The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1)

by Emanuel, Ako

  He wanted to thank whomever was so astute, for it was because of her that he could resist the pheromone clouds floating around him. And who knew? The trick might prove to be useful in the future.

  Whorl Twenty One

  With some trepidation, Kreceno’Tiv opened his dataSphere and checked the discussion thread he had initiated. He admitted to himself some cowardice in looking at the responses, for the derision could be lancing, eviscerating, at times. And there were snubbing retorts to his words, many, thousands, in fact. There were demands that he identify himself, snide remarks about his involvement, comments that he stick to his own stratum, whatever that was.

  But there was also an answering following that took him seriously, those who had taken note and had begun to question also. Others demanded to know what he knew, and why he had chosen this time to comment, when he had not done so before.

  He read one of the top comments.

  :Who Breaks Their Silence?

  :You have been seen on the interlinks, Alighter, but rarely have you spoken. Yet now you do so – why? You do not claim affiliation with any stratum or discussion group, yet you presume to speak to all of us. Is it concern or conceit that compels you to break your silence? If the strength of your convictions can be measured by the depth of your involvement, how are any of us to give you credence?:

  Then another.

  :Away, Away!

  :Away, Alighter! You flitter through the Spheres without ever delving deeply – but now you wish to share deep musings? Flitter away again, to the real world, to the dissipation you decry, but never seek asylum from in deeper delvings into the Spheres! This is not your amusement ground, however much you wish to think so, and your voice has no weight here, so flitter away to your desperate life and fritter away your time-marks bemoaning the fortune of not having to do anything for your maintenance!:

  He read some of the derisive postings, some of the thoughtful ones, and some of the ones that were humorous at his expense. He read some from every category, and sat back, musing on the responses. Some had been positive, also seeking after the silenced commenters, but they were in the minority. He did not respond right away, wanting to frame his next post carefully before he released it to the public. When he finally had what he wanted to say firm in his mind, he returned to his alias Sphere and began to write.

  :Alighter Uniter

  :I am an Alighter – I claim no stratum, and ally with no specific group. We are all citizens of the Spheres, and in the real world we would all be on equal boughs of the World-Trees. But here, in the Spheres, I have seen all the old prejudices live on, all the divisive devices that we supposedly eschewed, brought to full gloming. Let me be clear. If I were to say that I hailed from an upper stratum, those who claim to be from lower strata would be derisive, calling me a dabbler, a slummer, one looking down from the upper branches of the World-Tree to those below and taking pity. If I claim a lower stratum, those who claim the upper climes would disparage me as a little voice in the dark, a shiftless Sifter, unaware of the larger world, or even the larger Totality. If I hail from the middle strata, I would get aspersions cast from all sides, high, low and all that comes in between. But regardless of how I live in the Spheres, I have participated just as much as anyone, and I am a committed citizen of the interlinks. Alighter or Burrower, I have sailed the Spheres, and I am within my rights to speak.

  :So here is what I say. Some of our sistren citizens have gone silent. This is my concern, and regardless of stratum, it concerns us all. Should those of the upper strata care that a few little voices have died away? Do those of the lower strata realize or care that a brother or sister has gone dark?

  :I submit to all of you that we should care, in the Spheres and in the real world. For how does silence in the Spheres translate to absences in the real world? Where have those behind the silences gone, and why? Where in the Totality could they be, that they cannot reach the Spheres to have their voices heard? Low or high strata, if your voice is silenced, should anyone care what has become of you?

  :I care.

  Did that get his message across? He hoped so, not bothering to answer in more detail the mocking or contemptuous responses. He shut down his study-station and went to lie back on his sleep-pad, thinking on his words and hoping, as he waited for sleep to come. But his hope was not strong, and depression and the soft despair followed him into his dreams.

  Whorl Twenty Two

  Gotra Pelani’Dun seemed to lose interest in him after her embarrassment, and over the next few five-turns Kreceno’Tiv slowly let his guard down, feeling as if something curled tight within him was relaxing, letting go. He let his vuu’erio tennae stand free more and more, and let his body react to the chemi-scents of the girls around him. A few even flirted with him, and one, Polista Zyledi’Kil, showed real interest. She was not in many of his lectures, but she did share the same meal time, and had taken to sitting across from him, though she did not speak directly to him at first.

  He smiled at her whenever she looked his way, however, and soon she was smiling back and taking part in the lively conversations around them.

  “Oh ha, Polista Zyledi’Kil,” Ro-Becilo’Ran said one turn, turning to her with that note of mischief in his voice that Kreceno’Tiv knew all too well. “What say you? We’re going to stand, uselessly, in the line to the Bustani this dark-turn. Join us?”

  She raised her eyes to Kreceno’Tiv shyly, then to Ro-Becilo’Ran. “I – I don’t know...” she said hesitantly.

  “Don’t fret, Kreceno’Tiv here, will be there to watch over you,” Ro-Becilo’Ran said jovially, smacking Kreceno’Tiv’s shoulder in good nature. “He watches over all of us, he has sprung up so tall, young World-Tree that he is. Isn’t that so, Krece?” Ro-Becilo’Ran gave him a sly smile, and he would have gladly rattled the elytra-pace off his friend for the coercive tactics he was using to get him to come to the Bustani line again.

  “I – I might – if Kreceno’Tiv will be there,” she said, tilting her head shyly. “I’ve never stood in the line before – my parents wouldn’t let me, until this last term of Secondus.”

  Kreceno’Tiv smiled as a feeling of protectiveness that he had not felt in a long time, melted through his chest. Ignoring the smug, almost laughing gaze of his friend, he gestured assent. “I’ll come stand with you, if you like,” he said quietly. The dimpling smile she gave him was so sweet – he had almost forgotten what it was to be attracted to someone – that any lingering resistance he might have had melted away. Suddenly standing in the interminable line did not seem such a fruitless waste of time, and he found himself looking forward to it.

  Whorl Twenty Three

  Kreceno’Tiv sat beside Ro-Becilo’Ran in their joined transport constructs, moving along the congested boulevard to get to the forming line for the Bustani. The line never really went away completely, but youngsters such as they were, who had to go to Secondus, had to abandon it in favor of rest. Others left for many other reasons, but there were always portions of the populace who never left, hoping that they would have the best chance of getting in once the line thinned.

  “So, was it your idea to invite Polista Zyledi’Kil?” he asked as their transport worked its way to the meeting place that they had chosen. “Or did Galici’Bel put it to you, playing mate-match again?”

  “Seemed like the thing to do,” Ro-Becilo’Ran moved his shoulders and clacked his elytra-pace. “She’s obviously interested in you, but so tentative, and you’re still pre-mating shy from what Gotra Pelani’Dun did to you – you two would have been dancing around each other all term if someone hadn’t done something.”

  “It’s so nice to know you have such regard for my welfare,” Kreceno’Tiv said sarcastically. “How about letting me choose, next time?”

  “What goes, don’t you like her?” Ro-Becilo’Ran raised his vuu-brows at him.

  “Oh, I like her, I just...” he gestured reluctant assent. “I just don’t like being pushed into things.”

  “Y
ou’ll do fine,” Ro-Becilo’Ran assured him, brushing his protests aside. “She’s really sweet, from what I hear.”

  Kreceno’Tiv sighed and gave up trying to dissuade his friend from trying to mate-match for him.

  They met up with the rest of the group, and Polista Zyledi’Kil was there, looking around as if she were lost. But when she saw him her face lit up like the Guhan Sun, and he felt himself responding with a smile of his own and a warm feeling spreading through his chest and limbs. The urge to take her into his arms was strong, but he resisted – he was still reticent, after the traumatizing experience with Gotra Pelani’Dun, to opening himself up completely to pre-mating. But when he came into the sphere of her chemi-scent, he responded to it, for she directed it at him, and his physique changed a little, and faint yellow and black markings appeared on him.

  “Kreceno’Tiv,” she said, moving close to him, then moving with him as they grouped together to walk to the end of the line. “This is exciting!”

  Is it? Not for long, he did not say, or project. He just smiled and invited her to walk close to him, as close as she liked. In the crush she was soon pressed to his side, and he courteously and gently maneuvered her in front of him, so that he could fend off the more enthusiastic crowders. She looked up at him with utter trust and faith, and allowed him to guide her through the throngs to the middle of their group.

  “Ro-Becilo’Ran says you’ve actually been in the Bustani once,” she said breathlessly, when they were finally firmly ensconced in the line.

  “Once,” he answered. “My famiya was able to obtain passage, and I took Becil along with us.”

  He regretted his words as soon as he spoke them, for she looked up at him in awe, and he realized that it bespoke the power and influence of his famiya to be able to get even a modest sized group into the attraction, circumventing the line.

  “Tell me about what you saw,” she breathed, turning to face him, and of course, in the mad press of the crowd, that put her pressed tight to his body. His mind suddenly went blank, and he had to struggle to recall what they had been talking about.

  “Oh ha, what we – uhm, saw within the Bustani,” he said, trying to clear his head. “You know, Becil describes it better...”

  “But I want to hear you tell about it,” she said, placing her hands on his arms. “I like your voice, so soft, yet – deep, like – like your eyes.”

  “Uhm...” his voice chose that moment to squeak, and he cleared his throat. She giggled at him, but not in a mean-spirited way.

  “That was so adorable!” she cooed, leaning close, and any embarrassment he felt was subsumed by other sensations. He felt a foolish smile spread across his face, and his wing-nets hummed, to the amusement of the person unfortunate enough to be pressed at his back.

  “What were we talking about again?” he asked, wondering when the slowly dying light of the turn had gotten so warm.

  Whorl Twenty Four

  “You were going to tell me about what you saw when you were in the Bustani before,” Polista Zyledi’Kil said, dimpling at him.

  “Yes, the Bustani...” trying to ignore the softness of her form against him, he dug back into his memory for the experiences he had had in the attraction and made glyph-projections of the reminiscence. “I remember... strange things from strange worlds,” he said, looking down into her indigo eyes, so wide and limpid, as she gazed up at him. “Beings that walked on six legs and on four, and sometimes more. Or none. They all have different chambers, with lighting and gravity and atmosphere reminiscent of their homeworlds.

  “From Allunil, there were beings with fully chitinous bodies and functional wing-nets, that hummed in harmony as they hovered...

  “From Selucia, there were armor-plated creatures so massive that their habitat was recessed into the ground, and they slammed their plated heads against solid walls, and made them tremble...

  “From Gor-Wiltha, were creatures of yellow seas, in large, tubular tanks, that swam in chorus and the motion of their bodies made the tanks vibrate in song...”

  “From Tegnel, there were bubble creatures that never once alighted on anything, they lived out their lives floating between the ground and the sky...”

  He did not get through even a fifth of what he remembered before his throat ran dry. He had actually garnered something of an audience as he spoke about what he remembered seeing in the Bustani, a pool of quiet spreading around him as more and more people stopped talking to take in his voice and glyph-projections. He blinked and realized that he had been talking for two and a half time-marks, as someone handed him a glyph-conjured beverage.

  “Thank you,” he said to the obliging individual, and then the pool of silence erupted into cheers and compliments and not-so-subtle comments about impressing his new Geni’vhes.

  “That was amazing,” Polista Zyledi’Kil breathed, gazing up at him with awe. “I’ve never – heard or seen such... such vivid...” she trailed off, apparently unable to completely articulate her feelings.

  Abashed, Kreceno’Tiv looked around for Ro-Becilo’Ran. His friend was staring at him, apparently taken aback by his powers of description.

  “So, a glyph-griot, too, are you?” Ro-Becilo’Ran said, his voice sourly humored. “Did I mention that I really can’t stand you, sometimes?”

  “You’ve mentioned it,” he answered back, raising a sardonic vuu-brow.

  “Isn’t he amazing?” Polista Zyledi’Kil gushed to Ropali Galici’Bel. She gestured agreement, smiling a wickedly knowing smile up at him.

  “Oh ha, yes, Kreceno’Tiv is quite the hidden treasure among us,” she said, flicking a vuu’erio at him.

  “Much thanks, Galici’Bel,” he said sourly, half grimacing at her.

  “My pleasure, Kreceno’Tiv,” she smiled brightly back.

  “Well, who’s ready to quit this place?” Thy-Lerefo’Gol said, also giving Kreceno’Tiv a wondering look.

  There was a chorus of agreement, and much to the consternation of the surrounding crowds, their group began to work themselves clear of the line and the crush about them.

  “Who is the glyph-griot?” a woman asked, her vuu’erio tennae waving at them.

  “His name is Kreceno’Tiv,” Ro-Becilo’Ran obligingly told her, and Kreceno’Tiv would have happily rattled his friend’s head down into his elytra-pace.

  “Well, come back soon, glyph-griot Kreceno’Tiv,” the woman called to him. “That was some of the finest damn descriptions I’ve heard in a while. And some of them might even have been accurate!”

  They were all accurate, he thought as he smiled and gave her a small gestured acknowledgement and gratitude, vowing never to open his mouth about the Bustani again. I couldn’t make that stuff up if I tried!

  Whorl Twenty Five

  He shared a combined transport construct with Polista Zyledi’Kil, escorting her to her domicive before going on to his own. They had whiled away some of the dark-time at the gregaris-park, and then she had regrettably said that she had to get home before a certain time-mark. When he had offered to escort her, she had smiled and gestured shy assent.

  As their transport crept through the crush, for once he did not mind the painfully slow pace, as she sat close, then moved closer, then let him put his arm around her. He thought about kissing her, but held back – she seemed innocent, unknowing, as if she had never been pre-mated before.

  Has she been sheltered all this time? he wondered, as she leaned against him. She was trembling slightly, her elytra-pace clamped tight. If so, why have her parents allowed her to socialize now?

  But when she leaned her head against his shoulder and relaxed a little, he let the thought go and just enjoyed her nearness.

  “You’re different than I expected,” she said.

  “How’s that?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “I thought you would be more...” she moved her shoulders a little, as if searching for the right word. The glyph that hovered around the thought was clear, however.

  “
Amorous?” he helped, raising a vuu-brow. “Grabby?” She giggled nervously at that. “Where did you get that idea?” he asked.

  She looked down, seeming abashed. “Your pre-mating with Pelani’Dun. You were – so involved with her.”

  He tried not to stiffen, drew an indignant breath. She seemed to know immediately that she had touched on a sensitive subject, and was immediately contrite. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You probably don’t want to – to talk about her.”

  “No,” he replied, trying not to let the bitter feelings cloud the enjoyment of the dark-turn. His voice was harder than he meant it to be.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” she said again, hugging him. It was a sweet gesture, and he found he was able to let the spiky feelings go. He smiled.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her, much more gently. “I guess we were very involved with each other. Until she decided she wanted someone else.”

  “She’s a vuu-dimmed idiot, then,” she said vehemently. “And now she’s trying to get you back. But she can’t have you.”

  “Oh?” he looked askance at her.

  “Well, no,” she said, matter-of-factly. But she did not elaborate. Instead, she changed the subject. “What do you like to do for fun, besides stand outside the Bustani?”

  He made a noncommittal gesture. “I skim the Spheres, reading discussion forums, things like that,” he said, wondering if he should ask her to explain her comment. The transport was finally free of the crush and was moving quickly now, descending a via-Way to translate down to Segela Miridum.

  “Have you heard of the Alighter Uniter?” she asked, breathlessly.

  Keeping his face impassive, Kreceno’Tiv gestured assent. “I have.”

  “They are stirring up the dataSpheres!” Polista Zyledi’Kil said, clacking her elytra-pace. “Whoever they are, everyone is talking about the points the Alighter is bringing up! My father thinks the Alighter is a trouble-maker, but I think we should be asking about where the ones who have been silenced are, what happened to them! What do you think?”