The Star View (The Totality Cycles Book 2), page 9
“What are you talking about?” he asked, sitting up again in the dark.
“Shut up, Krece, I’m trying to sleep,” his friend grumbled.
“No, not until you tell me what you mean by the mythos around me,” he said, insistent.
“What am I talking about?” Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel stretched and buzzed his wing-nets. “Ever since you shot up a deci-part and a half, and became all silent and brooding and muscly, people have been wondering about you. You’re not the same as you were before the... before the end of our fifth orbis in Secondus. They keep asking me what you’re like, and numb-paced stuff like that. And after the events surrounding you and Gotra Pelani’Dun, in our last term, and then your being on restriction, and... and everything, they think you some kind of – I don’t know, demi-deity. And then, you resisted the Tiphi Lady. What do you think that did to your reputation?”
“Why does anyone even care?” he asked, gesturing irritation.
Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel sat up and sparked on the lights, gestured incredulously at him. “Are you jesting? In these times, when everyone is looking for something interesting to vuu, you’re asking that?” He picked up his view-glyphographic and waved it at Kreceno’Tiv. “There’s a whole interlink thread dedicated to you! Ever since you resisted the Tiphi Lady, people have been trying to find out who you are!”
Kreceno’Tiv was speechless, glyphless. He picked up his own view-glyphographic and did an inquiry/search on himself. And there, indeed, were discussion threads about him. He trembled, considered reading the threads. Then he put it down, sparked off the lights, and attempted to go back to sleep. And not dream about a certain pair of rainbow eyes.
View Thirty Four
Getting back into the routine of lectures also helped him push his personal despair to the bottom of the stack of his concerns. He and Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel went back to their exercise regimen, and then to their lectures.
Though one of the most pertinent, the least interesting of these lectures, he found, at first, was Ministries of the Solidarim. All the others dealt with people, or science, or herstory, and piqued his interest in some way. But the Ministries lecture was basically memorization of dry, boring facts and figures. And though memorization came easily, still, without some liveliness, some relation to interpersonal doings, he found the lecture a chore.
He almost sighed as he sat in his usual seat, but he resisted. Tedious as the lecture was, he knew it was important, especially when it came time to choose his life’s profession and path. Knowing which Ministry to join was vital.
“So,” the Proctor, Thynnu Gol, said, “I did not manage to drive any of you away with my uninteresting lecture notes last time? Good, that’s good, maybe I’ll have more success this turn.” She laughed at her own weak joke.
But Kreceno’Tiv was not inclined to laugh. By her words, he took the meaning that the course could be made interesting, the Proctor was just making it boring on purpose. A tiny spark of anger at that ignited in him – Proctor Thynnu Gol was being deliberately obtuse... but, to what end? Surely not to discourage any of the students from continuing in Tertius – those around him considered the opportunity to be too precious to let a little thing like a boring lecture keep them from continuing.
Maybe it is a trap of some sort? he thought. A trap of laziness, of complacence, to wait and not look further into the Ministries until the Proctor prompted them to do so? He pledged to himself to investigate further into all the Ministries that the Proctor had already mentioned and others that she had not, and to caution his friends to do the same.
Better to be over-prepared and have too much information about the subject, than get used to having to do minimum work for this lecture, and then suddenly having a surfeit of it to contend with, he thought angrily. He wanted to snort. But he just took out his new view-glyphographic and set it to note-taking mode. And he was gratified that Proctor Thynnu Gol did not turn to look at him with any suspicion of his anger or indications that his intentions had spilled beyond his Wall-Glyph.
“Well, then there are many, many Ministries to list,” she said jovially, “before we get deeply into the herstory and function of them all. Last time we listed, in no particular order, the Ministry of Educators, which all Proctors, I might add, are Ministers of, the Ministry of Law, the Ministry of Strategy, the Ministry of Preservation. Continuing, we have the Ministry of Logistics, the Ministry of Worlds, the Ministry of...”
He dutifully copied down the list of Ministries that Proctor Thynnu Gol recited. He also noted, with an internal shiver, the casual statement that she had made, that all Proctors were Ministers of the Ministry of Educators. She had not mentioned that before. That had a deeper meaning than the statement insinuated, and was a warning of sorts. It implied more power than the Proctors had previously showed.
They are dangerous, the irrational thought came to him. He remembered his defiance of the Proctor in Secondus, over the transparency of a window, and held in another shiver. In retrospect, it had not been the smartest thing to have done.
View Thirty Five
...She turned and looked up into his eyes, hers large, wide with some unknown emotion. He took her into his arms, but she was shaking...
Kreceno’Tiv woke at an administrative chime, indicating a message from the administrators of Tertius. He wanted to curse, but refrained. What could they possibly be messaging about?
“What is it?” Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel asked grumpily, lifting his head and waving his vuu’erio tennae.
He got up and went to his study-station to look at the message. What he saw made all vestiges of sleep flee, whimpering.
“They... changed my schedule,” he said, quietly incredulous.
“What?!” His friend came up to look over his shoulder.
“They took me out of Beginning Governance, and put me into Intermediate Governance,” he said, staring. “I have to read the entire Beginning Governance text by next turn, and the first unit of Intermediate by the turn after.”
Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel looked at him.
“How much have you read?” he asked.
“About half,” Kreceno’Tiv admitted, checking the time-mark. It was very early – he had time to get some reading in before he was due to get up.
“Why did they do this?” his friend puzzled, frowning. His elytra-pace clacked with his concern. “Not because of the answer you gave on the first turn of Beginning Governance, is it?”
“Perhaps,” he temporized, then gestured assent. “Yes, probably.”
Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel blinked, then sat facing him.
“Tell me,” he said.
Kreceno’Tiv shot him a glance, waved his vuu-erio tennae at him. “You already know, Becil, you were there when my parents talked to Okon. We use a Deity-mythos to control more primitive cultures that have not developed the sciences that balance their belief systems. Okon called us Travel-Gods. Only the Ancient Hives knows what we do to control the other, more advanced civilizations.” Straight-forward pacification? Conditional blocks on their ability to use Nil’Gu’vua?
Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel projected assent. “But what else have you figured out?” he pressed.
Kreceno’Tiv hedged. How much trouble would he get his friend into by telling him?
“Becil – we, ourselves, were conquerors, perhaps during the time of the Malkia, you know, the Expansion. That’s a nice euphemism for an age of conquest. Proctor Lisso Dak did not answer the question of other civilizations at our level, because we are supposed to come to the realization that all of the civilizations that were at our level, we – we conquered or pacified or destroyed them. And we obviously have not met any more advanced than ours, or they would have conquered us – unless they tried, and we prevailed. Our governance is not an altruistic thing, Becil – we just don’t want competition. We turn others from the path of being conquerors so that we don’t have to fight them in the future for supremacy.” He gestured at the study-station. “That is all we are really supposed to get from the Beginning Governance Lecture – the fact that we have to ‘govern’ others, to keep competing civilizations from arising. But they want us to come to the realization within ourselves, and to self-justify it, so that we are not opposed to being oppressors.”
His friend looked stunned, his eyes wide. He seemed to have a hard time accepting what Kreceno’Tiv was telling him.
“I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this. But since I figured it out, and haven’t made a fuss, they are advancing me.” He shrugged.
“Why haven’t you made a fuss? Do you think it’s right?” Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel asked, his voice low.
“No,” Kreceno’Tiv said, unequivocally. “But – it is the lesser of two bad options. The other option is to do nothing, and find ourselves fighting a new, rising civilization every few thousand orbises. Making a fuss does not fix the conundrum, it just gets me put out of Tertius.”
Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel gazed at him for a while longer, then touched his shoulder and went back to his sleep-pad. Kreceno’Tiv called up the text on his view-glyphographic, and continued his reading.
View Thirty Six
A turn later, Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel’s expression when he came into their shared suite immediately told Kreceno’Tiv that something was wrong. It was a half-aggrieved, half-bemused look.
“What happened?” he asked, dreading the worst. Had his friend been removed from Tertius because of him?
Instead of answering, Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel showed him his view-glyphographic. There were two administrative notices displayed on it. One granted his friend a mated suite with Ropali Galici’Bel, and the other showed that he had a new schedule, but no new lectures – his existing lecture schedule had been rearranged so that none of their lectures coincided.
“They’re trying to isolate you,” Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel said, his voice sounding numb beyond shock. “They think you are going to corrupt my views, don’t they?”
“They can’t keep us from doing our exercise regimen together, or studying together,” Kreceno’Tiv said, trying to be reassuring.
“Don’t be so sure of that!” Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel said, obviously distressed. “What if they – what if they, I don’t know, make one of us take all dark-time lectures? What are they doing, Krece?”
Kreceno’Tiv pressed his lips together, and felt a slight swell of bitterness in his chest and wing-nets. They had not gone to such extreme measures, not yet.
“I won’t tell you anything more that I might have surmised,” he said. “Don’t ask, all right, Becil? Come to any realizations yourself. Hopefully – hopefully they won’t do anything else. This is a warning. Let’s pay attention to it, oh ha?”
Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel stared at him. Then he projected assent. Kreceno’Tiv got up and helped his friend pack. Then he helped him move his belongings. And when he went back to the room by himself, it rang hollow and empty, and the glyph of despair that had been held off by Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel’s presence and company sang loudly to him. Was the reason that his friend had stated the only reason that they were trying to isolate him? He got the very uncomfortable feeling that it was not.
View Thirty Seven
The next turn, Kreceno’Tiv went to his new lecture. He had read beyond the prescribed chapters, and was as ready as he could make himself. Others in the lecture, all an orbis or two older than he, gazed at him, but they were like the blank Wall-Glyph that he assumed he was like, now. Only their gazes touching him showed their curiosity. The Proctor, a Polistar-marked male, came in, and seemed to be expecting him to be in attendance.
“Well, we have a new student addition to our lecture,” he said. “Welcome, Na-Lord Tiv. I am Proctor Polistar Lis’Vos. So, to continue from last turn, we were discussing the different forms of governance we impose on different cultures, as a review from Beginning Governance. Then we will get into the herstory of successful and unsuccessful implementations of those forms of governance, and how you, as a Minister or a Counselor of the Solidarim, might successfully implement such governance practices.”
What followed in the lecture was interesting, and terrifying. The successes were sometimes worse than the failures – peoples completely cowed, and ready to sacrifice one of their own to the ‘Travel Gods’. Others, failures, could be just as horrible, and included near genocide, the destruction of over nine-tenths of a native people’s population, where the Deity-mythos had not worked.
“Now, who can tell me what would be the most effective method of beginning to govern a new, Nil’Gu’vua-rich world?” He looked around. “Na-Lord Tiv? I was told that you actually went to the Bustani and interacted with some of the peoples in the displays. What is the answer to my question?”
Kreceno’Tiv felt his face grow hot as all eyes and vuu-erio tennae turned to him. Could he demure? But here is where some of the secrets of the Solidarim were revealed – it could not be soft-paced forever, there were some hard truths that had to be faced. And he had unknowingly contravened more than one observance. Were they using him as an object lesson? He straightened his shoulders and projected a willingness to answer.
“Some of those in the displays complained of having their abilities blocked by us,” he said, taking the onus of realization from himself. “So the first step – block their ability to touch Nil’Gu’vua, so that they cannot oppose us?” And perhaps hope that the ability weakens in them, the longer they have to remain that way? Another horrible realization. Breeding the ability out of the population by disuse. He kept that thought totally masked.
The others could not help themselves. They actually projected shock, and in one case, alarm.
“I vuu resistance to the notion,” Proctor Polistar Lis’Vos said, looking around. “Who can tell me what the alternative would be?”
No one answered, but they could all see it clearly, including Kreceno’Tiv. The alternative was a long, bloody conflict with the indigenous population of each new world, whereby they might acquire new and innovative ways to resist, and even in some cases, successfully overcome their new prospective Governesses and Governors. So most of Nil’Gu’vua was veiled from them, and then the Gods of Travel appeared, and told them that they had misused the gifts that had been given to them, and would have to do penance.
What of passive races? he wondered, but did not ask. He would try to figure it out himself. Perhaps they became servile to his people? Helpers, who would not think of resisting?
He tried not to let his stomach turn as he dutifully took notes. He guessed that the actual glyph that allowed the Veiling of Nil’Gu’vua would not be revealed until Advanced Governance, for it required modification of the Living Glyph for beings much, much more complex than his favorite deshik.
Will they even let me take Advanced Governance, considering how I feel about all this? he wondered. But considering that he was not completely sure how he felt... did not bode well.
View Thirty Eight
Being alone in the dormitive was somewhat depressing, though not as lowering as he thought it would be. Ropali Galici’Bel changed her schedule to match Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel, so there were only one or two of his term-mates from Secondus in his lectures now. But they were all in the same lectures still, except for his new Governance lecture, so he was able to still study with them, and Ropalir-Becilo’Ran’Bel still met him to exercise, so he was really only alone when he returned to the room. Admittedly, his friends’ presence had been a comfort, but he knew he could and would adapt to their absence.
Other than not seeing his parents every turn, and sleeping and eating in a strange place, he found that Tertius was much like Secondus. The classes were a little more challenging, and required more time to complete, but otherwise, nothing much had changed.
There was one notable difference, however. The young women did not glome him. He was certain that he was the object of interest to a few of the very small number of unmated, unattached young women, but they did not make it evident with a glome cloud directed toward him.
It must be considered crass, he thought, noting covert glances, and the very occasional slip of wing-nets, but the overt glome clouds were absent.
Will any approach me? he wondered, then set the thought to the side. The ladies he wanted were both unavailable, and he did not want another temporary pre-mating. I have more than enough work to keep me busy. But he did feel the sharp pangs of being unmated, and yearned for companionship. He resisted thinking about Pavtala Ralili’Bax – it hurt more than it should have, losing her.
He looked around the room. It was the turn before end-turns, and he had completed all of his assignments. His friends were still working on theirs in Beginning Governance, so he was at loose ends, waiting for them to finish.
He decided to call one of his newfound siblings – the one that Vespa Kareni’Tiv had mentioned, as having made her fear the death of an offspring, Vespa Dalani’Tiv.
He made the connection. It went through almost immediately, and a face appeared that reminded him so strongly of their mother that for a moment he almost thought he had made a mistake and had called home. But the expression was much more severe, and there was no spark of recognition in the woman’s violet eyes.
“Who is calling?” she asked, sternly, and he realized that he was not calling from home, but from Tertius, and she might not recognize the dataSphere alias.
“I am sorry to... to bother you,” he said, diffidently, “I hope it is all right to contact you. I am Kreceno’Tiv.”
Her eyes narrowed minutely for a moment, then her face lit up in the brightest smile.
“Our youngest - relative?!” she expulsed, holding her arms out to the image, as if she would reach through and embrace him. “One deci-mark, while I make the line secure!” She adjusted something outside the view of the image, then looked up again, still smiling. “It’s so good to meet you, finally!”
