Spinning Starlight

by R. C. Lewis

  Something about this place reminds me of Tarix, but I’m not sure what.

  Tiav leads me up the stairs, then to a smaller staircase leading to the third floor. It’s much less grand than the lobby, more utilitarian, and I spot more touchscreens and other signs of a technological presence. We enter a small room—some kind of office, I think—with a desk in the middle and a few chairs, plus a large wallscreen.

  “My mother suggested we work in here,” Tiav says, gesturing for me to take a seat. I do, and he taps some commands into his com-tablet. The desk in front of me lights up, and so does the wallscreen, both with the same grid of symbols he showed me last night. He looks at the wallscreen and scratches the back of his neck. “Okay, where to start?”

  He doesn’t say anything else for several long minutes, until he finally turns around to find I’m staring at him, waiting.

  “Sorry. I just never thought about how to teach writing to someone who’s never seen it before. It’s a semi-syllabic system, so there are two stages to the keypad. This is the primary stage with the base characters. When you tap one, it takes you to the secondary stage. See, each of these has different markings added to the base character to complete the syllable. The primary is in alphabetical order, but the secondary stages are a little more complicated.”

  I slump in my chair. Up until now, I’ve been reassured by the fact that Tiav speaks the same language I do—and come to think of it, that’s some odd luck. But he just veered into something foreign.

  Fortunately, he sees my instant hopelessness and shakes his head. “Wait. You don’t know what alphabetical means, do you? Let me just show you my name so you can see how it works, then. Tiav, so I need the t base, which is here.” He taps it, and a new grid appears. This must be what he meant by the secondary stage. All the symbols here look similar, but with minor variations in the details. “This is the specific symbol for tee. Then back to the main board for ah. And this one for ahv.”

  I look at the two symbols side-by-side, together representing Tiav’s name. There’s a kind of beauty to them. They’re almost art. But I can’t imagine anyone ever keeping enough of the symbols straight in their head to understand more than a word or two.

  “You look like I’ve asked you to eat an Agnacki boar in one sitting.” He pulls another chair around next to me. “Here, I’ll tell you the sound for each base letter, and you stop me when I get to the one you want. Let’s start with your name.”

  One by one, he names the sounds. The l isn’t in the first row. Halfway through the second, they begin to blur together and my mind wanders. I almost miss when he gets it at the start of the third row. He’s already said the next sound by the time I tap his arm and point to the one before. We continue through the secondary board until he finds lih. Then the whole process again from d to dee.

  The two symbols line up on the queue underneath the grid. Tiav starts back at the beginning of the main symbols, but I tap his arm again and shake my head.

  “That’s it? Your name’s Liddi?” When I nod, he smiles.

  I’ve had a lot of nice-looking boys smile at me, not least among them Reb Vester. Tiav’s is different. It’s missing something. A media-cast in my head answers the question.

  For the first time in Liddi Jantzen’s life, a boy smiled at her with no scheming, no calculating…without wanting anything.

  The realization sends a shock through me, the thrill of finding something’s not so impossible.

  “Nice to meet you, Liddi. What next?”

  It must have taken two full minutes just to write my two-symbol name, so I need to think of something short and efficient to say. I gesture for him to restart the cycle. I think I remember the p sound being somewhere on the first row.

  No, that was b. Tiav keeps going, and going, until finally he gets it in the last row. We run into a problem on the other stage, because there is no pore. I select the closest thing—poh—then circle the empty space next to the resulting symbol in the queue.

  “Oh, I forgot,” he says. “Some syllables cycle back to the primary stage for their end-sounds. You just have to touch this one in the corner to show you don’t want it to go into the secondary stage yet.”

  So we go again until we find the r sound. Its symbol shows up differently in the queue, smaller and hovering above and to the right of the poh.

  And again through t and tah before adding l.

  “‘Portal’? Do you mean Podra, this city? What about it?”

  No, he doesn’t understand. My bones feel like they’ve been charged with explosives. It’s too slow and inefficient and my brothers are out there waiting for me. I never imagined writing would be so complicated. No wonder we got rid of it. Maybe if it were Luko or Emil instead of me—they’re both sharp with visual details—but it isn’t, and this isn’t going to work.

  I don’t have time.

  Silence stabs every corner of my body. I want to scream—I’ve wanted to for days—but that’s the very last thing I can do. Instead, I jump out of my seat and start pacing, trying to burn off the frustrated, impotent energy that begs for me to cry out.

  “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

  We’re agreed on that, but I don’t even know what word I could try to write to explain it to him.

  “Is everything all right?”

  The voice from the doorway stops my pacing. It’s Shiin’alo. Tiav stands as she enters.

  “Yes, everything’s fine. She was able to tell me her name’s Liddi. Not much else, but we only just got started.”

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone anything further for a little while,” she says. “When I informed the council, Ymana pointed out something I hadn’t thought of—Liddi may have inadvertently brought foreign contagions with her from Sampati. We’ll have one of the doctors check you over, Liddi, just to make sure.”

  “I can take her,” Tiav says.

  “That’s not necessary. You have other duties to attend to.”

  He doesn’t make any attempt to argue. “Yes, Mother.”

  Shiin’alo gestures for me to follow her, but before I go, I turn to Tiav. I mimic pointing at the symbols one after another after another, drawing my face into an expression of the most mind-numbing boredom.

  He nods, allowing another smile. “I’ll see if I can work out something better.”

  That’ll be good, because judging by the way his mother said “duties,” I’m pretty sure he has better things to do. When it comes down to it, so do I.

  Joon Elyson had been dreamed up by the artists on Yishu, as far as Liddi could tell. That was probably why so many artists and designers employed the teen. Skin as dark as her hair, tall and confident, with eyes you couldn’t miss from across a crowded room. Yet at the party to celebrate Igara’s new jewelry line, Joon was the one who crossed the room to where Liddi stood.

  “Liddi Jantzen, right?” Joon said. “Iggy said he’d invited you.”

  “Unfortunately, my brothers don’t think fourteen is old enough to go out by myself, so I’m chaperoned,” Liddi said with a roll of her eyes toward Vic. He was talking laserball with a media-grub but had time to give Liddi a “stop-complaining” glare.

  “Oh, they’ll get over that soon enough. Come on, let me introduce you to some people.”

  Joon knew everyone important, and with her and Liddi together, there was hardly a vid-cam pointed anywhere else. Like Liddi’s brothers, Joon knew how to handle the attention like it wasn’t there at all, which put the younger girl at ease.

  At the end of the evening, Joon gave her a quick hug. “Thanks for keeping me company. These parties can be so annoying with people who want to talk to the media-cast of you, not the real you.”

  It was like after years of people saying Luna Minor was the only moon, someone other than Liddi’s brothers finally acknowledged Luna Major straight overhead. She felt exactly that way, like people wanted to talk to “the Jantzen girl, heiress to a fortune” rather than just her.

  “I’m going
to live-comm you,” was the last thing Joon said before Vic took Liddi to the hovercar.

  And she did. The two of them went to other parties and openings, shopping in the fashion district, and Joon came out to the country house to visit. Liddi had something she hadn’t experienced since her parents died.

  She had a friend.

  THE MEDICAL EXAM takes the rest of the day. It probably doesn’t need to, but Shiin’alo didn’t tell the doctor the truth about me being from off-Point. She just said that I might have picked up something unexpected in my travels, so they needed to check for everything. The doctor looked confused but didn’t argue, just got to work.

  Apparently “everything” includes a lot and goes hand in hand with “takes forever.”

  Testing is a dull process, requiring me to sit still in an isolation booth while the doctor peruses the computer. I wonder if she’ll notice the implant in my throat or the “broadcasts my living-or-dead status” one in my arm, but it seems not, because she never says anything about them. From the sound of things, she’s just analyzing my blood and the air I breathe out, looking for viruses and bacteria and other nasties. I’m given lunch, and the tests continue. Inevitably, my mind wanders to the dreams I had last night.

  It stands to reason—if I could feel and hear my brothers while in a portal, they’re not just in the conduit network, but in some combination of the two, or maybe a hyperdimensional space connects them. Then since I can access the boys through a portal, maybe they can escape through one. Some aspect of what Minali did to them keeps them from coming out under their own power. Before, we came through the barrier after the long journey from Sampati—at least, it felt like a long journey. Maybe if there’s no journey, I can keep enough strength to pull one of my brothers back. And if I can free one, I can free the rest.

  So it’s a matter of making sure I don’t go all the way back to Sampati, or any of the other Points. Of only barely going inside the portal, just far enough to find my brothers.

  I don’t know how the portals work, though. Are they like the conveyors in old factories, moving inexorably in a particular direction? Is it true that you just have to think hard enough about where you want to go, and that’s where it’ll take you? If so, I just have to think hard about going nowhere.

  The idea of relying on my own brainpower isn’t very reassuring. I could use a backup.

  Maybe Tiav could give me some ideas. But he didn’t even know what “portal” meant. They must use another name. I can probably get him to understand that. Then I need to figure out the shortest way to ask the question.

  Portals, stuck, how out?

  That’d take maybe ten minutes to write, if I’m lucky, but it’s so vague. Tiav probably wouldn’t have any idea what I meant.

  I thunk my head against the wall behind me. Maybe it’s worth a try.

  “Is something wrong?” the doctor asks.

  I shake my head. Nothing she can help with.

  “Good. I believe we’re done. I’ve found no trace of any pathogen or contagion.”

  The door to the booth slides open, setting me free at last. Outside, the doctor isn’t alone. Kalkig stands next to her, glaring at me. It’s a lot of hate from someone I’ve never said a word to, and my feet instinctively scoot me back an inch.

  “I’ve sent a message to the Aelo,” the doctor says, oblivious to the fiery loathing the Agnac sends my way. “Shiin will be glad to know you’re perfectly healthy. Kalkig volunteered to escort you back to them.”

  Right, and I’m sure he did it because he’s just so charitable. I need to get back to Tiav and Shiin somehow, though, and without my voice, protesting is difficult. I nod my thanks to the doctor and follow Kalkig.

  It’s dark outside. I knew I was in the test chamber for a long time, but I didn’t realize it was that long. Then again, I have no idea how long Ferinne days are. We start down the street, but not toward the Nyum. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not the way I came with Shiin earlier. Kalkig’s odd long-armed gait makes good time, forcing me to semi-jog to keep up. I wait for him to say something, to reveal why he wanted to walk me to wherever he’s walking me. But he doesn’t, just keeps barreling on in silence.

  Several blocks later, the buildings look more familiar. Even without reading the symbols, I’m pretty sure I recognize the colorful sign outside a restaurant. Kalkig’s taking me back to Tiav’s home.

  Except he pushes me into an alley two buildings short of Tiav’s. Seems he wants a detour first. He tries to box me in with those long arms of his, but I duck and sidestep to avoid having my back to the wall. I should’ve stepped the other way, because now he’s between me and the only way out of the alley. He doesn’t move toward me again, so I stand my ground and wait for him to say something. I watch his lips when he does, making sure I catch every word through the accent.

  “I respect the Aelo. More than that, Tiav is my friend and has been from a—” He uses a word from his own language, including guttural sounds I could never duplicate. “I would not defy Shiin’alo. But if the world cannot know how dangerous you are, I will watch you that much more.”

  He thinks I’m going to be bothered by one person keeping an eye on me? He has no idea what my life has been.

  I may smirk just a little.

  “You and your kind are poison. I do not doubt this. Whatever evil you’re here to do, I will not allow it.”

  Evil? Words gather in my throat to defend myself, but I hold back, choking on them and my frustration instead. Too bad it wasn’t Minali who came through from Sampati. She’d actually deserve this attitude from Kalkig. I can’t respond and he knows it, so I’m not sure what he wants from me. I know that I want the conversation to be over, so I shove past him, daring him to do something about it.

  He grabs my arm again, but that’s as far as he gets.

  “Kal!”

  Tiav rounded the corner just in time to see his friend grab me, and Kalkig immediately drops my arm. I finish passing him and put some distance between us.

  “I was only talking to her,” Kalkig insists.

  “Reminding her that she’s nothing but heathen dirt, right?”

  Kalkig presses both hands against the ground. I don’t know what the gesture means for him. “She’s from the Lost Points, Tiav.”

  Lost? No, lost is what I am now.

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “We also know what they’re like.”

  “So you’re saying all Agnac are the same. All Ferinnes, too. I know you don’t believe that. I don’t believe all people from the Lost Points are the same. And we don’t know what any of them are like, because she’s the first we’ve met. Give her a chance before you judge her.”

  In that moment, Tiav holds a quiet power that echoes his mother. If I could use my voice, I still wouldn’t contest him, and Kalkig seems to feel the same way. He grunts, shakes his head, and leaves.

  Tiav shakes his head, too, before turning to me. “Are you all right?”

  I’m fine. Other than Kalkig’s hands being rougher than tree bark, he didn’t hurt me.

  “I’m sorry about that. He should know better, but this is so new and unexpected, and…” He trails off, sighs. “Never mind. Come on inside, and we’ll get some food. I have an idea for a program so you won’t need me to read off the symbols for you, but it’ll have to wait. Tomorrow’s the Daglin. I’ll get the computer ready the day after, I promise.”

  I have no idea what the Daglin is, and I don’t want any kind of delay. My gut says to get back to a portal and start hauling my brothers out.

  But my head, checked genes or not, knows better. One more day to form a plan isn’t a bad idea. If Minali will take until the Tech Reveal to seal my brothers in the conduits permanently, I still have time. The boys can wait.

  Just not much longer.

  The Daglin, it turns out, is Ferinne’s version of a holiday. A very strange holiday. It’s one day a year when everyone—and according to Shiin, they mean everyone—drops what they nor
mally do and cleans their town or city. Literally. Cleans the city. The buildings, the parks, the streets, everything gets its annual prettification.

  I don’t get it. I’ve seen enough to know they have the technology to automate something so basic. The streamers, the crystal spires, the instruments I saw on the doctor’s counter—they’re different enough that it’s hard to say whether they have Sampati’s technology beat, but I’d say it’s at least as good.

  I can’t ask, and my confused expression isn’t enough to tell Tiav why I’m confused, so I give up on that. I’ve lost count of the unanswered questions piling up inside me and have never felt so resigned in my life.

  “Do you mind heights?” he asks after breakfast.

  No, a fear of heights would definitely have gotten in the way of all my tree-climbing as a child. All my attempts to get closer to the stars.

  “Good, then you can come with me. My mother prefers keeping her feet on the ground.”

  He doesn’t go far, just to a door by my bedroom. Behind it is a stairway going up, so we must be heading to the roof. We’re not the only ones. A handful of people beat us there and are spread along all the edges, working with cords and straps and what looks like a complicated sort of pulley system. I follow Tiav’s lead to one of the “stations,” where we put on harnesses.

  “Here, you’ll need a tether—I don’t know why they always have so many.” After a little untangling, he hands me a coil of thin cord with hooks arranged on each end. I have a hard time believing it’s going to hold my weight. “Clip it to your harness like this, then feed the other end into the winder.”

  We’re now in matching get-ups, except Tiav adds one more thing to his—an electronic device he straps to his leg. At a glance, I guess it’s a control for the winder, and that’s confirmed when he taps a panel that extends the arm of the contraption over the edge of the building, leaving just enough slack in the tethers not to yank us off. Then he takes one step forward into nothing.