As he slowly descended, his anticipation in-creased, mixed with a growing sense of unease. Soon, he reached the Marginals.
The domes towered above him, looking like a tumbled col-lection of gigantic, ribbed seeds, which, in a sense, they were. The Marginals extended as far as the eastern horizon; he could see their oval spires rising faint and shadowy against the growing sunlight. The air was thick with pollen, which swarmed in golden skeins through the warm morning and filled Sirru's head with a pungent mixture of spices.
Somewhere in the midst of this vast construction lay the Core: the oldest thing in the universe, a place central to the life of all irRas and, to Sirru, literally unimaginable. He could only think about it in very vague terms, as one might glimpse stars from the corner of one's eye. The Marginals, the nearest ex-pression of the life of the Core, were impressive enough.
Sunlight shimmered from the walls, releasing a scented waft. Taking a deep breath, Sirru placed his palm on the entry mechanism of the Marginals' quarantine dome. Hoping that the scale's undetectors would hold, he walked slowly through the decontamination system before reaching the far end of the dome.
The 'thaithoi liked to see themselves as superior to Sirru's own caste because of where they lived, but
they were one of the lowest castes of the Marginals, really, confined to its farthest edges.
This was fortunate, because it meant that Sirru did not have to go very deep into the Marginals. A more extensive de-contamination would have revealed the scale in moments.
After a brief pause, the wall opened and Sirru stepped through into a long narrow chamber lined with antique metal panels. A group of hhaithoi awaited him. Their eyes glistened in the dim, filtered light; their quadruple arms were folded around their stout waists. Their petaled mouths fluttered in and out, tasting the air, listening for what he might inadver-tendy say. Sirru inclined his head and sent a carefully com-piled greeting of /place/status/affirmation/ . A rustle ran along the lines of the /{haithoi , but when he cautiously explored the air there was notJhing but a wall of blankness. They were blocking him. *
Sirru fought down a sudden, unfamiliar sense of panic; it was as though die 'thaithoi were no longer real, merely plump shells of flesh. He knew they were doing this to unsettle him. A thin glaze of sweat filmed the inside of the scale, which minutely rearranged itself and prevented Sirru from revealing his disquiet.
Sirru waited. A head turned: the bhaith who was nearest to him. Sirru was granted a portion of the khaitWs locative: IrHirrin EsRavesh. So this was the person who had summoned him. This was his rival.
Gritting his teeth, Sirru provided the relevant fragment of his locative in turn.
"/Sirrubennin EsMoyshekhal/genestrand seventy billion nine/."
"We already know where you come from," EsRavesh said, with a subtextual trace of disdain. "Speak when you are invited to, and not before." His complex mouth curled and folded in an expression that Sirru found difficult to interpret. EsRavesh was using the Present Remote Plural, laced with expressives so smooth and bland that they ran off Sirru's skin like rain. And beneath that, a hint of something much spikier. The scale shot a warning across Sirru's skin. Wisely, he did not reply.
"You're desqusai , aren't you?" the l{haith said, frowning, as if the lower castes were so similar that it was beyond his ability to tell them apart. Since his status was perfectly obvious, Sirru evinced no more than a flicker of affirmation. The petals of the khaith's mouth folded abruptly inward, leaving a small pinhead hole. "Then you will no doubt be overjoyed to learn that your caste is about to be honored,"
EsRavesh said. "Come with me."
The fyhaith spoke slowly, using clear, precise verbals to dis-ambiguate the complexities of his pheromonal speech. All the fyiaithoi spoke like this, as though the castes below diem
The domes towered above him, looking like a tumbled col-lection of gigantic, ribbed seeds, which, in a sense, they were. The Marginals extended as far as the eastern horizon; he could see their oval spires rising faint and shadowy against the growing sunlight. The air was thick with pollen, which swarmed in golden skeins through the warm morning and filled Sirru's head with a pungent mixture of spices.
Somewhere in the midst of this vast construction lay the Core: the oldest thing in the universe, a place central to the life of all irRas and, to Sirru, literally unimaginable. He could only think about it in very vague terms, as one might glimpse stars from the corner of one's eye. The Marginals, the nearest ex-pression of the life of the Core, were impressive enough.
Sunlight shimmered from the walls, releasing a scented waft. Taking a deep breath, Sirru placed his palm on the entry mechanism of the Marginals' quarantine dome. Hoping that the scale's undetectors would hold, he walked slowly through the decontamination system before reaching the far end of the dome.
The 'thaithoi liked to see themselves as superior to Sirru's own caste because of where they lived, but
they were one of the lowest castes of the Marginals, really, confined to its farthest edges.
This was fortunate, because it meant that Sirru did not have to go very deep into the Marginals. A more extensive de-contamination would have revealed the scale in moments.
After a brief pause, the wall opened and Sirru stepped through into a long narrow chamber lined with antique metal panels. A group of hhaithoi awaited him. Their eyes glistened in the dim, filtered light; their quadruple arms were folded around their stout waists. Their petaled mouths fluttered in and out, tasting the air, listening for what he might inadver-tendy say. Sirru inclined his head and sent a carefully com-piled greeting of /place/status/affirmation/ . A rustle ran along the lines of the /{haithoi , but when he cautiously explored the air there was notJhing but a wall of blankness. They were blocking him. *
Sirru fought down a sudden, unfamiliar sense of panic; it was as though die 'thaithoi were no longer real, merely plump shells of flesh. He knew they were doing this to unsettle him. A thin glaze of sweat filmed the inside of the scale, which minutely rearranged itself and prevented Sirru from revealing his disquiet.
Sirru waited. A head turned: the bhaith who was nearest to him. Sirru was granted a portion of the khaitWs locative: IrHirrin EsRavesh. So this was the person who had summoned him. This was his rival.
Gritting his teeth, Sirru provided the relevant fragment of his locative in turn.
"/Sirrubennin EsMoyshekhal/genestrand seventy billion nine/."
"We already know where you come from," EsRavesh said, with a subtextual trace of disdain. "Speak when you are invited to, and not before." His complex mouth curled and folded in an expression that Sirru found difficult to interpret. EsRavesh was using the Present Remote Plural, laced with expressives so smooth and bland that they ran off Sirru's skin like rain. And beneath that, a hint of something much spikier. The scale shot a warning across Sirru's skin. Wisely, he did not reply.
"You're desqusai , aren't you?" the l{haith said, frowning, as if the lower castes were so similar that it was beyond his ability to tell them apart. Since his status was perfectly obvious, Sirru evinced no more than a flicker of affirmation. The petals of the khaith's mouth folded abruptly inward, leaving a small pinhead hole. "Then you will no doubt be overjoyed to learn that your caste is about to be honored,"
EsRavesh said. "Come with me."
The fyhaith spoke slowly, using clear, precise verbals to dis-ambiguate the complexities of his pheromonal speech. All the fyiaithoi spoke like this, as though the castes below diem
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