(F) Inwardly Mobile, pt.1
Conner Vim crossed the spacious quadrangle that abutted the south base of the Core Towers just as Tower Seven eclipsed the last of the day’s sun. The windows that spired six hundred-some stories overhead began nano-phasing opaque in response — hoarding the day’s heat as insulation from the impending bitter chill.
It was that unique time of day when the entire plaza was cast in an aquamarine haze. Mirrored edifices reflected the sunset and silver hovercraft flitting across the horizon. Giant, leafy trees stood sentinel along the manicured, riverside promenade, silently pendulating in the breeze and filtering long, prismatic shadows across the ground. Vendors stepped out from their leaded kiosks to intercept Tower residents on their way home from work — beckoning gestures flickering in the failing light.
Tikara D’poth, a wizened old Yashurian that sold miscellaneous off-world curios and exotic delectables, stopped Conner. “Mistuh Veem, Mistuh Veem,” the leather-skinned man croaked, emerging from the elongating shadow of his kiosk. Conner turned, an amiable smile broadening genuinely across his face.
“Good evening, Tikara. Lovely sunset, isn’t it?” Conner extended a hand to the man, giving him a light chuck on his frail shoulder.
“Yessuh. Lovely evening second only to beautiful morning, me right? Tomorrow big day, you yes?”
Conner laughed politely, his eyes fixed on the old vendor with typical Coregazer intensity. “Thank you, Tikara, for remembering. That’s very kind. Yes, tomorrow morning is my final interview for Ring One. As you can imagine, I am very excited.”
“I know, I know, Mistuh Veem. That why I get you something so special, you look?” The old man flashed crooked teeth and stooped behind the far side of his counter. He reached into a compartment hidden from Conner’s view and shuffled through what sounded like broken glass, cursing gutturally in his native Tu’phur. He straightened and walked forward cupping a small, crescent-shaped obsidian box — his eyes radiating pride and anticipation.
“Now, Tikara, that’s much too kind. You didn’t need to get me anything. I know how you struggle to get by, and I certainly don’t need any presents. I have everything I need.” Conner raised a hand as if to halt the vendor’s approach. Tikara thrust a bony finger forward and shook his head vigorously.
“No stopping me now, suh. I get this special for you. You once tell me your favorite fruit this one. Very hard for me to find. Years me look. Five days ago I find, just in time for your move to Ring One. My daughters say I’m crazy to keep looking for this. I tell them I very lucky have good customuh like you.”
The Yashurian extended the gift toward Conner with sharp-elbowed arms, casting his eyes down humbly. Joy exuded from the old trader. He clearly had been waiting for this moment for some time.
Conner bowed slightly in acknowledgement as he received the dark box. Returning his smile to Tikara, he placed his palm on the man’s cheek in the odd way Gazers showed connection. For those outside the Towers, the gesture was awkwardly intimate and usually misconstrued. Tikara, being a Tower vendor for nearly forty years, was used to the contact and took it as a sign of true gratitude. “You open now, Mistuh Veem,” he whispered warmly.
Conner removed the lid reverently. Hypercold gel state-shifted to mist as it evacuated from the seams of the box and dissipated with a sigh. Slowly, he unwrapped a small purple fruit from amidst the cyan tissue inside. The fruit was approximately the same shape as its crescent case until Conner removed it and held it in his left hand. Sensing his warmth, the fruit contracted into a tight sphere and tiny polypoid creatures erupted from all along its surface. The fruit began to shift perceptibly in his grasp as the microscopic worm-phytes coursed between the moist skin of the fruit and the flesh of his palm.
Tikara squealed as his years of scheming, searching and negotiating paid off. He rasped, “It is sh’anta fruit. Better, it sealed in larval stage, two maybe three days before it blossom. It packed in hypercold three weeks ago. My cousin bring it in on last freighter, sneak it past quarantine, bring it to me. Now I give it to you, Mistuh Veem so that you may enjoy it at moment it blossom, just as you blossom to Ring One, you see?” Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up at Conner expectantly.
Conner set the fruit atop the case’s bottom half, the purple orb now too engorged with larva to fit back inside. He placed the fruit and case gently on Tikara’s counter and took the vendor’s face softly in both hands. “Sh’tan D’poth,” Conner began, using the formal honorific Tikara’s people usually reserved for births and periods of mourning. “I thank you for your gift and for the genuine affection you have displayed in bringing it here. I shall remember this act for as long as I am able.”
“However, to be true to the Core and myself, I must tell you that I do not like sh’anta fruit. I believe that your recollection of me telling you it is my favorite fruit is in error. I am deathly allergic to all fruit grown offworld.”
The Yashurian’s jaw slackened and his eyes slowly wandered over Conner’s shoulder. His sight blurrily fixed on the remaining sliver of sun wedged between the tapering peaks of the transport complex.
“Tikara, my friend. It is with deep regret that I must return this gift to you. I could take it with me and feign as if I were going to anxiously devour it upon return to my apartment, but that be would planting a falsehood in your heart and I wish no such disease take root in your good and honest soul. I ask that you take this sh’anta fruit and sell it for the handsome profit I’m sure you could make. Or, better yet, enjoy its rare succulence yourself.”
Tikara staggered back a bit and leaned against the edge of his kiosk. His face was ashen, enhanced by the final setting of the sun. “You…you told me this your favorite fruit, Mistuh Veem. You told me…”
Conner’s hands returned to his sides and his voice became more resolute, cold. “No, good friend. I did not. Telling you such a thing would be a lie and grounds for eviction from the Towers. It would make no sense for me to say such a thing about an insignificant item such as a fruit.”
Tikara recoiled from the stark honesty as if struck by a cobra. The silence that was uncomfortable only for the crestfallen Yashurian was shattered by the six o’clock augury chimes. Their warm, swollen tones resounded off the neighboring buildings and sent the hundreds of Core residents mingling about the quadrangle coursing toward their respective entrances. It was one hour until Exposure.
Conner shouldered his work satchel and turned toward Tower Four. “I do thank you for your kindness, Tikara. I hope that you understand that this is the only way it can be.” As he was swept up in the surging stream of residents, his shoulder bag grazed the side of Tikara D’poth’s modest kiosk, sending the rare sh’anta fruit crashing to the plaza floor in a burst of shattered obsidian and writhing purple slush. The shriveled vendor didn’t reach down to catch it. He didn’t even look in its direction. The damage was already done. The loss paled in comparison.
It was that unique time of day when the entire plaza was cast in an aquamarine haze. Mirrored edifices reflected the sunset and silver hovercraft flitting across the horizon. Giant, leafy trees stood sentinel along the manicured, riverside promenade, silently pendulating in the breeze and filtering long, prismatic shadows across the ground. Vendors stepped out from their leaded kiosks to intercept Tower residents on their way home from work — beckoning gestures flickering in the failing light.
Tikara D’poth, a wizened old Yashurian that sold miscellaneous off-world curios and exotic delectables, stopped Conner. “Mistuh Veem, Mistuh Veem,” the leather-skinned man croaked, emerging from the elongating shadow of his kiosk. Conner turned, an amiable smile broadening genuinely across his face.
“Good evening, Tikara. Lovely sunset, isn’t it?” Conner extended a hand to the man, giving him a light chuck on his frail shoulder.
“Yessuh. Lovely evening second only to beautiful morning, me right? Tomorrow big day, you yes?”
Conner laughed politely, his eyes fixed on the old vendor with typical Coregazer intensity. “Thank you, Tikara, for remembering. That’s very kind. Yes, tomorrow morning is my final interview for Ring One. As you can imagine, I am very excited.”
“I know, I know, Mistuh Veem. That why I get you something so special, you look?” The old man flashed crooked teeth and stooped behind the far side of his counter. He reached into a compartment hidden from Conner’s view and shuffled through what sounded like broken glass, cursing gutturally in his native Tu’phur. He straightened and walked forward cupping a small, crescent-shaped obsidian box — his eyes radiating pride and anticipation.
“Now, Tikara, that’s much too kind. You didn’t need to get me anything. I know how you struggle to get by, and I certainly don’t need any presents. I have everything I need.” Conner raised a hand as if to halt the vendor’s approach. Tikara thrust a bony finger forward and shook his head vigorously.
“No stopping me now, suh. I get this special for you. You once tell me your favorite fruit this one. Very hard for me to find. Years me look. Five days ago I find, just in time for your move to Ring One. My daughters say I’m crazy to keep looking for this. I tell them I very lucky have good customuh like you.”
The Yashurian extended the gift toward Conner with sharp-elbowed arms, casting his eyes down humbly. Joy exuded from the old trader. He clearly had been waiting for this moment for some time.
Conner bowed slightly in acknowledgement as he received the dark box. Returning his smile to Tikara, he placed his palm on the man’s cheek in the odd way Gazers showed connection. For those outside the Towers, the gesture was awkwardly intimate and usually misconstrued. Tikara, being a Tower vendor for nearly forty years, was used to the contact and took it as a sign of true gratitude. “You open now, Mistuh Veem,” he whispered warmly.
Conner removed the lid reverently. Hypercold gel state-shifted to mist as it evacuated from the seams of the box and dissipated with a sigh. Slowly, he unwrapped a small purple fruit from amidst the cyan tissue inside. The fruit was approximately the same shape as its crescent case until Conner removed it and held it in his left hand. Sensing his warmth, the fruit contracted into a tight sphere and tiny polypoid creatures erupted from all along its surface. The fruit began to shift perceptibly in his grasp as the microscopic worm-phytes coursed between the moist skin of the fruit and the flesh of his palm.
Tikara squealed as his years of scheming, searching and negotiating paid off. He rasped, “It is sh’anta fruit. Better, it sealed in larval stage, two maybe three days before it blossom. It packed in hypercold three weeks ago. My cousin bring it in on last freighter, sneak it past quarantine, bring it to me. Now I give it to you, Mistuh Veem so that you may enjoy it at moment it blossom, just as you blossom to Ring One, you see?” Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up at Conner expectantly.
Conner set the fruit atop the case’s bottom half, the purple orb now too engorged with larva to fit back inside. He placed the fruit and case gently on Tikara’s counter and took the vendor’s face softly in both hands. “Sh’tan D’poth,” Conner began, using the formal honorific Tikara’s people usually reserved for births and periods of mourning. “I thank you for your gift and for the genuine affection you have displayed in bringing it here. I shall remember this act for as long as I am able.”
“However, to be true to the Core and myself, I must tell you that I do not like sh’anta fruit. I believe that your recollection of me telling you it is my favorite fruit is in error. I am deathly allergic to all fruit grown offworld.”
The Yashurian’s jaw slackened and his eyes slowly wandered over Conner’s shoulder. His sight blurrily fixed on the remaining sliver of sun wedged between the tapering peaks of the transport complex.
“Tikara, my friend. It is with deep regret that I must return this gift to you. I could take it with me and feign as if I were going to anxiously devour it upon return to my apartment, but that be would planting a falsehood in your heart and I wish no such disease take root in your good and honest soul. I ask that you take this sh’anta fruit and sell it for the handsome profit I’m sure you could make. Or, better yet, enjoy its rare succulence yourself.”
Tikara staggered back a bit and leaned against the edge of his kiosk. His face was ashen, enhanced by the final setting of the sun. “You…you told me this your favorite fruit, Mistuh Veem. You told me…”
Conner’s hands returned to his sides and his voice became more resolute, cold. “No, good friend. I did not. Telling you such a thing would be a lie and grounds for eviction from the Towers. It would make no sense for me to say such a thing about an insignificant item such as a fruit.”
Tikara recoiled from the stark honesty as if struck by a cobra. The silence that was uncomfortable only for the crestfallen Yashurian was shattered by the six o’clock augury chimes. Their warm, swollen tones resounded off the neighboring buildings and sent the hundreds of Core residents mingling about the quadrangle coursing toward their respective entrances. It was one hour until Exposure.
Conner shouldered his work satchel and turned toward Tower Four. “I do thank you for your kindness, Tikara. I hope that you understand that this is the only way it can be.” As he was swept up in the surging stream of residents, his shoulder bag grazed the side of Tikara D’poth’s modest kiosk, sending the rare sh’anta fruit crashing to the plaza floor in a burst of shattered obsidian and writhing purple slush. The shriveled vendor didn’t reach down to catch it. He didn’t even look in its direction. The damage was already done. The loss paled in comparison.
Labels: Fiction
posted by JabberDrew at 1:35 AM
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