107: skytinsle

Leah Nevert woke just before dawn. she looked at the clock, and knew that Issac had to be up soon. she knew that he hadn’t set an alarm, trusting that his internal clock would wake him. it might have; it often did. but she knew that his timeliness today was more important than perhaps any other day in his life. so, she prodded him gently with her right hand.

a sense of serenity replaced the anguish she had felt just a few short hours ago. she herself had done a fair bit of space travel during her time at the university, and knew that, in general, there was nothing to worry about. the character of the captain gave her a legitimate sense of apprehension, but the crew was, after all, going to help the miners of Klin, a people with whose plight she had gleaned only scraps of information, but had information enough to believe that help was not something they would turn down. and, finally, Issac’s debt would finally be paid to Lathan, and they could put that terrible chapter of their lives behind them.

Issac did not wake at her first nudge, and so, still with her eyes closed, she applied a bit more pressure to his left side. she heard him inhale deeply through his nose and let her arm go limp. she felt him stir and a moment later he lifted her hand off his side and set it back down on the mattress as he got up. she heard him stumble and almost laughed as she heard him collide with the dresser. so this is how the days begin for the great space travelers of the galaxy, she thought amusedly.

later that day, when she was on her way to meet her parents for lunch, she thought back to that morning with a tinge of regret. she knew that he had wanted to leave without waking her, and even for her sake: an emotional eruption similar to the previous night’s would have been painful for both of them. still, she felt disappointed that she had foregone one last chance to speak with him, to tell him that she loved him, and to tell him to return quickly and safely. these were truths that he already knew, though, and so perhaps she had indeed made the right decision.

the city of Caulmen was of moderate size as cities on Dulvern went, and was home to around a million inhabitants. the midtown area, where Leah lived, was the most densely peopled part of the city, but its few buildings of ten or more stories were trite in comparison to the skyscraping complexes that were the larger cities around the planet. Caulmen was not even large enough to boast an aerie, the type of airborne public transit systems common in the big cities. she had heard, though, that the city council was in fact considering bids for a small aerie in her part of town, though she did not know for certain if this was true.

her parents, knowing that today was the day of Issac’s departure, had offered to treat her to an early lunch as a small form of consolation. and her mother, Leah was sure, wanted nothing more than to discuss endless wedding details. they had already set a date, time and place, already contacted the officiant and the wedding party, already booked the music–one of the famous Toranian sextets that was to be imported from that planet and display their finger-picking talents on the one-hundred-and-two-stringed atorsoni–and already finalized a myriad of other arrangements. what there could be left to do continually astounded her, and she wasn’t sure why she had to be involved so greatly in any case: she was only the bride, and the festivities were decidedly less for her and more for the sake of spectacle on behalf of her mother, her aunts, and her sisters, a demonstration that the Nevert family was healthy once more and that they had succeeded in making Leah better again, this time for good.

Leah rounded a street corner and headed down Ulmnen street, named for one of the heroes of Dulvern’s war of independence from its now ally and onetime oppressor, Yrshnma. a few plain-looking cars swept past quietly on the street, suspended a foot off the ground by the electromagnetic suspensers that worked against the ionized tubes below the street. each had wheels that could deploy if needed, but there was never a need so long as Caulmen still had electricity to power its electromagnetic transit system. one such car, a streamlined blue two door, pulled over a hundred yards in front of her. she recognized it, and noticed that it had parked in front of her destination, the Ulmnen street greenhouse. out stepped her parents, her father from the driver’s side, and her mother from the passenger’s. they didn’t notice her and headed for the door.

“mom,” Leah called out, quickening her pace. she waved her right hand to call their attention.

her mother turned and returned the wave. she walked slowly in Leah’s direction. her father stood patiently. “good afternoon, Leah,” Mrs. Nevert said with a touch of formality.

when they reached each other, Leah’s mother hugged her lightly and passionlessly. Mr. Nevert said, “how are you feeling?” there was a hint of apprehension in his tone.

“fine,” Leah responded, pretending to not understand the implication of the question. “shall we eat?”

the Ulmnen Street Greenhouse, known simply as “The Greenhouse” by the locals, was an all-vegetarian restaurant which boasted in-house growth of all plants that were served there. the sauces and beverages were imported, of course, but every leaf and stalk consumed by patrons was grown in the large atmosphere-controlled glass structure that was attached to the dining area like the swollen thorax of a queen ant. this made the price of the food much higher than that of neighboring eateries, but the Neverts, who had chosen the greenhouse for today’s lunch, rarely shied away from ostentatious displays of their wealth.

“and, you know,” her mother was saying, “i just don’t care for him. Issac is a fine young boy, and i don’t know how he could have come from such a vile man.”

Leah picked at the remains of her konashem salad listlessly. she was familiar with this conversation, and didn’t enjoy it any more on each repeat. “i know, mom. Issac’s been on his own for a long time now. his dad won’t even be at the wedding.”

“well he ought to be,” Mrs. Nevert said indignantly. “his own son’s wedding…” she trailed off disgustedly.

“but why do you want him at the wedding? i thought you hated him,” Leah said.

“well hate is an awfully strong word, young woman,” she scolded. “and i don’t want him there. selfishly, i’m glad he’s not coming. but still, it’s the principal of the matter.”

“he’s not being supportive,” Mr. Nevert said flatly.

“yes, that’s exactly right, Elmen,” Leah’s mother said with increasing excitement. “he’s not being supportive, Leah. i just worry about how healthy Issac could be with such an absent father.”

there was that word again, healthy. Leah had grown incredibly fatigued by its ad nauseaum overuse by the doctors and family and friends alike in the past two years. she thought that since she was now supposed to be healthy she might be able to spare herself from hearing the word healthy. but apparently this was not to be.

“well, Issac’s dad has a lot going on, obviously. we all know how we feel about him, and we all know he’s not going to be there,” Leah said with irritation. “can we move on, please?”

“Leah,” Mr. Nevert intoned sternly. she had been using a tone with her mother, and her father was there, as always, his wife’s stoic centurion.

“sorry,” Leah said carelessly, staring into her salad.

Mrs. Nevert shook it off, and began with an energetic but businesslike tone. “so, i was just looking over the guest list again, Leah. do you remember your father’s cousin, Eltinen?”

the conversation continued thusly for another hour, and consisted mostly of Leah acquiescing and gazing painfully at the clock. finally, her father noted formally and with a forced ruefulness that he should be leaving so he could drop Mrs. Nevert off at home in time for him to make it to an afternoon business meeting. Leah thanked them for the food. her mood had been descending steadily for the last hour, even since her parents stepped out of their car, and now she felt downright awful. she already missed Issac terribly, and this meeting with her parents had made her feel even more isolated and alone. she felt herself slipping. she doubted her mother’s fragile sense of control would survive if she let herself slip much more.

“well, if you talk to Issac, tell him we wish him a safe return, and a quick one,” Mrs. Nevert said as she got into the car that Elmen had already started. “what a time for him to be away. well, goodbye Leah. we’ll see you again next week.”

Leah stood silently as her mother closed the door. the car lifted a foot off the ground and, once traffic had cleared, spat itself into the thickening stream of cars floating down Ulmnen street.

she did not move for a moment. her gaze had locked onto a building across the street. she contemplated crossing to it. she felt depressed, and she wanted only the comforts of that building. wanted them badly. it had only been one day, she thought. not even a full day, actually, since Issac had left. if she couldn’t even make it one day – she turned quickly, not allowing herself to finish the thought. she did not turn and look at the building again, though even after she had rounded the street corner and turned off of Ulmnen street, it consumed her thoughts the entire way home.

**

Cillian’s father laughed a jovial but cracking laugh. “and,” he was saying, “you wanna know why his eyes are so bad?” he paused for another bout of laughter. “when we first got here, little Cillian spent a full day staring at the sun, trying to figure out when it was going to set.” he erupted in an explosion of humorous memory, slapped his upper leg heartily. after a moment, his laughter subsided into a shallow wheeze, and he took a gulp from his glass of sunset liquor. “but,” he said in a more even tone, “i guess this place takes a bit of getting used to, even fer a five-year-old.”

“thanks for the joyful trip down memory’s wormhole,” Cillian said with an insinuating smile. “i’m sure Issac’s just tickled to hear about my childhood.”

“oooh,” his father rasped dismissively. “just some good stories to end the day.”

a long moment passed, and Cillian’s father spat a few more bursts of laughter. finally, Issac said, “well…” he trailed off and slapped his knees with open palms. “thanks for…” he trailed off again, gesturing to the sparsely furnished room he had been given for the night, and perhaps for many nights to come.

“sure,” Cillian said, raising a palm. he pointed down the hall. “head’s down there, if you need it.”

“nice to have ya here, kid,” Cillian’s father said.

Issac nodded in response, and disappeared into his modest but clean quarters.

Cillian watched the young Dulvernian until the door closed behind him. Cillian stood, slicked back his amber hair with two open palms, let out a deep sigh.

Cillian’s father grabbed a bottle from the table and emptied its contents into his glass. only a trickle of liquor transferred from one vessel to the other. “there’s gotta be one more bottle,” his father insisted, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen. Cillian’s eyes flicked to the empty bottle of sunset “get it fer me, will ya? and then get yer book. you got at least two more pages owed me today.”

Cillian gritted his teeth, dipped his head in resignation. “sure thing, pop.”

he knew the usual spot: the tall, thin cabinet above the radiostove. it had been perhaps three weeks since his father had left the confines of Cillian’s establishment, but he had stocked up on more than a months supply of sunset when he had.

maybe a “month’s supply” was generous, Cillian thought, as he rooted around in the thin cabinet. his hand clanked against hollow glass bottles: his father stashed the empties here, he supposed, if only to create the illusion that more was available at a moments notice.

“i think ya got it all, pop,” Cillian called, loudly enough that his father would hear him but, hopefully, not loud enough that Issac would.

“you dumb son of a bitch,” came the retort. “look on the second shelf!”

of course, Cillian though, cursing himself inwardly: tall, not deep. he lifted his right hand a foot higher into the air and slipped it over the cabinet’s second shelf. sure as shit, he thought with a smile that remarked simultaneously on the memory and dependency of his father.

on his way back to his father’s chair, he remembered the second order: his book rested on the warm, grey counter just below the liquor cabinet. he snatched it on an awkward backpedal. he scanned its cover briefly before returning to his father.

“here,” Cillian said bluntly, shoving the bottle of dark liquor towards the old, heavy man.

“good, boy,” the elder man said, ripping the bottle, almost violently, from Cillian’s hands. he short grey hair bounced with the action. “now. read.”

Cillian’s father poured a full glass of sunset, took a long, hard pull from his glass, and exhaled caustically. he set the glass back on the table, sat back in his chair, hands folded over belly. “read,” he repeated.

Cillian glared at him. but his eyes shifted. they fell from the old man’s weathered face and slipped to the bottle in front of him. wordlessly, he grabbed it, drank deeply. the liquor burned his throat, and he coughed exactly twice, clenching a fist before his mouth. he set the bottle back on the table, opened the book to the page demarcated by a thin slice of paper.

he cleared his throat.

“‘chapter seven,’” he quoted. “‘and it was then — it was then, by his full — by his full — ryteoness–”

“righteousness, goddam it, righteousness!” his father exclaimed. “how many goddam times do i have to tell you what that word is? you know the word, don’t you?”

“yeah, pop, i know the word.”

“you can say it, can’t you?”

resentment found a foothold in Cillian’s tone. “yeah, i can say it.”

“well, say it then!”

Cillian obliged, said the word.

“well then fucking read it!” Cillian’s father took a long pull from his glass, exasperated.

Cillian ground his teeth, attempting to ignore his father’s words. he read, laboriously and slowly, “‘and it was then by his full righteousness that the Patriarch claimed–” he stopped suddenly, as if afflicted by a Pavnorian ice storm. he gaped at the page, eyes crawling back and forth across the upcoming word.

his father shot his head back and laughed loudly. “you can’t–” another paroxysm of laughter. “oh, by sun, you can’t–” he shattered again into gulps of hysteric breathing, lifting his glass of sunset to his lips. the glass trembled there, in the old man’s quivering hands, unable to pour its contents passed his mocking lips. he sighed a long, brutal sigh, slammed his glass back to the table, spilling some of its contents onto the table. “i’m going to bed, son,” he said. “gimme at least another good hour on that book, and i don’t care.”

the old man stood, wobbled his way down the sidehall. “night, son,” he called lamely over his shoulder.

Cillian did not respond. instead, he creased the spine of the book with his left hand, leaned back against the wall, and eyed the half-full glass of sunset lustily. finally, he turned his attention to the final word of the sentence. and it was then by his full righteousness that the Patriarch claimed…

**

Leah depressed the foot pedal of her loom and smiled unconsciously as the wool repeatedly tangled and untangled itself from her fingers. the archaic piece of wooden equipment sat in the corner of her apartment. archaic. that was Issac’s word. he had never explicitly criticized her love of the ancient, but he had certainly never encouraged it. and, she noted distantly, he always had a way of choosing just the right words that did not invoke a rebuttal but did not offer encouragement. if you were exactly the same as someone, she thought, you wouldn’t find them interesting.

a framed painting looked down on her from the wall. Leah had purchased the work, which was purported to be almost a thousand years old, from a tiny antiques store a year prior. it had cost her a months wages, and was one of the last pieces sold by the antiques store before it closed for good. the painting showed Caulmen as it had been at the time it was created: old, almost ancient, but vital and organic.

she glanced at the clock. it was almost a quarter past three, and she had plans to meet her friend Rinca at a local vapor dispensary. reluctantly, she tied off the thread — the blue-green weave was beginning to resemble the neck wrapping it would soon become — and gathered her things.

after she was dressed, and about to exit the apartment, she went to her bookshelf as an afterthought. Rinca was notorious for tardiness, and Leah thought she would use any waiting time to read Planter’s Harvest, an old tragic novel whose central character was, rebelliously, a grower of her own herbs and spices when such growing had been categorically banned on Dulvern.

if her apartment was the only one in the neighborhood with a loom, it was almost certainly one of the only dwellings with a bookshelf. books, volumes of paper bound together in a cardboard cover, had been replaced centuries ago by visiscripts. visiscripts were one of the earliest technologies of the cybernetic revolution, which had begun in the year 10,021 when the scientist Altin Yundor had augmented his own brain with cybernetic components. direct nervous system augmentation was still rare, but the effects of the brain-computer marriage had wide, sweeping effects, and the visiscript was one of them.

a typical citizen of Dulvern, or any of the other hundreds of thousands of populated, modernized worlds in the galaxy, would regularly attach a visiscript, which was itself a small device about the size of a thumbnail, and only twice its thickness, to the back of the neck, just below the hairline. the device, when activated by contact with a recognized thumbprint (one could not force another to see a visiscript), interacted with one’s brainwaves and obeyed the brain’s commands. after recognizing intention in the form of analyzed brain activity, the visiscript would transmit a signal to the viewers optical nerve, overlaying the text over half the user’s vision, corresponding to the user’s dominant eye. the visiscript would scroll up and down based on eye movements, and if the viewer focused his or her eyes on a distant object, the “page” would blur out of focus and into almost complete transparency so that the user could carry out ordinary tasks with a minimal amount of distraction. when the viewer once again focused on the words, they would regain their opacity and clarity, and the user could return to reading.

Leah supposed that the effects would have been disorienting for an adult who had never used one before, but children throughout the galaxy were now brought up using visiscripts as early as they could read, and interacting with them was as natural as walking and talking for all but the most impoverished. she knew several studious individuals who were connected to a visiscript almost constantly, utilizing every free moment to refocus on the visible but non-physical page and take in as much information as a day would allow. she, however, used visiscripts only when necessary, and preferred the physical presence of paper and ink, though books, already a rarity, were becoming more and more scarce by the year. the book, it seemed, was a dying artform. these thoughts crossed her mind distantly as she exited her apartment, slipped her treasured volume into her shoulder bag, and climbed down the stairs to the street.

the vapor dispensary was almost empty. two old women sat in a corner, wrinkled faces folding and unfolding as they drew breaths of vapor and talked. a single employee, young in appearance, sat behind the counter in a bored state of distraction. she recognized him, but did not know his name. he was memorable not for any particular trait of his own, but because of the bizarre stories Issac had invented about the young vapor dispenser. it was an odd habit of his, but one that Leah had grown to love. it had only been a few days since his departure, and already she felt the absence of even his most obscure characteristics.

Rinca was almost thirty minutes late, and Leah was becoming impatient. she had already finished one can of pelberry vapor and was delaying from ordering a second. in any case, the teenaged dispenser seemed in no hurry to sell her a another round.

the cans of vapor, which came in several flavors, released a mist of flavored water vapor through a straw upon a touch. the vapor was laced with a variety of natural, legal, and mild stimulants. sharing cans of vapor was a common social practice on many worlds, but was particularly popular among college students in Caulmen. Leah enjoyed the sweeter flavors greatly, but could not inhale them in the evening, as even the mildest of stimulants upset her sleep.

Planter’s Harvest was reaching its second-act climax, and the main character’s herb farm, having been discovered and declared criminal by the authorities, was about to be burned by the story’s villainously technophilic antagonist. despite the rapidly advancing plot, Leah was finding great difficulty in keeping her eyes on the page. or, even when her eyes were tracing over the book’s words, she would realize that she had not actually considered a single one of them for the last few minutes, and was often compelled to reread upwards of half a chapter.

her mind drifted here and there, seldom landing on any one of her myriad thoughts for more than a moment. she thought of Rinca, and began to wonder how well they actually knew each other despite their acquaintance since childhood. she wondered after Issac. she hadn’t heard anything, but she wasn’t too surprised or too worried by that. interstellar communication was expensive and, in some places, hard to come by. she was beginning to feel his absence more heavily, and her thoughts moved from Issac to the building across the street almost of their own volition. Leah had told herself she wasn’t going there today, which was why she had planned a date with Rinca.

as if on cue, the vibration of her projection disk roused her from thought. she withdrew the flat disk, which had the circumference about the size of an apple, and laid it on the table. she pressed a green button on its surface and the vibration stopped. the translucent hologram of Rinca’s face, fair and bordered by straight, long dirty-blond hair, appeared before her. Leah forced a smile.

“hey, Rinca,” she said plainly.

“Leah, i’m really sorry,” Rinca said, an apologetic look on her face. “i meant to call you earlier. something came up — i’m not going to be able to make it today.”

“is everything okay?” Leah asked. her concern was genuine.

“yeah, everything’s fine,” Rinca said. “it’s just…my brother got into a little trouble at school and i had to pick him up.” her brother, six years Rinca’s junior, had caused problems since a very young age, and though Rinca had moved out of the house years ago, she still frequently acted as her brother’s third parent.

“i’m sorry,” Leah offered.

“no, i’m sorry i couldn’t make it. i’ll call you later this week, though, okay?”

“that’s fine.” Leah smiled thinly, and closed the contact on the communication disk. she slipped it back into her pocket with a sigh. she glanced at the old ladies in the corner. one laughed loudly, her sagging jowls bouncing rhythmically

it was only a few minutes later that Leah sat at the bar, elbows leaning against the beveled edge, a tall glass of a local Caulmen brew before her. like the vapor dispensary, the bar was thinly populated. the attendant here was older and female, but equally bored.

Leah drew the dark ale to her lips. she felt simultaneously better and worse. the taste of the drink brought an almost instantaneous relief, but the very fact that it was, once again, the drink itself that she was turning to for the relief was necessarily a depressing thought. she shrugged off the paradoxical quality of beer, and decided that after a few more, she wouldn’t care anyway. after all, it was not yet four, and the night had many more hours to give her.

after a few moments, she pulled out her book and tried again to read. she was almost through her first glass of the Caulmen brew, named Skytinsle after, well, she wasn’t sure what it was named after, but probably a local landmark. the beer had affected her as expected, and she was already calmer. she found that she could concentrate on the Planter’s Harvest much more steadily now, and her harassing thoughts gave her a wider berth.

after two additional glasses and several more chapters, Leah was stirred by a light male voice that came from behind her.

“you don’t see that too often,” it said humorously.

she turned her head and regarded the voice’s owner. he was a young man perhaps a few years older than she. his brown hair was tussled, and a light beard clung to his cheeks. his bright blue eyes gazed out from a face that struck Leah instantly as kind. he was smiling, looking at Leah.

“see what?” she said with a mix of caution and playfulness.

he gestured at her book. he had been approaching her, but stopped a few feet away. “everybody uses visiscripts these days.”

she nodded. “i like old things,” she said simply.

he smiled broadly. “what are you drinking?” he asked, eyeing her nearly empty glass.

“Skytinsle.”

“can i buy you one?”

she paused for a moment. she thought of Issac. would he be angry if he knew that she was having a drink with another man? perhaps. but she felt terribly alone, and he had shown interest in her book, in one question showing more understanding of Leah’s love of the outmoded than Issac ever had.

she consented.

he sat next to her and, after flagging down the bartender and ordering a round of Skytinsle, he said, “my name is Afnen Uvnor.” he smiled and held out his hand.

she shook it lightly and said, “i’m Leah.”

“pleasure to meet you, Leah,” he said cheerfully. his bright disposition was starling in Leah’s dim mood, but she welcomed it. “what’s your book about?”

she told him. his eyes widened in surprise. “you’re not an Aurorist, are you?” she had been asked the question before, but Afnen’s query lacked the acidity that usually accompanied it.

“no,” she said. “my fiancé–” a barely perceptible and ambiguous look crossed Afnen’s face, and was gone instantly. she may have not noticed it if she were not gazing at Afnen’s face so intently.

she continued, “well, i’m sure you’ve heard of Mellor Devers?”

“of course.”

“my fiancé is his son. Issac. they don’t…get along,” she said with a tone of intentional implication.

“i know. he told me.”

Leah balked. “you know Issac?” she asked incredulously.

he smiled broadly. “no. i’ve never met him. but i’ve heard quite a lot about him. Mellor has told me all about his enchanted son.”