Star Chaser- The Traveler

by Reiter

  “I suppose you have a point… Vu-Khan.”

  Dungias felt weak at the knees at the tone in which she spoke the designation. It was not matter-of-factly… it was more personal. But she was not looking at her child. Her rust-hued eyes looked only at the room, as if she would not dare to meet eyes with her child. Her soft, thick blue hair fell below her belt, but she kept it pulled back into a tail behind her head and fastened to the hair binder on the back of her belt. It was never out of place, but that did not keep her from putting her hand to her tiara and pressing it back, as if it had ever come loose. She was nervous in his presence.

  “I have offended your honor,” Dungias said as he walked forward and received the tray of food. “I apologize.”

  “There was no maliciousness in your birth, nor in your existence,” she said as she quickly stepped back and ran her hands down her blouse.

  “The sanitizer is just down the corridor,” Dungias said, closing off his heart, as it had received enough of a hammering this star-term already. “I have made a point not to use it.” He stepped back and allowed the partition to close. “And thank you… for the food… my Vi-Zai..”

  Integrity is not the sharpness of the kraythe, but rather the grip upon the blade after it has grown dull and ‘useless’.

  Traybus Gan Pax’Dulah

  In the star-terms that followed the verbal-exchange session with yet another analyst, attention shifted away from Dungias. It came as little surprise to him; it was that time of orbi-term again and in the Kith Z’Gunok, this moment was particularly special. He did not want to leave his room unless he absolutely had to; the more he remained out of sight, and therefore out of the way, the better. The star-term, after all, had very little to do with him and everything to do with the family.

  His Vu-Zai spoke in incomplete sentences and retarded physical gestures. It seemed that the only thing he did well was breathing. Z’Gunok Laylaria was not the iconic pillar of wisdom and ability which was the constant image she projected. Her blue hair was unkempt, bordering on mangled, far from the slightly wavy perfection everyone was more accustomed to seeing. Dungias sat on the steps leading up to his room and ate his breakfast, tickled at the aberration, though he knew better than to give any indication of his amusement. Gantee was every bit a petulant little Vu-Prin, unable to find his left hand without the use of his right, and very specific directions. How would he ever perform well if the anticipation of the performance put him in this state? Dungias quickly lost his contempt, looking at his younger sibling as well as the rest of his family. Only his Vi-Prin seemed to maintain her composure. After so many recitals where she would deliver breath-taking overtures, an occasion of importance where she was not the center of attention was at least one measure less than the commonplace. Dungias could even remember one in particular when she had performed for the First Princess, another event he had not been allowed to attend due to her Royal Ladyship’s abhorrence of shay-spawn. The first born child had mastered the anxiety that came with such things.

  Danatra was finishing their Vu-Zai’s sentences and translated, without fail, the intentions of his gesticulations. As their Vi-Zai struggled with the tangled knots on the top of her head, Dungias witnessed Danatra apply iro to heat their mother’s hair as she poured oils and moved a comb through the knots that were quickly steamed away. She did all of that while directing the staff to assist Gantee in preparing for the Malgovi Iro-Games. Dungias was happy not to be a character in this chaotic stage play. But at the same time, he longed to be part of the anxiety. The date was only three orbi-terms after what should have been his pivotal moment, had he not been shay-spawn.

  The Iro-Games were open to any Malgovi between sixteen and eighteen orbi-terms of age, and the coming of the event was usually one of depression for the Kith Z’Gunok and great sorrow for Dungias. On two occasions, Gantee had been denied the opportunity to compete and all eyes turned to Dungias as the reason. So much in the way of standing and authority had been taken from the Kith because of their shay-spawn member, but an application, which Gantee had not submitted, had surprisingly been accepted and in his final orbi-term of eligibility, Dungias’ younger sibling was ready to shine the household into a new era. The house staff, along with Dungias, had labored long and hard on the weapons, iro-suit, armour and equipment Gantee would need to compete in the Games.

  “Where is his dress-armour?” Jorl’Lassor barked, his eyes darting between two members of the wait-staff. “Well, where is it?!”

  “Master of our Kith, it is waiting for him,” Danatra said as she combed straight through her Vi-Zai’s hair. Laylaria closed her eyes and sighed as her back and shoulders relaxed. “Sit up!” Danatra commanded, tapping the teeth of the comb against her Vi-Zai’s scalp and the woman quickly corrected her posture in the chair.

  “And didn’t I give you a text to read,” Danatra barked at Dungias, and he coughed before he stood up.

  “You know, any more trouble from you and I will find someone else to assist me,” Jorl warned.

  “What is he doing?” Gantee sharply asked. “Why is he even going?!”

  “Gantee, he is your Vu-Prin,” Laylaria said in a soft voice, a slight squint across her eyes.

  “My shay-spawn Vu-Prin!” Gantee corrected.

  “Gantee!” Laylaria snapped and the house fell silent. The wait-staff stopped whatever it was they were doing and came to attention. Laylaria looked around, somewhat surprised. She was not often a witness to her own authority. She was typically too busy in the service of her duties to monitor it closely. As she looked around the house, Z’Gunok Viora Laylaria could see first-hand the effect of her voice; but she did not have time to dwell on such things. “There is a good chance a member of the Royal Family will be present at the Games and this family will make a full representation of itself!”

  “You, stop talking!” Danatra ordered, putting her hand over her Vi-Zai’s mouth. “And the rest of you have your orders… all of you!” she said as she glared at Dungias who resumed his trek to his room where only his ears reported to him of the things that were happening. He quickly cleaned and groomed his hair, moving on to his face, after which he would get dressed and awaited the gathering for the family departure. Before he proceeded to these final steps, however, he noticed the parcel on his desk.

  As she had mentioned, Danatra had delivered a new text to his room, dealing with definitions of physical science. It did not take much for Dungias to lose himself in the thick of the theories and guidelines, though he was somewhat set off by the packaging in which the lessons came. Data crystals were, of course, the norm, and unfortunately that made the delivery often dangerous as Danatra possessed a fine throwing arm and horrifyingly accurate aim for one who did not often engage in a physical training regimen. It had become something of a pastime for her, to strike her brother with knowledge as it were. It was the only time they shared a smile, as Dungias never presented an easy target and his studies in Pax’Dulah had made things incredibly difficult for Danatra. But this latest delivery was printed and bound, a very ancient tome indeed, cataloging the differences between gravimetric forces. At the time the book was printed, the theories on how to control these events had been considered profound. But in the time even before Dungias’ Vu-Zai was born, the Malgovi understanding of the constants of iro-forms had grown to prove some of the hypotheses incorrect.

  “What is this?” he thought, turning the page. Models and formulae had been printed on the page as one might expect, but remarks had been made in hand, written into the margins, questioning the Malgovi Laws of Iro-forms. Dungias had only been reading the text for fifteen tonki, and could not have been more than sixty pages into the book. He stood up from his chair, carrying the book, no longer turning the pages at the speed of two or three blinks of his eyes. The scribbled markings had taken his attention from the text, stopping when Dungias read the freehand author’s question: “How can we truly study the effect of gravity from inside a gravity field?!” While the text suggeste
d a means by which a zero-gravity field could be generated, the notes in the margin gave a mathematical formula which proved some measure of gravity remained. Dungias checked the processes and came to the same conclusion. While the effect of weightlessness was observed, gravity was still present in the field.

  Dungias ran to his computer, initiated his scanner and transferred the pages to his system. Once there, he began to run through the math again, delving as deeply into the concept as he could. The numbers racing around on his monitor could not keep up with the ones racing through his mind. Physics suddenly became simpler to him, not that it had ever been difficult for him to understand, but it had never before spoken to him as a friend would. The two began to converse and share intimate details about one another; Dungias came to a very interesting discovery: Thought did not care if he was shay-spawn. It only wanted to know if Dungias was awake and ambitious. If he was indeed awake, Thought would share some of its most incredible secrets with him and if he were ambitious, it would help him realize that Science was the term given to explain universal existence. It existed with or without him and his people.

  “Open your mind!” Dungias could imagine Thought pleading with him. “For I can do nothing with you while it is closed. There are many secrets I can show you and all I ask is that you teach me.”

  “What do I have to teach you?” Dungias asked, still working over the math in the book and the concept of gravity.

  “While I know of you, I do not know who or what you are. You can teach me that.”

  “And if I do not know myself?”

  “Ah, the great debate has begun!” Thought declared. “Perhaps we can learn this together. But before we begin, we must realize that while we are so deeply engaged with each other, we are engaged with little else.”

  “I do not understand,” Dungias contemplated.

  “Awareness, Dungias. Awareness!”

  “I cannot believe what I am seeing!” Danatra cried out and Dungias was so shaken that he tried to do several things at once and failed at all of them, spilling onto the floor. “Why aren’t you dressed?!” she asked. Dungias looked up and for the first time he was afraid of his Vi-Prin. The look of absolute rage was stretched wide across her face; her eyes seemed to be employing an invisible form of iro that burned at his stomach.

  “I was reading the book you gave me,” he answered, scrambling to his feet. He made his way quickly to his bed where he had laid out his attire. “I apologize. I lost track of time.”

  “You mean you lost the means to track time!” Danatra corrected as she walked into the room and struck him on the side of the head. “You aren’t happy unless you are embarrassing the entire family, are you?”

  “That is not true. I–” Dungias was struck again. He quickly turned to put on his clothes, but he was still wearing his sleeping attire. As he unfastened the top, he was struck yet again. Her hand had struck the side of his head again, but it was the last of her hammers which would descend upon this ingot of the forge. Dungias looked over his shoulder at his Vi-Prin, but he did not waver when their eyes met. He stared at her as his brow drew over his eyes. “I do not see what continued striking will accomplish,” he said in a clear voice, one much deeper than his normal speaking tone. “Perhaps it is an extension of my inability to generate iro, but I think it is more an expression of pain… your pain, Danatra! The guilt and pain you have in ever subjecting a member of your blood to an existence not even visited upon kept animals!”

  Danatra drew back to strike him again, but stopped as Dungias turned to face her, his shoulders square, a slight bend at his knees. The room had changed quite suddenly. She was no longer in the bed chambers of her Vu-Prin, she was in an arena and her combatant was less than a tram away! He was a very able-bodied combatant, and Danatra was in no place to attempt to generate iro to protect herself.

  “So, have you become an animal then?” she hissed at Dungias. “Have you reached the point where you have lost what little Malgovi blood left to you and become nothing more than a Grenbi?” Dungias’ eyes lost their glare as he stepped back. In her gold eyes he could see himself and what he was about to do. “Is that what you are now, Vu-Prin? An animal?!” Dungias slowly sat down on the corner of his bed and gazed only at the floor. He had no immediate answer for her and she was not about to wait.

  Turning on her heels, Danatra screamed a tirade unlike one he had ever heard. It started with Dungias’ lack of respect and gratitude for everything afforded to him; all the sacrifices that their parents had made, as well as the ones asked of her and Gantee. That argument brought Dungias’ head up from staring at the floor.

  “Gantee? Sacrificed something for me?” he thought. “Ah yes, that’s right… his slide-sled was sacrificed so that he and his friends could arrange for my death!” He looked on his sister for a moment and then to his timepiece. It was still some fifteen tonki before they were supposed to leave the household in order to get Gantee to the arena on time. He had plenty of time to dress; Danatra was being excessive, as always, but that did not change what had happened. Dungias had been ready to pounce on the flesh of his Vi-Prin and rend the very life from her bones. These were not the actions of a Malgovi, but it was most certainly the response he had received from the Grenbi. For all of her parading about, Danatra had struck true on the fact.

  She paced back and forth in front of the door of his room for tonki and Dungias exited his room after she walked by the archway. She followed him downstairs, her rant continuing, and Dungias stopped at the bottom of the steps to look back at her.

  “Be very careful, vermisar!” a voice warned Dungias and it was in utter confusion that Dungias turned to see who had spoken, calling him a worm. His eyes gaped wide as he looked upon Gantee in his dress-armour, which was a fine presentation for the household, but it was not the shine of the uniform that drew his surprise. Gantee stood, hands extended, ready to emit iro-form. Dungias allowed his head to tilt to the side as he looked hard upon his younger sibling.

  “You can be assured of many things, Vu-Prin,” Dungias said softly. “One of those, from this point out, will be my care. Do not waste yourself on meaningless targets, Gantee. You have a championship to win this star-term.” Dungias turned and walked out of the domicile. He wanted to leave early and travel separately from the family, but as he stepped outside, he quickly concluded he was not going to be allowed that ambition.

  His Vi-Zai stood beside a conveyance large enough to carry three families the size of the Kith Z’Gunok. But it was doubtful they would be sharing this vehicle with anyone else, given the look of pride and satisfaction Laylaria wore.

  “The Royal Family arranged for transport to and from the Iro-Games,” she said, almost singing the announcement. “Dungias, you may sit up front with the pilot.” Dungias tried his best to not make it look as if she had done him a favor. He could not accurately place her temperament and thought it best to give no reaction outside of what was expected of him. Eventually, the rest of the family piled in; Danatra was still complaining. The pilot of the craft initiated all systems and Dungias watched him work.

  TehShagu; a glorious megacity, of near Region proportions, seemed to shine this star-term. The look of the city was festive and very little outside of the Iro-Games could be witnessed. Teachers closed the schools, merchants closed their shops, and administrators suspended their civic duties for the spectacle that was to come. The streets had been adorned with decorations and flashing lights. The megacity’s shields… had been activated.

  “Why are the shields active?” Dungias asked the pilot.

  “I suppose it is for the Royal Family,” he answered.

  “They will attend the Games?”

  “That is what I have been told, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Dungias replied.

  “He called me ‘sir’,” he thought. “He must not have been briefed about my… condition.” Dungias had already seen the helmsman access the controls to guide the transport. He wanted to know if the flyer used
a manual approach to his piloting, or if was he comfortable enough with the automated console to allow the computer to guide the vehicle. He looked away and suppressed his smile as the pilot took the manual controls route. One thing Dungias had gained in monitoring his family and how they dealt with him was the fact that the Malgovi were very control-oriented. If the matter in question involved comfort, the Malgovi were very much open to the prospect. But if there was some measure of trust involved, they would quickly assume control. In Dungias’ mind there was no need to build the machine if you did not intend on using it.

  “Hold a moment,” Dungias considered, pulling himself from his observations and focusing more on the pilot’s simple response. There was more to their exchange than the driver’s ignorance. The city’s shields were active and according to the helmsman, who wore the uniform of a member of the militia, it was because the Royal Family was going to attend the Games. “But they have been in the city before without this precaution. What makes this star-term different from any other?”

  Dungias’ questions would have to wait as the transport activated its vertical thrust. Apparently, those in the favor of the Royal Family did not need to walk to their seats, as the transport carried them over the wall of the arena and down to the field. All of the men got out of the vehicle; two were expected, Dungias was something of a surprise. He quickly explained that he would fetch refreshment and bring it up to his Vi-Zai and Vi-Prin. There was no need to wait for a server to fetch what he already knew they would want. Laylaria nodded, giving her consent and silencing any possible argumentation.

  Dungias turned, setting his gaze on his Vu-Prin and doing so in a fashion overlooked by no one. Gantee started to walk away, but found he could not leave, not with the particular glare he was receiving.

  “What is it, Dungias?” he asked.

  “This star-term,” Dungias answered as he slowly approached. “It is not given solely to you, my Vu-Prin. There are too many who live under the Stars for any one individual to presume such distinction.”