by Emanuel, Ako
Well, we have freedom of will, if not purpose, he mused, shrugging his unmarked shoulders, but not clacking his elytra-pace, as they sat, waiting for what, they knew not.
They were allowed to talk, though in quiet voices, and use their view-glyphographics for limited entertainment, until the Magistrars came and began calling certain people from the lecture-rooms. Those they took out, did not return. And when the others around them began to quietly question where they were, it seemed that they were not to be found anywhere in Secondus at all.
Kreceno’Tiv could feel the tension of fear and confusion blossom in his term-mates, as clearly as any corporeal glyph. Finally he indicated a question to the Proctor who was sitting at the front of the room, just watching them.
“Proctor Gon, where are the Magistrars taking our friends?” he asked, when she gestured assent to him speaking.
She smiled a false smile. “They are being informally evaluated, and placed in positions of responsibility, according to their ability,” she said, an answer that sounded as if it had been carefully thought out and rehearsed.
Pressing his lips together, and taking a deep breath, he continued, “Aren’t there laws against that type of – stratification? Isn’t the Unification supposed to have done away with that kind of inequity?” he asked. Glances darted around the room. The Proctor’s eyes widened, as if she had not expected to be questioned further about it.
But I’m within my rights to ask, he thought, and the thought was hard and sharp as battle-scythes.
Just then a Magistrar came to the entrance of the room. “Thy-Lerefo’Gol, please come with us,” the man said.
Kreceno’Tiv wanted to jump up and challenge the man, but his friend calmly gestured a negative as thoug he could feel Kreceno’Tiv’s intent. Thy-Lerefo’Gol activated his view-glyphographic, not complying with the request.
“I’m going to Tertius,” he said evenly, holding up the device. “My parents informed me just this turn.” So, no, I will not, was the implication.
The man gazed at him for a long moment, then glanced at the Proctor, then turned and left.
They were all dismissed to the transports, to be taken back home, and it was not even time for the mid-turn meal. He was glad that there was only one more turn to the term, and then he would know his own fate for certain.
Whorl Eighty Three
When he got home, his parents were there, and they called him into the salon.
“Kreceno, could you come here?” his father called. He could not suppress a shiver of trepidation. Had the Proctors contacted his parents about his questioning of the actions of the Magistrars? But he heard and sensed no underlying irritation or disapproval coming from them. So he redirected his steps to the salon, and sat across from them with his carry-pack between his feet.
“Next turn is the last turn of the term, and we will be taking you to the Solidaris Orm when you return from Secondus,” Vespa Kareni’Tiv said, tilting her head.
At first he could not comprehend what he was hearing. Then he found himself hugging his mother and father hard, and they laughingly patted his back and elytra-pace.
“Thank you thank you thank you!” he said over and over again, excitement and relief making his wing-nets buzz and slip out, again and again. For, if they had plans for him at the end of the turn, that meant that the Magistrars would not be calling him to take him away – and they might mean the treat to be the opportunity to tell him whether he was going to Tertius or not. He did not want to hope, but he did.
“Go put your things away, and get something to eat,” his mother said, smiling in a twinkling way up at him. He gestured assent, grabbed his carry-pack and hurried out.
I can’t wait to tell Ralili! he thought happily, as he snatched the platter that was waiting for him. Maybe she could even come with us...!
The thoughts brought him up short, and he almost dropped the platter. Pavtala Ralili’Bax was gone. Gone. He clenched his jaw at the surge of emotion that the realization brought again, for there was no one he wanted more to share in this experience, than her.
“By the by, your sister may have a new Geni’vhes, soon!” Vespa Kareni’Tiv called out to him. That snapped him out of his near-mourning, for it was an overt statement, and she did not make casual comments for no reason.
“Anyone I know?” he forced himself to ask, in as normal a voice as he could. Pavtala Ralili’Bax’s absence was affecting him more than he wanted to admit.
“His name is Jararo’Mev.”
Jararo’Mev. He had been two terms ahead of Kreceno’Tiv in Secondus, and had made a name for himself.
“Thanks for letting me know!” he said, heading up to his suite. The verbal puzzle was a welcome diversion, pulling his thoughts away from how much he missed his former Geni’vhes.
So – telling me that means that... her former Geni’vhes was taken away by someone’s manipulations? That they would have mated, except for his sudden advancement? So someone engineered his removal to get to Karaci’Tiv? Could it have been the Thynnu Mev famiya? But no, because Mother and Father would not have approved – they had approved of Ve-Dorilo’Sim, before he was sent to the Ministries. They would not approve of Karaci mating to a son of the very famiya that had taken her pre-mate away, and neither would she. So...
He changed his steps, and went toward Vespa Karaci’Tiv’s suite, instead. She was in, and smiled in welcome.
“I hear you have a new love-interest, maybe,” he said, placing the platter between them and urging her to share it with him.
“He’s wonderful,” she said dreamily, not even making a biting comment about how he knew about her intimate life.
“Tell me about him,” he said, though hearing how happy she was only made blades dance in his chest, as he missed his own former pre-mate.
Whorl Eighty Four
He missed Pavtala Ralili’Bax. And also, at the moment, Ro-Becilo’Ran, who had not met him at the place where they got onto the transport together. He had stiffened and attempted to make contact with his friend, and was relieved to find that Ro-Becilo’Ran was still at home, and merely would not be going to Secondus for the last turn.
An’Siija had not seemed like itself, the glyph of it somehow bereft, empty, the despair thin and anemic. It barely covered the swirling turns of Gu’Anin’s glyph, he found as he had rode in alone. There were still plenty of citizens clogging up the boulevards of Algna Suprum, but there was still an – emptiness to the Mji’Hive. The boulevards of Segela Miridum had been nearly clear this turn, the first time he had ever seen such. The silence had been almost oppressive as the transport had delivered him and his friends to Secondus. People were hiding in their homes or wherever they could find shelter, afraid to be out and inactive, for fear that they, too, would be taken against their will. The city’s glyph screamed with bereavement and fear, the boredom and despair replaced almost completely.
Kreceno’Tiv again stared out of the window, deeply troubled, ignoring the rambling of the Proctor. Examinations were over for everyone in all the terms, but those under the age of formal evaluation were still being held in Secondus, while the recruiters roamed the halls, trying to get the young men and women who had been initially evaluated as having Nil’Gu’ua below the fifth level to take active roles in off-world administration. The Magistrars swept through the place to directly recruit those of higher skill, though whether tempting them with unspecified rewards or goading them with quiet threats, no one knew for certain. Those selected as probable candidates for Tertius were left alone, though he had seen the Magistrars eying him more than once, possibly because of his questions from the turn before.
Trying not to think of his last pre-mate, he let his vision sharpen to semi-compound and looked at the glyph of An’Siija, the capital Mji’Hive outside and around the institution of learning – and it was sorely missing something, something vital, a pulsing, writhing beat of vivacity, of people wandering its boulevards, giving the whole a life of its own. His vuu’erio waved
in slight agitation, before he tucked them into his hair. Then he suddenly untucked them and connected them to his tertiary retinas, letting his eyes go fully compound, and he saw something that made him sit up with an indrawn breath. Nil’Gu’vua...!
“...And so, who can tell me the importance of the Occupation and Service Initiative? Kreceno’Tiv?” the Proctor asked, her voice bright, almost too bright, pitched to hold her former pupils’ interest, or, at least, keep them from falling asleep.
Or pitched to sound as if she were supportive of the OSI, he thought sourly. By rights he and his lecture-mates should no longer be coming to Secondus, but the OSI had forced them to keep returning to the Secondus sub-Hives until all of the lower level Nil’Gu’ua youngsters had been placed, he had found out on the Sphere interlinks. He noticed, dourly, that Gotra Pelani’Dun was not in the lecture room. Had she been swept up in the enforced recruitments? Or had her parents found something gainful for her to do? That was also an option, though there were not many opportunities for employment outside of the Council, the Ministries and the Solidarim. He tried to feel bad for her, but somehow the emotion just would not come.
“Kreceno’Tiv?” the Proctor called again.
Kreceno’Tiv looked up, then tried to ignore the heat in his face that extended all the way up his vuu’erio as heads turned to him. He despised the OSI, but to say so, to give anything other than the accepted answer – who knew what the consequences would be? There had been whispers, rumors in the Spheres that those who had spoken out against the Initiative had been exiled to Nil’Gu’dae worlds, never to be retrieved. Like the Alighter, he wanted to laugh bitterly.
“The Initiative is... is designed to revitalize the populace of Gu’Anin with new purpose,” he said, reading from information that the Proctor had sent to them at the beginning of the lecture-time. The words, referring to those self-same missing citizens whose absence seemed to suck the glyph of the An’Siija dry of anima, were slimy and foul in his mouth. But it was not just An’Siija, it was happening everywhere in the world, Gu’Anin being denuded of her native population. The thought made him feel sick. The words made him feel sick. The sense of wrongness about the whole thing made him itch, but he forced himself to go on. “Because of the ease of procurement of all the necessities of life by most of the people, the lower Nil’Gu’ua citizens of Gu’Anin have become... dilettantes, and in some cases, vagrants, without drive or ambition to pursue professions or careers or even the arts. So the Solidarim and the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council have instituted an initiative to give them purpose by relocating them to under-developed Nil’Gu’vua worlds and putting them in administrative positions based on Nil’Gu’ua ability.”
“Excellent!” she enthused. “Exactly correct! And who can tell me...?”
Of course it’s right, it’s what you gave us to read, not a deci-mark ago, Kreceno’Tiv thought derisively, and turned back to the window, whose glyph had changed slightly – the window was now translucent, cutting off the view to outside. No doubt the Proctor had done it while he answered, ostensibly to keep his attention from wondering. But he had passed all his examinations. With the exception of being held in the Secondus complex over the end of the lecture-turn, the Proctors had no more power over him, could not threaten him with failing a lecture or being set back a term or expulsion. But he decided not to draw undo attention to himself – the Magistrars’ interest was already unnerving as it was.
He forcibly un-transluced the window, though, as he looked to the Proctor, and tuned her words out, doing his best to hide his irritation and disgust. This was just a time-wasting activity until the final chime and the ignominious rounding up of the last, low ability Nil’Gu’ua youngsters. She glanced at it, and him, but did not comment, or re-transluce it.
Now what had I been thinking about?
He could not remember. But he was sure that it had been important.
The chime rang, sounding the end of the lecture-turn, and for him and his lecture-mates, the end of Secondus. They all stood, even as the Proctor was in mid-sentence, and made a concerted rush for the exit.
Whorl Eighty Five
“Kreceno’Tiv!” Ro-Becilo’Ran called, as he stepped off of the transport. His friend had not come into Secondus with him, his parents having received some special dispensation for him, since he had finished all of his examinations, and he was qualified to go to Tertius. “Wanna go to the Bustani to celebrate?” his friend continued, coming up to him. “We might even get in, with the OSI transporting everyone else off-world!”
“Can’t,” he replied, smiling thinly, as his friend fell in step with him. Ro-Becilo’Ran did not know what a sore-point the OSI was with him, and the joke was not funny and in poor taste. But he did not say anything. “We’re going up to the Solidaris Orm, almost as I walk through the entrance to my famiya’s domicive. But we have ten turns off before the start of Tertius, so we’ll get to go.”
At least, he was assuming that he and Ro-Becilo’Ran were going to Tertius – it was up to their parents, whether they continued on the path to the Counsellorship in the Ministries of the Solidarim or not. Some did not get a choice – they were too low Nil’Gu’ua skill, or at least their parents were, and they had to get a special dispensation to be tested for higher skill levels. But his parents were of sufficient Nil’Gu’ua, and he presumed that Ro-Becilo’Ran’s were also, so they would hopefully be enrolled in Tertius and begin learning governance.
“All right, well, contact me when you return!” Ro-Becilo’Ran said cheerfully, veering off to his own home.
“Oh ha, don’t celebrate too much without me!” he said, and Ro-Becilo’Ran waved again, throwing him a bright, innocent smile that said he would be celebrating quite a bit, whether Kreceno’Tiv was there or not.
But we’re going to see the Totality from the Observis in the Solidaris Orm, he thought, excitedly, going up the long path to his famiya’s domicive. I’ll get to see the Long-Travel glyph, and all the marvels of the Star Whorls. And at least I won’t have to see how empty and dead the sub-Hives of An’Siija are, because of the OSI for a few turns!
He entered the domicive, the echoing emptiness of An’Siija, for the moment, forgotten.
Whorl Eighty Six
Kreceno’Tiv could hardly keep still in his seat as they rode in their transport to the old Long-Travel Center near the edge of An’Siija, on one of the outer-Limb boulevards. Even the gutted city glyph could not oppress his anticipation. He did not want to see the new Long-Travel terminuses, meant to work to support the OSI. But the smaller, older Long-Travel terminus – that he could hardly wait to see. For a moment, however, he felt a touch of deep, abiding sadness – the journey to someplace new, and exciting, reminded him of Pavtala Ralili’Bax, for a moment, and he still missed her, terribly. But she would not want him to repine, she would have wanted him to be excited about seeing the Long-Travel glyph, for she knew how it fascinated him. He held on the excitement, and imagined that she were here, with him, to share the experience.
Vespa Kareni’Tiv glanced at him and smiled, a look that reminded him that he had been to the Center, and incidentally, off-world before, though it had been when he was very young. A glyph of amusement glimmered for a moment, flavored with the reminiscence.
That’s true, but I barely remember, and I could not understand half of the glyphs I was seeing, last time, he thought, trying to be still despite his excitement. He might be able to figure out at least some of the workings of the Long-Travel glyph now, now that he had studied rudimentary physics and the concept-glyphs they encompassed. The Long-Travel glyph in the new terminuses was surely more impressive, as it breached the galactic gulf between the first Star Whorl and the second, but that was not enough to take away the sour bite of the OSI.
“An’Siija is quiet,” Vespa Kareni’Tiv commented, in an offhand way, and Kreceno’Tiv wrenched his thoughts away from the Long-Travel glyph. What was she trying to convey with the statement?
“The OSI has all but emp
tied An’Siija,” Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv, his father, replied. Kreceno’Tiv looked from one to the other of his parents. Did they disapprove of the Initiative?
I hate it, myself, he thought, and the elusive thought that had come to him before in Secondus teased the edge of his mind, then shied away again. People forced to go into service, whether they willed or no? There is something fundamentally wrong with that! And I aim to fight it!
“It makes An’Siija – hollow,” he ventured, trying to convey the empty, desolate feeling that the dearth of people gave the Mji’Hive, the warm aftertaste of life slowly cooling to barren echoes.
Vespa Kareni’Tiv pressed her lips together in appreciative admiration of the idea glyph he had projected along with his spoken words.
“That it does,” his father agreed, overtly. Kreceno’Tiv wanted to flick his vuu’erio as he contemplated the exchange. His parents excelled at subtlety, and they were doing their best to begin teaching him subtlety’s complexities.
I’ll need it if I make it to Tertius, though Karaci’Tiv will probably be the one going to the Solidarim, and I’ll be in one of the Ministries, he thought, examining the words and glyphs that his parents had communicated. His father disapproved of the Initiative, the stripping away of rights of the people by the Solidarim and the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council. But there was understanding, too – he saw the aimlessness of the citizenry, as Kreceno’Tiv had, and wished for a solution, just not that one. His mother would have had the Service be voluntary, with alternatives, choices.