by Emanuel, Ako
“Krece?” Pavtala Ralili’Bax looked askance at him. He knew his expression was forbidding, but he just pressed his lips together and sat back down. There was little more that he could do, and reappearing on the discussion forums would just undermine what his absence had sparked.
His two friends and his pre-mate were looking at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. He gestured a negative, not explaining – how to explain outrage at action that he had done his best to stymie, when he had not shared his opinion with them? He picked up his view-glyphographic. His temper simmered, but he did not give vent to it. Not being in a position to effect definite change gnawed at him, preyed upon his mind.
I’ll have to be patient until I can get to one of the Ministries, he thought, looking back at them and raising a vuu-brow. I’ll find which division of which Ministry is responsible, and I will get this vuu-blitzed Initiative revoked!
“It’s nothing,” he said, nonchalantly. I will get better at containing my expression and glyph-projection. I have to, to get anything done in the Ministries.
Whorl Sixty Six
The Occupation and Service Initiative had been put into effect on the Bolsho Undum landform without so much as a single objection from the masses in the outer sub-Hives of An’Siija, at first. That bothered him more than if there had been an outcry and uprising, for it spoke not only of purposelessness, but spiritlessness.
Where is the anger that I saw in the Spheres? Is the spirit of rebellion, so strong in the Spheres, going to actually manifest in the real world? he fumed, wanting to grind his teeth in fury and frustration as the transport took them to Secondus, and the expected crowds were there, just as they had always been. Where is the protest, the unity to fight against the injustice of the Initiative? Are people not able to find a way to bridge the air-gulf between their words and their actions? Do they still need the Alighter, even though I can’t be that for them, because of my punishment? Will the people of An’Siija be as compliant?
He stared angrily out of the transport at the listless people, angry at himself and at them. At himself for his inability to do anything, and at the masses, for their incapacity to do anything. But as he watched the people his anger melted to something softer, something that cut deeper, not despair or anger, but more akin to – sympathy. Some of them, having sat for so long, could they just jump up to action, as he wished to do?
He was torn, frankly, torn between feeling wretched about the ever-present despair, the directionlessness of the populace, and feeling hopeless helplessness at the enforced, unspecified servitude into which the Occupation and Service Initiative put them.
Am I going to Tertius? Or will I end up like everyone else? Like all the people we passed? If I don’t go, that’s exactly what will happen. I’m not sure I could expend effort in any Reform that does nothing but chew up my life and talents for someone else’s profit and benefit, just to have something to do. I wouldn’t do it, I would just sit around and be aimless, too, if I were in their Hive. So I would end up like them. I – I hope Mother and Father will send me to Tertius. He did not want to be purposeless, driveless, insouciant, after Secondus. He did not want to be forced off-world, without any say over where he was going, or whether he wanted to go or not. But he also did not want the populace to languish, to sit in indolence, in despair. And he empathized with Polista Zyledi’Kil, with what she had tried to do, to save herself from the possibility of a similar fate. Though he could not bring himself to mate from obligation, he understood.
That probably won’t happen, not with the level of Nil’Gu’ua I have, he comforted himself as he watched an older man, whose mating-marks were fading back to the neutral of bluish-gray, who was seated on an elevated walkway, and who watched him in return as the transport went by. The man held out a hand, and the glyph for a particular fruit gleamed above his palm. Then the fruit itself materialized as the man applied Nil’Gu’vua to the fruit glyph. The man had at least a level five Nil’Gu’ua ability, Tanos’Nil’Gu, as just about everyone was. Only rarely was someone without the ability to bring forth food-objects by using glyphs, by way of applying Nil’Gu’vua to something that contained the remnants of the Living Glyph, and they had to work to live. Or else they depended on the sufferance of famiya. This was indicative of the problem, the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council had insisted. That the procurement of the necessities of life was too easy.
Is it really a problem, though? Pa-Kreceno’Tiv agonized, pained, torn, watching the man who was sitting and watching him, and torn between wanting not to be one of them, and wanting them to be left to their own non-pursuits. Or is it just the first step to something else? No one is starving. People aren’t rioting. No one is without a home, or unable to maintain themselves. They just – don’t have to do anything. Is that so horrible? Is it so serious that they have to trick or force people to leave, send them to backward worlds, just so that the challenge of surviving can animate them? Or is there a deeper purpose to this Initiative, like a return to the system of Castes? Does the Council fear its own obsolescence?
The thoughts occupied him all the way to Secondus. He pushed them aside, however, to focus on his lecture examinations, finding the test questions a welcome diversion to the problem of the populace.
But as the turn wore on, and the tension of the impending implementation of the OSI roiled over An’Siija, Pa-Kreceno’Tiv found himself staring bleakly at the window glyph with a semi-compound gaze, then out of the window-membrane itself, his thoughts going back to the OSI. He had finished his examination early yet again, as he had in each lecture, and now sat quietly as the rest of his lecture-mates labored over the questions that tested their retention and understanding of the knowledge the Proctors had spent six orbises trying to infuse into their brains.
I need to get home, to see what’s happening, he thought, as the chime sounded, indicating the end of the time allotted for the exam.
Whorl Sixty Seven
What came next was not pleasant. With the failure of the voluntary recruitment, next came the Magistrars, who came to directly recruit those of higher skill. Though, whether the Magistrars tempted them with unspecified rewards or goaded them with quiet threats, no one knew for certain.
Pa-Kreceno’Tiv read accounts that Pavtala Ralili’Bax found for him under his search parameters. He read account after account of people watching other people resisting the corps of the OSI and their actions against the populace. He had wondered if there would be resistance in the real world, and he was answered.
:Who Are They Why Are They Here?
:They came this turn, to force the OSI on us. My best friend, who is not as high in Nil’Gu’ua ability as I am, was confronted by the vuu-blitzed OSI numb-paces. They told her that because of her Nil’Gu’ua level, because she did not have special dispensation, that she had to submit to the strictures of the OSI. She said that she was a citizen, with rights, and that the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council and the Solidarim could not just act unilaterally, to put out an edict affecting everyone, without consensus from the citizens. They stared at her and grumbled, then looked at each other and left her alone, moved on to the next person to harass. I’m afraid they won’t leave it, however, that they’ll be back.
He sat back, nonplussed. It was horrifying, watching peoples’ rights being contravened, and without a decent justification even being given.
And we’ve set ourselves up as deities, to other peoples of other worlds?! he thought despondently. We’re not being very deity-like now, are we? Not even able to determine our own fates?
He forced himself to read another.
:Fearful
:We hid this turn, as the OSI corps swept through our sub-Hive. They came to the entrance of our domicive, and though they could probably decipher our glyphs in the domicive glyph, we pretended not to be there. We were evaluated to high enough Nil’Gu’ua levels to qualify for Tertius, but we did not get to go. Is this right? Is this legal? We should have some recourse, some means of appeal.
> :They can’t make us go.
:Can they?
Anger suffused Pa-Kreceno’Tiv’s brain again, making his wing-nets buzz and his elytra-pace clack rapidly. Why had these people not been sent to Tertius by their parents, these unfortunates and so many others like them? What possible reason could there be for keeping people with qualifying levels of Nil’Gu’ua out of the learning institute that was the entryway to Gu’Anin Magistrate Council and the Solidarim?
It can’t be the resources to build another annex of Tertius, that is a moot argument, he thought. And with claiming another Star Whorl, there is no lack of administrative positions. But we don’t know where they’re being sent and for what reason. Are those who qualify being sent to an annex of Tertius? Are they being trained as Administrators, as Counselors, as Magistrars? And what about those who don’t qualify? What’s being done with them?
He was almost afraid to look at the ones calling to the Alighter, his defunct interlink persona. But morbid curiosity practically drove him to it.
:Where is the Alighter now?
:Where is the Alighter, the one who rallied us, who began to bring us together? Has the Alighter fallen victim to the corps of the OSI? Has this Voice become one of the Vanished? How can our own government treat us so, as if we were mfanya, to be taken against our wishes? Where is the Alighter, to unite us? What are we to do?
He felt sick. He could not answer, being on restriction. Then came the one that caught his eye, that he felt compelled to read.
:Tired
:I watched out of the domicive view-glyphographic, and people began to get angry at the OSI corps coming through the sub-Hives and trying to force them to leave, to go someplace, for some purpose, that they won’t tell us. They – they began to fight, to throw things and yell, and they chased the OSI people away. But they came back, in larger groups, and some of them with – with weapons. They had Peace Forcers with them. We haven’t needed Peace Forcers in a couple generations. They – were scary, not like the descriptions I read of them.
:But that did not stop those people who were fighting back. I watched them attack, and be beaten back, and others joined. Then more. Soon, they overwhelmed the OSI numb-paces.
:I find myself tired. More tired than I’ve ever been. It’s not enough that we must search for meaning in our own lives, now the freedom to do so is being taken away from us, one person at a time. What can be more disheartening than that?
:Not having done anything, I find myself scared, and tired.
:Tired.
He shut down the interlink. He could not bear to read more. Pavtala Ralili’Bax did not say anything, just came to him and put her arms around him, squeezing until he stopped shaking.
Whorl Sixty Eight
Pa-Kreceno’Tiv felt the glyph of animosity even before Go-Hytiro’Vel tried to shove him from behind. He sidestepped, and the other male stumbled past, overbalanced for a moment. Angry, Go-Hytiro’Vel turned back to face Pa-Kreceno’Tiv. He was Gotrar-induced, more deeply marked and physiqued than just pre-mating, and full of unrequited rage. Gotr-Hytiro’Vel, rather than Go-Hytiro’Vel.
Then Pa-Kreceno’Tiv’s eyes widened, and despite himself, he took a step back.
Gotr-Hytiro’Vel was more than Gotrar-induced, he was Gotrar-enraged. His forearms had sprouted the beginnings of the razor-edged battle-scythes that males used to develop in the old-times, when the females would make them compete to find the strongest mate. Pa-Kreceno’Tiv had heard of them, and knew he possessed them within his own forearms, but he did not ever actually expect to see them, especially not directed at himself. Blood ran from where the emerging bone-blades had punched through the skin, though Gotr-Hytiro’Vel seemed not to notice. His wing-nets, which had burst through his elytra-pace early, showed now, along with wing-scythes, which rattled menacingly. And his eyes were rings of red and magenta, showing that he was in the glome-rage, and ready to fight almost to the death. Gotra Pelani’Dun would have had to take all the steps toward mating but the last, leaving Gotr-Hytiro’Vel hungering, and ready to carve out his frustration in blood.
What has Pelani’Dun done?! Has she proto-mated with him, all the way to Geni’vhal, then spurned him?! he seethed, even as he felt himself responding, his own forearms itching to grow battle-scythes. The Pavtalar-influence of Pavtala Ralili’Bax melted away. But to fully respond, to be comparable to his opponent, would require being Gotrar-marked, himself, by the same one who had enraged his rival, and he would not seek Gotra Pelani’Dun out just so he could match his aggressor’s fighting-physique. That would give her just what she wanted, to have him in her toils again. He stepped back again, keeping his vuu’erio tucked away tight.
The other young man rushed him again, and tried to close with him. He stepped to the side diagonal and used an iriminage against his opponent, deflecting Gotr-Hytiro’Vel’s bladed forearms with his own, adroitly avoiding the scythes. Then he got his foot around Gotr-Hytiro’Vel’s leading leg and he used the crook of his arm to sweep the other off his feet and send him tumbling across the floor. The battle-scythes screeched hideously across the polished wood as he skidded to a stop.
“You think you can entice her back with your philandering, and just make her forget me, make her dismiss me?” Gotr-Hytiro’Vel growled, getting up, his wing-scythes and elytra-pace rattling in battle-fever, and his Gotrar-induced shoulders hunching forward aggressively. Battle-spines were beginning to show there, too, and blood ran down to stain his deshik. The quasi-living garment writhed, unable to adapt to his physique. “She was mine, and then you had to go and flaunt your vaulted Famiya, to entice her back! You...!” he stopped just short of formally mate-challenging, wagging his head, as if confused. Then he growled and hunched his shoulders in non-verbal aggression again.
Kreceno’Tiv studied him coolly, now thrusting his vuu’erio forward, tasting the rage of the other. And yes, there was Gotra Pelani’Dun, on the edge of the gathering crowd, probably feeling smugness, but just projecting a wounded glyph, and ready to feed Kreceno’Tiv’s own rage, and Gotrar-mark him. What she had done was unconscionable. And forbidden. Such things were a throwback to a much earlier, more savage, primal time. The times even before the Malkia-Mothers.
“You’ve got it wrong,” he said, shrugging, ruthlessly suppressing his reaction to the fight-challenge chemi-scent of the other. “She found things out about my Famiya and mother-Genus, and dropped you like offal. You can have her – if she’ll take you.” He wished for the confrontation to be over, the desire so strong that it was almost a glyph in itself that he could apply Nil’Gu’vua to. Without getting myself into trouble, he thought, angrily. I should not have to be punished for Pelani’Dun’s offense! He did summon Nil’Gu’vua, and tried with all his Nil’Gu’ua ability to apply it to the idea.
His words only seemed to make Gotr-Hytiro’Vel even angrier, though – but anything he said would, at this point. The other male clashed his scythes and bared his teeth. “She said you would say that, you faithless profligate! I...!”
Gotr-Hytiro’Vel stiffened, then he writhed as the Gotrar-induction was forcibly, painfully removed from his glyph from afar. He went from Gotr-Hytiro’Vel back to just being Hytiro’Vel between one breath and the next. A Proctor stalked into the impending fray, radiating outrage. Hytiro’Vel flopped to his knees, gasping and shaking his head, his body trembling from the enforced regressive transformation. The fighting protrusions began to recess back into dormancy.
“Who is responsible for this?!” Proctor Thynnu Gon demanded, putting her hand on Hytiro’Vel’s shoulder and impressing a passivity glyph on him. Another glyph, holding those present immobile, bloomed from her and spread through the crowded hall. “This – this atrocity is forbidden! Who broke the mating-accords?!”
Kreceno’Tiv did not move, could not, but he knew without looking that Gotra Pelani’Dun had pressed back into the crowd and was disappearing around the bend in the corridor. Others on the edges and free to move were slinking away, also, and those
close in enough to be under the Proctor’s livid stare and immobility glyph dropped their gazes and tucked their vuu’erio tennae away.
“Kreceno’Tiv?” Proctor Gon turned her sharp gaze to him, her Thynnu markings stark.
Kreceno’Tiv moved his shoulders as the immobility glyph eased enough for him to answer. “I am sorry, Proctor, but he didn’t say who did this to him,” he answered truthfully, gesturing to the dazed Hytiro’Vel. And in truth, Hytiro’Vel had not stated Gotra Pelani’Dun’s name.
“He was Gotrar-marked! Weren’t you involved in a quarrel with a Gotra-Genus girl, recently?” the Proctor asked suspiciously. A truth-glyph surrounded him.
Kreceno’Tiv gestured noncommittally. “I was. She thought I – that my interest had gone elsewhere. She was correct.”
“Is she why this young man is on the verge of mate-challenging you?” the Proctor pressed, looking him up and down, and noting that he had no Genus-induction.
Kreceno’Tiv gestured ignorance of his rival’s motivations. “He didn’t say. Not her name, at least. He only said ‘she’.”
“And you’ve no idea who set Hytiro’Vel on you?” Gon asked one final time.
“I couldn’t say with certainty,” he answered. The truth-glyph tightened briefly, but there was no real dishonesty in his words for it to hook into.
“All right, Kreceno’Tiv, you are obviously not going to inform on your term-mates, and you did not actively participate in this challenge,” she said reluctantly, obviously still angry, and frustrated at not getting an answer. “Go on to your next lecture. I would guess that none of the rest of you will part with any useful information, either. I will have to question all the Gotra-Genus young women in Secondus to find the culprit, then. Be prepared to tell your parents that you will be part of a formal inquiry into this, though, Kreceno’Tiv!”
