by Mitch Benn
A shudder of fear passed through the rows of pupils as the image of the G’grk leader, Grand Marshal K’zsht, appeared. Old, scarred and war-painted, he clutched in his fist the ceremonial lance which served as the Grand Marshal’s emblem of office. This lance was held to be so sacred that, once won (the G’grk’s culture of conquest extended inwards into their own society as well as outwards; advancement came through duelling, challenges and sometimes straightforward assassination), the incumbent Grand Marshal would never let it out of his grasp, even in his sleep . . . and given the process by which new Grand Marshals were often ‘appointed’, sleeping with a weapon in his hand was a practical as well as ceremonial necessity.
- They belong in the past, said Shnst angrily. Hey, Fthfth, I hope you do invent time travel so we can send the filthy G’grk back to the pre-rational epoch where they belong . . .
- Where they belong, said Bsht, is the Central Plain, and as long as they stay there they’re none of our concern.
- They should stay where they belong, said Shnst bitterly. Why can’t people stay where they belong?
There was a chorus of horrified gasps. Even Shnst realised she’d said a dreadful thing and fell silent. All eyes turned to Terra, whose own eyes stayed fixed upon the visualiser. Fthfth discreetly put her hand over Terra’s.
- I’m okay, whispered Terra.
- Terra, I’m . . . began Shnst . . . I’m . . .
Rarely had the pinging sound heralding the end of the session been so gratefully received.
2.5
- Oh dear. That sounds like it was awkward, said Lbbp later over dinner.
- It was. Very, replied Terra, tucking into configuration 5 with some fresh pt-ssh on the side.
- Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m sure Shnst felt just as bad for saying it as you felt for hearing it.
- Maybe, said Terra, wrinkling her nose. Lbbp loved it when she wrinkled her nose. It’s impossible to tell with those two.
Terra finished another mouthful.
- Lbbp, why does everybody hate the G’grk so much?
Lbbp put down his plate, thought for a moment.
- We’ve built such a world here on Fnrr. No one’s hungry, no one gets ill any more, not seriously anyway, and it wasn’t easy, I can tell you. You’ve read the history files . . . we had our share of wars, famine and disasters, but we overcame our differences and looked for answers and found solutions together. And now we work in peace towards common goals.
- Except the G’grk?
- Exactly! Except the G’grk! They just can’t let go of their old ways. It’s absurd.
- Well, they have their own traditions, said Terra. It can’t be easy for them.
- I’m sorry, but if your traditions consist of pretending the last few eras never happened and bludgeoning each other to death on a regular basis, then your traditions are rubbish and you need some new traditions, snorted Lbbp. Terra laughed.
- They’re a bunch of hypocrites anyway, Lbbp went on as he tidied the dishes away. They can denounce science and technology as foul and unholy as much as they like, but they’re perfectly happy to use tech once they’ve stolen it. Or try to use it, anyway. They’re just too lazy and ignorant to develop their own stuff.
- Or it could be that they have to steal it because the other nations won’t trade with them, mused Terra.
- They’re impossible to trade with! retorted Lbbp. And what would they have to trade? Spears?
- I guess I’m just wondering if everybody hates the G’grk because they’re so angry and violent, or whether they’re so angry and violent because everybody hates them, that’s all, said Terra quietly.
It was Lbbp’s turn to laugh. - When did you become such a little philosopher? It’s like having dinner with Hshft the Elder or something. Now come on, he said, tossing the dishes into the matter scrambler. Just time for a quick game of tb-tb-tff before sleep. Another big day tomorrow.
Terra sighed and followed Lbbp to the main room. It was indeed another big day tomorrow, as Bsht had reminded them at home-time. Tomorrow, the class would have its first session using the Interface.
2.6
Children keep secrets. Even good children.
Not necessarily big secrets or bad secrets, not the sort of thing that would get them into trouble were it to be discovered, just things that are, well, none of anybody else’s business.
Children on Fnrr keep secrets too.
Sometimes, after finishing his evening meal, Pktk would go to his room. He’d tell his parents he was going to do a little extra studying before sleep-time; reading up for a test the next day or something like that.
Once alone, Pktk would activate his slate and access the Preceptorate’s history files, specifically the military history of Mlml. It was many orbits now since Mlml had been at war, but Pktk thrilled to read accounts of campaigns and battles from eras past. He would imagine himself leading troops into combat, rescuing helpless civilians, picking off enemy soldiers with his pulse-orb with devastating accuracy, defeating numerically superior and better-armed foes before returning to Hrrng and a hero’s welcome. When his parents would call on him to go to sleep, he would activate his sleep-well and drift happily into unconsciousness with the hissed cheers of a grateful populace still ringing inside his head.
Everybody knew that Fthfth did her homework the very instant she got home. Her slate would be activated almost before her gravity bubble was switched off. What nobody, not even her parents, knew was that having completed her homework, she would access her own academic file from the Preceptorate’s records. She was entitled to do so, as were all her fellow students, but she was the only one who did it on a regular basis.
Fthfth would reread her test grades, displayed as an almost unbroken list of double-stars. Almost unbroken. On two occasions, once when she’d been a little unwell but still determined to take the test that day, and once when she’d read up on the wrong topic by mistake, she’d scored a single-star. Fthfth would glower at those two single-stars, those two disgusting blemishes on her otherwise spotless record, and clench her little fists in anger and frustration. No matter how well she did in future, however many double-stars she achieved, those two marks could never be overwritten. Her record would never be perfect.
When her parents would call on her to come and eat, she would switch off her slate and promise to herself one more time never to underachieve so badly again.
Terra also had a private little habit. Not something she did very often, and she knew Lbbp would be upset, even alarmed, if he ever caught her at it, but sometimes, when she felt a certain way, she would feel the need to do it once more.
At sleep-time, she would bid Lbbp goodnight, go to her room and shut the door. She would switch her sleep-well on (Lbbp would hear the hum of the gravity field generator kicking in from the next room) but rather than step into it, she would open her window. As the cold night air washed into her chamber, she would activate her gravity bubble and step out into space.
Up and up Terra would float, careful to avoid being seen through the apartment windows of the upper floors of the building. Even in the climate-controlled environment of the city, the air was colder once you got this far above the ground . . . Terra’s garment, detecting the drop in temperature, would gently warm her as she ascended the hundreds of metres to the top of the tower. At the very apex of the building there was a small flat roof; Terra would land carefully on this surface and switch her gravity bubble onto standby mode.
Looking upwards into the clear night sky (Terra would only do this on bright starlit evenings), high above the light pollution of the city, Terra would pick out the constellation known to Fnrr’s astronomers as 133-4/77. Having identified its pattern, she would stare intently at the space between the two stars at its centre.
Somewhere between those stars, too impossibly distant to see, was the small yellow star designated 6-66-724-41, around which orbited a blue-green planet known as 6-66-724-41/3, or more commonly, Rrth.
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sp; On exceptionally clear nights, the haze of light generated by stars too distant to be seen as individual bodies would be just about visible behind the constellation. Terra liked these nights; she could peer at the haze and imagine that somehow her eyes had fixed upon the bit of it that contained home.
Home.
Odd, Terra would reflect, that she still thought of Rrth as ‘home’. She had no memory of the place and everything she’d learned about it suggested that she was far better off away from there, but still . . .
Then she would remember Lbbp, and consider how terror-stricken he’d be if he knew where she was. She would reactivate her gravity bubble, cast one last glance at the stars, and float back down to her room.
Terra didn’t do this very often. Only when she felt a certain way. Like tonight.
2.7
Terra stared glumly at the object on the table.
It resembled an ornate lamp with a hemispherical glass shade. A series of illuminated touch controls was clustered around the metal base. The stem was made of a semi-flexible alloy so as to make its height adjustable. To Terra, it looked a lot like the sort of thing that you should never ever on any account stick your head in, but, before the morning was over, that’s exactly what she would have to do.
- This, said Bsht, is an Interface.
The rest of the class seemed not to share Terra’s apprehension. Rather, a crackle of excitement passed around the lectorium at Bsht’s words. They’d been looking forward to this.
- The Interface, Bsht went on, is a telemnemonic information transfer system. Does anyone know what that means?
Fthfth knew.
- It means it sends information directly into the memory centres of the brain. You can learn things that used to take cycles of reading in less than a shade.
- That’s right, said Bsht, and you will be the first Lyceum novices to be allowed to use it.
What Bsht didn’t mention was how controversial a decision this had been. Terra only knew because she’d overheard Lbbp and Bsht arguing about it a few cycles previously.
She’d been writing a short piece for the Pre-Ac’s end of session bulletin; a little vote of thanks for the work of the Pre-Ac teaching staff to which all the other pupils would add their names in due course. She’d wanted to ask Lbbp’s opinion on how formal her language should be (Mlml society – in particular academic society – sets great store on striking the correct ‘tone’ in one’s writing) and so had skipped out of her room and into the corridor. To her surprise, when she reached the door to the main room she heard Lbbp speaking in a very animated fashion. She stayed outside the door and listened.
- It’s outrageous! Lbbp was saying. It’s unethical, it’s reckless . . . What on Fnrr does the Preceptor think he’s doing?
That made sense, thought Terra. Lbbp only ever got this worked up about academic matters.
- I don’t know why you’re complaining to me, said Bsht, it’s the council’s decision. If you’ve a serious objection you should have taken it up with them.
- I DID take it up with them. They called me retrograde! Retrograde! Me! Can you believe that?
Bsht said nothing, but even from the other side of the door Terra could guess at what her facial expression was.
- Knowledge can’t be injected like some sort of vaccine, said Lbbp, calming down a little. There’s no point knowing something if you don’t even know WHY you know it. And how are you supposed to appreciate knowledge that took no effort to acquire? That’s not education, it’s programming. It’s disgusting.
- For what it’s worth, said Bsht soothingly, there a quite a few of us on the staff at the Lyceum who agree with you.
- Still going to do it though, aren’t you? muttered Lbbp. Still going to initiate the programme. On children! The Interface was developed by the military as a speed-briefing system and we’re using it on children!
- Are you going to resign from the Preceptorate? asked Bsht.
- No. There’d be no point, sighed Lbbp.
- Fine, said Bsht tersely. Well, don’t give ME a hard time then.
At this point, Terra had tiptoed back to her room, deciding that maybe she didn’t need Lbbp’s help just now after all. But she’d made a mental note of the word ‘Interface’, and, as such, when Bsht had announced at the end of the previous day’s classes that today would be their first day working with one, she’d felt a twinge of panic. Now she was looking at the machine itself, and the panic was creeping back.
Bsht talked the class through the basics of the device’s design and use. The touch controls selected the required texts (the device would then access these files from the Source) and the user would fit the crystal dome over his or her head. The device would give a three-blip countdown and then begin stimulating the memory centres of the user’s brain, transferring the information as quickly as if one were loading files onto a slate. Terra thought it sounded absolutely terrifying.
Bsht knew it was almost pointless asking who wanted to go first, but for procedure’s sake she thought she’d better. She got as far as - Who would like to go f . . . before Fthfth ran down to the front of the lectorium and jammed her head into the dome.
- What can I learn? What can I learn? What are the choices? said Fthfth’s voice from inside the dome.
- Steady on, said Bsht. It takes a moment to programme it.
- Something difficult! shouted Fthfth. Something really massive like the complete history of the J’shfsk-G’grk wars!
- One thing at a time, said Bsht. This is the test programme. See how you do with this.
Bsht’s long fingers moved smoothly over the illuminated keys. The machine throbbed gently, a low blue light pulsing from the glass dome.
- Come on! said Fthfth.
- Try to keep still, said Bsht.
The machine gave three loud blips and activated itself. A deep hum came from the dome as it glowed with a fierce yellow light.
- Hkh hkh hkh! laughed Fthfth. It’s tickly!
- DO hold still, Fthfth, said Bsht anxiously, wondering what would happen if the dome became misaligned. Did it overwrite existing memories? She didn’t want to have to tell Fthfth’s distinguished parents that their highly gifted daughter had absorbed vast amounts of facts and figures but forgotten how to walk.
The machine completed its sequence and shut down. Fthfth emerged from the dome, beaming. - How did I do? she asked eagerly.
- Well, let’s see. Bsht took her slate and brought up a list of test questions.
- Who was Preceptor from orbit twenty-four to seventy-seven in the twenty-first era?
- Jksh! Jksh the Younger!
- Correct. When did Tnk successfully identify the cohesion field?
- Orbit fifty-four of the twenty-seventh era!
- What invention made it possible to break the energy barrier?
- The phased neutrino shunt! Invented by Kltnt! Orbit sixteen, thirtieth era!
- Which planet is the primary source for grav-matter?
- Planet fifty-five dash four six six dash two three one slash four, sometimes known as Shth-Shnn; it exists in gravitational suspension between two stars and as such is uniquely . . .
- Thank you, Fthfth. The test programme seems to have been a success.
Fthfth frowned. - But I already knew all that.
Fortunately, the rest of the class had rather more and bigger gaps in their general knowledge than Fthfth, and as they took their turns with the Interface they found it filled these gaps swiftly and painlessly. Even Pktk managed to use the device successfully and without incident (apart from a moment’s difficulty extricating his head from the dome, and this hardly counted as an incident by Pktk’s standards).
Terra hung back and kept quiet, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as the sole representative of an alien species is ever likely to be. Perhaps, she thought, she wouldn’t have to take a turn at all. Perhaps some edict had been handed down by the council that Ymns were too primitive to use the Interface, or too savage to be trus
ted with access to all that information. That would be good. She could bear the insult if it got her out of having to put that . . . thing on her head.
- So, Terra, your turn.
Oh well.
Terra crept reluctantly to the front of the lectorium.
- It’s fine! said Fthfth. It’s tickly!
- I can tell you’re nervous, said Bsht calmingly, but the manufacturers have assured us that the Interface should be entirely safe and compatible with the Ymn brain.
How do they know? thought Terra. There’s only one Ymn brain on the planet and I’m fairly sure I’d know if they’d been running tests on it. She contemplated pointing this out but decided it would be futile.
- Now put the dome over your head and try to relax, said Bsht as Terra bowed meekly before the machine.
The crystal dome was disconcertingly warm, even though it didn’t fit as snugly over Terra’s head as it had over her classmates’. Her ears brushed against the insides. Nowhere to put my ears, of course, thought Terra. There wouldn’t be.
- I’m starting the programme now, said Bsht. There was the sound of three blips, and then . . . nothing.
- Ah, said Bsht. Just a second.
- Can I come out? asked Terra.
- Hang on, said Bsht, I’m bringing up the user manual on my slate.