by Reiter
He screamed as he turned the vehicle toward the largest Grenbi he could see. If they were telepathic, he wanted them to feel his anger. But his false rage masked a very real fear. He was nearly two hundred tanku from his destination and only forty tanku from one of the sighted younglings. The slide-sled was not faster than the creature over a long run, but its rate of acceleration was much greater. In order to reach its top speed, the youngling would have to abandon its teeth and fully solid form, another time factor that was to Dungias’ advantage. He pulled away from the younglings and noticed that one of their eyes dimmed. Z’Gunok Dungias gasped as his mind latched onto the possibility his stratagem might have been countered by the Grenbi. Any other time, he would have been for the argument that there was no such thing as a dumb animal. He did not want to be correct, however, not at that moment.
“No, this is not the memory we want,” the analyst said, and everything went black. The lights in the chamber came on and Dungias was blinded, but he could not lift his hands to shield his eyes. He had been bound to the table and the restraints kept his body in place. The octagonal chamber felt more like an interrogation room, but he did not have the answers they were looking for: why a Malgovi had no touch with an iro-form.
The Malgovi, especially those of High Birth, claimed their birthright! They were a race born of the Stars, after all, and their ancestors were able to walk on starlight itself! They were able to use their natural gifts to generate and direct various iro-forms. Dungias, however, was incapable of emitting simple iro; he could not even brighten a dark chamber. He had attended special classes, received the finest instruction, he had even been the recipient of partial brain-matter transplants… all to no avail. When he was diagnosed as shay-spawn, the first thing his parents had done was conceive another child.
Danatra was their first-born and considered a prodigy of music as well as iro-forms. She opted to follow music instead of the Games, and for a female, it was an acceptable decision. Besides, the proud and hopeful parents knew that Dungias would follow in her steps and perhaps even stand a chance of taking the Games, as Jorl had done in his youth. He did not, and the Kith Z’Gunok quickly went about the business of receiving permission to have a third child, a rarity among the Malgovi. However, no one would dare to publicly declare Dungias as one of the couple’s children and two orbi-terms later, Gantee was born. He had shown promise from the moment he cried into the world, and his parents could not have been happier.
In retrospect, Dungias had tried many times to equate their efforts to correct his ‘problem’ as gestures of love. As he grew older, he could see that the love they were focused on was the love of their name and their station; not that it was anything minimal. His mother, Laylaria, was an Iro-Gellvi, one of the most powerful iro-form-wielding ranks one could hold. It guaranteed her royal consideration and land. His father, Jorl’Lassor, was a Champion of the Iro-Games, despite his Gan name standing, and had perfected his energies to where he could stimulate rapid growth in vegetation. He was the landscapist for all Royal sites in the city, including the Queen’s residence in the Sastra Region, which kept him fairly busy during the star-term. The waiting list for his services was over three hundred entries long.
The union between Jorl and Laylaria had been attended by a nephew of the Queen, and had been the only event anyone spoke of for nearly a quarter orbi-term. The news regarding Dungias had not been well-received, and his very existence had moved the family standing from House to Kith. Dungias was considered retarded, but there was nothing wrong with his mind or body. He was a voracious reader and had tried to consume everything Danatra threw at him. Whether she was bored with the work and could not finish it, or she was enthralled with the piece and thought she would give the poor house embarrassment a bone to chew on in the corner, it made no difference to him. The subjects were various and usually came three to five works at a time.
“I suppose not,” Jorl’Lassor huffed as he looked down on his son. “But it does explain how your Vu-Prin’s slide-sled came to be damaged.”
“It was a few scratches, Vu-Zai,” Dungias replied as he looked up at the man whose eyes never rested well on his first-born Vu-Khan. “I repaired the chassis the very next star-term!” Dungias pleaded with his Vu-Zai while his mind raced through the rest of the memory. His narrow escape had not been as impacting as the fact that his Vu-Prin had contributed to the ploy that could have easily ended his life. But the ploy had failed, as several younglings had been led into an attack against the larger feeder. He had thought it would only be a distraction. But the younglings were killing the large mother Grenbi, who had no choice but to consume her offspring. It took star-terms before Dungias could get the sound of the wailing mother out of his head. Time had begun to soften her cry, but now the incident was new to him all over again.
“Silence!” his Vu-Zai barked, glaring through his gold eyes. It seemed physical appearance was the only thing that the Vu-Zai and Vu-Khan shared. “You will not dishonor me here and now!
“Analyst, is there anything else?” Jorl quickly asked.
“I believe I have located another recollection which could illuminate the reason behind his lack of development.”
“This hurts me,” Dungias advised, not wanting to revisit a ninth memory in three s’tonki.
“You will be silent!” Jorl insisted before he turned to face the analyst. “Proceed!”
“As you wish,” the analyst said as he activated the machine again.
The straps holding Dungias in place were suddenly tightened and he looked up to see the analyst’s assistant at the buckle. She smiled down coldly on him. Her ploy had been successful; Dungias had opened his eyes just as the machine interrupted the synaptic patters of his brain. It was a process made infinitely more painful if the subject had their eyes open. Dungias screamed.
Dungias walked home from the lyceum, wearing a smile, holding tightly to a sense of accomplishment. Nearing his completion of primary education, Dungias held the highest scores in all subjects that did not involve the generation or manipulation of an iro-form.
Things had been very difficult when he was younger, as everything was focused on what he lacked. But as the children grew older, school classes were less about the iro-forms and more about the science behind them. The more it involved such things, the less Dungias could be considered deformed or inept. The smile he wore was due to an informative document he had turned in regarding the Principles of Thought. Dungias’ work had scored the highest of the institute, and even exceeded the scores of a few of the instructors of the lyceum when they had been students. The Malgovi youth had taken his accolade quietly, choosing not to speak of it. He simply read and re-read his paper quietly. Walking home, however, he was not going to be allowed to keep his feeling of accomplishment.
An energy bolt struck him in the middle of the back and forced him to the ground. There was too much pain for it to have been a simple Force configuration. There was an electrical additive that coursed over his body and touched upon every nerve; locking his muscles, wracking his brain with agony.
“Why are you smiling?” a voice cried out, though Dungias could barely hear it. “You are not permitted to smile! You are shay-spawn. You should not even be in this school!”
“Kinjass,” Dungias thought as he found his center and reinforced his focus, a technique he had discovered in one of Danatra’s hurled texts.
Dungias knew the rules of this game. After orbi-terms of the same madness, he knew his only hope for deliverance was himself. No one in his family would lift a finger to assist him; they were too busy being embarrassed. However, the files he had read regarding the control of Thought were many, and while he did not agree with each point of view he absorbed, Dungias had managed to construct his own system of beliefs. A few of those said beliefs practiced as a mode of self-defense for his emotional well-being. Dungias had felt trapped in an environment where the only tangible expressions shown to him were contempt, hatred, and regret. Only a strong und
erstanding of the conditions which created his environment could save him. It was an understanding he had developed long before this incident, giving his mind time to learn and develop other skill, like the ability to control the effects of pain.
“Enough!” he whispered, his body shaking with rage. When he performed poorly, he was an abomination. When he performed well, he had moved, without permission, beyond the boundaries of what was expected of him. Dungias had come to understand many things in his time of self-instruction; but the only thing he could clearly understand right now was his own perspective, one that cried out… not for vengeance, which he thought he was more than due, but for acknowledgement. This star-term, his peers would at least recognize he existed and that existence demanded respect!
Dungias looked up and saw he had correctly placed the owner of the voice. Blaxidurn Gan Kinjass attended the lyceum at the same orbi-term level as Dungias, and was by far the most popular student of their age. Such were the spoils of wielding the greatest amount of energy. The Malgovi head always bowed to greater power.
“I’ve tolerated you long enough, Dungias,” Kinjass proclaimed, his hands beginning to glow. “I will do what your parents did not have the stomach to deliver when you were born.”
“Magniloquent to the last,” Dungias replied as he slowly got up to his feet.
“What did you say?” Kinjass asked, surprised that the mal-form could utter a complete sentence.
“Magniloquent,” Dungias repeated. “That was the review you received of your work, was it not? ‘Of an eloquent nature,’ I believe was the way it was stated, ‘but needlessly bombastic and boastful in the end.’ You understand what that means, don’t you? Grandiose… pompous… you spent so much time sounding good, you forgot to be substantial. But I suppose your writing can hardly be blamed. It is, after all, only a reflection of the writer!”
“Shay-spawn!” Kinjass yelled, firing a steady stream of energy that passed by Dungias’ leaping and spinning form. He landed and stumbled, catching himself by touching his hand to the ground. But he heard the muffled chants of surprise and disbelief as the blast struck the austran wall of the institution. Low-volume alarms sounded as repair droids were summoned.
“You missed,” Dungias said, half surprised himself that the maneuver had actually worked. Pax’Dulah was a popular figure of Malgovi history, and considered a pioneer of many of the iro-form-wielding disciplines currently used. But he was ever so much more than that, as Dungias had read. He was an artist, specializing in sculpting, but by no means inept with painting or drawing. He was also a musician, and several of his compositions were considered classics. Dungias had also discovered the historical figure was a fierce competitor in sports the upper castes of the Malgovi no longer observed, and had created a system of acrobatic movement that came to be named after its creator. Dungias had spent nearly ten orbi-terms reading and practicing the technique while getting adjusted to heights and adjusting his center of gravity. He was very sure footed and surprisingly fast.
Dungias smiled at Kinjass, taunting him without even speaking, and the result could not have been more closely calculated. Kinjass stepped back and took stance as if he were competing in the Games again, a contest he had championed two orbi-terms straight.
“I won’t miss again,” Kinjass warned; his hands and now eyes glowed as he generated more energy.
“This might be simpler than I anticipated,” Dungias thought. He knew he had agility on his side. If he was going to do anything to Kinjass, he would have had to approach him and that meant getting closer… to an iro-former! Shorter distance meant shorter reaction times. The bursts did not move at the speed of light; the difference was negligible to the Malgovi mind. But Kinjass was reacting in a way that Dungias did not expect, though he knew he should have. There was nothing wrong with Dungias’ form, in fact he was among the more physically adept of his class; the product of his regimen of exercise. He was larger than Kinjass, and the Games Champion did not want the shay-spawn retard to touch him. He was actually afraid! In the grip of fear, he engaged in a duel of iro-forms against a shay-spawn. Where was the honor in that?
“You already have,” Dungias replied, leaning as if he was about to step forward. Kinjass lunged toward his opponent, thrusting both hands forward. The blast was bright and wide, singeing several of Dungias’ head hairs as he fell back to the ground. He rolled right after he fell, anticipating that Kinjass would hold the blast and try to follow him with it. He had been correct, and another hole was blasted into the building, along with major burns to the grounds.
Dungias kicked up to his feet and yelled, again feigning a charge. In the Games, after an exchange of two blasts, the combatants circled each other until their positions were reversed, giving them some time to replenish their energy stores. Dungias was not going to give Kinjass that time, and after that last attack, he knew Kinjass had to be depleted. He quickly moved his thoughts away from the fact the last attack could have killed him; he did not need anger… not yet!
Kinjass screamed right after Dungias did, though his was born of fear. Again he lifted his hands and again he released energy, but it was in bolt form, as he could not sustain a beam, and the magnitude would have scored points in the Games, but it would not have hurt his opponent much. Dungias lunged forward and rolled under the attack. He reached his feet and kept his momentum going forward, tackling Kinjass and driving him to the ground.
“Hmmm, that isn’t it either,” the analyst concluded and the view of the memory faded. The lights came up in the chamber again, and Dungias was beginning to have difficulty with the pain. He had no idea how long he had been there, but the pain from the machine was overwhelming him. He looked around the room. His Vu-Zai and his Vi-Prin were there, still… along with the analyst and his assistant, who seemed disgusted. She had been hoping for greater distress from the patient, that much was clear, and although he did not believe he could withstand another forced journey into his mind, he smiled at the female and took pleasure in her heightened disgust.
“When did that happen?” Jorl’Lassor asked and Dungias looked at his Vu-Zai. Suddenly the lights were not too bright. Actually, they still were, but there were more important matters at hand. In the gold eyes of his Vu-Zai, Dungias saw something he had never seen, at least not when the man looked at his oldest Vu-Khan. Could it have been pride? There was a slight curl to the man’s lips at the edges of his mouth and he was breathing more deeply. All of that was dwarfed by the realization that he held his son’s eyes; he was not looking away in shame.
“It never happened!” Danatra barked, shattering the moment. “Master of our Kith, please! The analyst already said that some of the memories could be delusions. Do you really think that happened? Dungias managed to thrash a Games Champion?!” Both the analyst and his assistant suppressed laughter at the suggestion and Jorl’s face twisted to the visage Dungias was more accustomed to seeing. But that did not keep him from once again trying the strength of the straps holding him down. But since he was not able to pull free, he was given the time to get over his impulse to strangle his Vi-Prin. By the time they did release him, he had reacquired his understanding of his environment, in which his Vi-Prin was obviously an entrenched component.
“What was I thinking?” Jorl’Lassor muttered as they left the facility. Dungias kept his head low and his mouth shut. There were times when it was a blessing not to be acknowledged.
The conversation at home had not been long enduring before Gantee exploded in laughter as Danatra explained the events at the medical facility. Dungias excused himself and walked to his room. His books and exercises were waiting for him and at least within those arenas he would only be judged based on what he could do. He would earn their pride if no one else’s. Tanku turned into tonki and they turned into s’tonki, three to be exact, before the partition of his loft opened and his Vi-Zai, his mother stood at the archway.
Iro-Gell were not known for their physical forms. To become so adept with the iro-form
s usually meant there was less attention paid to physical fitness, and the body suffered. Laylaria was the exception to the tendency. Her body was very well-toned and she worked hard at keeping it in such a state. But her level of muscle development did not help her much in this particular room. As the partition slid open, there was her Vu-Khan, her son, upside down, doing vertical push-ups on his pommel-stand. He was not counting, at least not aloud, and the speed of repetition was impressive. He did five in the time it took for her to open the partition and enter the room. He also was not showing any signs of slowing or stopping.
“I thought I might bring you your dinner,” she said, stammering through most of her statement.
“It would appear you did more than simply think about it,” Dungias replied, speaking only as he was pressing. He could already smell the food. The way the air was made to flow through the household, nothing was meant to ever escape the loft. But Dungias kept it clean, without bothering the household maintenance crew to assist him. In fact, he had often helped them with their duties. It was one of the few bragging points his mother had: being able to comment positively about his attention to detail. Dungias knew where everything went once it was removed from a shelf or case in order for that surface to be cleaned. She did not realize it was another exercise for him, forcing himself to pay attention to the most minute details. Dungias never missed a cleaning shift if he could help it.
“Indeed,” she responded, her rust colored eyes blinking rapidly. “I brought you a serving. A healthy serving.”
Dungias pushed off the handles and flipped, landing softly. “Why would you bring anything else?” he asked as he approached. He was not yet out of his growing stage, but already he was eye-to-eye with his statuesque mother.
