The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1)

The Star Whorl

Book One of
The Totality Cycles

Published by Seaside
Grape Publishers LLC

Copyright ©2015 by A. Y. Emanuel

Illustrations by A. Y. Emanuel

Cover art by A. Y. Emanuel

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Books by Ako Emanuel

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Whorl One

     The Mji’Hive An’Siija was
filled, not just with people, but with a quiet despair.

     Kreceno’Tiv could feel it.
He could sense it with his vuu’erio tennae as if the glyph of it were wrapped
around the city-glyph of An’Siija, could almost see it with his secondary
retinas. But it was a soft despair, not like the cry of hunger, or the weight
of catastrophe – it was altogether more insidious in its spreading tentacles,
more subtle in its effect. It was the despair of complacency, the despair of
non-urgency, the lack of need to do anything. It was like sleeping without
needing to wake, like looking without needing to actually see.

     Kreceno’Tiv felt a touch of
it himself, and knew that it was affecting him, making him surlier than was his
usual wont. There was only one thing keeping him from succumbing to the
inevitable inertia that had taken hold of most of the An’Siija, and indeed, the
entire world of Gu’Anin – the prospect of serving in one of the Ministries of
the Solidarim. He did not expect to serve in the Solidarim, itself – his father
currently sat on that venerable council, and was highly placed and respected.

    
And if anyone follows
him, it will be my sister, Karaci’Tiv,
he thought, trying not to feel sour.
Not because she was most likely to follow their father into the Solidarim, but
because she had an almost guaranteed purpose, and he was only hoping. He smiled
thinly as his friend, Ro-Becilo’Ran, laughed and nudged him, inviting him to
share in the un-funny joke that another of their friends had made as they
stood, waiting to get into the
Butani ya Watu
, the Hive of Marvels. Ro-Becilo’Ran
was sporting the faint blue and yellow markings and Ropalir physique that
pre-mating with Ropali Galici’Bel had induced, for she was of the Ropali Genus.
She stood beside him, brilliant blue and yellow markings stark in the dark-time
air. Most of his friends were pre-mated, their love-interests standing beside
them or in the circles of their arms. He himself was back to the neutral shades
of bluish-gray, indicating that he was not pre-mated to anyone. And he had not
been, not since Gotra Pelani’Dun.

    
Gotra Pelani’Dun,
he
thought, bitterly, trying and failing to keep his elytra-pace from clacking.
I’m
no longer your Geni’vhes Go-Kreceno’Tiv, thank the Ancient Hives!
He had
not really liked himself as Go-Kreceno’Tiv, looking back, and her spurning of
him and their Geni’vhes pre-mating had been both humiliating and gut-wrenching,
seeming to shred his soul and self. It had torn him up more than he had cared
to admit, at least to anyone else, at all cases. He turned his mind away from
the awful memories, tried to engage the immediate moment and the silly gaiety
of his friends.

     “Thinking of her again?”
Ro-Becilo’Ran asked, his voice humorous, though there was sympathy and the wish
to comfort him, too, Kreceno’Tiv could see it in his glyph. Ro-Becilo’Ran’s
glyph was clear to him without him having to focus his eyes to a semi-compound state
or touch the other young man, for they had been friends for as long as he could
remember. He knew his glyph was just as clear to Ro-Becilo’Ran, and that did
not bother him, for Ro-Becilo’Ran was like a brother. And right now, his
friend’s glyph radiated many things besides sympathy, including pleasure at
seeing him, and a desire for them to interact and have fun.

     “No,” he retorted shortly,
though he was not really that irritated at him. The situation, however,
standing in the infernally long line to try to gain access to a place that most
of the other denizens of the city were also trying to get into...
that
irked him beyond measure.

     “Yes you are,” Thynnu Tikati’Pas
said, sassily, teasing. “Be careful, you know what thinking too hard about
someone does, right? You inadvertently apply Nil’Gu’vua to their glyph, and
boop! There they are!”

     There was laughter at this
assertion, an ancient myth that had no foundation in fact.

     “Can we talk about something
else?” he asked testily, knowing his irritation would only draw the interest of
those around him, but he was unable to contain it.

     “Of course, Kreceno’Tiv,
anything for you,” Ropali Galici’Bel said, waving the others off. Her voice was
half teasing, half commanding, and the rest of them desisted. “We can talk
about our last term in Secondus!”

Whorl Two

     There were collective groans
and complaints, but at least they were not goading him anymore. He did not
really want to think about their last term in Secondus, which started in two
turns. All he wanted to think about was right now. But right now, they were
waiting for the chance to get into the
Bustani
, a vain hope if ever
there was one. The
Bustani ya Watu
was the one last true entertainment,
the only thing in the whole Mji’Hive that still seemed to be a cause for
excitement. For, in its many twisting, ever-changing, dim and bright halls and
cells, were the wonders of the Totality, brought from distant worlds under the
aegis of the Solidarim to amaze and delight the populace. Now the attraction
and its offshoots in each major Hive were the only thing that held back the
ennui, and he and his friends had stood here on many a dark-turn in hopes of
getting in, but not much hope.

    
This is pointless,
he
thought bleakly. He shifted his weight, his legs and feet aching, wondering if
he should make a cushion to sit on. By unspoken agreement no one glyph-conjured
seats or lounges, as it would only add to the congestion and confusion of the
line and the idle populace around them. Only personal cushions were used, if
someone wanted to sit. He shrugged, moving his wing-nets under the double elytra-pace
on his back. The vestigial wings were slowly filling with fluid, and would soon
break through the elytra-pace, signaling full maturity. The discomfort in them
added to his bad mood, he knew.
We’ll never get in. We rarely ever do.
In fact, the only time he
had
ever gotten into the
Bustani
was
when his father, Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv, had gotten a special facilitation for
himself and his famiya to enter the
Bustani
, and Kreceno’Tiv had managed
to secret Ro-Becilo’Ran along. Together they had marveled over the strange and
sometimes frightening things that had been on exhibit, and they had had a
wonderful time recounting these things to each other, listing what they liked
the most, and which world they would visit when they grew up.

    
But we won’t,
he
thought, holding in a grimace as the self-same Gotra Pelani’Dun and a group of
her friends just happened to show up and tried to join them. He stiffened
inside as he had the very mild Gotrar-response to her cloud of pheromones, as
did other males close to him who were un-pre-mated. Her friends’ scents were
not nearly so strong, so hers dominated as she waved her vuu’erio tennae in his
direction, trying to persuade her way into a place beside them in line. He
shook off the reaction almost unconsciously, and the pale purple and orange
patterning to his shoulders, wrists, shins, vuu’erio tennae and elytra-pace
disappeared. He did not want even the slight Gotrar-induction being in
proximity to her would cause, or any other reminder of that time.

     “See, I told you,” Thynnu
Tikati’Pas whispered, poking him. He scowled at her, and she laughed and turned
back to her pre-mate.

     “Oh ha, let us stand and
wait with you,” Gotra Pelani’Dun said, cajolingly, speaking to Thy-Lerefo’Gol,
though she kept turning her eyes and vuu’erio tennae to Kreceno’Tiv every other
word. “We won’t get in, but we can stand and not get in together.” Her friends
giggled, most of them unattached and looking around interestedly at those young
men in his group who were also unattached. The males gazed back, just as
interested. But those around him and Ro-Becilo’Ran and their friends raised
voices in protest. Many hundreds had been waiting in the sloppy line fully as
long as they, and in many cases, longer, and they would tolerate no
line-breaking.

     “No skipping ahead in the
line!” someone behind them called out, and others took up the cry. “If you all
want to stand together, you can all go to the end of the line together!”

     “Sorry,” Thy-Lerefo’Gol said,
gesturing a half-regret mixed with denial. “We don’t want to lose our
position.”

     “But we won’t get in, so
what does position matter?” she persisted.

     “It’s the principle of the
thing,” he said gravely, though others laughed.

     So Gotra Pelani’Dun and her
group were constrained to move to the end of the very long line. He was
relieved – dealing with Gotra Pelani’Dun was not on his personal recountings of
enjoyable pastimes, not anymore. He had long since lost the somewhat deeper
purple and orange coloration and Gotrar-physique being Geni’vhes pre-mated to
her had induced. With her departure, he returned to his dour thoughts.
We
won’t get to other worlds – not unless we definitely go to Tertius, and then
definitely get into the Solidarim. Only those who are Administrators of
Nil’Gu’vua worlds get to Long-Travel, and only to those worlds, specifically.
Or those brave enough to be the frontier-explorers to undeveloped worlds – they
get to Long-Travel into the unknown. The second Star Whorl of the Totality
is
largely unexplored, but it’s so much farther away that Long-Travel to that Star
Whorl is a significant risk. The only unexplored worlds left here in this Star
Whorl are Nil’Gu’dae worlds, where criminals are dropped off. All the others
have more administrators than they can handle. Long-Travel to them has been
stopped.

     “See how much we think of
you?” Thynnu Tikati’Pas said, giving him a glinting smile.

     “Appreciate it,” he said
blandly, not rising to the baiting. His friends
were
going out of their
way for him, for there really was no difference where they stood in the
interminable line.

    
No difference, and no
hope.
He wanted to gesture exasperation and impatience and he clacked his elytra-pace
at this ceaseless waiting, but the alternative was all the other useless
pastimes that did not divert him any longer. Not even standing on the edge of
Algna Suprum, the uppermost landform of the World-Tree Mid-Trunk Junction, was enough
to elicit a thrill. He remembered he had marveled that the landforms, upon
which the main Mji’Hives of An’Siija and other Mji’Hives were built, were made
from the living substance of the World-Tree Anin’Ma, itself. They resided where
the main Trunk, stretching inconceivably high above the far-away surface, split
into seven sub-Trunks that proceeded to grow upward to the atmosphere-breaching
Crown. He had stood at the balustrade edge of Algna Suprum many times, looking
down into a misty darkness only broken by the dim lights of a lower hive-city
on a lower branch. Even that had palled, among all the other activities that
had also lost their thrill, leaving only the line to the
Bustani.

    
 I could be studying,
he thought, though he did not need to, really. The lessons came easily, too
easily. He did not expect the lessons of this coming term to be any harder,
merely different. The only other thing that fascinated him was the theory/study
of Long-Travel itself, and he longed to vuu-study the glyph of it.

     The line moved, giving
occasion to a cheer from those waiting, and derisive comments from those who
were just sitting or standing around, not doing anything at all. He took three
steps forward, and knew that the rest of the dark-turn was well lost, even as
his friends joked and chattered with false, brittle gaiety around him.

Whorl Three

     They gave up a few time-marks
later, deciding to waste time, instead, at an overcrowded gregaris-park. They chose
to walk there rather than using their personal transport glyph-constructs. Kreceno’Tiv
listened to his friends talk as they wended their way through the dark-time
press, jostling and being jostled by innumerable others, and taking no note of
the casual contact or slight glyph-knowing that the contact brought. They just
made sure to keep glyph-track of each other, for the glut of people would not
abate once they reached their destination, and the chances of finding the group
would be vanishingly small if one of them got separated from the rest. He
wondered briefly if this was how it had been in the time of their distant,
pre-sentient ancestors’ hives, for the crowds were almost familiar, a
comforting nearness and press of populace. But then, the hives movements had
been directed by Malkika, pre-sentient Queens, who had had complete control of
those in their respective hives. And the denizens of each respective hive had
been able to find each other by a complicated system of chemi-scents. That
complicated system used in pre-herstoric times had been bred out of them, and
now the mating chemi-scent was practically the only type left that they still
used.

     He kept view of the tracking
glyph he had on Ro-Becilo’Ran and felt his own body’s slight reaction to the
ever-changing pools of chemi-scent as they moved. His deshik changed to conform
to each physique transformation. Ro-Becilo’Ran did not react, due to his
pre-mating.

    
Eh, how did Pelani’Dun
find us in the line?
he thought, as a Gotrar-induction came over him, and
he looked around, irritated.
She must have known that we would be in the
line to get into the Bustani.
Not that the line was hard to find, but it
took up more than a quarter of the length of the Mji’Hive, and it was hard to
distinguish between those actually in the line, and those just loitering in the
area.

    
Why am I even thinking
about her?
he berated himself, as the location indicator-glyph for the park/gardens
came into view, wildly overgrown in the cordoned-off places, and trampled down
almost to the wood/soil in the open areas. But he knew why – because, besides
the prospect of beginning his last term in Secondus as something to occupy his
mind, or the more distant prospect of Tertius, the most interesting, albeit
distasteful, occurrence in his life at this moment was her renewed pursuit of
him. It had been almost funny the way her eyes had widened when she had first
seen him during the between-term break, after his sudden growth-spurt. She had
been dumbfounded, openly staring. Then she had pretended nonchalance. It had
almost been worth the pain of that sudden growth, to see the surprise on her
face, the realization that she had given him up for being too undeveloped, just
to have him spring up to his full height, almost in a single five-turn, half an
orbis later.