The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1) (26 page)

    
Is there something else I
should remember?
he stared at the wall.
I know my own glyph. It’s been
changed...

     He debated digging deeper,
then, paradoxically, decided not to. There was a disinclination to do so, he
could feel the glyph of it, worked expertly into the weft of his self. It could
be overridden, he knew, he could find out the exact nature of what had been
done to him, and why. But something told him that he did not want to know, that
knowing might bring back some of the damage. So, he left it alone. Instead, he
went to the food-prep area to find something to eat and to drown the depression
that he allowed to take hold of him once more.

Whorl Eighty One

     “Oh ha,” Ro-Becilo’Ran said,
as they got on the Secondus transport to ride in. This was their last turn of
examinations. Not everyone had the same tests on the same turns, for it was
dependent entirely on their schedule of lectures. The transport was thinly populated
when it came for them. Ropali Galici’Bel was there, having come to meet their
transport to ride in with them.

     “Oh ha,” he replied.

     “So, you broke things off
with Ralili’Bax?” Ro-Becilo’Ran commented. Ropali Galici’Bel looked away.

     “We – wanted to be together,
but I don’t think I could be happy in the Ministry of Preservation,”
Kreceno’Tiv said. “And she didn’t have a choice. I – thought of going with her,
but...” Was it enough to give up on love, just for ambition? But she had told
him that she did not want him to go into a Ministry position that he would not
be happy in. He had offered, more than once, but she had been adamant. And
truthfully, with the OSI already draining away the population, and the strictures
of it already in place, the Ministry of Preservation was almost superfluous, a nowhere
vocation, for the world of Gu’Anin was already reverting back to its mostly
natural state.

     “I’m sorry, my friend,”
Ro-Becilo’Ran said, and there was real contrition in his voice. Kreceno’Tiv
looked away. He was still not sure he had made the right choice, letting her
go. They all stayed silent, the rest of the way to Secondus. Something bright
and beautiful had been removed from their lives.

Whorl Eighty Two

     The OSI came to the center
of Segela Miridum and Algna Suprum, swallowing all of the places that
Kreceno’Tiv knew in its spined tentacles. Where despair had reigned, like a
Malkia, it was now deposed by something even worse, something implacable, overwhelming,
like the deluges of the storm-level.

     It started innocently
enough, with recruitment kiosks that many flocked to, just because they were
new, different, a novelty in the endless, undemanding turns of their too-easy
lives. So millions of people lined up at the booths, and thousands actually
took the offer. For Kreceno’Tiv and his friends, it required that they and all
their term-mates continue to go to Secondus sub-Hives, even though their
lectures and examinations were complete. The other, lower terms were still
having lectures and examinations, and as long as they were required to go, so
were Kreceno’Tiv and all those in his term.

     And the results of the OSI
could be seen and felt almost immediately. The way into Secondus the turn after
its implementation was quieter than it had been ever. The Occupation and
Service Initiative had swept up a significant portion of the indolent citizens
of An’Siija and translated them off to the under-developed worlds of the second
Star Whorl. But even as Kreceno’Tiv watched, the lines broke up as the rest of
the people quickly lost interest, because no matter how bored they were with
non-activity, it was still preferable to having to work, or face the perils of
wild worlds, it seemed.

     So the city still teemed
with people, people with nothing to do, and nowhere urgent to be. Some few
did
walk with purpose, he could now see, moving about in the still vitalized
sub-Hives of administration, having given into the employment-reward structure,
or having Nil’Gu’ua high enough to be associated with the Solidarim. Otherwise
they were one of the shrinking class of unfortunates, perforce having to work
for their keep. But most of the population still just sat or stood around,
watching others, the ennui of complete independence upon many of them, possibly
robbing their lives of drive or motivation. Or freeing them of responsibility.
Did it matter which it was, if the results were the same?

    
Possibly – I guess it
depends on how each individual sees her or himself,
he thought, listening
to the conversations of his friends as they went to lecture rooms but had no
lectures or lessons to occupy them
. Do they see themselves as being
completely free, or do they see themselves as being without meaning?

     The booths had not been
enough. Eventually people had stopped going to them, once more frittering away
their lives in non-pursuit of anything. Then, as the discussion forums had
intimated, when the voluntary recruitment no longer worked, the Magistrars
came.

    
And when the Magistrars
fail, what will be next?
he wondered, looking up as the chime sounded.
Will
the Peace Forcers come and take people away by force? Will the Magistrars use
them to exert the same dominance as the Malkia had done, to get their way?
In the times of the Malkia-mothers, the Hive had been all, an all-consuming purpose,
and the Malkia was the Hive, its life and its breath, and the males had all
Genus-morphed to suit whichever Queen they served. And the Peace Forcers,
equivalents of the warrior-males from the times of the Malkia, had been their
enforcers, completely submissive to their will and merciless in executing their
commands.
Will they resort to those coercive tactics, and with the coercion,
will there be rebellion and rioting in the boulevards?
he wondered,
shivering.
Not that I wish a return to the times of the Malkia-mothers,
but,
in all honesty, is this aimless, almost-anarchy any better than the near-total
enslavement of those turns? Do the people need to something to rebel against?
Was
the Initiative a good thing, if only to awaken a sense of purpose
and drive in his sister and brother citizens of Gu’Anin?

    
Well, we have freedom of
will, if not purpose,
he mused, shrugging his unmarked shoulders, but not
clacking his elytra-pace, as they sat, waiting for what, they knew not.

     They were allowed to talk,
though in quiet voices, and use their view-glyphographics for limited
entertainment, until the Magistrars came and began calling certain people from
the lecture-rooms. Those they took out, did not return. And when the others
around them began to quietly question where they were, it seemed that they were
not to be found anywhere in Secondus at all.

     Kreceno’Tiv could feel the
tension of fear and confusion blossom in his term-mates, as clearly as any
corporeal glyph. Finally he indicated a question to the Proctor who was sitting
at the front of the room, just watching them.

     “Proctor Gon, where are the
Magistrars taking our friends?” he asked, when she gestured assent to him
speaking.

     She smiled a false smile.
“They are being informally evaluated, and placed in positions of responsibility,
according to their ability,” she said, an answer that sounded as if it had been
carefully thought out and rehearsed.

     Pressing his lips together,
and taking a deep breath, he continued, “Aren’t there laws against that type of
– stratification? Isn’t the Unification supposed to have done away with that
kind of inequity?” he asked. Glances darted around the room. The Proctor’s eyes
widened, as if she had not expected to be questioned further about it.

    
But I’m within my rights
to ask,
he thought, and the thought was hard and sharp as battle-scythes.

     Just then a Magistrar came
to the entrance of the room. “Thy-Lerefo’Gol, please come with us,” the man
said.

     Kreceno’Tiv wanted to jump
up and challenge the man, but his friend calmly gestured a negative as thoug he
could feel Kreceno’Tiv’s intent. Thy-Lerefo’Gol activated his
view-glyphographic, not complying with the request.

     “I’m going to Tertius,” he
said evenly, holding up the device. “My parents informed me just this turn.”
So,
no, I will not,
was the implication.

     The man gazed at him for a
long moment, then glanced at the Proctor, then turned and left.

     They were all dismissed to
the transports, to be taken back home, and it was not even time for the
mid-turn meal. He was glad that there was only one more turn to the term, and then
he would know his own fate for certain.

Whorl Eighty Three

     When he got home, his
parents were there, and they called him into the salon.

     “Kreceno, could you come
here?” his father called. He could not suppress a shiver of trepidation. Had
the Proctors contacted his parents about his questioning of the actions of the
Magistrars? But he heard and sensed no underlying irritation or disapproval
coming from them. So he redirected his steps to the salon, and sat across from
them with his carry-pack between his feet.

     “Next turn is the last turn
of the term, and we will be taking you to the Solidaris Orm when you return
from Secondus,” Vespa Kareni’Tiv said, tilting her head.

     At first he could not
comprehend what he was hearing. Then he found himself hugging his mother and
father hard, and they laughingly patted his back and elytra-pace.

     “Thank you thank you thank
you!” he said over and over again, excitement and relief making his wing-nets
buzz and slip out, again and again. For, if they had plans for him at the end
of the turn, that meant that the Magistrars would not be calling him to take
him away – and they might mean the treat to be the opportunity to tell him
whether he was going to Tertius or not. He did not want to hope, but he did.

     “Go put your things away,
and get something to eat,” his mother said, smiling in a twinkling way up at
him. He gestured assent, grabbed his carry-pack and hurried out.

    
I can’t wait to tell
Ralili!
he thought happily, as he snatched the platter that was waiting for
him.
Maybe she could even come with us...!

     The thoughts brought him up
short, and he almost dropped the platter. Pavtala Ralili’Bax was gone. Gone. He
clenched his jaw at the surge of emotion that the realization brought again,
for there was no one he wanted more to share in this experience, than her.

     “By the by, your sister may
have a new Geni’vhes, soon!” Vespa Kareni’Tiv called out to him. That snapped
him out of his near-mourning, for it was an overt statement, and she did not
make casual comments for no reason.

     “Anyone I know?” he forced
himself to ask, in as normal a voice as he could. Pavtala Ralili’Bax’s absence
was affecting him more than he wanted to admit.

     “His name is Jararo’Mev.”

     Jararo’Mev. He had been two
terms ahead of Kreceno’Tiv in Secondus, and had made a name for himself.

     “Thanks for letting me
know!” he said, heading up to his suite. The verbal puzzle was a welcome
diversion, pulling his thoughts away from how much he missed his former
Geni’vhes.

    
So – telling me that
means that... her former Geni’vhes was taken away by someone’s manipulations?
That they would have mated, except for his sudden advancement? So someone
engineered his removal to get to Karaci’Tiv? Could it have been the Thynnu Mev famiya?
But no, because Mother and Father would not have approved – they had approved of
Ve-Dorilo’Sim, before he was sent to the Ministries. They would not approve of
Karaci mating to a son of the very famiya that had taken her pre-mate away, and
neither would she. So...

     He changed his steps, and
went toward Vespa Karaci’Tiv’s suite, instead. She was in, and smiled in
welcome.

     “I hear you have a new
love-interest, maybe,” he said, placing the platter between them and urging her
to share it with him.

     “He’s wonderful,” she said
dreamily, not even making a biting comment about how he knew about her intimate
life.

     “Tell me about him,” he
said, though hearing how happy she was only made blades dance in his chest, as
he missed his own former pre-mate.

Whorl Eighty Four

     He missed Pavtala
Ralili’Bax. And also, at the moment, Ro-Becilo’Ran, who had not met him at the
place where they got onto the transport together. He had stiffened and
attempted to make contact with his friend, and was relieved to find that
Ro-Becilo’Ran was still at home, and merely would not be going to Secondus for
the last turn.

     An’Siija had not seemed like
itself, the glyph of it somehow bereft, empty, the despair thin and anemic. It barely
covered the swirling turns of Gu’Anin’s glyph, he found as he had rode in alone.
There were still plenty of citizens clogging up the boulevards of Algna Suprum,
but there was still an – emptiness to the Mji’Hive. The boulevards of Segela
Miridum had been nearly clear this turn, the first time he had ever seen such.
The silence had been almost oppressive as the transport had delivered him and
his friends to Secondus. People were hiding in their homes or wherever they
could find shelter, afraid to be out and inactive, for fear that they, too,
would be taken against their will. The city’s glyph screamed with bereavement
and fear, the boredom and despair replaced almost completely.

     Kreceno’Tiv again stared out
of the window, deeply troubled, ignoring the rambling of the Proctor.
Examinations were over for everyone in all the terms, but those under the age
of formal evaluation were still being held in Secondus, while the recruiters roamed
the halls, trying to get the young men and women who had been initially
evaluated as having Nil’Gu’ua below the fifth level to take active roles in
off-world administration. The Magistrars swept through the place to directly
recruit those of higher skill, though whether tempting them with unspecified
rewards or goading them with quiet threats, no one knew for certain. Those
selected as probable candidates for Tertius were left alone, though he had seen
the Magistrars eying him more than once, possibly because of his questions from
the turn before.