The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1) (6 page)

    
Is it because other girls
are noticing me?
he wondered darkly, glancing at another girl. The girl was
looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and when she noticed him looking
at her, she moved a shoulder and gave a nervous smile, dropped her gaze
quickly. Another glance back at Gotra Pelani’Dun showed that she was looking
slightly piqued, her body posture tense and her elytra-pace clamping tight.
Or
maybe it’s because I am not paying attention to her, like I had before? When
she first dropped me, I was so distraught... I couldn’t keep my eyes off of
her. If she had flicked a vuu’erio, I would have gone running back to her. Now
– now the situation is reversed. Amusing.

     He looked away and turned
his mind back to the problem of the populace, one of the many ‘too serious’
things he had thought and talked about instead of thinking and talking about
her.

     The chime sounded again,
signaling the end of the lecture, and meal-time. He sighed as he gathered up
his view-glyphographic, his satchel, and his texts, and prepared himself for
another awkward, harrowing meal, enduring her advances. Ro-Becilo’Ran was not
in this lecture with him. That meant he had to get by Gotra Pelani’Dun by
himself, as she had managed to get to the exit first. But when he got to the
entrance, she was nowhere to be seen.

Whorl Sixteen

     In the meal hall, Ro-Becilo’Ran
waved to him, and he went over to the seat his friends had saved for him. Gotra
Pelani’Dun was not there, at the crowded table, but was seated farther away.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he sat and smiled. His elytra-pace, clamped tight
with stress, relaxed.

     “Oh ha, Kreceno’Tiv,” Thynnu
Alciai’Res said, smiling back at him. “You look good.”

     He gestured
self-deprecatingly. “As opposed to short and under-developed?”

     She clacked her elytra-pace,
turned a shoulder. “You still looked good, short. You were just so – involved
with Gotra Pelani’Dun, none of the rest of us had a chance to fix your
interest!”

     He raised a vuu-brow at her,
un-tucked a vuu’erio tennae. Her scent was sweet, and subtle, inviting. “And do
you want to fix my interest?” he asked, intrigued. She was pretty, and smart –
he would not mind a pre-mating with her, though he doubted it would go
anywhere. The prospect of Tertius generally terminated many pre-matings.

     “Perhaps,” she said, coyly,
waving her vuu’erio tennae at him, her scent becoming a little stronger. He let
himself react to it, taking on the faint blue and black Thynnu markings that
would match her. Then she threw a look over her shoulder at Gotra Pelani’Dun,
and her scent faded. “Though, I’m not sure I want to brave Gotra anger. But for
you – perhaps.”

     He smiled thinly, feeling
anger bubble up again as the color and physique changes went away. Now Gotra
Pelani’Dun was affecting his chances with other girls? He wanted to clack his elytra-pace
in that anger, but he did not. Instead he turned his mind to what the others in
the group were talking about. Maybe Thynnu Alciai’Res would pursue her interest
of him, despite Gotra Pelani’Dun’s interference.

     “And you should see the
newest exhibits at
Bustani
,” Yaliano’Wis was saying, his vuu’erio tennae
waving. “They have
sentients
from other worlds there! You can actually
talk to them, though they can’t speak a word of our language!”

    
Sentients?
Kreceno’Tiv felt a strange, unpleasant jolt at that, anger forgotten. That
sounded a little too much like mfanya-slaves from the long-ago times. But he
said nothing, not right then, too shocked to think of anything to say.

Whorl Seventeen

     “Krece,” a soft voice said
behind him, as he made his way to his locked cubby at the end of another long
five-turn, to leave the texts he did not require here at the Secondus sub-Hives.
He stiffened. An icy-hot indignation made his elytra-pace tighten at the familiar
voice and the too-familiar appellation. Gotra Pelani’Dun. He did not react to
her chemi-scent marker, but he
did
react to being addressed so, by her.
She had once had the freedom to use the affectionate appellation. But she had ended
their relationship, and now had no right to call him that, since he was not Gotrar-marked
or physiqued for her anymore. It was unseemly, disrespectful, implying a
closeness that was no longer there. The disapprobation he felt projected
clearly, as he slowly opened the cubby, put his texts in, closed it, and turned
to face her.

     Gotra Pelani’Dun looked abashed
at his scowl of disapproval, taking a step back. “Kreceno’Tiv,” she said more
formally, lifting her shoulders in a contrite gesture. This made other parts of
her anatomy rise and move, but he was not distracted by them, and kept his eyes
on her face. “I-I wanted to talk to you...” she stammered. She was not putting
out the copious amounts of pheromone anymore, having figured out that that
would not get his attention. Being called a near-wanton had been an effective
deterrent, also.

     “What about, Gotra
Pelani’Dun?” he said, as formally, coldly, picking up his carry-pack,
meaningfully, implying that he wanted to be on his way to the transport, and
home.
And away from you.

     “You know, since we met up
at the
Bustani
line, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately,” she
said, tilting her head and waving her vuu’erio tennae in what was supposed to
be a charming pose, no doubt. It
was
charming, but Kreceno’Tiv was not
about to be charmed by her again. Easily one of the prettiest young women in
his term-level, she was frivolous and shallow, and cared only about being the
center of attention. “I – I think I made a mistake. And I wanted to say – I’m
sorry about... about being so – hasty to pick another over you.”

     “No need,” he said tightly,
walking by her. “I’d suggest you keep looking. No doubt another male will come
along who has some other attribute more developed than any of mine, so you need
only wait.”

     She gasped as if slapped,
then ran up to walk rapidly, paralleling him. “That was hurtful, Kreceno’Tiv!
Was I ever so cruel?” Her tone was wounded.

     He stopped, indignation and
ire making his chest tight. His elytra-pace clacked, as the developing
wing-nets moved in agitation underneath. “Were you?! You told me I was an
unmarked bobling on my mother’s knee still, in body, and a silver-winged
eldster, in mind! You told me that you needed someone who was already a man,
not a mumphling playing at being one! What happened to your stone-headed hulkling,
all bulging with muscle and only able to say the word ‘pretty’ once you had
sounded it out for him?”

     She stared at him, wide-eyed,
as if stunned. The few others in the rotunda stopped to take in the drama,
angering him further. Then her large, magenta eyes began to fill with tears.
Kreceno’Tiv clenched his jaw, and walked past her once more. He had not wanted
a spectacle, though it was obvious that she did.
What, did you think I would
not dare to publicly reject you, the way you rejected me?
he thought
angrily, his back burning with the wondering gazes of the spectators. He began
walking again.

     “Oh, you think just because
your mother’s Genus and famiya can trace their lineage back to the times before
the Malkia-dominance that you’re too good for me?” she said in tearful wrath,
still following him, her voice loud enough to carry. “Now that every other girl
in Secondus is gloming their pheromones after you, you forget about me?”

     The words were not worthy of
an answer. He did not respond.

     “You think that just because
everyone now knows that your famiya sits on the Second Tier in the Solidarim
that you can just treat the rest of us like workers, like mfanya?!” she cried.

     He felt rage rise, but
ruthlessly suppressed it, turned, not even projecting the opprobrium this time.
She stopped short, and even took a step back when he faced her.

     “I am not treating anyone
like anything, Gotra Pelani’Dun,” he said quietly, looking down at her as he
squared his shoulders. When they had been Geni’vhes, he had been the same
height as she. Now, he was at least a head taller. “It’s no secret that my
father is part of the Solidarim. As to my mother’s Genus and famiya predating
the Malkia, whatever significance that has, has nothing to do with the fact
that
you
broke off our pre-mating,
not
me. If that had been so
important to you, maybe you should have found that out
before
you passed
me over for your stone-headed hulk. Why don’t you find out how far back
his
mother’s Genus and famiya go, and then go bother
him
light and dark-turn?
I have to get home.”

     There were gasps and soft
exclamations at his rebuke. He ignored them as he walked stiffly to the
transport, hiding his embarrassment, not letting it show in his glyph. Besides
the
Bustani
, personal dramas were always a main source of entertainment.

     There were not many seats
left on the transport, when he got to it. Ro-Becilo’Ran was in the back,
talking and laughing with another of their friends. Evidently, they had not
been able to hold a seat for him. He took one of the more forward ones and sat
beside a young woman he did not know, turned his face to the window membrane as
Gotra Pelani’Dun got on after a couple of other people. She intentionally
bumped his leg, and made a complaining sound, as if he had somehow hurt her. He
moved his leg, glad that he was ahead of her on the transport – he could get
off first, and not have to deal with her again, at least not for this turn.

Whorl Eighteen

     Much as he did not want to
admit it, Gotra Pelani’Dun’s words bothered him. But he did not feel he could
come right out and ask his parents the significance of their lineage – it was
an obvious question, blunt. Uncouth. They disapproved of such things from being
associated for many orbises with the Solidarim, where subtlety and nuance were
like shouts, and obviousness was looked down upon as vulgar.

    
Karaci’Tiv, perhaps?
he
thought, getting up from his study-station and going to his sister’s suite. She
was in, rather than being away at Tertius, and she invited him in.

     “Kara,” he said, entering
her suite. She smiled at the familiar address and gestured, beckoning him over.

     “What’s going, Krece?” she
said, as he walked over to take a seat by her.

     He did not answer right
away, brooding on how to frame the question. She was in training to go into the
Solidarim, also. Would she find a straightforward question too gauche?

     She glanced at him, and he
could feel her gaze as she stopped what she was doing, and turned her attention
fully to him. “What is it you want to ask?” she prodded, a chuckle in her voice
and a glyph of amusement projecting clearly from her.

     “I’m trying to figure out
how to ask it,” he replied.

     She gestured negation. “Just
ask. I’m not a stickler for subtlety, yet!”

     “You remember Gotra
Pelani’Dun?” he said slowly, not letting the irritation he felt at mentioning
her show.

     “The little one who had you
so twisted up last term?” she asked, indelicately.

     He grimaced. Vespa
Karaci’Tiv could be blunt to the point of crassness, sometimes. That would not
go over well in the Solidarim.

     “That’s the one,” he
confirmed. “She said – she said that I was snubbing her because our famiya
predates even – even the Malkia-mothers, and because Father sits on the Second
Tier of the Solidarim. What – what is the significance of that?”

     Vespa Karaci’Tiv sat back,
her vuu’erio twitching.

     “Your ex-Geni’vhes has done
some very personal and very extensive research into our famiya,” she said
slowly, “or someone close to her has. We never make it well known that either
of those things are true.” She blew out a breath, and her wing-nets, having
burst through the elytra-pace when she had reached full maturity, showed for a
moment. “The significance of our famiya lineage – having an unbroken line for
that long, and not being a deviate Genus from another, existing line – means
that our Nil’Gu’ua ability has been advancing and augmented for all those
generations, and we have a high probability of being in the higher ability-levels.
It also has weight in the Solidarim, since one of the determining factors of –
of placement in the Solidarim Tiers is not only ability level but – other
things.” She flicked one of her right vuu’erio at him significantly.

     “So – Mother’s line is
that
venerable, and that counts for something,” he mused, still not fully
understanding.

     “It also means that anyone
of higher level Nil’Gu’ua will not be – the only one in the famiya. It means
high ability over generations, regardless of who mates into the famiya line.”
She dropped her eyes.

     His vuu-brows drew together.
He knew that Nil’Gu’ua was carried by the matriarchal line, and that males
mating into that line did not significantly affect it. But her tone – there was
more, much more.

     “There’re other
significances, aren’t there,” he stated, certain. “Having to do with the
Malkia-mothers? And our line coming from before their time?”

     “There are,” she said,
tilting her head, “but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourself. Sometimes
the significance can only be appreciated when the information is hard-won.”

     Kreceno’Tiv flicked his
vuu’erio in half-irritation, half-amusement and clacked his elytra-pace. “Yes,
sister of mine, thank you for putting me on the path to understanding,” he
said, mockingly, making a formal gesture of appreciating and parting.