The Unraveling

by Benjamin Rosenbaum

  “The Cirque stopped the riots,” Frill said heatedly, vir lounging body sitting up now.

  “Ve didn’t say they didn’t!” Smistria snapped. “Is this to become a debate on your naïve worship of all things Cirquist, no matter what chaos—”

  “Stop it, all of you!” Squell cried. “Just stop it!”

  “All right, all right,” Arevio said, waving vir hands. “Squell Urizus is correct, we should . . . shall we just . . . may I ask this? External judgements of this cohort’s parenting are one thing, but what about our own internal consensus? Does it bother any of you that Fift Brulio was wandering around the below and behind looking to get involved with the Clowns’ spectacle, with, for Kumru’s sake, a Ticket in zir hand?”

  Everyone pointedly avoided looking at Pip.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Thurm said. “You can’t coddle and protect a child zir whole life. Ze has to be able to win zir own claim at some point.”

  “But Thurm,” Squell said uncomfortably, “zir whole life? Ze’s not even out of First Childhood. Ze’s not some eighty-year-old vailchild adventurer looking for a duel. If I’m to be honest . . . I didn’t say anything before . . . but actually I don’t really see why being in the thick of a riot is necessary training for a banker-historian. It’s more likely to be traumatic than encouraging.”

  “That’s a bit extreme,” Frill said, leaning back into vir harness again. “Ze’s shaken up, and no wonder, but just look at zir brains; you can see”—ve squinted—“perfectly well ze’s not traumatized . . .”

  “Frill,” Squell said, “ze’s still getting second-order elevated amygdalic response every time we refer to the riot. Not to mention—”

  “Only in the body that was actually in the riot!” Frill said.

  “Are we still entirely sure we want Fift Brulio here for this . . . ?” Arevio asked.

  “Well, that’s not a good sign, is it?” Squell said. “Zir intersomatic synchronization is at an all-time low, and you know that was something the specialists told us to watch out for. You really do need to spend more time with yourself, Fift.”

  “Squell Urizus—” Arevio said.

  “If I avoided everything,” Pip growled, “that gave me an elevated amygdalic response, I would still be doing the accounts of sisterless sluice operators in Undersnort.”

  Several Fathers glared at Pip, probably for the epithet “sisterless”; Fift pretended not to notice.

  “This meeting is hopelessly off topic,” Smistria said, rocking forward on vir stool. “If it ever had a topic. As I have said in the past, I don’t understand why we don’t impose some structure to our meetings and let Pip and Grobbard . . .”

  “Oh, not this again,” Frill said, covering one of vir faces with vir hands.

  “I don’t know, Frill,” Squell said. “I mean, I’m sorry, but if there’s one thing Staids know how to do . . .”

  Thurm held up a hand. Ve closed vir eyes, shaking vir head, and then opened them. Vir smile was mirthful and long-suffering. “Okay,” ve said. “Stop. Stop. Now.” Ve turned to Pip. “Allow me to summarize.” No one said anything, but one of Pip’s eyebrows inched a bit higher on zir stern, plump face. “We have a kid, whom we all love. Our kid had an adventure . . . no, two adventures. Ze met an alien, ze got some audience, and then ze wandered into a riot and got scared by some atavistic, adrenaline-overdosed holiday-warriors in rent-a-bodies. Yes?”

  “Ze was struck,” Squell said. “Not just ‘scared.’ Those sist . . . those Kumru-spurned body-renters struck a defenseless sixteen-year-old staidchild far from home, who . . .”

  “Ze was struck?” Arevio cried, stiffening.

  “Oh, you missed that part?” Frill said, both bodies lounging now.

  “If you will all observe the display I have placed in the shared view,” Grobbard said, “which has been reconstructed from a variety of sources, including Far-Theoretical extrapolation modeling of the observable portions of private intersomatic data traffic at variously distributed relevant nodes—modeling for which I am, incidentally, indebted to our dear Thurm—you will note that there were forty-six instances of bodily contact not initiated by Fift, of which four were of sufficient intensity to merit the appellation ‘struck.’ One of these, Fift was able to neutralize by judicious use of Martial Staidity, for which, if I may add a brief digression, I think we should commend zir, as ze really only had the one year of instruction, and that was some time ago—”

  “Yes, well done, Fift,” Squell said, to a chorus of nods and snaps of applause, which faltered as zir embarrassment became flagrantly, humiliatingly visible in the neural display.

  “The other three incidents,” Grobbard said, still the same body talking, the other three sitting impassively (one of them seemed to actually be asleep), “occur at 5.342, 18.504, and 36.881 in the sequence which I have marked. This punch, certainly intentional, after Fift has grabbed the umbilical cord; this elbow to the face, intentional with 79% probability; and this kick to the head, intentional with 84% probability. The intersomatic traffic modeling has allowed us to make reasonable predictions, even in the absence of lookup, as to the identities of the anonymized individuals responsible. Probabilities of those identifications, respectively . . .”

  “You know who these gnats are?” Smistria cried. “Grobbard, my darling, you’re a genius.”

  “So that’s it then!” Frill said, both bodies leaning forward again. Ve pounded the table, bells ringing, vir eyes alight. “We call them out. I’ll call them out, or . . .”

  “What!?” Nupolo slapped the table with both hands, drawing vemself up to vir full height. “Give these fringe-clinging mud-spawn the honor of meeting them on the mats? That’s your idea of . . . ? Kumru! And our reputation?!”

  “Absurd,” Smistria said.

  “And what do you want to do?” Frill snapped. “Have a formal adjudication? That’s even worse. A cohort of—you’ll pardon me, but—seven healthy adult Vails, standing meekly in line for an adjudication because our child got kicked around by some fringe-clinging . . .”

  “Adjudication,” Smistria said, sitting up very straight, “is just a formalization of—”

  “Oh, I don’t want to hear your theories!” Frill cried.

  “Frill,” Squell said, vir brows furrowed.

  “I wonder,” said Arevio, “if, I mean, before we take any drastic action, we should check with the cousins—with little Chalia Rigorosa’s parents? Because any effect on our reputation is going to rebound on vem, too.”

  “Exactly! Thank you, Arevio!” Nupolo said.

  Pip got to zir feet. Everyone stopped talking.

  “My beloveds,” Pip said. “I am warmed by the fire of your passion.” Ze drummed zir fingers lightly on the table. “Our dear Fift has had some trouble. We are all concerned. We are excited by the opportunities. I wonder if I might—”

  “Pip,” said Thurm, “get to the point already.”

  Pip smiled a thin, tolerant smile. “With pleasure. Our beloved Thurm was correct when ve said that we cannot coddle Fift. Fift cannot climb back into the womb. Ze needs to win zir own stake. But it is also true that we must take seriously the consequences of the riot—for the reputation of this cohort, and for Fift’s own emotional health and wealth.

  “We cannot seem to condone what has happened. We cannot allow suspicion of involvement in destabilizing activities to rest upon us. We must react, and show decisively where we stand, show that we have raised Fift well.

  “But it also cannot be that zir parents rush in to save zir, dignifying the fringe-clinging wasters who assaulted zir with adjudication or the mats. No. If I may speak as a humble banker-historian: It is Fift who has engaged them, however inadvertently, in a transaction. It is Fift who must emerge as Younger Sibling.”

  Ze cocked an eyebrow at Fift and zir smile became a degree or two warmer. Fift felt, and saw on the display, zir amygdala afire with dread.

  “We will go see them, Fift, and you will confront them, and they wil
l apologize. Publicly. No adjudication will be needed. And it will be clear to the world, and to you, dear Fift, that nothing whatsoever is unraveling in Iraxis cohort. It will be clear that the child of this cohort is able to vanquish these cowardly malfeasants, these pitiful enthusiasts of obsolete ideologies, very simply, just by force of will.”

  There were glances around the room. Thurm smiled; Grobbard nodded; Frill leaned back; Smistria chewed vir beard. Squell’s expression hovered between worry and relief.

  The house consensus framework was forecasting a 92% chance of full convergence within the next three hundred heartbeats.

  Fift cancelled the neural access privileges and zir brain became thankfully opaque. Ze breathed deeply, then breathed again.

  Zir parents, rather than protesting, turned away, giving zir privacy. They cleared their throats and glanced at one another, and this momentum led onwards, to getting up, going for refreshments in one body or another, conversing about feed-stability and the fate of the Cirque, or checking incoming queues.

  In this way, it gradually became clear that the meeting was adjourned.

  Interlude

  New personal notes in Fift’s incoming feed:

  (Shria) Look, Fift, I know you mean well. And meant well. But I think maybe I . . . look . . .

  (Father Frill) Fift, your Mother is sometimes overly ambitious. I want you to know that . . .

  (Dobroc P.) Most legitimate and elegant Fift: saw you on feed w/​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​alien. Amazing. I apol . . .

  (Yddyd M. N.) Most leg. Fift: I trust to Kumru that you will forgive my presumption in . . .

  (Father Grobbard) Earnest greetings etc. Enclosed reference materials for our upc . . .

  (Melindus X. D.) Hey F, don’t know how well you remember me but I saw you in that . . .

  (CIRQUE FANTABULOUS) TICKET HOLDERS: The fun is just beginning! Tomorrow the show goes . . .

  (22 more . . .)

  (146 contact requests from strangers at connection level 2)

  (5,786 contact requests from strangers at connection level 3)

  (789,786 contact requests from strangers at connection level 4)

  (2,343,242 contact requests from strangers at connection level 5)

  Public conversations forwarded by Fift’s attention agents to zir incoming feed:

  SCRAPS OF VELVET: Are you with the revolution? The Clowns are not the only ones with a . . .

  AGES OF POETRY: The latest surface-set riddle poetics game is sweeping the world. Can . . .

  THAVÉ-WATCHERS INVITE: It’s a surprising fact that of the roughly one trillion inhabit . . .

  LONG CONV ERRATA: Discussion of suppressed and abolished stanzas which some scholars . . .

  UNRAVELING WHAT? What are the Cirque’s real motives? If they really want “a revolut . . .

  Assignments generated by Fift’s school’s scholastic agents, in incoming feed:

  Prepare stanzas 3409–6781 of didactic fourth subsection of first metacommentary on . . .

  Discuss in silence, 3rd hour: allusions to contemporary poets in Polidani’s opus . . .

  Computational: assess Near-Theoretical influence on statics of Fullbelly’s excavat . . .

  Optional: current events: place and defend a bet on the Cirque Fantabulous’ “performa . . .

  Personal/​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​targeted: Review of instant-fame comportment (in ”Transient Celebrity, Bang . . .

  New personal notes in Shria’s incoming feed:

  (Intyzmirg) Fabulous w/​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​that Thavé, yr so brave. Abt riot, dont know wht to say but . . .

  (Mother Sangh) My mintish, are you still upset about what I said when you came home? . . .

  (Bluey) Shria, I didn’t get a chance to find out what you actually thought abt Panax . . .

  (P Politigus) Shria, fantastic darling, need two bods at work today if not three, there’s . . .

  (Father Polidar) Most prized Shria: You may not be familiar with this bit of staidish wisd . . .

  (Mmpont F) Hey S, re: riot next time u will kick nonabod ass I’m there if you want to . . .

  (Stogma) Guys is there any way we can turn this into some action for the MATS??

  (CIRQUE FANTABULOUS) TICKET HOLDERS: The fun is just beginning! Tomorrow the show goes . . .

  (358 more . . .)

  (1,459 contact requests from strangers at connection level 2)

  (18,456 contact requests from strangers at connection level 3)

  (820,822 contact requests from strangers at connection level 4)

  (1,037,188 contact requests from strangers at connection level 5)

  Public conversations forwarded by Shria’s attention agents to vir incoming feed:

  GEN DES FORUM: latest: On Shria’s point, what do we even mean by “pleasure” in the con . . .

  SPECULATIONS ON A “REVOLUTION”: Where does theater stop and social unrest begin? . . .

  THAVÉ-WATCHERS INVITE: It’s a surprising fact that of the roughly one trillion inhabit . . .

  FOO NEIGHBORHOODS COUNCIL: latest: Foo stopped, and what I want to know is what the . . .

  Assignments generated by Shria’s stochastic educational agents, in incoming feed:

  Mechanics of bounceroos: in this unit, you’ll learn to assemble a simple elastic rotor . . .

  Political instability and the Tinyspot Uprising: from the original footage, find . . .

  Comparative religious combat-sacraments, experiential unit: for both Unfeeling and . . .

  Current events: Construct and record a diacritical emotive response to the Cirque Fantas . . .

  Personal/​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​targeted: Review of instant-fame comportment (in ”Transient Celebrity Bang . . .

  12

  There was an oddly hot breeze coming up from the agro-grottoes beneath Wallacomp, carrying with it a scent of decay, astringent cleaners, and soft blooming things. Pip, ten steps above Fift on the stairscape, puffed with effort, but didn’t slow down. Fift was sweating in zir formal white smock.

  From the glowtubes beneath them, first afternoon’s brilliant white light carved the myriad sharp shadows of Fullbelly’s habitations onto the roof, while far to the east, just where the world began to curve, the violet line of second afternoon cut across distant structures.

  There were three perfectly good elevators, a slipthread, and an up-fountain within a thousand heartbeats’ walk. So why were they trudging up these steps? If the idea was to collect an audience to witness the coming confrontation, it wasn’t working. The stairscape was in naked-eye line of sight of a quarter of Fullbelly, but it was hardly densely watched territory. No one—beyond zir other parents and a smattering of acquaintances—was watching them over the feed. Did Pip want to give the Vail they were going to see plenty of time to get nervous? Or was ze doing this for Fift’s benefit? Maybe ze felt like matching the emotional ordeal with a physical one.

  There was a message from Shria at the top of Fift’s incoming queue. Zir first thought was to be delighted that ve’d written zir again so soon. But then, even without reading the initial excerpt, ze felt a stab of unease. Ze’d heard nothing from vem since ve’d politely thanked zir parents for the ride on the robot bat.

  Fift sat up in bed and watched zirself reciting zir Long Conversation homework on the canvas mat on the floor. After the first few thousand stanzas, Ranhulo’s metacommentary on the eighth work of the tenth cycle—which had been straightforward, elegiac, celebratory, and somewhat pompous—began to develop an undercurrent of sullen hostility, hiding rage deeper underneath. Doing the didactic fourth subsection justice meant balancing its expansive, positive, forward-looking embrace of the eighth work’s account of the original Compromise of the Spoons (w
hich had led the way to the Permissive Compact and the temporary acceptance of the presence of Vails as silent observers during the Long Conversation), with the sour note of bitterness, regret, and disgust that underlay them. The genius of Ranhulo was holding the two in superposition, never allowing the metacommentary’s ambivalence to collapse into polemic.

  Fift was butchering it.

  Pip was now twelve steps ahead of zir.

  Ze opened the note from Shria.

  {Look, Fift, I know you mean well.} it said. {And meant well. But I think maybe I . . . look, I can’t believe that I led you into . . . that. Or that you followed me into it. You shouldn’t have had to see that, Fift, shouldn’t have had to be in it—and it’s my fault. I didn’t protect you. You deserve to be protected, Fift, not . . . exposed. But Fift . . . I don’t think I can protect you. There are things I can’t turn away from.

  {I just feel like it’s not safe for me with you. Maybe that sounds weird. But I got bruised enough physically in that riot without being bruised more by . . . by your words. I’m not saying it’s your fault, Fift. It’s not. You don’t know any better. I just think I need to be with Vvonda and Bluey and Stogma now. It’s not that I don’t think you and I could be friends. In some ways we could be realer friends than . . . I mean, I can tell you things I can’t tell them, for instance. But I don’t even know if that is fair to you.

  {I go too fast sometimes, Fift. I let things run away with me. I do foolish things.

  {I hate this; it feels like I’m giving up. Maybe I am giving up. At least when I’m with them, I know what I’m doing, and I’ve got backup, and . . . oh, Fift, I hate myself for sending this note. Let’s just keep away from each other for a while. I’m so tired. Maybe I’ll collapse and find myself an Idyll. I don’t know. Maybe that’ll help. Anyway, I still think you’re a great person. Hugs, Shria.}

  Fift stopped walking.

  Thirteen steps.

  Fourteen.

  Pip turned around. “Fift?”