Kirya and Nero

---

Kirya waited silently with her eyes tightly closed. As the seconds stretched on, her anxiety grew.

It was the same pattern every time. She was eager, yes. Impatient for the moment, but terrified of what might happen. And in an effort to calm herself, she forced her senses to a pinpoint precision. She heard every whisper beyond her safe sphere of light. She could see the bluish gleam of many eyes in the darkness. She felt every slightest breeze. Almost, even, she could hear the imperceptible sound of incense smoldering nearby. Kirya felt the moment. She was the moment. It was time.

She lifted herself slowly, unwinding and unfurling. The iridescent pink silk of her robe flowed with her, spreading like the petals of a flower. At the height of her bloom, she spoke:

"The moon and I have traveled
From places long unknown,
Through stories since unraveled
On our forgotten quest

"The Moon and I are shadows,
Silent and unseen,
And where'er we chance to wander
We cannot be suppressed

"But soon the blackness fades
From pitch to keenest blue
And when the Night succumbs to Day,
The Moon and I will rest."

Again, as always, Kirya strained to experience the moment to the fullest. She could hear the soft breathing of the audience as her words danced around them. The verses leapt and pirouetted, mingling effortlessly with the sweet scent of zinkuyer flowers.

The intensity of it only lasted for meager minutes, but what a moment it was!

Without so much as a rustle of cloth, she diminished again, resting her weight on one knee and allowing the long sleeves of her robe to drape elegantly on the floor.

She was greeted by the sharp, staccato rhythm of the adults rapping politely on the tabletops as the canteen lights returned. Kirya bowed her head slightly in response. Again she rose slowly, but not as dramatically as before. Kirya smiled inwardly. All the ceremony, the formality, the robes and the incense could have been disregarded. There was no need to go to such trouble in this familiar setting. At least, that's what her parents would say.

We just want you to feel comfortable, they would say, albeit with a spark of pride in their eyes. A recital doesn't have to be an elaborate effort. Please do whatever you feel.

But it is necessary, she told herself. Anyone can read the words off a page, but only a traditional Eraknian recital can summon the true power of words. Besides, if there was only a single word to characterize Kirya, it was "traditional".

Kirya always tried to be the very avatar of old-fashioned gentleness and grace. Some of her peers were louder and more impetuous, always seeking something new and exciting. But not Kirya. She was patient, she was even-tempered, she was... serene. As her friends used to say, she was like a leaf, drifting silently on the flowing surface of the universe.

The reality was that Kirya was never entirely unseen. In fact, she was often described as quite pretty, in a natural and unassuming way. She was an average height, and her skin delicately tinted from many afternoons among the broad-leafed trees near her home in Ksanki. Years of yin saber training had taught her to control her body with a fluid grace and an ethereal presence. When added to the modest waves of wine-colored hair and the kind of amethyst eyes her friends would die for, it was no wonder that several of her male classmates were keenly interested in Kirya's favor. She always sympathized with them and worked very hard to turn down these attentions as politely and painlessly as possible.

Kirya bowed a final time and the ship's canteen began to echo with voices in casual conversation. She gently slipped off the silk poet's robe, revealing a practical white day tunic and breeches. The robe was folded and wrapped painstakingly in brown paper to protect the gossamer pattern until later use.

Kirya silently maneuvered between the low tables of the canteen, careful to avoid jostling the other patrons seated upon the floor. When she reached her destination, she lowered herself smoothly to her knees, trying her best to make it look effortless.

From across the table, Ietan smiled broadly at Kirya.

"As always, Nikyin," Ietan said, "your daughter has a presence far beyond her years. I'm rather jealous."

The man at Kirya's left hand chuckled. He was tall, and creeping to the rounder side of the scale. His face was lined from years of experience, but the creases around his eyes were especially pronounced – a lifetime of good cheer tends to leave that sort or mark. Kirya often marveled at how easily her father's expression fluctuated from mercurial levity to near-obsessive curiosity.

"This is nothing," Nikyin said. "Every day, it seems, she makes us feel like pitiful infants while she drifts along as the very embodiment of the jiisei."

He gave Kirya a reassuring nod, his deep red eyes twinkling. "I hope you don't find our unreasonable expectations too demanding."

Kirya shook her head. "I hope to meet your challenge and surpass it. Seziru'li."

"It's okay to relax, my dear," said Ietan as she poured Kirya a cup of plum kirn tea. "I'm perfectly willing to put traditions and procedure on hold if you are."

"Yes, Captain Kamia," Kirya said. She couldn't bring herself to loosen her shoulders or soften her posture, but she accepted the tea with a friendly smile.

"You were saying, Captain?" prompted Kirya's father.

"Was I? Ah, li oru. If our estimates our accurate – as they usually are – we should be leaving the Tunnel in a matter of hours. From there, it'll be less than a day's flight to the planet. I'm sure the embassy is eager for their new geneticist, especially one of your caliber."

"You flatter me, Captain, but I'm not as renowned as all that. Besides, with all the progress already made, I doubt I'll be all that beneficial."

"Don't be silly, Nikyin," said the fourth member of the group. The woman seated to Kirya's right had been silent as a stone until now. "They would be ignorant not to recognize your contributions."

Everything about the woman suggested a complete serenity, from her soft lilting voice to her dreamy-yet-knowing stare. Like Kirya, she seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And like Kirya, she possessed the same rare violet eyes.

Nikyin laughed. "Yes, thank you Reja. You see, Captain? You see how honest she keeps me? My wife works hard to keep me truthful at all times, even to myself."

"She has a point," Kirya interjected. "All your efforts for the genome mapping project? The famous Hiyuzina comparison model? Not to mention all your public lectures and seminars. You've made a complex science tangible to the masses, a popularizer of genetics. They practically owe you the opportunity."

Kirya hadn't meant to break character like that. In truth she was just as excited as her father to make the long journey to Earth, the sister planet of her own Ringu. How many Eraknians were allowed to visit the other world when Tunnel-access was so heavily restricted? Her father was one of the honored few given the chance and, as was customary, he was permitted to bring his wife and daughter along for the experience.

Another culture, another world, another species so like her own. The implications alone were fascinating.

Kirya was suddenly aware of the gaze of the entire table settling on her. Her father looked as if he received a compliment from the science minister himself. Her mother wore an expectant expression, as if encouraging Kirya to continue.

Ietan, however, feigned shock. "I don't think I've ever heard Kirya say so much at once! Except for the recitals, liyo aru."

"She has a gift with words, when she chooses to use them," Nikyin said. "But she rarely indulges anywhere but home."

"I see." Ietan turned her head to watch the impenetrable blackness of the Tunnel through the canteen windows. "Sounds to me like this voyage is changing you already, my dear," she said with a grin.

Kirya resumed her stiff stance as her cheeks flooded with embarrassment.

The captain smiled, but said nothing else.

---

"'Sup, Nerdo?"

Nero cringed imperceptibly and threw every ounce of attention into his book.

Not that it mattered. He was facing much more formidable opponents than his poor paperback shield could endure.

"Y'know," the voice continued as Nero's book was wrenched from his grasp, "it's rude to ignore people. They start to think you don't like them."

Looming over Nero's head was Terry Richards, by far the most persistent of Nero's enemies. Terry was everything that Nero wasn't – athletic, attractive, charismatic, and truly savage. He was the kind of child who the teachers grew to love. He's such a thoughtful boy, they would say. So hard-working, so outgoing... he'll do great things someday.

They never seemed to notice the sharp, predatory look that Terry wore when their backs were turned. All they ever saw was his crafted mask; they never saw the animal within.

"The Glass Spiral," Terry read from the book's cover. "Sounds interesting. Is it any good?"

Without waiting for a response, Terry tore out a fistful of pages.

Nero refused to allow so much as a wince to flicker across his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Terry said. He did nothing to hide the sneer carved into his handsome features. "I think I broke your book!"

There was a murmur of laughter. Terry's loyal entourage was spread out a few feet away, forming a semicircle around their leader and his prey.

Nero already knew the outcome of this scenario, and nothing he did would change it. Nor could he expect any amount of resuce. He purposely chose this spot because it was isolated, hoping to discourage his bullies by remaining inconveniently out of their way. And the ancient oak tree on the edge of the campus was as out-of-the-way as he could hope to get during school hours. But it was futile. If you run, they have to chase you. It's all part of the game.

With a flick of his wrist, Terry flung the book's tattered remains into Nero's lap.

"I hope I didn't ruin the ending," he said.

Nero still said nothing. Keep talking, he thought. Talk is fine, talk is harmless. Just keep talking.

Terry leaned casually against the old oak, watching Nero from the corner of one eye.

"So where's your mama, Nerdo? Does she let you leave the house by yourself now?"

Some other kids took this as a cue.

"She still tie your shoelaces?"

"She tuck you in at night?"

"Blow your nose? Wipe your ass?"

With every ounce of control he could summon, Nero tried to block out the taunts. Let them mock. Let them jeer until their jaws fall off. I'm not going to give them what they want.

Terry scowled, as if he could read Nero's thoughts.

"Whassa matter? Not going to play?"

The alpha dog shifted his position to face Nero, crouching down so the two boys were at eye level. Gently, but with unmistakeable intent, Terry lifted Nero's head and locked eyes with him.

"You're being very rude," Terry said coldly. "Your mother didn't teach you manners, did she...."

Nero could resist no longer. He swung his arm and knocked Terry's hand away from his face.

Terry was on his feet in a flash. He seized Nero by the shoulders and spun him around, slamming him face-first into the tree trunk. With one arm gripping Nero's wrists and the other on the back of his neck, Terry held Nero helplessly pinned to the old oak.

Nero tried struggling, but Terry had too much weight over him, too much strength. The onlookers sniggered to each other as Terry leaned in close.

"You forget," he growled in Nero's ear. "I'm stronger than you. Faster than you. Better than you."

No, you're not, Nero shouted in his mind. You're just a sad little boy, desperate for respect.

He twisted his head to glare at Terry, scraping his face on the rough bark.

But you won't get it from me. I pity you. I pity you.

Nero said nothing, instead willing his rage to dissipate and letting his blood ice over. He stopped fighting to free himself and went slack. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Terry grinning maliciously. Assured of his victory, Terry yanked Nero backwards and flung him to the grass.

"That's better," Terry said. "We don't have to fight, little prick. It's always easier if we don't fight."

Terry jerked his head and his pack followed him back into the main campus.

Nero watched them disappear. He was safe again... at least until the next encounter.

"I pity you," he hissed as Terry's gang vanished from sight. "Someday you'll realize that...."