Authors: Mitch Benn
There was a pause.
-
I’ve finished,
said Fthfth.
-
Thank you, Fthfth. Who would like to go next?
Another pause.
-
Nobody? How about you, Pktk?
Pktk had been having difficulty getting his slate into its slot. He was fiddling with it, a look of furious concentration on his face, when Bsht said his name. -
What?
he said, looking up suddenly and dropping his slate to the floor.
-
I’m . . .
he began, reaching down for the slate, and finding his arm wasn’t long enough.
-
I’m . . .
he continued, trying to scoop the slate towards him with his foot and succeeding only in shoving it further away.
-
I’m . . .
he said from beneath his chair as he reached under his neighbour’s chair and retrieved the slate.
-
I’m P . . .
he began, before sitting up too quickly, banging his head on the arm of his chair and dropping his slate again.
He sighed. -
I’m Pktk,
said Pktk quietly, sitting on the floor.
Bsht smiled. -
Yes, yes you are,
she said, helping Pktk to his feet.
A few more pupils took their turns to speak. The class listened politely to tales of mid-orbit breaks spent constructively in practising this or that game, visiting one or another site of natural or archaeological interest, reading some improving text . . . For all their patient attention, there was a restlessness in the room. This wasn’t what they wanted to hear.
At last, the moment they’d been waiting for.
-
Terra,
said Bsht.
Perhaps you’d like to tell the class a bit about yourself.
An excited hush. Even those pupils who’d been with Terra at the Pre-Ac had never quizzed Terra directly about her background. They’d been far too polite, and those who hadn’t been too polite had known to pretend to be too polite.
Terra stood up.
-
Well . . .
The room, already silent, became somehow more silent.
-
My name is Terra, and . . .
Silenter still.
- . . .
I’m not from around here.
The class burst into a hiss of appreciative laughter. Terra smiled.
Terra gave them the short version – the stuff most of them knew already – Lbbp’s discovery of her abandoned infant self, his brave decision to raise her as his own, the Preceptorate’s sage benevolence in allowing him to do so . . . The class listened appreciatively, and thus emboldened, Terra asked -
So, any questions?
-
Do you eat animals?
The mood of the room changed abruptly. The voice was that of Shnst, who, while at the Pre-Ac, had always sat at the back of the room next to her twin sister Thnst. They’d immediately staked their claim at the back row of this new lectorium and resumed their customary habit of muttering private jokes to each other. It was quite unusual for either of them to speak to anyone else; this and the indelicate nature of the question caused the atmosphere to thicken.
-
No,
said Terra after a moment’s hesitation.
No, I eat the same things as every . . .
-
Because that’s what Ymns do, isn’t it? I read about it on the Source. They kill animals and eat their insides while they’re still warm.
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No, no,
interrupted her sister.
They kill animals and then set FIRE to them, and eat the burnt bits.
Uneasy glances passed between the pupils as quite a few stomachs turned over at the thought of this. Bsht decided to intervene.
-
Now, now, it was only a few eras ago that we Fnrrns ate animals as well; then we invented protein manipulators and we didn’t have to any more.
-
The G’grk still eat animals!
said Thnst, clearly warming to the topic.
-
The G’grk don’t count as Fnrrns. They’re barely better than animals themselves,
muttered Shnst.
This was greeted by murmurs of consensus, but not a consensus which made Bsht especially happy. -
Shnst,
she began,
that’s hardly . . .
-
The G’grk could use protein manipulators if they wanted to, they just like killing things too much,
continued Shnst regardless.
They’d rather keep on living like savages.
-
They wouldn’t know how to use a protein manipulator even if they had one,
giggled Thnst.
They’d just grunt and stare at it then stab it and try to eat it.
Everyone laughed now, except Terra and Bsht. Terra kept an intimidated silence. Bsht didn’t.
-
The G’grk aren’t dumb beasts, Thnst, and there may yet come a day when we would all do well to remember that.
The lectorium fell quiet once more. Not a hush of anticipation this time but a queasy, fearful silence. Bsht went on.
-
Over the eras the G’grk have shown great ingenuity and organisation. It’s just a shame that their culture still prizes war and conquest above other, nobler things.
As Bsht spoke, the lectorium visualiser, registering the topic of conversation, began flashing up images and text illustrating the history of Fnrr’s most bellicose civilisation.
While the other nations of Fnrr had long ago embraced reason and science as the foundations of society, the G’grk still clung to ancient codes of honour and bravery. They worshipped invisible overlords they called ‘The Occluded Ones’ and believed that domination of Fnrr – and elsewhere – had been promised to them as their inevitable destiny. The G’grk’s homeland occupied the whole of the vast Central Plain of Chsk-Tshff, the continent from which Mlml was separated by a thin strip of ocean. They had conquered many surrounding nations over the eras, but their more recent attempts at expansion had been contained thanks to the superior technology of other nations’ defences; the G’grk’s rejection of science meant that such ‘tech’ as they possessed had been plundered from other countries, and as such they tended to use it rather inexpertly.
A shudder of fear passed through the rows of pupils as the image of the G’grk leader, Grand Marshal K’zsht, appeared. Old, scarred and war-painted, he clutched in his fist the ceremonial lance which served as the Grand Marshal’s emblem of office. This lance was held to be so sacred that, once won (the G’grk’s culture of conquest extended inwards into their own society as well as outwards; advancement came through duelling, challenges and sometimes straightforward assassination), the incumbent Grand Marshal would never let it out of his grasp, even in his sleep . . . and given the process by which new Grand Marshals were often ‘appointed’, sleeping with a weapon in his hand was a practical as well as ceremonial necessity.
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They belong in the past,
said Shnst angrily.
Hey, Fthfth, I hope you do invent time travel so we can send the filthy G’grk back to the pre-rational epoch where they belong . . .
-
Where they belong,
said Bsht,
is the Central Plain, and as long as they stay there they’re none of our concern.
-
They should stay where they belong,
said Shnst bitterly.
Why can’t people stay where they belong?
There was a chorus of horrified gasps. Even Shnst realised she’d said a dreadful thing and fell silent. All eyes turned to Terra, whose own eyes stayed fixed upon the visualiser. Fthfth discreetly put her hand over Terra’s.
-
I’m okay,
whispered Terra.
-
Terra, I’m . . .
began Shnst . . .
I’m . . .
Rarely had the pinging sound heralding the end of the session been so gratefully received.
-
Oh dear. That sounds like it was awkward,
said Lbbp later over dinner.
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It was. Very,
replied Terra, tucking into configuration 5 with some fresh pt-ssh on the side.
-
Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m sure Shnst felt just as bad for saying it as you felt for hearing it.
-
Maybe,
said Terra, wrinkling her nose. Lbbp loved it when she wrinkled her nose.
It’s impossible to tell with those two.
Terra finished another mouthful.
-
Lbbp, why does everybody hate the G’grk so much?
Lbbp put down his plate, thought for a moment.
-
We’ve built such a world here on Fnrr. No one’s hungry, no one gets ill any more, not seriously anyway, and it wasn’t easy, I can tell you. You’ve read the history files . . . we had our share of wars, famine and disasters, but we overcame our differences and looked for answers and found solutions together. And now we work in peace towards common goals.
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Except the G’grk?
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Exactly! Except the G’grk! They just can’t let go of their old ways. It’s absurd.
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Well, they have their own traditions,
said Terra.
It can’t be easy for them.
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I’m sorry, but if your traditions consist of pretending the last few eras never happened and bludgeoning each other to death on a regular basis, then your traditions are rubbish and you need some new traditions,
snorted Lbbp. Terra laughed.
-
They’re a bunch of hypocrites anyway,
Lbbp went on as he tidied the dishes away.
They can denounce science and technology as foul and unholy as much as they like, but they’re perfectly happy to use tech once they’ve stolen it. Or try to use it, anyway. They’re just too lazy and ignorant to develop their own stuff.
-
Or it could be that they have to steal it because the other nations won’t trade with them,
mused Terra.
-
They’re impossible to trade with!
retorted Lbbp.
And what would they have to trade? Spears?
-
I guess I’m just wondering if everybody hates the G’grk because they’re so angry and violent, or whether they’re so angry and violent because everybody hates them, that’s all,
said Terra quietly.
It was Lbbp’s turn to laugh. -
When did you become such a little philosopher? It’s like having dinner with Hshft the Elder or something. Now come on,
he said, tossing the dishes into the matter scrambler.
Just time for a quick game of tb-tb-tff before sleep. Another big day tomorrow.
Terra sighed and followed Lbbp to the main room. It was indeed another big day tomorrow, as Bsht had reminded them at home-time. Tomorrow, the class would have its first session using the Interface.
C
hildren keep secrets. Even good children.
Not necessarily big secrets or bad secrets, not the sort of thing that would get them into trouble were it to be discovered, just things that are, well, none of anybody else’s business.
Children on Fnrr keep secrets too.
Sometimes, after finishing his evening meal, Pktk would go to his room. He’d tell his parents he was going to do a little extra studying before sleep-time; reading up for a test the next day or something like that.
Once alone, Pktk would activate his slate and access the Preceptorate’s history files, specifically the military history of Mlml. It was many orbits now since Mlml had been at war, but Pktk thrilled to read accounts of campaigns and battles from eras past. He would imagine himself leading troops into combat, rescuing helpless civilians, picking off enemy soldiers with his pulse-orb with devastating accuracy, defeating numerically superior and better-armed foes before returning to Hrrng and a hero’s welcome. When his parents would call on him to go to sleep, he would activate his sleep-well and drift happily into unconsciousness with the hissed cheers of a grateful populace still ringing inside his head.
Everybody knew that Fthfth did her homework the very instant she got home. Her slate would be activated almost before her gravity bubble was switched off. What nobody, not even her parents, knew was that having completed her homework, she would access her own academic file from the Preceptorate’s records. She was entitled to do so, as were all her fellow students, but she was the only one who did it on a regular basis.
Fthfth would reread her test grades, displayed as an almost unbroken list of double-stars. Almost unbroken. On two occasions, once when she’d been a little unwell but still determined to take the test that day, and once when she’d read up on the wrong topic by mistake, she’d scored a single-star. Fthfth would glower at those two single-stars, those two disgusting blemishes on her otherwise spotless record, and clench her little fists in anger and frustration. No matter how well she did in future, however many double-stars she achieved, those two marks could never be overwritten. Her record would never be perfect.
When her parents would call on her to come and eat, she would switch off her slate and promise to herself one more time never to underachieve so badly again.
Terra also had a private little habit. Not something she did very often, and she knew Lbbp would be upset, even alarmed, if he ever caught her at it, but sometimes, when she felt a certain way, she would feel the need to do it once more.
At sleep-time, she would bid Lbbp goodnight, go to her room and shut the door. She would switch her sleep-well on (Lbbp would hear the hum of the gravity field generator kicking in from the next room) but rather than step into it, she would open her window. As the cold night air washed into her chamber, she would activate her gravity bubble and step out into space.
Up and up Terra would float, careful to avoid being seen through the apartment windows of the upper floors of the building. Even in the climate-controlled environment of the city, the air was colder once you got this far above the ground . . . Terra’s garment, detecting the drop in temperature, would gently warm her as she ascended the hundreds of metres to the top of the tower. At the very apex of the building there was a small flat roof; Terra would land carefully on this surface and switch her gravity bubble onto standby mode.
Looking upwards into the clear night sky (Terra would only do this on bright starlit evenings), high above the light pollution of the city, Terra would pick out the constellation known to Fnrr’s astronomers as 133-4/77. Having identified its pattern, she would stare intently at the space between the two stars at its centre.