The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1)

by Emanuel, Ako

  And in the lower strata, certain notable voices and commenters had gone silent, without explanation or notice of absence given. There was no furor about this, at least not yet.

  No, no outcry, just others eager to take their place in prominence, he thought, knowing that the same would have been true for those in higher strata, had they also gone silent. But the silencing was not happening at the higher strata.

  Why is it happening at all, but especially at the bottom Nil’Gu’ua levels, which is far too reminiscent of the times of the Malkia, to my thinking? he wondered, feeling a cold, slimy apprehension lodge in his chest. They were not espousing any radical or seditious ideas, or anything close to that. So, what has happened to them?

  His discreet inquiries turned up nothing besides derision by those who had moved into prominence with the absence of the personalities that he had noted. Discouraged and tired, he de-Nil-ized his view-glyphographic and went to seek his own rest.

  Whorl Twelve

  The Mji’Hive boulevards were teeming with people at almost all levels. Only the ancient sub-Hives that housed the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council and the local division of the Solidarim were off-limits, forbidden for loiters to cohabit. From the Outer Limbs to the lowest landform, Bolsho Undum, the crush was a comfortable, heavy, familiar blanketing presence, weighing down his thoughts. But the despair made the crush stifling in some ways, compounding one sense of useless listlessness with another until the whole thing seemed to weigh on the mind like the belly of the swollen sky. Kreceno’Tiv brooded as he stared out of the transport window membrane. He made his eyes semi-compound, saw the tangled masses of glyphs of the crowds with his secondary retinas, though no one individual stood out, their personal glyphs held private. But their mere presence had a cumulative effect, and the overall glyph of the city was alive with the glitter-dun miasma of the people. He could feel the effects moving wet-chill over him, turning his mood darker, grimmer, his thoughts spiny. The despair was almost palpable, astringent-bitter to his mind. It was like a stalling of the soul, a stagnation of self, endless turns of dissipation without passionate pursuit or purpose to give a million lives meaning. He leaned back and closed his eyes, for the translation between Junction levels was, as usual, long and boring, with only the Guhan Sun-form to look at, and the boulevards on both landforms were congested within the Mji’Hive sub-Hives with the sheer number of idle citizens. Citizens not doing anything or going anywhere, just sitting or standing and watching whatever was going on around them. The static crush inevitably spilled out onto the levels of the boulevard itself, slowing the flow of transports. And over it all, the despair seethed with a life of its own.

  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 seductiv
e 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.

  Is it because other girls are noticing me? he wondered darkly, glancing at another girl. The girl was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and when she noticed him looking at her, she moved a shoulder and gave a nervous smile, dropped her gaze quickly. Another glance back at Gotra Pelani’Dun showed that she was looking slightly piqued, her body posture tense and her elytra-pace clamping tight. Or maybe it’s because I am not paying attention to her, like I had before? When she first dropped me, I was so distraught... I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. If she had flicked a vuu’erio, I would have gone running back to her. Now – now the situation is reversed. Amusing.

  He looked away and turned his mind back to the problem of the populace, one of the many ‘too serious’ things he had thought and talked about instead of thinking and talking about her.