at a time, feeling like his lungs would burst with the pressure. Ever after it became easier and easier for him to slip, as he thought of it, to that same place, until it was almost like walking forwards and simply finding yourself there. In prison, they had called it Jumping. Heâd never heard of anyone else who could do what he did, but his captors had seemed to know all about it.
The first time White had Jumped, he had been eleven years old. He wasnât even too sure how exactly it had happened. All he had done was think, for a while, about the Angle Tar of his dreams, and how to get there. He had thought very hard and very long about it â how it had started, what everything had looked like, the sounds he had heard. He had felt a tugging at his belly, inside the core of him. He had stood up, felt himself vibrate like a flicked wine glass, and pushed his way carefully through a crack in the air, a crack that he couldnât see but that he felt with every atom of his body.
A moment where everything was black, and endless.
And then, on the other side of the crack, he had stepped out to find himself several streets away, still in World, alone and very confused.
It took him only a second to understand what he had done. Though his mother had never mentioned such an ability, it seemed logical to him that if your mind could visit other places when you were asleep, your body would eventually be able to do it while you were awake. He supposed ending up where you actually wanted to go took a lot more practice.
He had walked home, using Life to navigate. Found his house and gone inside, where he was a little surprised to discover that no one had missed him. His father was working, and his brother and sister were still jacked into school, whereas he had already finished for the day. His mother, as usual, was asleep upstairs.
So the phenomenon passed unremarked, and when he managed to do it again a month or so later, he didnât talk about it, because he had learned a long time ago that the things he could do were the subject of not a few ugly, heated arguments in his family, linked to a knotted feeling inside him that made him sick. He didnât want to feel like that. His mother still insisted he practise dream-focusing techniques with her, but he never shared the progress he had made.
So was his free and secret time spent. He experimented alone, testing, pushing. It seemed, for now, that he could only focus a Jump to places he had already been to, either in real life or in his dreams. If he wanted, he could travel to school with a Jump â not that he had dared to do that more than once. But simply thinking âChinaâ and trying to move did nothing.
It didnât matter though, because Angle Tar was what he wanted. It was hard to concentrate in lessons when he knew that night he might be in a place that fascinated and glittered like a jewel. He realised that most World people did not feel the same way as he did about that odd little nation, a country not important enough to make Life news unless one of its ambassadors had done something quaintly hilari-ous at a political function.
When White started to tentatively practise Jumping his entire self to Angle Tar and not just to visit it in his dreams, he bolted whenever he saw someone and hoped that they hadnât caught a glimpse of him. Angle Tarain didnât augment or body decorate â they all looked the same. White was too young to have done anything to his appearance when he had first started dream-visiting Angle Tar, but by the time he could comfortably Jump there, he had had his skin pigmented to a smooth, marble white and his dark hair was artificially extended to his hips. In World, his appearance was considered demure and rather boring. In Angle Tar, he stood out. He had exotic features, and World clothes were outrageous in comparison to theirs. He did his best with the most innocuous clothes he could find, and kept to the darker
The first time White had Jumped, he had been eleven years old. He wasnât even too sure how exactly it had happened. All he had done was think, for a while, about the Angle Tar of his dreams, and how to get there. He had thought very hard and very long about it â how it had started, what everything had looked like, the sounds he had heard. He had felt a tugging at his belly, inside the core of him. He had stood up, felt himself vibrate like a flicked wine glass, and pushed his way carefully through a crack in the air, a crack that he couldnât see but that he felt with every atom of his body.
A moment where everything was black, and endless.
And then, on the other side of the crack, he had stepped out to find himself several streets away, still in World, alone and very confused.
It took him only a second to understand what he had done. Though his mother had never mentioned such an ability, it seemed logical to him that if your mind could visit other places when you were asleep, your body would eventually be able to do it while you were awake. He supposed ending up where you actually wanted to go took a lot more practice.
He had walked home, using Life to navigate. Found his house and gone inside, where he was a little surprised to discover that no one had missed him. His father was working, and his brother and sister were still jacked into school, whereas he had already finished for the day. His mother, as usual, was asleep upstairs.
So the phenomenon passed unremarked, and when he managed to do it again a month or so later, he didnât talk about it, because he had learned a long time ago that the things he could do were the subject of not a few ugly, heated arguments in his family, linked to a knotted feeling inside him that made him sick. He didnât want to feel like that. His mother still insisted he practise dream-focusing techniques with her, but he never shared the progress he had made.
So was his free and secret time spent. He experimented alone, testing, pushing. It seemed, for now, that he could only focus a Jump to places he had already been to, either in real life or in his dreams. If he wanted, he could travel to school with a Jump â not that he had dared to do that more than once. But simply thinking âChinaâ and trying to move did nothing.
It didnât matter though, because Angle Tar was what he wanted. It was hard to concentrate in lessons when he knew that night he might be in a place that fascinated and glittered like a jewel. He realised that most World people did not feel the same way as he did about that odd little nation, a country not important enough to make Life news unless one of its ambassadors had done something quaintly hilari-ous at a political function.
When White started to tentatively practise Jumping his entire self to Angle Tar and not just to visit it in his dreams, he bolted whenever he saw someone and hoped that they hadnât caught a glimpse of him. Angle Tarain didnât augment or body decorate â they all looked the same. White was too young to have done anything to his appearance when he had first started dream-visiting Angle Tar, but by the time he could comfortably Jump there, he had had his skin pigmented to a smooth, marble white and his dark hair was artificially extended to his hips. In World, his appearance was considered demure and rather boring. In Angle Tar, he stood out. He had exotic features, and World clothes were outrageous in comparison to theirs. He did his best with the most innocuous clothes he could find, and kept to the darker
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