Authors: Karen Lord
Lian followed him at a slower pace, taking along a bowl and continuing to eat unhurriedly. Beyond the window, a small, dark figure went sideways in a diving arc along the curve of the wall. Several similar figures followed, mimicking their leader’s trajectory with flair and spin. Faint howls and chants began to echo between the tower and the outer wall, but they were immediately drowned out by the ululations within the dining hall. Rafi instinctively joined in and had to stop, panting, after only a few seconds. Lian kindly passed him a square of some unidentifiable compressed fruit. It was so sweet that when he bit into it his ears tingled and his mouth overwatered almost painfully, but it steadied his shaky pulse and cleared his head. The crowd began to quieten and thin out, ready for more food and gossip at their tables now that the brief show was over, and Lian drifted back with them. Rafi sighed but did not yet follow, wanting to savour the moment. He wondered if he could find some visual record of the dive.
‘Who were they?’ he asked the person on his left, another lingerer leaning on the windowsill.
‘The Academe’s second line, practising for the demonstration next twilight.’ The voice was familiar. The fading fall of the words as they turned to him in surprise suggested that this feeling of familiarity was mutual. He looked up and, as the figure straightened fully, up again. That height was unforgettable. He recalled another brief instance of Wallrunning, the taste of perrenuts making his mouth water for reasons other than sweetness, and a tall, dark stranger whose name he had never learned.
She looked down at him, blinking in shock, silently processing a number of things that came out as a single conclusion. ‘
You’re
Rafidelarua.’
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
She glanced guiltily around the room to check the location of Lian’s still-turned back, then answered. ‘I am Ixiaralhaneki. I will find you later.’
With that, she moved quickly away from the windows and left the dining hall, no more remarkable than the rest who had stopped to watch the Wallrunners and were now slowly returning to meals, conversations and work. Rafi reluctantly went back to Lian, who immediately misunderstood his disgruntled expression.
‘Cheer up. There’ll be plenty of Wallrunning to see and do around the Academes.’
‘Yes,’ Rafi agreed absently. ‘Lian, what’s so important about the Haneki family?’
Lian’s expression became guarded, and Rafi knew that whatever he was about to hear would be carefully censored. ‘It is said,’ Lian spoke with careful emphasis, ‘that the Hanekis and the . . . Mwenils are trying to find a new form of interstellar transportation, or possibly rediscover an old one.’ The verbal stumble was caused by an unfamiliar consonant. Rafi was amused at the musical sip and click of the ‘mw’. It looked like the second lieutenant was blowing him kisses.
‘Are they your source of off-planet information?’ he asked with a cheeky grin.
Lian smirked at him. ‘No, no, I am not helping you go through any process of elimination to find the answer. Punartam is filled with possibilities. Did you know that this was the place where the Great Galactic War ended?’
Rafi admitted aloud that if it had not been for the ramblings of that irritating Punartam guide audioplug, he would not even have known there had been a Great Galactic War.
‘It’s not a big thing on Cygnus Beta because it barely touched us and it happened a long time before we had Galactic Standard anything. Still, to get the full details you need to look at the research of the data archaeologists from Academe Nkhaleëngomi. They restore all kinds of obsolete tech – especially information storage devices that are supposed to be locked or destroyed. But between you and me, I’m not sure the galaxy is ready for what they might uncover.’
Lian contemplated the remains of their meal, sighed and stacked the empty dishes on the carousel. The contraption retracted itself into the table, perhaps in obedience to Lian’s sharp tap on its base, perhaps not. ‘So, you were asking about my leave. I go back two days from now. Do you want to meet for lunch next day-cycle? Bring your friend. I’ll bring one, too.’
Rafi nodded, struck by Lian’s sudden collapse into weariness of tone and posture. He wondered if, on a world like Punartam where networks were everything, a member of the Galactic Patrol could ever be anything but an outsider. He had seen something like this at the Lyceum – two of the students were imports from distant Kir’tahsg. They were from the same social class and yet they detested each other. In spite of that, they drew together in the face of the strangeness around them, clinging to their shared norms, talking and working together, and somehow still hating each other. Lyceum Masters called it the isolationist syndrome: introverts forced to be selectively and excessively gregarious due to the loneliness of immersion in a highly alien environment.
‘We can eat in a private dining room next time,’ he promised, not knowing how to arrange such a thing but determined to do so.
‘That would be nice,’ Lian murmured. ‘These crowds make my head hurt.’
Chapter Nine
Two Standard weeks later, when the nosebleeds stopped and the shortness of breath was easing, Ntenman declared Rafi ready to meet some of his old Wallrunning friends. Ntenman had spent the days going out and about, reviving old connections and doing what he briefly and bluntly called ‘my padr’s business’. Rafi did not press him. He was still in the phase of gratitude that made him meek and obedient – which was why he also did not object to Ntenman’s proposal for descending from their high-rise quarters to the base of the tower.
‘Every tower has emergency chutes,’ Ntenman explained. ‘It makes sense to learn to use them when you’re not having an emergency. Plus it’s good practice for Wallrunning.’
Rafi leaned cautiously against the doorway, peered up and glanced down. From the outside, doors closed, it appeared to be a standard elevator. On the inside, the shaft was empty and it looked like pure, certain death.
‘It’s an overflow evacuation route for when the normal elevators are overcrowded. It’s perfectly safe. Power failure is never a problem at this Academe, and if anything goes wrong, the safety lines will kick in.’
‘Good,’ said Rafi faintly. ‘And how do we get down?’
‘We jump. The microgravity will slow us a bit and there’s a bodycatcher at the bottom. There are safety belts and lines for complete novices, but I didn’t request any because we’re beyond that.’
‘Am I? Oh. Well. After you.’
Ntenman grinned, seized his arm and jumped.
The first few seconds were teeth-gritting terror, but then there was a gradual slowing of pace. Rafi could easily imagine he was Alice, falling gently down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. The bodycatcher caught him by surprise; it extended higher than he was used to from Wallrunning and stopped them centimetres above the floor before cutting out suddenly and dropping them on their heels. At the same time, a wide door opened into a half-circle of hazy golden light. Artificial light, Rafi would have called it, or lamplight, but on Punartam that term was reserved for indoor lighting during the day. Outside lighting was
recycled sunlight
whenever it was used to illuminate the long night. Ntenman stepped out into the cool air, shivered and tucked his hands into his tunic sleeves. Rafi simply stayed close to the tower; heat radiated gently from it and the upper baffles offered some protection from the breeze.
It was odd. During the daytime, the tower’s inner ring was little used, but the long night gave excuse for a semi-carnival of activity which the Academe encouraged by leaving its gates open to the public. Families and friends walked slowly around the tower and everything was on offer: confectionery, savouries, tumblers and contortionists, songsters, comedians and players of curious instruments. There was light everywhere, not only mundane light to make the entertainment and food visible, but artistic, enchanting, fun expressions of light. Children carried bright, rainbow-tinted bubbles that burst with damp, harmless sparks. Scarves and shawls were tipped in glow that streaked across the retina when the wearer flipped the ends with flair. Footsteps gleamed with delayed phosphorescence that left trails from previous passers-by for newcomers to follow. Rafi’s vision was dazzled and his spirit delighted.
‘I didn’t know it would be like this at night,’ he said happily to Ntenman. ‘I would have gone out sooner.’
‘You’ve been busy, very busy.’ Ntenman managed to wrap envy, admiration, irritation and sheer disbelief into one dry sentence.
‘What have I done?’ Rafi said anxiously. His fear was well justified. He had been cramming Punartam culture and etiquette and discovered several unexpected pitfalls which had, so far, only caused amusement, embarrassment and confusion. Still, he never discounted the potential for delayed disaster.
‘Your introductions?’ Ntenman said with even deeper sarcasm.
‘Oh. I didn’t know about all that.’
The introductions – now
that
had been disturbing. Haviranthiya told him very soberly that it appeared Academe Maenevastraya had registered a prior claim on his acquaintance and he could no longer provide Rafi with an Academe Surinastraya recommendation as a starting nexus for future Punartam interactions. Rafi had tried to demur and was met with an appalled look, as if he had suggested they ignore the wetness of water and the brightness of sunlight in favour of some other delusion.
‘And your essentials,’ Ntenman continued.
‘There’s nothing wrong with them. You should approve of that.’
Essentials were harder to understand, but after Lian dumped a message and a quantity of voice-access credit into his channel, things became clearer. The credit was ‘a loan, not a gift’, and the fact that Lian had extended it made Lian one of his primary essentials. ‘Stay neutral,’ Lian’s message warned. ‘Do not accept credit from non-Cygnians.’ Fortunately, Ntenman still qualified as Cygnian. Rafi was already leaning on him for funds and was likely to continue doing so, and thus Ntenman was considered another primary essential.
‘Your keys are your peers,’ Lian’s message explained further. ‘I’ve introduced you to a couple of mine and I’ll introduce you to more in time. I know your family and I shared food and drink with you in public, so I’m one of your first-tier keys. Keys you meet through me will be your second-tier keys. You will have to acquire more keys by your own efforts.’
Poor Lian. It was not the loneliness of a foreign culture that imposed sociability on the solitary; it was the very nature of the culture itself. He understood a little better that old Ntshune insult –
one who eats alone
.
Accoutrements still baffled him. Lian’s message shed no light on the matter, but only provided more dire warnings. ‘Do not wear
anything
that anyone gives you – not a pin, not a ribbon, not a shoelace. Stick to either urban-Cygnian or galactic, which is almost the same thing.’ Of course, that advice came a bit late considering that Ntenman had dressed him and paraded him along the pathways of the Metropolis. That now felt less of a joke and more of a strategy, or at least an attempt at one. Whether Ntenman had meant to use him or to protect him, he could not tell, and that made him nervous.
There was still a lot to learn. He quickly discovered that for every variant of the credit system, there were several academic interpretations and models on how they should work. ‘Economic credit is mere financial engineering,’ sneered his Academe guide. ‘Social credit is art.’ At that point he did what Ntenman had advised him to do long before and ditched the guide in favour of a Bhumniastraya edition that drew a clearer line between the factual and the fanciful.
‘So, financial credit is what gets me food and shelter?’ Rafi asked. He had discovered that teaching him the basics appeared to put Ntenman in a better mood, as if doing so re-established the correct order of things.
‘Yes, that’s survival. But social credit determines what you will eat, and where, and with whom.’
‘And I get financial credit from my essentials but social credit from my keys.’
‘More or less. That depends on where your nexus is located and the allegiance of your keys. Sometimes it’s worthwhile to have a broad representation, but sometimes a nexus will refuse to acknowledge certain keys or networks, or will itself be shunned by other networks.’ Ntenman exhaled sharply, already frustrated. ‘It’s a complex formula. The size, density and degree of overlap of your networks is measured, your net worth is calculated with reference to recommendations from your keys, and only a fully qualified Credit Assessor can work out the result.’
‘But good social credit makes my financial credit more valuable, is that right?’
‘More or less. You’re in a higher consumer bracket for some things.’
‘So this is good! I have a nexus and I’m making a start on my social credit. I’ll be able to pay you back.’
‘Don’t be rude,’ said Ntenman, only half-joking, and Rafi belatedly remembered that on Punartam, it was bad manners for anyone, be they creditor, debtor or completely uninvolved, to harp on an unpaid debt. Still, Ntenman sounded almost worried at the idea that Rafi might one day need no essentials.
The outer wall suddenly flashed with a line of falling stars and all talk of money stopped. ‘They’re starting. We’re late,’ said Ntenman, and he began to run. Rafi followed, ducking and dodging through the crowd until they came to a space where the tower’s base curved inwards and up in terraced balconies, like an amphitheatre. The balconies were filled with spectators and their focus was the opposite wall, which sparkled like a constellation of dancing stars. The Wallrunners moved like divers, like acrobats, with lights strapped to their waists, wrists and ankles. This was not a game. This was pure artistry, but unlike that glimpse of the last demonstration Rafi had witnessed, it was modelled on traditional Wallrunning, with the falls and climbs vertical and the neutral translations horizontal.
Ntenman did not join the crowd sitting in front of the first terrace. Instead he unexpectedly dashed behind the backscreen, where the coaches, reserves and suspended players would sit. Rafi hesitated, but when Ntenman re-emerged and beckoned impatiently, he glanced around guiltily and went in.