The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1) (5 page)

     He moved his unmarked shoulders,
where his maturing wing-nets in the elytra-pace on his back were itching again,
irritating him. His shoulders had broadened even more over the last few turns
and the musculature, not quite as raw-boned as some who had sprung up the same
way he had, stood out even through the new deshik that he was wearing,
fashioned by a Living-glyph by his mother. Those around him were mostly
studying, for the first round of examinations of their lessons was this turn,
even though this was only a fourth of the way through the term. He, however,
was not – he had done all of his studying already, and was fairly confident of
his grasp of the knowledge he needed.

     “How can you be so
nonchalant?” Ro-Becilo’Ran asked testily, pouring frenetically over the view-glyphographic
that held his glyph-notes for their xenthropology examination. “Aren’t you even
a little worried over this exam? Three hundred worlds of the upper fifth of the
Gashab Whorl-arm, and we have to know the system names, the world numeral and
the names of the native population, and you’re not even studying!”

     “I already studied,”
Kreceno’Tiv said, not opening his eyes, but letting the profusion of glyphs and
despair wash over his vuu’erio tennae, and connect to his secondary retinas. Using
his vuu’erio this way made false-color, phantom glyphs dance beneath his
eyelids. “If I don’t know it by now, I won’t know it in the next few time-marks,
so there’s no point trying to stuff it into my brain at the last deci-mark.”

     He could practically feel
his friend’s amiable resentment. The glyph that Ro-Becilo’Ran projected to him
was clear enough, even with his eyes closed, reproach mixed with amused
exasperation. He opened one eye and glanced at Ro-Becilo’Ran’s sour expression,
smiled, then saw Gotra Pelani’Dun beyond, eying him, putting out her Gotra-pheromones.
He felt his face stiffen, and knew that sooner or later he would have to learn
to control his expression better. His body tried to respond, but he struggled
with it, trying to separate out the Gotrar-response from his glyph. It was more
difficult here, in the confines of the transport, he had found, for there was
no place to get away from it. And she seemed to be gloming more and more
intensely. But each time he resisted, it got easier.

     “Still irritated at her?” Ro-Becilo’Ran
said in an under-voice, turning his eyes back to the view-glyphographic, though
his vuu’erio tennae waved in amusement. “I thought I saw you talking to her at
the line.”

     “You thought wrong,”
Kreceno’Tiv stated, scowling. “She was talking, I was leaving.”
Irritated?
That is not the word I would use!
he fumed, but did not say or project. Her
attentions had become even more pronounced, of late, obviating him going to the
line of the
Bustani
.

     “Why not give her another
chance?” Ro-Becilo’Ran suggested, shrugging. “She obviously wants you back, and
she’s even prettier now than when you two were a pre-mated pair.” Even he was
responding to her Gotra chemi-scent, though not as strongly as other,
unattached males. Ropali Galici’Bel did not ride with them, as she came into
Secondus on a different transport. She often left with them, though, visiting Ro-Becilo’Ran
at his domicive. When Ropali Galici’Bel was near, it was not so hard for his
friend to resist other chemi-scents. And as his feelings for her grew, and her
colors slowly deepened on him, he was less inclined to respond to other girls’
gloming. But without her immediate influence, he was susceptible.

     “No,” Kreceno’Tiv said,
unequivocally, wondering if she had approached Ro-Becilo’Ran and had tried to
enlist his help. Not that it mattered, whether she had or not. She had left him
Geni’vhes bereft, and had dashed the very thin illusion of beauty and sweetness
that he had had of her. He would not be wearing her Gotrar-induction again,
ever, he had vowed. “You’re not pre-mated to Galici’Bel just because she’s
pretty
.”

     Ro-Becilo’Ran made an amused
gesture of assent, and went back to studying.

     Kreceno’Tiv ignored Gotra
Pelani’Dun’s attempts to gain his attention and leaned back, closed his eyes once
more and tucked his vuu’erio away.

     “The Penicuans, the
Penicuans,” Ro-Becilo’Ran muttered, deep in his frantic, final deci-mark
studying again, as if he were searching for and could not find a particular
piece of information.

     “The Penicuans are in the
Gashab Arm of the Star Whorl, and live on the fifth world of the Penicus
stellar system,” Kreceno’Tiv recited, without opening his eyes.

     “I really don’t like you
sometimes,” Ro-Becilo’Ran said, a sour laugh in his voice.

Whorl Thirteen

     “How did you do on your first
Worlds of Totality evaluation?” his mother asked, as they all sat down to eat a
special meal together, including his older sister, who was visiting from
Tertius. His mother was resplendent in her Vespa colors, the pattern of her Vespa-markings
giving her a half-mask that made her eyes seem even larger than they were. His
parents had prepared the meal the old-fashioned way, with fruit and vegetables
actually reaped from their outer-garden, though the protein had been produced
by glyph-conjuration. It was one more bulwark against the ennui and despair, an
occupation that loaned momentary purpose. Though why they should be prey to the
despair was puzzling to him, as his father was in the Solidarim, and his mother
was highly placed in one of the Solidarim Ministries.

     “I passed,” Kreceno’Tiv said
lightly, not telling them that he had received a perfect score. He had received
perfect scores on all his examinations and the Proctors had not given any
assignments to do at home for the rest of the five-turn following the exams.
The crush and fug of An’Siija proper had been easier to shake off as the
transport bringing him and Ro-Becilo’Ran home from Secondus left the congested
Mji’Hives and moved out into more open places, taking them to the less densely
inhabited sub-Hives of Segela Miridum, where their domicives were. His mood had
improved considerably away from An’Siija, and its ever-present despair, and he had
been able to really smile and joke, even with Gotra Pelani’Dun trying to get
into his line of sight the whole way home.

     “And your other
examinations?” his mother pressed, passing a platter to him.

     “I passed,” he reiterated,
heaping his platter from each one passed to him.

     “As always,” Vespa Karaci’Tiv,
his sister said, her voice teasing as she passed the baked gospor to him. “Did
you manage to get any of the questions wrong, this time?” Vespa Karaci’Tiv’s Genus
markings were so close to Vespa Kareni’Tiv’s that they looked like sisters,
rather than mother and daughter.

     He did not dignify the
remark with an answer, just waited for the next platter to come to him. She
laughed, but did not tease him anymore.

     “How is Ve-Dorilo’Sim, your
pre-mate, Karaci’Tiv?” Vespa Kareni’Tiv asked, smiling at Vespa Karaci’Tiv.

     His sister hedged, and he
immediately felt awkward – things were not going well, he presumed, for usually
Vespa Karaci’Tiv was bursting with news of Ve-Dorilo’Sim and their doings
together.

     “He’s – doing well,” she
said, dropping her eyes. “He was chosen to go to one of the Ministries early.
He – says he’ll come to see me as often as he can.”

     Vespa Kareni’Tiv touched her
hand, and they shared a glyph of sympathy. Then his sister projected a glyph,
begging for a change of conversation.

     “So – the new the
Long-Travel terminuses are nearing completion,” Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv said,
sitting forward and lacing his fingers. He had the brilliant, permanent, black
and red coloration and Vespar-physique that complimented Vespa Kareni’Tiv,
marking him as her Geni’vhor, her true-mate. His father had been that way for as
long as Kreceno’Tiv could remember, being fully mated to Vespa Kareni’Tiv. Kreceno’Tiv
was the only one un-Genus marked in the famiya, his dull bluish-gray almost
blending in with the background. When he had been faintly Gotrar-marked, it had
been an odd clash in the famiya.

     Kreceno’Tiv felt a jolt of
elation, at the possibility of seeing the new Long-Travel terminuses, followed
by a cold surge of trepidation, though why he should feel so, he could not
express in gesture or word or glyph. The fact that the terminuses had been
completed, and that Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv had stated it so plainly, and in the
way that he did... Kreceno’Tiv stared at his platter, the delicious food heaped
there seeming to slowly losing the glyph of warmth to bitter, cooling
tastelessness. The implications...

     “So they – the Solidarim and
the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council – have come to consensus?” Vespa Kareni’Tiv
asked quietly. It was an obvious, open question – the Long-Travel terminuses,
if they had been a collaborative effort between the Gu’Anin Council and the
Solidarim, would not have been completed, if the two had not reached agreement
to do so – unless that was not what his mother was referring to.

     Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv gave
her a flat look.

    
What does that mean?
he wondered, feeling a chill to the roots of his wing-nets. There was something
under his parents’ words, something that they were not saying, something not
good.    

     Both of his parents were now
looking at him, and he wondered if he had projected the string of thoughts in
his consternation. But they did not comment.

     “You do not eat,” Vespa Kareni’Tiv
said, tilting her head.

     Vespa Karaci’Tiv took a
tentative bite of her food, and they all followed suit, but it tasted like
cooling ashes and straw in his mouth.

Whorl Fourteen

     Once he escaped from the famiya
meal, Kreceno’Tiv immediately began digging in the dataSphere interlinks for
hints to what his parents had alluded to. There was nothing concrete, nothing
alarming that was definites. There were rumors, though, sinister rumors of a
new initiative, one that would do more than cajole the citizens to more productive
pursuits, one that would be enforced involuntarily.

     Kreceno’Tiv shuddered. Was
this the answer to his concern? Had the measure already been passed, and was
even now being put into practice, the governing bodies using the lack of
centralized event reporting in their favor to enact something that the populace
would strongly object to?

     Undaunted by the sharp and
derisive remarks from his early inquiries, Kreceno’Tiv decided to take passive
action. He connected his dataSphere deep into the interlinks. Then he made a
simulacrum without direct ties back to his true identity, and began a
discussion thread that extended to all the strata of the dataSpheres.

     :
The Vanished Voices

     :In the ennui of our
lives, there is little that can excite real notice, real fervor. All we have is
our personal experiences, our own opinions, our vuu of the world. We spread
these on the interlinks, feeding off of each other’s views, hoping for a spark
of interest to stir within us, hoping for something lasting that will give
meaning to our turns of dissipation. And some voices are louder than others,
some with such strong views and convictions that they spark controversy over
the mundane, arguments over the trivial, and some scream loudest when in the
weakest position. Others quietly assert truths, give voice to the reality of
our lives, the desperate silence of non-ambition. These voices ascend to
supremacy in their strata, and though they might offend us or make us laugh
with derision or too brutally expose our own straits, we can no more shut our
vuu’erio tennae to them than we can to blaring glyphs of the most conspicuous
object.

     :And when some of these
voices go silent, others rush in to fill the silences they leave in their wake.
Why is no one asking after the screamers gone missing? Why is no one querying
for the whisperers gone dim? Should their absence not excite as much furor as
their absurd or poignant presences? Should we not question why, in the wake of
yet another failed Reform, that some of their biggest denouncers are not
celebrating with disgusting bliss? Where have those behind these vanished
Voices gone?

     With the slightest of
trepidations, he posted the thread to the public, assured that it would be read
by nearly everyone on the interlinks, just by virtue of it being new. He made a
space to receive comments, and shut down his dataSphere.

Whorl Fifteen

     Kreceno’Tiv moved his
shoulders in irritation. He knew he should be enjoying his last term at
Secondus, but aside from his Long-Travel lecture, it had become a trial of his
patience and endurance. It was amazing how one person could so pollute the
whole experience, as his ex-Geni’vhes was doing.

     Even as he thought it, Gotra
Pelani’Dun tried to catch his eye, but he did not engage her as he switched his
view-glyphographic from scribe mode to calculation mode. Her advances had
become even more pronounced since their brief interaction at the
Bustani
line,
though why she was becoming so insistent, he was at a loss to guess.
She
had ended their close, pre-mating association the term before, calling him too
serious and too contemplative, to put a nice elytra-pace on it, and had begun
cuddling up a bigger, more developed young male.

    
A more developed dunce.
Hytiro’Vel, with his wing-nets already emergent. I’m just a late blossom of the
World-Tree, I guess,
he mused sourly. And his thoughts were laced with grim
amusement, for now he was as tall as the other for whom she had passed him over.
Taller, even, perhaps. And since he had started his rigorous self-training and
exercise program,
he
was the more ‘developed’ one now, and her interest
had evidently rekindled in the most obnoxious way. But his had not.
I want
someone who appreciates me for me, not what I happen to look like,
he
thought, a little angrily, as she caught him gazing at her, and she leaned in a
flattering pose and looked over her shoulder coyly at him. More than a little
angrily. He wanted to gesture in angry exasperation. She did not quite dare
project a seductive glyph to him here in the lecture room, and she had damped
down her pheromone glome, for fear of chastisement by the Proctor. But outside
of the lecture-chambers she had glomed full on, in the hallways, in the meal
hall, everywhere. She had even deliberately sat across from him and tried to
force him to engage in conversation, her chemi-scent thick almost to the point
of being obscene. Only after stares had become pointed, and an outright
complaint from one of the other girls had embarrassed her, had she desisted.