Had the deserted bay been unfamiliar to Gretana she would have been forced to wade ashore and either arrange cursive transportation back to Karlth or obtain information about a suitable nodal point in the area which would enable her to transfer home. Either way a considerable time would have elapsed, but the boy could not have anticipated Gretana’s knowing exactly where she was. Mollan had no moon and, as was the case with any planet where only the weak solar tides reigned, broad sandy beaches were comparatively rare. That had provided the first clue to her location, and the twin headlands with their distinctive gazebos had confirmed that she was in Ulver Bay, some six hundred miles to the north of Karlth. She had been there many times as a child and, furthermore, could remember the precise reciprocal address of the node upon which she had been standing a few seconds earlier. The mischievous youngsters, Stedran and Clath, had no way of knowing it, but they were due for a surprise.
Gretana cupped her left hand and scooped up some sea water. She then gathered her thoughts, half-closed her eyes and sculpted a unique quartic curvature in the air.
The transfer occurred.
So rapid had her recovery been that Stedran was still facing the circular mosaic when Gretana materialised at its central point. She darted forward with a mock-ferocious snarl and sent droplets of cold water spraying into his face. The reaction was not what she had expected. Stedran, his mouth contorted with fear, dropped his model—causing it to collapse into the neutral configuration—and at the same time sprang backwards so violently that he fell. Clath fled immediately, leaving his friend scrabbling frantically on the pavement. The white-rimmed terror in Stedran’s eyes as he stared up at her swamped Gretana with remorse. She knelt and tried to help him to his feet, but he beat her hands away with a ferocity that took her by surprise.
“It’s all right, Stedran,” she said, trying to soothe him. “I was only…”
“Don’t touch me!” He whimpered like a small animal, rolling away from her as he got to his feet.
Gretana shook her head and smiled a reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You better not try!” The boy seemed to feel safer standing and as he recovered from shock his panic turned to anger. Watching the change take place in him, Gretana felt a cool premonition about what was coming next and did her best to forestall it by picking up the fallen model and offering it at arm’s length.
“Here’s your trainer, Stedran,” she said in a soft voice, despising herself for wheedling but unable to do otherwise. “Don’t you want it?”
“Not after you touched it.” Stedran’s eyes widened with gratification as he saw the effect of his words. Still backing away from her he funnelled his hands around his mouth.
“Ugly,” he shouted. “Ugly, ugly, UGLY!”
Gretana turned, throwing the model aside, and ran. She kept on running, plunging down the hillside through widening avenues, even when the sound of the boy’s repetitive chant was lost behind her, even when salted froth had begun to gather in the back of her mouth. Now you’re being stupid! The inner voice was angry, but coldly clinical. You have a long time to go, Gretana ty Iltha. Are you planning to fly away like a scissor-wing each time some brat says aloud what everybody else is thinking? If that’s the case, you’re going to cover a lot of ground, Gretana ty Iltha. Better wear lightweight shoes in future. And an exercise mask…
She came to a foot-slapping halt, suddenly aware of being near a populated area surrounding a fairly major node which had spatial links with several other cities. Some vehicular traffic was on the move in a freight arterial a short distance ahead of her, and many roofs of dwellings and commerical buildings were “visible among the surrounding banks of white-flowered foliage. She could not see any people in the immediate vicinity, but it was possible that others had already observed her actions and had been amused or intrigued by them—it was rare for anyone to run without donning an exercise mask to protect the face in the event of a fall. Glancing selfconsciously from side to side, Gretana began walking in the direction of the hostel. The violent exercise had shed all the sea water from her clothing, but it would take some time before her breathing and complexion returned to normal, and she had no wish to arrive at work looking flustered. She decided to complete the whole journey at a gentle stroll, thinking cool and untroubled thoughts, regaining her composure.
Lucent Ideal, Twelfth Rubric: Charm lies in the animation of the features, beauty in their immobility.
In spite of her resolve and attempted concentration on the Twelfth Rubric, she found herself reliving the pointless incident and wishing she had handled it differently, thus avoiding the pain and humiliation that was throbbing behind her eyes. There was no question as to why Stedran had wanted to hurt her—she had startled him, robbed him of his dignity—but how had he known what to say? A child barely out of his first decade could not have studied the Twenty Rubrics, a fact which seemed to indicate that there was nothing arbitrary about them. There had to be an ideal configuration of the features which was as right and universal as the sphericity of the planets, and any serious deviation from it was an affront to nature. Gretana unconsciously drew in her upper lip as she tried to remember the first occasion on which she had looked at herself in a mirror and had known…
Doctor Kallid was already waiting in the spacious atrium when Gretana entered. He was a blue-eyed man with ice-smooth blond hair and a casual mode of dress which belied his position of authority in the hostel. Gretana knew him to be entering his ninth century, but—largely because of his unfailing enthusiasm for his work—she tended to think of him as being only slightly older than herself.
“Fair seasons, Doctor,” she greeted him. “Am I late?”
“According to yesterday’s schedule, no—according to today’s, a little.” Kallid made no move towards the inner geriatric wards, which Gretana had been expecting to tour for the first time as part of her training. “Your programme has been altered, I’m afraid.”
“I wasn’t notified.”
“Neither was I,” Kallid said, showing some annoyance. “We’re desperately short of staff here, and Vekrynn knows it, but he puts his own requirements first—and it isn’t fair to you.”
“I still don’t…” Gretana paused, frowning. “Vekrynn? I know of only one man with that name.”
Kallid nodded, his face now carefully impassive. “It’s the same one—Vekrynn tye Orltha, doyen of the Warden class.”
“But what possible interest could Warden Vekrynn have in me?”
“It appears that he is short of staff, too. Very short.” The doctor spoke in a casual manner which made the content of his words all the more shocking. “I think he wants you to go to Earth.”
Chapter Two
I’ll never go to Earth.
The thought sustained and comforted Gretana as she waited in Vekrynn’s pearl-walled reception chamber, but it had the unfortunate effect of adding to her nervousness.
Warden Vekrynn’s visits to Karlth were very short and took place only a few times a century. That fact, combined with his absolute pre-eminence in Mollanian society, meant that few citizens could aspire even to set eyes on him, and far less had any hope of meeting him in person. His presence, however brief, at one of the glittering parties on Silver Island or Mount Elux was enough to elevate the fortunate host and hostess to a new pinnacle of respect. As a natural consequence of her physical shortcomings, Gretana was unable to attend any of the more prestigious social functions and, had she given the matter any thought, would have estimated her chances of ever being under the same roof as Vekrynn tye Orltha at less than one in a million.