The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1) Read online

  Have we met our apogee, and are now on the decline? he thought suddenly, blinking, his eyes reflexively going from simple to semi-compound and back. Is that why the authorities are taking such drastic measures? No, there has to be something more, something deeper, for the powers to go to this length to enforce a reform. But what?

  “What world-shattering thing are you contemplating, now?” Ro-Becilo’Ran asked, smiling, leaning at his ease beside him. The deepening coloration of his Ropalir-induction made Kreceno’Tiv’s vuu’erio tennae twitch, and he tucked them into his hair. The way things were going, Ro-Becilo’Ran and Ropali Galici’Bel would be true-mated by the time his friend was ready to go to Tertius. Then he’ll formally be Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel. The thought diverted him for a moment as he looked meditatively at his friend. Should he say what he had been thinking about before? How soon before everyone knew about the OSI? His father knew because Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv was so highly placed in the Solidarim, a rare occurrence for a male. But Father did not give me leave to discuss this. Ro-Becilo’Ran will find out soon enough, if his famiya has not already informed him.

  He smiled and gestured noncommittalness that he did not feel in the least. “Just wondering whether we will actually get into Bustani the next dark-turn that we try,” he said, sounding wistful. He projected that wistfulness in a glyph. “I’d like to show Polista Zyledi’Kil some of the things I told her about, if they are still there.”

  Ro-Becilo’Ran gazed at him, then gestured irritation, apparently not having a glyph to express his annoyance. “Fine, keep your secrets. Would probably bore me to sleep, anyway,” he said, closing his eyes. His vuu’erio twitched, however, giving lie to his disinterest.

  “No doubt,” Kreceno’Tiv rejoined, closing his eyes, also.

  Whorl Thirty

  He did not have to wait long for news of the new Initiative to be made public. The Proctor of his first lecture took care of that, actually announcing it before the lecture with a bright, false smile on his face. Most of the pupils looked perplexed by the announcement. Some were mildly curious, and a few, a very few, were slightly outraged.

  “This new Reform, the Occupation and Service Initiative, has had successful trials in remote parts of Gu’Anin, and will soon be implemented in a world-spanning measure,” Proctor Gib’Zal said, sounding falsely enthusiastic. “More details and information will be forthcoming in the turns ahead. Well, that said, let us get on with this turn’s lesson.”

  For once he did not listen or take any glyph-notes, but instead tried to gauge the impact on his lecture-mates. Most were just bemused, but then, they did not have the full knowledge of it that he and a few others had, he presumed. Distracted, he jumped when the chime sounded, ending the lecture.

  “What do you make of this new thing, eh?” Ro-Becilo’Ran asked as they gathered up their things and left the room.

  “I – I don’t know what to think,” he lied, keeping his elytra-pace from clacking. His back was sore, in any case, from his agitation of the turn before, so it was not hard to suppress the gesture.

  “Doesn’t sound like much to get excited about,” Ro-Becilo’Ran gestured nonchalantly. “Though it’s curious that they made the Proctors announce it here, in Secondus.”

  “That is strange,” he admitted, feeling his stomach tie into a knot. Had the hurried disclosure of the OSI been in response to his rallying cry in the interlinked dataSpheres? Were the authorities trying to precipitate his action, and quell even the notion of organized resistance?

  He again felt a hot gaze on him, but when he turned, all he saw was the flash of a Gotra figure disappearing around a corner.

  “Hurry up, silver-wing, we’re going to be late to our next lecture if you stand around dreaming like that,” Ro-Becilo’Ran groused, gesturing impatiently at him. He hurried his steps, feeling a new shiver of trepidation that he could not explain.

  Whorl Thirty One

  Kreceno’Tiv waited for Polista Zyledi’Kil outside of the lecture she had before the one that they shared. He needed a bit of distraction from his bleak thoughts of the OSI, and the thought of her sweet smile was like a balm to his mind.

  “Oh ha, Kreceno’Tiv,” Polista Zyledi’Kil said, coming up to him, her face bright with the pleasure of seeing him. He straightened from his lounging position beside the entrance, his vuu’erio drifting toward her. Her Polista chemi-scent was sweet as nectar, like the waves of pollen that swept down from the high-up flowers of the World-Tree, and he felt his physique change in response, taking on the Polistar yellow and black in faint markings. It was not enough to give the Po- addition to his name, though. She smiled at him, and indicated that she was open to his walking beside her into the class.

  “Would you like to go to the Bustani the next dark-turn before end-turns?” he asked huskily, as he walked with her to her seat. “We probably won’t get in, but...”

  She looked up at him, her indigo eyes deep and soft. “Actually, I would like to do something else, something just for the two of us,” she said quietly, lifting a shoulder in a coquettish gesture.

  “All right,” he said, feeling a thrill of excitement. “Anything in particular?”

  “Well...” she lowered her lids. “I’ll tell you after, all right?”

  He gestured assent and went to his seat as the Proctor came in.

  “This turn, we are going to discuss the Tiers of the Solidarim,” Proctor Ropali Lif said, activating her wall view-glyphographic.

  Kreceno’Tiv felt that sour place within his gut tighten again. He had nearly managed to forget the infamy that Gotra Pelani’Dun had raised about his famiya lineage and position within the Solidarim.

  But that has nothing to do with me, he thought, consciously keeping his vuu’erio tennae from tucking away. I won’t be in the Second Tier. I won’t be in the Solidarim proper at all. The influence of Father will have no bearing on my standing, he consoled himself. He did not let himself go near the thought that that was why Polista Zyledi’Kil liked him.

  “There are twelve Tiers to the Solidarim,” the Proctor said, drawing a diagram. “In the center stands the One, the final authority of the Solidarim. The One may be either female, or male. Currently, the One is male, Lissor-Tresevo’Tak’Ves. The rings of seats closest to him are the First Tier. Only the strongest in Nil’Gu’ua and longest in lineage would sit in the First Tier, but none currently occupy those seats. The next rounds of seats are the Second Tier. Only the next highest in Nil’Gu’ua and longest in lineage sit in the Second Tier. These are the policy makers for the inner reaches of the Star Whorls, and include some of the officials on the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council. The Third Tier has the policy makers for the mid-regions of the Star Whorls. The Fourth Tier governs the outer regions of the Star Whorls.”

  Kreceno’Tiv continued to take notes, though he knew most of this already from his own private studies.

  The lesson seemed to go on interminably, and he felt as if every eye and vuu’erio tennae turned to him whenever the Second Tier Counselors were mentioned. He kept himself from glancing around. But the knot in his gut was back, and a sour taste hovered on the back of his tongue.

  Finally the chime sounded, and he gathered up his belongings. Polista Zyledi’Kil was looking at him, her eyes shining, and he struggled to recapture the untrammeled pleasure of her attraction to him, and his to her. He approached her as she stood, and walked out with her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked quietly, projecting a glyph of concern. He realized that his vuu’erio tennae were tucked away tight again, and he had unconsciously suppressed the Po-induction of her chemi-scent.

  “I am,” he said warmly, smiling, trying to let go of the tight feeling. He extended his vuu’erio toward her, taking in her delicate chemi-scent. “What were you going to tell me?”

  She hesitated, as if torn between telling him her preference, and asking something more of his well-being. Then she made a charming gesture, half coy, half seductive. “My parents are in another
Mji’Hive, this five-turn. I thought we might – watch an old entertainment this coming dark-turn before end-turn.”

  He smiled again, but there was no shiver of anticipation. “I’d like that,” he said, moving a little closer as they neared her storage-cubby. A thin, sharp streak of trepidation lurked in the back of his mind. It sounded as if she wanted to get serious, and neither of them had reached full maturity, for neither had had their wing-nets burst through their elytra-paces.

  She smiled, and he walked her to her next lecture, then rushed to his own, barely getting to his seat before the chime sounded and the Proctor walked in.

  Whorl Thirty Two

  In the dataSphere interlinks, the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council detailed the tenets of the Occupation and Service Initiative. It was a much gentler version than he had read, making it seem completely voluntary, or nearly so. There were vague references to the strictures and the uncompromising, coercive nature of it, but these were glossed over quickly, in favor of the benefits and positive impacts that the Initiative would have. And it was about to be instituted across the entire world of Gu’Anin, in a five-turn. It would not reach An’Siija for many five-turns, for the Council would start in the least populated areas first, the Off-Limb and Trunk Mji’Hives, and then move into the major World-Tree Mji’Hives.

  Still, Kreceno’Tiv shivered. The Occupation and Service Initiative was going to be put into full effect in five turns?

  It’s wrong, he thought, knew, felt the conviction in his still ‘paced wing-nets. On the surface it would seem reasonable to the general populace, but it was ultimately coercive, and forcing a population into something that they had not thought up and fought for, for themselves, always ended in disaster, no matter how noble or altruistic the intent. And I see no altruism here! Separating the populace by Nil’Gu’ua level is discrimination, purely and simply. And to send them so very far away, without recourse – even I’m not ready to permanently relocate to the second Star Whorl, even if it is part of the Totality...! he thought, openly gesturing his consternation and disapprobation, for he did not have the glyphs to describe the disaster that would follow the Initiative. He remembered his thought in lecture, several five-turns before, about the very subtle implication that a return to the system of Castes would be good for Gu’Anin. And with a shiver, he realized that the Occupation and Service Initiative might do just that. For, according to the glyph-document that his father had given him, the Initiative would only apply to those of lower Nil’Gu’ua, who would not be admitted to Tertius.

  And those of higher ability, if they don’t go to Tertius, either, he thought, feeling a cold bite of dread. Why? What’s behind this? There’s no reason, no logical justification for this. Unless there’s something I’m not seeing...?

  He skimmed the Spheres, and saw nothing but questions, people asking each other what the Initiative meant, and whether it would affect them or anyone they knew. Some even called for the Alighter, as if they somehow thought that the persona he had created to get his message out would know what to do.

  I can’t abandon them, he thought, and wondered that such a thought should occur to him. What am I thinking? It’s not as if I were in the Solidarim, able to affect policy, and get this Initiative repealed. I don’t even know if I’m going to Tertius, for certain. I’m doing well enough, and I should have the Nil’Gu’ua ability to qualify... but ultimately, it is the decision of Mother and Father. But – I can’t just go silent. However, if people of power are vuuing what the Alighter says, and I suborn sedition... But I can’t condone it, either. What do I say?

  He considered, then made a new alias Sphere.

  :Alighter Seeker

  :Sisters and brothers of the Spheres, we have been answered. But this answer only raises more questions. Who will be affected by this Initiative? Why are our citizens being sent so far away? What if we don’t want to go? What recourse do we have?

  :And what of those taken, without a word, without a sound or glyph – how are we to receive this Initiative when we have already seen it at work, and not in our benefit?

  :I seek the answers, much as everyone does. But whom are we to ask? Where are we to delve? And most of all – how are we to weigh our choices, given that we have the option to choose?

  :I have seen the quiet desperation of purposelessness in the real world, I have tasted it. Does it kill, or cause injury? Is a life without drive any more wasted than a live given over solely to the elevation of others? Must these be the extremes? Or is there a place of contentment in between, personal fulfillment without being bound to the toils and rewards of those in power?

  :I, myself, seek such a place, such a state of existence. How does this Initiative promote that?

  It skirts the edge, he thought, the knot coming back to his stomach as he deactivated his study-station and sought his rest-pad. His elytra-pace clamped down, making his back ache. The edge of sedition, the edge of rebellion. Can they condemn me for asking questions?

  The encroaching darkness held no answers at all, to any of the questions that he had posed.

  Whorl Thirty Three

  The five-turn seemed to stream away, with no punitive action or response to his last post from the Gu’Anin Magistrate Council, though those following his discussion thread did continue to question, though not always in favor of his views. Only the prospect of enjoying a dark-turn alone with Polista Zydeli’Kil kept him from sinking into complete despair, but a despair of powerlessness, rather than indolence.

  Despite himself, Kreceno’Tiv did feel a rush of anticipation once he reached Polista Zyledi’Kil’s domicive. She admitted him with a huge smile, and he stepped into the modest vestibule. The streak of trepidation he had been holding off all five-turn was back, in the footsteps of the anticipation. Here was the quintessential close-hold, sheltering famiya, not letting its youngsters socialize excessively, if at all. This type of sheltering was typified by restriction of information from the interlinks, and basically keeping the children ignorant of most social situations and interactions, focusing mainly on education. But they were allowing a daughter of the famiya to spend a dark-turn alone with a young male? It felt wrong, seemed wrong. His parents had said nothing to him, but they did not have to. He hoped he was wrong about the situation, and he was slightly on guard as she took his hand and led him to a room which was tastefully furnished in a quiet way. She had him sit on the double lounge and went to Nil-ize the wall view-glyphographic. Then she bounced over and snuggled next to him, her glyph seeming to wrap around him in the same way her arms did. Its allure pushed his suspicions and trepidations away. There was a breathlessness to her, a flirtiness, that titillated him, even as his concerns tried to raise their vuu’erio at him again.

  “This is my favorite viewie entertainment,” she said, turning shining eyes to him. He smiled, turned his attention to the projection. But barely had it begun, than she shivered with some internal fright, and he instinctively pressed her closer, stroked her arm soothingly.

  “Kreceno’Tiv,” she whispered, looking up at him. He gazed down at her, and she was so enticing, so innocently demure, vulnerable, that he wanted to gather her up in his arms and keep her safe. He touched her cheek, smoothed his finger lightly over the slightest dimple in her chin. Her lips parted, and her eyes closed, her vuu’erio stretching forward, a clear invitation. So he did gather her up, framing her face, and he brushed his lips over hers. Her lips were soft, sweet under his.

  He felt her breath catch, and her arms flowed up around his neck, her skin silken, her fingers curling deliciously through his hair. She pressed close, her heartbeat swift and her breath short.

  Her vuu’erio tennae curled lightly around his own, and she was wonderfully yielding, wonderfully soft, clinging to him as if she would never let go. Her chemi-scent turned from just sweet to intoxicating. Finally, he let her down, a slight haze in his brain from the kissing and caressing. Polista Zyledi’Kil leaned against him, and he vaguely noted that he had gained a slight Po-inducti
on.

  “That was wonderful,” she sighed, running her hand over the velveteen smoothness of his deshik. “I really like you, Kreceno’Tiv.”

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing Ro-Becilo’Ran is such a mate-matcher,” he murmured. She laughed a little, then without warning, she turned to him and drew him down to her, inviting him to kiss her again. He did, and she was much more voracious, moving against him in a dance older than sentience, exciting him in a way that he had not felt before, and which vaguely alarmed him. Her glyph seemed to open, becoming clearer, and her chemi-scent went from seductive to imperative, in preparation of mating. She moved from his side to lying full on him, her legs straddling his hips. His body responded enthusiastically, and he did not protest when she actually opened his deshik and coaxed it off of him. Then she slid her arms around him and her hands were on his elytra-pace, tracing the double lobes of it enticingly. She was pressed full against him, weakening his resolve. When he tried to restrain himself, she coaxed his hands to learn her form, her deshik seeming to flow off on its own, and she cajoled him wordlessly to touch her, to taste her.