeling wretched about the ever-present despair, the directionlessness
of the populace, and feeling hopeless helplessness at the enforced, unspecified
servitude into which the Occupation and Service Initiative put them.

    
Am I going to Tertius? Or
will I end up like everyone else? Like all the people we passed? If I don’t go,
that’s exactly what will happen. I’m not sure I could expend effort in any
Reform that does nothing but chew up my life and talents for someone else’s
profit and benefit, just to have something to do. I wouldn’t do it, I would
just sit around and be aimless, too, if I were in their Hive. So I
would
end up like them. I – I hope Mother and Father will send me to Tertius.
He
did not want to be purposeless, driveless, insouciant, after Secondus. He did
not want to be forced off-world, without any say over where he was going, or
whether he wanted to go or not. But he also did not want the populace to
languish, to sit in indolence, in despair. And he empathized with Polista
Zyledi’Kil, with what she had tried to do, to save herself from the possibility
of a similar fate. Though he could not bring himself to mate from obligation,
he understood.

    
That probably won’t
happen, not with the level of Nil’Gu’ua I have,
he comforted himself as he watched
an older man, whose mating-marks were fading back to the neutral of
bluish-gray, who was seated on an elevated walkway,  and who watched him in
return as the transport went  by. The man held out a hand, and the glyph for a
particular fruit gleamed above his palm. Then the fruit itself materialized as
the man applied Nil’Gu’vua to the fruit glyph. The man had at least a level
five Nil’Gu’ua ability, Tanos’Nil’Gu, as just about everyone was. Only rarely
was someone without the ability to bring forth food-objects by using glyphs, by
way of applying Nil’Gu’vua to something that contained the remnants of the
Living Glyph, and they had to work to live. Or else they depended on the
sufferance of famiya. This was indicative of the problem, the Gu’Anin Magistrate
Council had insisted. That the procurement of the necessities of life was too
easy.

    
Is it really a problem,
though?
Pa-Kreceno’Tiv agonized, pained, torn, watching the man who was sitting
and watching him, and torn between wanting not to be one of them, and wanting
them to be left to their own non-pursuits.
Or is it just the first step to
something else? No one is starving. People aren’t rioting. No one is without a
home, or unable to maintain themselves. They just – don’t
have
to do
anything. Is that so horrible? Is it so serious that they have to trick or
force people to leave, send them to backward worlds, just so that the challenge
of surviving can animate them? Or is there a deeper purpose to this Initiative,
like a return to the system of Castes? Does the Council fear its own obsolescence?

     The thoughts occupied him
all the way to Secondus. He pushed them aside, however, to focus on his lecture
examinations, finding the test questions a welcome diversion to the problem of
the populace.

     But as the turn wore on, and
the tension of the impending implementation of the OSI roiled over An’Siija,
Pa-Kreceno’Tiv found himself staring bleakly at the window glyph with a
semi-compound gaze, then out of the window-membrane itself, his thoughts going
back to the OSI. He had finished his examination early yet again, as he had in
each lecture, and now sat quietly as the rest of his lecture-mates labored over
the questions that tested their retention and understanding of the knowledge
the Proctors had spent six orbises trying to infuse into their brains.

    
I need to get home, to
see what’s happening,
he thought, as the chime sounded, indicating the end
of the time allotted for the exam.

Whorl Sixty Seven

     What came next was not
pleasant. With the failure of the voluntary recruitment, next came the
Magistrars, who came to directly recruit those of higher skill. Though, whether
the Magistrars tempted them with unspecified rewards or goaded them with quiet
threats, no one knew for certain.

     Pa-Kreceno’Tiv read accounts
that Pavtala Ralili’Bax found for him under his search parameters. He read
account after account of people watching other people resisting the corps of
the OSI and their actions against the populace. He had wondered if there would
be resistance in the real world, and he was answered.

    
:Who Are They Why Are
They Here?

     :They came this turn, to
force the OSI on us. My best friend, who is not as high in Nil’Gu’ua ability as
I am, was confronted by the vuu-blitzed OSI numb-paces. They told her that
because of her Nil’Gu’ua level, because she did not have special dispensation,
that she had to submit to the strictures of the OSI. She said that she was a
citizen, with rights, and that the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council and the Solidarim
could not just act unilaterally, to put out an edict affecting everyone,
without consensus from the citizens. They stared at her and grumbled, then
looked at each other and left her alone, moved on to the next person to harass.
I’m afraid they won’t leave it, however, that they’ll be back.

     He sat back, nonplussed. It
was horrifying, watching peoples’ rights being contravened, and without a
decent justification even being given.

    
And we’ve set ourselves
up as deities, to other peoples of other worlds?!
he thought despondently.
We’re
not being very deity-like now, are we? Not even able to determine our own
fates?

     He forced himself to read
another.

    
:Fearful

     :We hid this turn, as the
OSI corps swept through our sub-Hive. They came to the entrance of our
domicive, and though they could probably decipher our glyphs in the domicive
glyph, we pretended not to be there. We were evaluated to high enough Nil’Gu’ua
levels to qualify for Tertius, but we did not get to go. Is this right? Is this
legal? We should have some recourse, some means of appeal.

     :They can’t make us go.

     :Can they?

     Anger suffused
Pa-Kreceno’Tiv’s brain again, making his wing-nets buzz and his elytra-pace
clack rapidly. Why had these people not been sent to Tertius by their parents,
these unfortunates and so many others like them? What possible reason could
there be for keeping people with qualifying levels of Nil’Gu’ua out of the learning
institute that was the entryway to Gu’Anin Magistrate Council and the
Solidarim?

    
It can’t be the resources
to build another annex of Tertius, that is a moot argument,
he thought.
And
with claiming another Star Whorl, there is no lack of administrative positions.
But we don’t know where they’re being sent and for what reason. Are those who
qualify being sent to an annex of Tertius? Are they being trained as Administrators,
as Counselors, as Magistrars? And what about those who
don’t
qualify?
What’s being done with them?

     He was almost afraid to look
at the ones calling to the Alighter, his defunct interlink persona. But morbid
curiosity practically drove him to it.

    
:Where is the Alighter
now?

     :Where is the Alighter,
the one who rallied us, who began to bring us together? Has the Alighter fallen
victim to the corps of the OSI? Has this Voice become one of the Vanished? How
can our own government treat us so, as if we were mfanya, to be taken against
our wishes? Where is the Alighter, to unite us? What are we to do?

     He felt sick. He could not
answer, being on restriction. Then came the one that caught his eye, that he
felt compelled to read.

    
:Tired

     :I watched out of the domicive
view-glyphographic, and people began to get angry at the OSI corps coming
through the sub-Hives and trying to force them to leave, to go someplace, for
some purpose, that they won’t tell us. They – they began to fight, to throw
things and yell, and they chased the OSI people away. But they came back, in
larger groups, and some of them with – with weapons. They had Peace Forcers
with them. We haven’t needed Peace Forcers in a couple generations. They – were
scary, not like the descriptions I read of them.

     :But that did not stop
those people who were fighting back. I watched them attack, and be beaten back,
and others joined. Then more. Soon, they overwhelmed the OSI numb-paces.

     :I find myself tired.
More tired than I’ve ever been. It’s not enough that we must search for meaning
in our own lives, now the freedom to do so is being taken away from us, one
person at a time. What can be more disheartening than that?

     :Not having done
anything, I find myself scared, and tired.

     :Tired.

     He shut down the interlink.
He could not bear to read more. Pavtala Ralili’Bax did not say anything, just
came to him and put her arms around him, squeezing until he stopped shaking.

Whorl Sixty Eight

     Pa-Kreceno’Tiv felt the
glyph of animosity even before Go-Hytiro’Vel tried to shove him from behind. He
sidestepped, and the other male stumbled past, overbalanced for a moment.
Angry, Go-Hytiro’Vel turned back to face Pa-Kreceno’Tiv. He was Gotrar-induced,
more deeply marked and physiqued than just pre-mating, and full of unrequited
rage. Gotr-Hytiro’Vel, rather than Go-Hytiro’Vel.

     Then Pa-Kreceno’Tiv’s eyes
widened, and despite himself, he took a step back.

     Gotr-Hytiro’Vel was more
than Gotrar-induced, he was Gotrar-
enraged
. His forearms had sprouted
the beginnings of the razor-edged battle-scythes that males used to develop in
the old-times, when the females would make them compete to find the strongest
mate. Pa-Kreceno’Tiv had heard of them, and knew he possessed them within his own
forearms, but he did not ever actually expect to
see
them, especially
not directed at
himself
. Blood ran from where the emerging bone-blades
had punched through the skin, though Gotr-Hytiro’Vel seemed not to notice. His
wing-nets, which had burst through his elytra-pace early, showed now, along
with wing-scythes, which rattled menacingly. And his eyes were rings of red and
magenta, showing that he was in the glome-rage, and ready to fight almost to
the death. Gotra Pelani’Dun would have had to take all the steps toward mating
but the last, leaving Gotr-Hytiro’Vel hungering, and ready to carve out his
frustration in blood.

    
What has Pelani’Dun done?!
Has she proto-mated with him, all the way to Geni’vhal, then spurned him?!
he seethed, even as he felt himself responding, his own forearms itching to
grow battle-scythes. The Pavtalar-influence of Pavtala Ralili’Bax melted away.
But to fully respond, to be comparable to his opponent, would require being
Gotrar-marked, himself, by the same one who had enraged his rival, and he would
not seek Gotra Pelani’Dun out just so he could match his aggressor’s
fighting-physique. That would give her just what she wanted, to have him in her
toils again. He stepped back again, keeping his vuu’erio tucked away tight.

     The other young man rushed
him again, and tried to close with him. He stepped to the side diagonal and
used an iriminage against his opponent, deflecting Gotr-Hytiro’Vel’s bladed
forearms with his own, adroitly avoiding the scythes. Then he got his foot
around Gotr-Hytiro’Vel’s leading leg and he used the crook of his arm to sweep
the other off his feet and send him tumbling across the floor. The
battle-scythes screeched hideously across the polished wood as he skidded to a
stop.

     “You think you can entice
her back with your philandering, and just make her forget me, make her dismiss
me?” Gotr-Hytiro’Vel growled, getting up, his wing-scythes and elytra-pace
rattling in battle-fever, and his Gotrar-induced shoulders hunching forward
aggressively. Battle-spines were beginning to show there, too, and blood ran
down to stain his deshik. The quasi-living garment writhed, unable to adapt to
his physique. “She was mine, and then you had to go and flaunt your vaulted Famiya,
to entice her back! You...!” he stopped just short of formally
mate-challenging, wagging his head, as if confused. Then he growled and hunched
his shoulders in non-verbal aggression again.

     Kreceno’Tiv studied him
coolly, now thrusting his vuu’erio forward, tasting the rage of the other. And
yes, there was Gotra Pelani’Dun, on the edge of the gathering crowd, probably
feeling smugness, but just projecting a wounded glyph, and ready to feed
Kreceno’Tiv’s own rage, and Gotrar-mark him. What she had done was
unconscionable. And forbidden. Such things were a throwback to a much earlier,
more savage, primal time. The times even before the Malkia-Mothers.