Top Scholar (An Orien Sage Story)

TOP SCHOLAR

An Orien Sage Novella By Bryan Paul

A Lady Named Gabrielle

The sun was a glowing orb far from where Orien stood, beaming its warmth down on him and shining its orange eye on the planet from the vast sky. He could see it watch over him, like a spirit and see the rays lighting the dirt in the lot in front of Hilliar grocery and reflecting in the jet pipes along the back of the transport that sped away having let him off.

Gabrielle, with natural straw colored hair and brows, leaned against the mini-speeder rack by the entrance to Hilliar grocery as Orien leaned up against the wall and they were waiting for their parents to pick them up. Orien was examining Gabrielle’s face-the soft skin on her cheek, the bright red lips. Her eyes were squinting from the sun. They were elegant, small, and green with a yellowish tinge like in her hair.

Orien rearranged himself, stood up straight and walked over to stand beside her. She was looking off, waiting for her father or whomever to pick her up, not paying attention to Orien, which made him nervous. 

Orien had heard her talk a bit on the transport with Portia about the music she listened to. He often saw her listening to a pocket radio with headset on the ride home from school. Orien had taken up an interest in music again, after talking with his brother Alto who played in a music group and lived in Adelyn.

 Orien remembered how beautiful Gabrielle looked at Portia’s sixteenth birthday ball, which Orien had been invited to. He remembered the blue dress she wore and how she had her hair made up. Orien had been embarrassed to dance that evening, but Portia finally dragged him to the dance floor and got him moving. Gabrielle joined in and bumped hips with him along to the music. Having a chance to dance with her was so memorable and precious to him, that the thought of her company would often occupy his daydreams thereafter.

“Nice warm day,” Orien said to her. He knew his chance had come and he shook with fear.

“Yes it is,” she replied, still looking off and away as Orien found himself lost in her eyes, lost in the yellow, lost in the green-the colors of bloom season.

“And the radio said it would be a nice for the enddays,” Orien mentioned.

“Very nice.”

Orien tried to think of what to say, but he wanted her to think he was confident so he had to speak quick and not hesitate, “I don’t have/have anything planned. My dad has plans with his c-companion so he won’t be home t-tonight and he/he has plans Saturday.”

“You should have some friends over.”

“I wouldn’t know who to invite.”

Gabrielle didn’t reply. She seemed not in the mood for conversation, too wrapped up in whatever was on her mind. Regardless, Orien had to find the courage to ask her. Gabrielle usually was let off in Westvale and their might not come another day where they would both be waiting for rides together, or another day when it would be just the two of them, without Lysse or Bradyn. It was as if that chance moment had been laid out for Orien, the sun overlooking, being the spirit that made it possible. 

Orien knew he had to come right out and say what he wanted to say, as dropping hints wasn’t working and so he did, putting aside his fear and just speaking, “I was thinking… maybe if you wanted to/if you want to do something sometime with me, maybe I could have your code and we can talk on communicator.”

“I could give you my code,” she said nervous and hesitating, “but I do have a companion…” she said directly.

“Oh. Oh, but we can be friends, right,” Orien said.

“Right… right, then.”

He had been deceived. 

The sun had laid out a day for him, so he could be alone with her and so he could ask her his question, only to be rejected. Why the spirits had done that to him, he wondered and he felt a heavy lump in his throat as he swallowed his sadness.

He had seen her with a boy during lunch break. He saw her with him often. He should have known and seen that they had a bond. He was a fool to have been blind.

He could see that she was now uncomfortable with him and maybe every time she saw him on the transport would be embarrassed to know his secret.

A silver jet turned and slowly sped up the lot to hook and halt in front of the speeder rack where Orien and Gabrielle were leaning.

“Right, then. My dad’s here,” Orien said, “Bye, Gabrielle, I’ll see you on the transport.”

“Bye,” Gabrielle said softly, looking away in embarrassment.

Orien slid open the door and sat. The silver jet zoomed through Hilliar center and up the hill and Orien was quiet, looking down at his shoes, thinking to himself how he was too old to cry, and that late youth boys aren’t supposed to cry.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” his father asked.

Orien didn’t answer, but his father seemed to understand what was wrong without asking, having been a late youth at one time himself and he said, “There are plenty of ladies out there. There’s an old earth saying, better to have loved and lost, I don’t know if that applies…I just want to help. I don’t like to see you sad,” his father said.

The jet reached Emarldleaf Way and turned down the trail leading to the cottage and halted there. Orien clicked the button on his safety restraint, but his eyes were still fixed dwnward, on his shoes. 

It seemed to have been a slow ride home and all of his movements in getting out of the vehicle seemed slow, from putting aside his restraint to sliding the jet door open. His father was already at the front door of the cottage, unlocking and letting himself in, while Orien was working his way out of the jetcar.

Once he saw that his father was inside, Orien threw the jet door shut behind him with what little muscle he had. His father would be mad if he had seen him slam his door as he did, but he didn’t.

Orien’s head hung down and he couldn’t bring it up. He walked up the steps, opened the cottage door, closed it behind him and went to his bedchamber.

Kiley Laval was smirking at him from her tapestry hanging, but Orien knew she was not a part of his reality. Gabrielle was-she was real, but he was a complete fool to think he would be spending time with her during the enddays.

Orien heard his door knock and knew it was his father.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Orien was lying on his bed and felt comfort in being alone, no longer having to see the look on Gabrielle’s face (surprised at his forwardness, embarrassed at the knowledge that Orien thought to consider her company).

“The door’s unlocked,” Orien said.

His father opened the door and closed it behind him. He looked around and pulled out a chair from Orien’s scripting desk. Orien sat up in his bed and his father sat in the chair to look at him, much like his therapy counselor.

“You can share anything you want with me,” he said, “If there’s something you need to talk about.”

Orien didn’t want to discuss with his father his rejection and so he said nothing. He wanted to feel brave. He wanted to forget how he felt in the moment of receiving the cold blow from the words ‘I have a companion’ and how he might have cried if he hadn’t swallowed up his sadness. He didn’t want to say anything about it.

“Maybe you’d prefer to talk to your brother?” his father suggested, “I had a thought that since I’ve made plans with Marj for the enddays, possibly I could let you off at his quarters with his friends?”

“Possibly,” Orien said and then threw back his body to look up at the ceiling. He then made a decision and said, “If Alto doesn’t mind you can let me off there tomorrow evening, but not tonight.”

“I have plans with Marj tonight, how do you plan to spend your time? I ask because I don’t like to see you sad and alone…”

“Felice will keep me company. I’ll listen to radio… don’t know yet… maybe read, do school work.”

“All right. I just wanted to make sure and check in, I could tell something was on your mind when I picked you up and noticed that lady you waved goodbye at…but, I won’t force anything out of you. I want you to know I’m here to talk to.”

Orien didn’t respond and all was quiet until his father got up from the chair and said, “I’ll let you be alone if you want to be alone,” and he opened the chamber door and Felice was on the other side.  She slunk in and said ‘Hello’ to Orien with a mew, lept on his bed and nuzzled him with her whiskered nose.

The door shut and Orien sat up. Just as he did, Felice curled herself in his lap and he patted her fur. She purred and was so relaxed in his lap that Orien let her be, which meant he couldn’t reach his radio at the end of his bed. She napped and Orien just continued to stare at the Kiley Laval imge on his wall, playing music in his head, trying hard not to think of the image of Gabrielle dancing with him at Portia’s birthday ball. He tried to empty his thoughts of the memory, but eventually he gave in.

It hurt, but then, perhaps if she hadn’t already had a companion she might have agreed to his company, yet still, he would never hold her in his arms and kiss her and that had been something occupying his fantasies for some time, but no more.

It was past time for Orien to eat dinner by the time he got up and startled Felice awake. He opened up the door to his chamber and Felice ran out. He walked to the kitchen so he could have a meal and hopefully feel better.

Orien boiled pasta on the stove, scooped it into a bowl and ate. His dinner did not go down easy, but once he was fed, he was soothed and he spent the remainder of the night in his chamber alone listening to serials on the radio. The serials provided him with a good escape and sleep did come when he let his head down to rest on his pillow to dream about Gabrielle and to dream of what might have been if things had gone his way.

The House on Skidmore Lane

Felice was curled up beside Orien in his bed when morning came on Saturday. Orien knew it was the end of the day-set and he had nothing to look forward to so he kept on sleeping, just as a tigret like Felice might sleep the day away. It would be mid-day by the time Orien decided he was bored of sitting in bed, no longer tired, just laying there and staring at Felice.

Orien tossed his blanket and let his limbs drag off the bed and he rolled down on to the floor and slowly picked himself up, stood and Kiley was looking, seductively at him from her tapestry. He smirked back at her.

He washed up in the washroom, got himself dressed and ate breakfast. After breakfast, Orien sat in the main quarters and listened to the radio serials. 

His father’s silver jet pulled up the front trail and Orien heard the front door open behind him as he sat on the couch with his head back imagining the characters in the radio fantasy he was listening to, dueling with blayds in a castle from a far off time, in a far off planet.

His father didn’t say anything to him, but unlaced his shoes, went into the washroom and then into his bedchamber.

When the fantasy show ended Orien got up from the couch and crawled over to the radio box. He tuned the dial and kept tuning, finding nothing of interest and passing the same dull programs several times over. His father would soon emerge from his chamber and sit in the chair.

“Have you spoken to your brother Alto?” his father asked.

“No, I haven’t, why?” Orien said.

“You should talk to him and spend some time with him. He’s your brother…”

“Don’t know if he’d want me over,” Orien replied.

Orien never visited his brother in his quarters where often his musician friends gathered, smoked herbs, got blist and did things which Orien at one point in his life would think unwise, unnecessary and not anything he’d find particular pleasure in taking part in. His opinions had shifted lately, however, yet still he wasn’t sure if he belonged with his brother’s crowd.

Orien stopped the radio dial at a live interview program where the host was interviewing a boatsman. It was the dullest program one could find on radio, yet was fine for background.

“He gets out of work at the shop at toll twenty-one and he wants me to fly up to Adelyn and give him a ride home. I can let you off at his place and pick you back up later.”

Orien imagined in his head, being let off at the upper quarter of the two-quarter cottage where Alto lived with his friends and Orien knew that sometimes Munroe and Kip hung about at the house on Skidmore Lane. Munroe had known Orien from Penhaven Arts. He completed his learning in Orien’s previous year and was in the performance poetry class Orien took in his second semester. Munroe and Kip were also friends with Willo and possibly, though it was unlikely, there was a glimmer of hope strong in Orien even if the possibility was the slimmest on a scale it was still enough to hold onto that Willo might be at Alto’s Skidmore Lane cottage with Kip and Munroe.

“I’ll come along when you to pick up Alto,” Orien said and he sat back down on the couch to listen to the radio with his dad.

 “Well, uhya,” the boatsman said in a slow voice and cleared his voice, “you bring up the net…pull the ropes and the pulley brings up the net… and it comes up out of the water, uhyah, you can see when the net comes up from the water, the sort of haul you got and uhyah, keep pulling up the ropes, if it’s a heavy haul, you gotta tug the ropes a bit hard and you bring the net up out of the water, it gets dropped on deck and…”

“Bit of a dull program, you think?” Orien’s father said.

“A bit.”

“Why are we listening to this?”

Orien shrugged and said, “I thought you might like it…”

Orien’s father got up from the chair and tuned the dial, eventually stopping on a recipe program, which was just as dull and Orien got up and went to his bedchamber.

Orien tuned the dial on his own radio to music programs and found a station that was playing a song from Blaydstruck Heart. Orien recognized the vocals and realized it was something he hadn’t listened to in some time. He remembered he had a portable disc player that had once belonged to his brother’s friend Pace and thinking of Gabrielle listening to her portable radio Orien realized he could easily conceal a portable disc player in his shoulder bag and listen to Blaydstruck Heart on his ride to school, with a headset.

The radio played several selections from Orien’s youth, from when Alto would play radio for him. Orien started remembering things he hadn’t thought much about in several years. He remembered listening to the wide open and how it inspired him to script poems. With that in mind he wondered if he had been wrong in thinking he didn’t belong in his brother’s crowd.

Orien lay in his bed and looked up at the ceiling for some time as he listened. When he heard a knock on his door, he was much too lost in his fantasies to realize it wasn’t his imagination, but he came around with the second knock he got up from his bed and opened up his chamber door.

“I made us dinner. It’s a finmir and rice dish. You’ll like it, I don’t want to hear any grumbling.”

“Finmir is fine. I’ll eat it,” Orien answered. 

His father shut the door and Orien tuned his radio off. He got up and left his chamber to have dinner with his father. 

“Lydia paged me the other day,” his father said, cutting off a piece from his plate. 

Orien took a sip from his water glass and felt nervous. In the past when his parents would receive communicator pages from school it was never anything good. Usually it was about his lack of interest in school and poor marks.

Lydia Lubek was the deputy administrator at the arts school and also his academic advisor. Orien had a rough start beginning his education at the arts school, but Lydia found a way to get him through his first two years, assigning him independant study work. He would be beginning his final year of learning within another semester, but if he didn’t have the required credits in his classes, his first two years’ reports being filled with incompletes and zero credits, he might not complete school.

Orien’s father chewed his food. Orien stuck his fork in the meat on his plate and cut with his knife. He felt nervous waiting for his father to swallow and tell him what Lydia had to say.

“I’m very proud of you. She told me of all the work you’ve done for Jermaine, your history instructor and the work you’ve done with her on your independent assignment…and she’s really proud to see you growing as a scholar.”

Orien was taken aback. It was true that he had been completing his assignments for Jermaine and Maggie as asked for the past semester, but it was also unusual that his progress in one semester would somehow make up for his lack of focus and laziness in his first two years, but then he had no reason to complain.

Orien took a long swig of his water glass and finished his dinner. His father took his plate and empty glass to wash them.

Orien relaxed on the couch in the main quarters with Felice on his lap, while his father took care of the dishes. 

Orien had his head laid back when he saw his father’s face looking down at him and asking him, “are you ready to go to the market?”

Orien sat up and said that he was. He stretched and he went into his bedchamber to change into some trendy clothes.

When he came out of his chamber wearing a loose tied white dayshirt, with a hidecloth necklet, and a light hidecloth shortcoat, the lights where already out in the hall and his father was ready at the door. He followed him out, locked the door behind him, tread the front trail and got into the silver jet, which took him to the Adelyn Village market.

“I’ve spoken to Alto so many times, but he doesn’t take anything in…” his father rambled along the way and as they passed the Poste Avenue shops, continued, “…I use up my fuel to come all the way to pick him up and does he show any signs of getting his own jet? No. Why should he when he can be reliant on me… but I try to talk to him…”

It was always the same speech Orien’s father gave, with every time he had to pick up Alto from the general shop in the market to bring him home, but regardless of what Orien’s father said he still did what he could to help Alto.

The silver jet reached the crossing, where the signpost declared in bold gold letters on green ADELYN MARKETPLACE with an arrow pointing to the right.

The silver jet turned, flew up the hill past the vast keephouse and upper lots. It was much late in the evening for shoppers and reaching closing time at the market, but there were still jets halted.

Orien’s father found a space at the front row of the lot to Gibsen’s shop. They both got out of the vehicle and walked up along to the front entrance, into the shop, cut along the aisles and made their way out into the main hall of the market.

Orien ran along ahead of his father to the bookshop and proceeded to the stacks. He remembered the fantasy serial he had listened to on the radio early in the day and it had been a dramatization from a story scripted by Howle Orbeck. Howle had most popularly scripted the Heramus adventure stories, which before his death were published in the pulpbook, ‘Extraordinary Ventures’.

Orien found only two volumes of Howle’s stories-both were Heramus collections. He also spied many tossaway paperbounds inspired by tech fantasy radio thrillers, such as ‘Starship Quests’. They also had the ‘Quest for the Arrow’ series, which was a favorite of Orien’s, who had been present at the release celebration of the final book in the trilogy at the bookshop where his cousin Anya worked.

Orien picked up the Heramus book. The cover depicted a muscular Heramus holding a lady with torn clothing, showing much of her flesh including the tops of her cleaved breasts. There was an army of eval monsters, like ghost warriors surrounding the duo. 

“Bit violent, you think? And provocative.” Orien heard a voice behind him say and he looked and saw it was his father.

“It’s a fantasy serial…” Orien said breathing hard, “Like the one I was listening to on radio…remember when you came in, the two gentleman were fighting with blayds/suppose not/as I recall you were washing up/but, the author is a fantasy scripter…”

Orien’s father took the book from Orien’s hands and gave a curious look as if he wasn’t certain that he approved or disapproved. He handed it back to Orien.

“Bring it up to the handler at the counter…” his father said.

“You haven’t given me pay…allowance pay or anything…”

“You’ve been doing well in school, a little reward is fine.”

Orien’s father had been known to reward him with a book or a show recording, oftentimes only after Orien fussed or played sad. Orien, oddly felt guilty for allowing his father to purchase a book for him this time and he wasn’t sure that he earned it or that he earned such a thing in the past, but it was easy to put those thoughts out of his head once he placed the book on the counter and his father put out his credit tab for the money handler. Once that task was done, the Heramus The Savage Volume I paperbound was his to read whenever he wanted to. 

Orien was pleased and energetic when he rushed out of the shop. He took the book out of the bag and stared at the cover with the risky illustration and imagined holding his own beauty in his arms-but, trying not to picture Gabrielle as that beauty. 

He knew the way to the general shop where Alto worked and he followed his father until they settled on the bench and Orien flipped the pages in his book, waiting for Alto to finish work.
Orien in his perusing found a passage describing Heramus at a campsite with a maiden, who in fear of the beasts lurking, held him for company and the book contained details of her body and the feel of her skin against his.

There was a loud metal sound as the gate was brought down in front of Orien. He looked to see his brother Alto in his supervisor smock, securing the lock. Orien closed his book and returned it to the purchase bag. 

Alto’s forehead was sweating and he approached Orien’s father who asked, “Do you mind if Orien spends some time with you and your friends?”

Alto rolled his tired and reluctant eyes and answered, “He’s always invited. It’s fine.”
Orien and his father got up from the bench. Alto followed and Orien followed as their father walked past the gated up shops at the market to the exit door.

“I can have someone drop him off at home later,” Alto said, “Munroe, possibly…”

“That’s fine…” his father answered and led the two boys to his silver jetcar, to bring them to their destination.

Orien’s father lectured Alto on the way to his house on Skidmore Lane. Alto sat in the co-pilot chair of the silver jet with his head turned upward sighing in frustration. 

“I don’t always rely on you!” Alto said,  “I take the transport to work whenever I can-”

“You have your pilot’s certificate,” his father interjected, “Have you tried to find a replacement for the broken down commoner jet that’s been sitting in my front lot? You’ve moved on to supervisor at the shop and should have enough pay, so take the initiative and go out and find yourself another jet so you can get around…since the commoner’s probably beyond fixing…take initiative!”

“The commoner can be repaired I just don’t know where to take it…probably can’t pay for repairs, anyway, yet…” Alto said.

The jet was flying through traffic over the bridge entering the center of town in Hilliar. Orien was watching out his windowshield in the back deck, but heard every word of argument from the front.

“Put it up for sale for parts…pay for a new vehicle…!” his father continued.

“Stop! Stop arguing…” Alto fumed with fury.

“I’m trying to help you-to teach you to be responsible…”

“I’m not a youth!”

The jet turned. Alto and his father continued to bicker until the jet stopped at the rocky, dead grass and weed filled hill, where the rough, ancient looking blackwood house stood, where Alto and his friends lived. Orien unbuckled his restraint and slid the jet door to let himself out.

Orien followed Alto up the hill to the steps and said, “You should listen to dad and be more responsible.”

Alto quickly jarred around. His eyes were red and tired from working and his face was stubbled and unshaven. He lost his temper with Orien and erupted, “and just what do you know about being responsible! You don’t work and you’re only seventeen…”

“At the arts school, they encourage us to be independent, and so I know about being responsible…” Orien said with far too much pride.

“Orien, my friends Roe and Kip went to Penhaven Arts and they know very little on how to survive in reality. Life is a lot tougher when you are actually working and trying to make it on your own…I don’t want to have an argument with you like this…just come on in…” he said and marched up the side walkup. Orien followed. He put his hand on the railing but it was very loosely nailed and falling so he had to be careful to not lean too hard on it. The steps were also worn and damaged. With each moment he placed his foot on the steps it sounded as if the walkup would give way and collapse.

On the balcony porch of the top quarter where Alto and his crowd lived, Kile, Pace’s replacement in Alto’s music group, was sitting in a wooden chair staring off. He noticed Orien and Alto walking up and he smiled and acknowledged them. A curly haired boy stepped out unto the porch and Orien recognized him. It was Munroe, sometimes called Roe for short and he put his hand out to shake and joined Kile at another chair while Alto and Orien entered.
Orien walked into the kitchen and Tomas’s brother Vern was cooking on the stove, adding blush red joice to a pasta sauce. A tall gentlemen, whom Orien didn’t recognize, with a beard was standing by, grinning with smoky eyes.

Orien followed Alto into the dimlit hall where the sound mixing equipment was kept. Orien pulled up a chair in the corner and surveyed the room for what felt like a toll as his brother was working at the sound pad, mixing poundbeats, vocals and harp strumming to create a heavy sound. His brother on occasion took off his headset to say, “I’m sorry I don’t know how to keep you from being dulled…” or “I’m sorry if you’re dulled…” to which Orien would reply “It’s fine.” Or “Im fine.”
Alto listened closely with his headset on, then took the headset off, tuned a few dials to listen and clicked to play music from the soundbox for Orien to hear, while Alto leaned in close to listen to a specific detail.

“You can go out on the porch with Kile and Roe if you want…” Alto said after some time of Orien sitting, daydreaming and watching Alto work.

Orien got up from his corner and walked through the kitchen, out the door and stood on the porch balcony.  He stood for several chimes while Kile stared blank.

“Are you Alto’s brother?” Kile finally asked in a bewildered voice, “When did you get here? I didn’t notice you…”

Orien recalled that Kile had noticed and acknowledged him when he came up the walkup. Kile was possibly in a state of blisterdness, or stupefied from herbs, or under the influence of a banned,, toxic potion, to not have a clear memory.

“No? You didn’t? I’ve been here at least a toll.” Orien said.

“Oh, sorry,” Kile said.

“A bit too blist?” Orien said unaware of his impoliteness. He was not much used to being around anyone under the influence.

Kile gave a look as if he was being told off by his father or someone similar-possibly an authority who halted him while piloting blist.

“What? You being serious with me?”

“Had a bit much, right…?” Orien said, but he tried to seem spirited about it and added with a smile and a chuckle, “It’s fine…”

“Right, then…” Kile said and went back to staring out. Orien hadn’t noticed that Alto was coming in from the doorway.

“You don’t have to stay here, if you don’t want to,” Alto said, “Roe can bring you back.”

“I can stay,” Orien said.

“Roe is probably going to bring out the pipe for everyone to smoke, just so that you know.”

 “That’s fine,” Orien said without any qualms, “I’ll smoke some herbs with the group.”

“You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re welcome to go home.”

“I’ll stay. It’s fine,” Orien said as Tomas was coming up the rickety, unsafe walkup steps, with his companion, a dark-haired lady whose name Orien didn’t know.

“Oh, Hi, Orien,” Tomas said and put out his hand. The lady didn’t speak, but simply raised a hand in a small wave as they went out the door and into the kitchen. Alto followed them inside and Orien followed Alto. Vern was filling up bowls with pasta, in the kitchen and drinking a beru.

“If you want to help yourself to a drink, go right ahead,” Alto said.

Orien was surprised, as he would have thought Alto would object to him drinking blis, but then he was almost of age eighteen, so he supposed it was fine. Nevertheless, Orien decided against it.

Alto nudged Vern and said, “My brother’s probably hungry, maybe fix him a bowl…”

“Oh, ri’then” Vern said. Vern was a tall man, with a soldier-style haircut and arms like a wrestler, one of which had a painted abstract tattoo design along the bicep, exposed in his sleeveless day shirt.

Orien felt nervous as Vern handed him a bowl of pasta and a fork. Orien gulped and he knew he didn’t have any reason to fear Vern, but he was a fairly intimidating presence.

Orien walked back into the hall to sit in a circle with the group. Vern cut through with his meal to go into the den. Orien sat in the same chair in the corner and ate from his bowl along with Tomas’s companion who sat next to him and Roe, who was standing packing herbs into a pipe 
while Tomas smoked a stik.

Alto was at the sound controls, playing a recording of the group. Orien listened and he ate. Soon he finished his meal and the pipe was being passed around. Alto passed it to Orien and said, “You can pass it along,” while he coughed.

Orien took the pipe and the flame stik in his hand. Roe crouched down beside him and showed him how to light it.

“Put the pipe to your lips and flick the stik,” he said and he took Orien’s hand and showed him how to hold the pipe, and took his other hand with the flame, flicked it on, and said, “Breathe… watch the herbs burn, and let the smoke go down into your lungs, take the pipe away and pass it along, ‘right?”

Orien felt the smoke burn in his throat and nose as he lit the pipe. He held his breath took the pipe away and passed it back to Roe. He felt his eyes burn. He swallowed and the smoke made him gag. He tried to hide the fact that he was coughing and tried to keep from it.

The pipe went around the circle and came back to Orien. Orien took another puff and took quite a bit more smoke in. He released the pipe and hacked, rapidly, gasping for breath. He stopped and took a breath of air then coughed and continued coughing as the pipe passed. Alto handed the pipe to Orien again, but he stood up and rushed to the kitchen.

Orien opened up a cabinet door in the kitchen and got out a glass. He held it under the water tap and filled it. He went out to the porch and sat in the chair where Kile had been sitting and he gulped down water in between coughing.

He put his hand on his chest and breathed in, then out, then took a gulp of water. He coughed again, breathed and took another big gulp of water. He breathed again and looked out at the sky. He stared out at the stars. He felt stuck to his chair, halted in place. 

The stars were like holiday lights in the sky and Orien had a feeling that if he thought hard enough he could make his chair soar upward to see them closer. He looked down at his feet and the legs of the chair, but they would not rise.

“That was some cough,” Orien heard Roe’s voice from the doorway, but Orien was still stalled, still trying to rise up and see the lights. 

“We’re very small, aren’t we?” Orien said, “like dots in space, like the stars…”

“It’s amazing, right?” Roe said. He was now standing next to Orien.

“There’re thousands, no, millions, no thousands of millions of rocks all floating in this/in a/in a/ black/black space and we are on this rock/ but we used to live on earth/how’d we do that?”

“Space travel,” Roe answered, “the technology…”

“Let’s say you had the power of propulsion and you could just rise up, rise up and out and fly, not like we hover in jetcars, but fly through stars…”

“Like the travelers who founded this planet… you’re onto something, I think… traveling, like say taking a vacation, through the stars- we should be able to do that. You should script a letter to the technologists!”

“I will!” Orien said and slapped his knee hard, which made him laugh. Roe left and went back to 
join the group. 

Orien stayed outside on the porch, imagining traveling through the many lights of the night skies and observing all the activity on the planet below him as he soared. He imagined that he could see his friends. He could see Gabrielle and he could stop at her window and maybe she would let him in. She would forget about her companion to be with him for a moment. Orien knew that wouldn’t or couldn’t really happen but it was clear in his mind, like when he read books as a child and imagined things. He could see the details. He could imagine the blue silk nightdress that Gabrielle would wear-a shade of blue like the dress she wore at Portia’s ball. He could imagine the feel from the swell of her chest pressed against his and her heart beating in rhythm with his and her lips against his and through the open window they would soar together so that he might show her the stars. He remembered how the sun was reflected in her eyes and as he saw her in his mind looking into his eyes as they were swimming in the air of space, he saw the sparks reflecting. He would have to bring her back though and once back in her bed she could just imagine it was a dream and that one moment would be enough for Orien.

“Are you going to sit out here all night?” Alto’s voice came from the door. Orien turned his head to look at him.

“Do you want Roe to take you back home?” Alto asked.

“I’m just fine,” Orien said with a smile.

“Join the group, Ori, don’t be antisocial. Come back in…” Alto said.

“’right,” Orien replied and he got up from his chair, though he didn’t want to leave the stars or Gabrielle.

Alto held the door for Orien and he walked back inside. Alto picked up a glass bottle of brown 
liquid from the counter and said “There’s Kinsey thequer…”

“No thank you,” Orien said and smiled.

Alto poured a shot for himself and gulped it down.

“I won’t tell Dad, anything, you know, you can have a drink…”

“It’s fine,” Orien said.

Orien followed his brother back to the hall and sat back in the corner while he took in the music from the speakers. He would like to have in that moment taken a lady in embrace, but he already soared out with Gabrielle and showed her the stars and that was enough time with her, so he imagined a lady of fine gold hair, named Alene, who was part of the virtuoso dance troupe. Orien didn’t know any formal dance steps, but he would learn. He would hold her hips and cradle her and turn, spin her round and bring her back to him, like he’d seen couples do in reel shows. Orien couldn’t recall what color her eyes were but as he saw them in his mind they were green, like an emerald, like the emerald green grass.

“If you’re having a dull time, Roe can bring you back…” Alto suggested once more.

“Possibly… soon…” Orien said, “I like listening to the music.”

Orien couldn’t recall a time when he had been happier, except maybe when he was a youth and maybe his first kiss, yet if he had shared a kiss with Gabrielle or someone whom he had a bond with, it might have been significantly more exciting. 

He thought about Willo in that moment and their shared interest in poetry. For him to deny to himself that he was attracted to Willo, because she was only a frend, was ridiculous. He knew he was falling in love with her. He didn’t know how to tell her or how to have her love him back, but he knew what he felt and he couldn’t keep it a secret from himself any longer.

His thoughts were interrupted as Munroe popped into the hallway to say that he was leaving.

“Do you think you could take my brother home?” Alto asked.

“’right, let’s go, then,” he said.

Orien got up from his chair in the corner and said goodbye to his brother, stating, “I had a good time, here.”

“You’re always invited,” Alto said and put his headset back on.

Orien walked quickly through the kitchen, yet by the time he reached the door it felt it had taken longer than a few footsteps, and he felt a similar sensation walking down the stepway. He knew that he was experiencing the bewildering effects of the herb smoke and he decided it was not a bad thing.

The jet ride with Roe seemed much longer than expected, and once more Orien imagined soaring through stars. His father’s silver jet was halted at the front lot when he arrived back at the cottage at Emarldleaf Way and got out of Roe’s jet. 

Orien walked slow, up the front steps and was very careful turning the front door key. He was quiet as he snuck in, shut the door, took his shoes off, and went into his bedchamber.

He plugged a headset into his bedchamber radio, put the set on and tuned the dial. He stopped at a comedy performer and as he listened to the routine he laughed until his face turned red as he tried to hold in his laughter, to not wake up his father, but he couldn’t stifle it much.

He spent the night laughing and trying to be quiet until he fell to sleep, with the radio headset dangling off the bed.

The Pilgrimage
(Last Bloom Season)

If Orien were to trace back the events in his mind, leading to him becoming close friends with Willo, he would start with their second year of learning, when he learned her pagecode and talked to her on communicator-from then on they would have conversations here and there on the walk from the West House to the Main House of Penhaven arts after study support.

Soon after the chill that year, the yellow and violet blossoms would start blooming in the field and scholars would be starting their new classes for the semester. 

Orien had been surprised to see Willo in his performance poetry class, in the top quarter of the main house, where Jermaine usually held his classe. She had stated she wouldn’t be taking up performance poetry again until another semester.

Orien sat down in a chair beside Willo as early bloom season sun poured from the high windows, and he asked, “Didn’t you take this class last semester…and didn’t you say…?”

Willo beamed at him as if she was happy to be in the same class as him and Orien almost expected her to say so, that she had signed up for the class again to hear his poetry, but instead she explained, “I was asked by Philbius to come back as his aide-as a teacher’s assistant!”

Willo was not the only scholar in the class that Orien had not expected to see. He hadn’t been aware at all that Maxen or Hale were interested in poetry and yet, there they were sitting in the circle, along with a tall blonde lady, a curly haired boy, and a lady with a slight tan, with heavy black eyeliner, piercings on her left brow and at her lip and thick black hair.

“Have you ever met my friend Camille?” Willo askedOrien, introducing him to the gothic looking lady, “She’s a year ahead of us…”

“I know Orien,” Camille said.

“You do?” Orien said, curious.

“We met last year. Samsen introduced us.”

“Oh,” Orien said, “I see, then. He knew me through Helena-Liz/she rode the transport with me…”
Orien’s first year of learning was such a confusing year and very murky to remember, filled with sad feelings of loneliness and isolation from his peers, which he was starting to see himself getting over with meeting new friends.

Orien looked forward to coming into ‘performance poetry’ every Tuesday and Thursday, more so than any other class. Mostly he looked forward to Willo, but he would become fast friends with Roe and Camille as well.

“There’s something about you, Ori,” Camille said some day-sets into the semester, “that reminds me of someone…”

“It’s the hair,” Roe said, “and the hidecloth shortcoat. Just like Alto.”

“I have a brother named Alto,” Orien said.

“Does he play in a music group?”

“Yes, he does…”

“His group plays shows with Kip’s group,” Camille said, “Sometimes…if it is the same person.”
Soon later Orien would learn that they had been talking about Orien’s brother and it seemed that Orien being Alto Sage’s little brother would make him popular among the musicians of the school, not just Roe and Kip, but others as well, including some in Orien’s own learning year, such as the trio that made up the group ‘The Abyss’- Risa, the singer, Walt, the harpist and Pat, the pound beat rythymist.

Orien wanting to keep up his popularity, never shared any of his sappy, sentimental poetry with his fellow peers in class, but chose humourous verses to match Maxen and Hale’s.

“Pleas from a dirty floor…” Orien began, in one of his last poetry classes of the semester. His assignment was to script a few verses from the persective of an object or thing in the class chamber:

“All I do is stare up at the ceiling,
And your boots trample upon me.

Someone please come mop me up,
I can’t bear the grime any longer.”

There were a few chuckles from the room and Orien bowed after receiving applause and Maxen’s comment of “Nice one, Ori.”

Orien noticed Willo smiling and giggling and felt himself blush. He returned to his seat in the chair next to her and Philbius announced the end of class.

Orien closed up his loosepaper book with his poetry and filed it into his shoulder bag once the school day ended and he expected to simply walk out of the classroom, walk down the back steps to the lot where the transports were waiting, but after tying up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he saw that Willo was standing in the doorway holding it for him and waiting.

She was much taller than him, at least a foot and to look in her eyes, he had to look up. It was like looking up at the sky just before a storm, with her dark blue hair.

“Ori,” She said, as he passed.

“Y-yes,” Orien replied, stopping and looking back.

“Have you seen ‘The Pilgrimage’, yet?”

The door closed behind as she walked beside him.

“I don’t see many reel shows,” Orien said turning to look at her,  “and I heard it’s bloody…”

“Oh, then…if you don’t like blood, that’s fine…but I heard it’s supposed to be a good show. You studied reel shows, right? You and Duglus made a short reel?”

Orien opened up the back door and held it open for Willo, returning her favor.

“He did, yes/Dug taped a short and I performed and I would be interested in ‘The Pilgrimage’.”

“Are you busy Friday after classes?”

Orien never expected to hear a lady ask him that, although he dreamed of saying it to Willo and had made an attempt at asking Bianca to see a show outside of school, before he learned how far off she lived.

“No, I don’t have any plans. I never do,” he said as they walked down the steps. She stopped at the bottom and Orien stopped with her.

“Would you like to see it at the Penhaven Showhouse?”

“I don’t have a jet to take us there…”

“I’ll find us a ride,” She said.

Orien couldn’t help his excitement at that point and responded with, “I would love to go to the Penhaven Showhouse then, especially with you/if it can be arranged.”

“We’ll meet here Friday, then, ‘right?” she said and waved, “Bye, Ori,” and turned to walk around the building to meet her ride.

Orien waved back and he was in shock. He couldn’t believe that what had transpired had transpired in reality.

When the day came, Orien met Willo at the Penhaven Arts steps and she was there as expected.

“I had planned for just the two of us going, maybe taking public transport to Penhaven Center-that’s how I usually get home-” she said and that was what Orien had in mind.

“My mom and dad,” Orien interrupted, “when they were companions took me to Penhaven center once or twice I recall when I was a youth, but I don’t remember much of it/you can show me around/be my tour guide.”

“I would love to, some time, but actually, I told Camille we were going to see ‘The Pilgrimage’ and she really wants to see it and also Kip, I don’t know if you’ve met him yet but he’s friends with Roe, he’s the one who knows your brother and his group.”

“So, we’re all going as a group, then?” Orien said, disappointed.

“Yes. Kip has a jet, he’s meeting us up at the front lot.”

Orien followed Willo to the front lot where a blue jetcar was waiting and Orien recognized Camille, sitting in the co-pilot side, smoking a stik.

“It’s a little cramped,” The blonde haired pilot said as Willo opened the jet door. There was an amplifying box covering half the back deck and only room to seat one passenger.

“Ori can squeeze in. He’s small,” Willo said examining the situation. She held the door open and gestured that Orien get in.

Orien sat, but there wasn’t much room for Willo, who gave a pondering look and said, “I suppose you could sit on my lap… “

She attempted to squeeze in, but couldn’t fit and after some rearranging Orien ended up in Willo’s lap and she slid the door to the jet, which took off for Penhaven center.

Orien had his arm on Willo’s shoulder and it was an interesting position to be in. He liked being close to her. They were both poets, both unique and creative and made a good team, yet Orien couldn’t help think he’d prefer a companion whom would sit upon his own lap. Where love is concerned though, he supposed it didn’t matter who had more height, and in that moment he already felt like they were companions.

Orien didn’t glimpse much out the window shield. He could only see from one shield as the amplifying box blocked the other. He felt cramped and uncomfortable in his position, yet with sitting upon Willo’s knee, he was close to her face, and could smell the shartru-blossom perfume from her neck. He was close to her lips, close enough that it would be natural for him to imagine a kiss, but he put the thought out of his head.

The jet halted and Kip slid his door, followed by Camille. Willo slid hers and Orien’s door and she said, “I’m really very sorry, you had to sit crammed in like that…”

“It’s fine,” Orien said as Willo stepped out and Orien rearranged himself and also stepped out.
They were on a side path in Penhaven Village Center. Orien looked around at the shops and the jets passing and it was an active town-far from what he was used to but there was not as much activity as expected. 

The clouds were near black and Orien turned to Willo, looking up at her, and asked, “Is it supposed to storm?”

“From what I see,” she said in response.

Orien stuck close to Willo, not being familiar with the village and feeling a bit nervous. They followed behind Kip and Camille until they stopped at an archway. They started to feel raindrops on their head just before passing under and they rushed to the lobby and to the ticket booth.

Camille told the money handler how many tickets they needed. Kip put down notes for himself and Camille. Willo had notes to pay for her ticket and Orien had a five note he had gotten from his father.

Orien followed the group into the auditorium. He would have been lost without them to lead the way and he wouldn’t have known where to begin to find a seat as he looked out and every chair seemed full. 

Camille and Kip found chairs together near the back aisle and Willo spotted some open chairs in the aisle in back of them. She turned and walked and sat. Orien sat next to her. Their friends were not directly in front of them, but diagonal. They were close enough that they wouldn’t lose each other on the way out.

The lights in the auditorium dimmed. There was not a short or newsreel at the start, only a few brief upcoming feature previews. Once the main feature started it was gruesome right off, with island natives being whipped and beaten on a boat.

Willo cringed and clung to her seat next to Orien. Orien shuddered at the violence. Willo put her hand on his shoulder and asked, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he answered.

He wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate for him to take her hand, or put his arm on her. He decided it wasn’t, but he wished he could comfort her as he saw her discomfort.

One of the natives in the show managed to pick the lock of his shackle. He freed his fellow slaves at night during a storm and they used their chains as weapons, beating and strangling their oppressors in another bloody skirmish.

Willo covered her eyes. Orien looked away.

The ship crashed on land and the slaves began a pilgrimage to find food, water and shelter. The crew battled starvation and dehydration through the next reel. By the end of the feature, the remaining members of the crew found a village and were let in to a brick building with the words ‘sanctuary’. In the end there were only three survivors who told the tale of their struggle on the slave boat and their pilgrimage to the housemasters.

The feature ended with an orchestration. The screen went black and the credit roll ran with the names of the conductor and his crew.

The auditorium lights shined on. Orien looked at Willo and they paused as they looked at each other.

“…intense…ex-experience,” Orien said.

“Yes it was,” Willo stated and rose from her chair. Orien stood up and walked down to the aisle, stopped and waited for Willo. He let her pass and led the way out.

Willo and Orien joined Camille and Kip in the lobby.

“What did you think?” Camille asked as they walked out and under the archway, outside the doors to Penhaven center.

“I thought it was very intense,” Willo said, “But it was very real and left an impression.”

“It was very violent,” Orien said, “I don’t think I’ll forget it.”

The paths were muddy from rain, and the light from the poles was reflected on the stone paving, shining the way through the darkness of night.

Orien felt overcome with a fog, not the sort of fog that would have been expected from Dasahd’s time, but a natural emptiness as a result of the shock and horror from the reel feature he had just seen. 

They made their way to Kip’s jet and Willo sat on Orien’s lap again in the back deck. Willo lived in Penhaven just down a few paths from the center.

Orien wished he could tell her about the dark cloud he felt inside in response to the show. He knew she felt it too. It was not a time for them to be close in that manner, not yet, but maybe they would, he thought. 

He wondered if he would open up to her, if she would be willing to listen and be of comfort to him. 

As the jet halted at Willo’s house and she slid the door open, Orien felt her arms let go of his shoulder and she slunk out of her seat. He felt lonely without her touch. He wanted to talk to her more, to tell her everything is all right and have her tell him the same. He had even wanted to kiss her.

Kip brought Orien back to Hilliar, where orien would spen the rest of the night, listening to the radio, smiling at his Kiley Laval image, and of the thumb-sized hand colored print, pinned to his corkbord of a lady with dyed hair and a radical, outgoing personality, whom he longed to kiss
The smell of shartru-blossom perfume on her neck was still in his memory.

Top Scholar

Once Orien’s second year of learning came to an end, he did not keep further touch with Willo, possibly out of fear. It may have been likely he was afraid to fall in love with her and be hurt. He couldn’t know for certain that she would return his feelings and so he spent respite break away from his friends, in his dad’s cottage in Hilliar, listening to radio serials, and reading ‘Justice Crusader’ panelbooks.

When Orien’s third year of learning started, he would have time to spend with Willo again, but then she seemed to disappear just after the end of chill season. He would have no classes with her in his second semester and he never saw her at lunch break. He wasn’t sure where she was hiding, where she had gone away. 

Orien would have nights when he would remember Willo sitting with him in the back deck of Kip’s jet. He would remember how her perfume smelled, how closely the skin of her cheek was to his face and how he wanted to kiss her. He had to let go of the thought, because it hurt, because he knew they were only friends. 

He focused his attention on other ladies. Gabrielle had found her way into his dreams and fantasies-but he didn’t know Gabrielle, he knew Willo, or rather, he knew more of her than any other lady, and he did not really love Gabrielle as much as he dreamed of how it would be to hold her in his arms. He loved Willo.

Orien found himself becoming more interested in music, since being around Roe, Kip, Camille and Willo. He would fiddle with the knob on his radio almost every night. Every often or so, Orien would find a song that would remind him of when he was early youth and remind him of the music his brother listened to and as he did quite often lately, he would wonder how he had forgotten the music. Yet, the music was still there for him to find and so was Willo. 

If Willo had left Penhaven Arts, then she still had ties to Orien, because she was still friends with Kip and Munroe and so he would somehow find her again and maybe that was the way it was meant to happen, as if some spirit above had some plan designed for the two of them-the thought made Orien smile.

Somewhere in his heart he believed it was meant to be, that he was meant to see Willo again, but as the days passed he was reminded, that Willo was not there.

During lunch breaks Orien would walk around the field and the art house and the main house with Dug and chat about their common interest, which was theater and reel show conductors.

“The only Al Wulworte production I can recall is ‘Vic and Suzi’,” Dug said as they meandered about the field at the start of bloom season, a year after Orien went to see ‘The Pilgrimage’ with Willo and the group.

Dug and Orien drifted with no particular direction in mind, which was typical of them.

“You haven’t seen ‘Titanites’?” Orien asked.

They passed by a group of music scholars, and Orien looked to see if Willo was among them, but she was not.

“Yes…” Dug said, wracking his brains to remember, “I did see that one, you brought it in for reel studies, first year, right?”

“I only showed a small bit…” Orien said.

“Yes… but I have seen it, I think.”

They stopped at the top of the back steps of the main house and leaned looking down the hill at all of the different groups of scholars on break. Everyone stuck with like-minded people in groups, music scholars with other music scholars, even some first and second years who were a bit odd and would be outcasts at another school stuck with each other, yet what was unique about Penhaven arts is that none of these groups excluded people and Orien had interactions with just about every one-he had become known by most of his peers from running up against Bianca’s ex-companion Thanuel in the election for class chairman and giving a speech on stage in the auditorium.

“Heard from Theo, much?” Orien asked Dug as they stood on the top balcony of the main house, looking out at the field. It was their favorite spot to hang about during lunch break.

“We were hanging about quite a bit last semester, but now that he’s transferred to Colliard University, I don’t see him.”

“I’m around though,” Orien said.

“We don’t like to do the same things, though,” Dug said.

“We both like to go to reel shows, we both like to smoke herbs…”

Dug gave a surprised look and said, “When have you started smoking herbs? When we were first years, you said, that herbs were-”

Orien brushed him off and interrupted stating, “I’ve smoked with my brother and his friends. It’s fine.”

“’right, then I suppose if you’re not busy next Friday we’ll go see a show in Penhaven and if I can get some herbs, we’ll have a pipe…”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

The doors opened and Bolin, the chief school administrator, walked out and stopped to tell Orien and Dug to go to their academic advisory meetings.

“Didn’t we just have one of those a couple day-sets ago?” Orien said.

“It does seem like they schedule them more often now then they used to,” Dug replied.

“Who do you have for advisor?” Orien asked as they walked through the main house through the back door.

“I have Maggie. Upsteps…”

“I have Lydia,” Orien said, following Dug up the steps. They stopped at the top, directly in front of Lydia’s office.

“So, that’s why you’re able to pass, doing less work?”

“I do a lot. More than I did my first two years. I’ve improved.”

“I always feel like you have less work than I do, you’re taking less classes, right…?”

 “I have learning difficulties,” Orien explained, “I can’t have a lot of work or a lot of classes…I have anxieties…”

Dug smirked as if he didn’t believe Orien, or maybe that he thought he was putting Lydia and his other instructors on, as if it were just an act. It made Orien wonder, because it didn’t seem as if he had any anxieties anymore, was not even taking potions, if he had been putting them on, though not intentionally.

“It’s fine,” Dug said and grinned, “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow.”

Dug walked off toward Maggie’s classroom and Orien opened Lydia’s door and went in. Maxen was sitting in a chair in front of Lydia’s desk next to a lady named Malia, a petite brunette with glasses, who was known to be promiscuous much like Lysse, the lady whom Orien had his first kiss with. 

Lydia was at her desk, typing on a keypad in front of a large black box, which appeared to be a cyber-box system, like the one Orien used in Maggie’s class to type assignments and create printouts. It was a useful device, but very expensive.

“I have everyone’s transcript put into cyber file,” Lydia said. 

Orien had never quite paid much attention to the fact that Lydia always looked as if stupefied by herbs. She was always smiling, always in a daze. Her glasses had a pinkish tint like sunshades, which Orien thought stylish for someone her age.

“Let’s start with Malia, last semester we checked in and you seemed like you’ve been handling the extra workload, quite nicely…”

“I’m surprised at myself to be honest,” Malia said.

“I’m not surprised, I knew you would pull through. It’s tough making the transition to a new school, a lot of scholars in your class had a tough first year, but you’ve all worked hard and made up for it. I’m so proud.”

Lydia smiled a glowing smile, looking around at Malia, Maxen and Orien. She stopped at Orien and said, “Orien, I noticed you still have some incomplete marks.”

Orien didn’t want to have to take extra classes like Malia, on the contrary, he preferred the reduced class schedule he had been given, but he thought about what Dug had said. Orien didn’t want to take advantage of Lydia, but then, he didn’t want to do any extra work.

“I know, I’m still missing some work from my independent projects,” Orien said.
Lydia tapped the arrow key on her pad and looked at the screen.

“No, I gave you full marks for all those,” She said, “Those are the assignments you did with me. Maggie and myself, both looked them over.”

“But I only did two reports my first year…” Orien said truthfully.

“No, I remember reading three,” Lydia said, “We did ‘The Lost Era’, ‘The Hypnosis Factor’ and ‘The Island Society’.”

“I didn’t finish ‘The Island Society’ report.”

Orien read the ‘Island Society’ as asked and Silvian helped him take notes, but he never turned in the final project, and when he took advanced literature with Jeralyn in his second year he had to read the book again and still never turned in a report, or any assignments for that class.

“I remember reading it. It was a fine report. All three were very well scripted and researched, the same with your last semester reports-but I’m seeing an incomplete for your reel studies course and you need all your art credits to pass.”

“Didn’t you and Dug make a reel short, first year?” Maxen said, “The one where you’re possessed by eval and telling Dug’s friend Theo everyone hates him…”

“That was Dug’s project, I wasn’t very involved.”

“You helped though,” Lydia said, “You should get credit for that… and I remember you needed that final project for Sal for your drawing class…”

“I still have to turn that in.”

Lydia shook her head, looking at the screen and said, “It says that your mark was changed to full credit last semester. You don’t remember turning it in…?”

She looked up from her shades.

“Oh, Yes, I did do a project for him,” Orien lied.

“The only thing you are missing is your History credit from your first year, which…you are working on an independent assignment right now with Jermaine, right?”

“Yes. I should have that done by the end of this semester.”

“You’re all caught up then. All three of you are caught up it looks like. Does anyone have any issues with any of their classes, any anxieties, anything to discuss?”

Everyone shrugged.

“Can’t say that I do,” Maxen said.

“No, I don’t,” Orien said.

“I was feeling overwhelmed,” Malia said, “but the respite session classes I took, helped.”

“You’ve been doing magnificent, Malia. I consider you one of our top scholars-and Orien, too. 
You’ve done exceptionally well with your independent work. I’m very proud.”

“Thanks,” Orien said.

The meeting came to a close with each scholar being given paper packets, with choices for next semester’s classes and an information sheet with how much credit they had and what they would need to complete study in their final year.

“You may go to your next class, now,” Lydia said, “and we’ll discuss your class choices for the coming semester in our next meeting, two day-sets from now.”

Maxen and Malia stood up from their chairs. Orien picked up his shoulder bag, untied it and filed his papers inside. 

Orien left Lydia’s office and took the steps down to the main hall. He looked up from the third lowest step, out at the windows of the main door and he saw a tall lady approaching the steps. He stopped in his tracks, thought it was his imagination, but the lady with the short black hair, streaked with scarlet was making her way up the steps.

Orien felt paralyzed in his spot. He was so nervous, he didn’t know how to greet her, he was almost afraid to, but he hurried his last steps and rushed as Willo opened up the door and smiled at him, while he stood in front of her and held his arms out.

“Hi,” she said.

She walked up and hugged him and Orien craned upwards to her cheek and kissed it, because he couldn’t help himself and because she hadn’t objected when he had done it the last time.
Orien was gripping her tight, but she released herself from him.

“Hi,” Orien said. He smiled a glowing smile. He felt like he was flying, like when he had been stupefied by herbs and daydreamed that he was taking a journey in the sky with Gabrielle. He was journeying in the clouds with Willo.

“I’m just on my way to see Lydia,” Willo said pointing upwards at the steps ahead, “to talk about whether or not I should return to school.”

“I missed you, where have you been?” Orien said quickly. He could barely talk and he had been afraid to tell her the truth, that he missed her, but he knew he had to, it was not good to bottle feelings up inside. His therapy counselor talked about that with him.

“I went on leave,” Willo explained, “A friend of mine was ill. I missed out on a lot of schoolwork, my only option to finish school, is to study an extra year or leave Penhaven arts and take an equivalency exam…”

“That’s what Camille did, right?”

“Yes and she studied a semester at the academy, but she’s not in school anymore.”

“I think you should stay,” Orien said.

“I don’t know if I will,” she said and Orien saw her look over her shoulder and wave, “After I talk to Lydia… she’ll help me decide, maybe…”

Willo’s attention had been diverted and she walked past him to greet Helena-Liz and Alene. Orien heard them talk behind him.

“Did I see Orien kiss you?” Helena-Liz’s voice asked and Willo answered, “Just a peck on the cheek. He’s sweet.”

“I didn’t know you were together,” Alene said.

“We’re not,” she said, “we’re just friends.”

Nothing would change her view of him, but nothing would change his view of her. He walked out the door, down the main steps to walk to the west house, for his study support class. He felt rejected as he slowly walked the side paths and even as a friend he had not gotten to know Willo properly, had tried to make plans to see her-just her alone, with no Camille or Kip, but still had not. She may leave Penhaven Arts and be gone away from him. Also, he loved her, but she did not love him and maybe wouldn’t ever.

Penhaven Center
(Three Calendar Blocks Prior)

On a Friday three calandar blocks before the end of Orien’s second third year semester, just at the end of chill when planet Promythica would begin to be warmed by the sun once again, Orien walked from the main house at Penhaven Arts, across to the library after class. Willo was waiting for him, standing with several other scholars waiting for the public transport to bring them back to the village. Her hair was streaked with pink. Her eyes were lit bright and she smiled and he smiled back at her and stood to wait, for just mere moments.

The port stopped soon and Orien followed behind Willo as she stepped up and into the vehicle. 

They paid the pilot and they sat next to each other in the seat closest to the door.

She had an unmistakable perfume scent, but it wasn’t any particularly overpowering scent, it was like ladies soap. She smelled like a lady, and Orien turned and looked at her. Her cheeks were smooth like a lady. He wanted to slide in closer in the seat and closer to her. He wanted his eyes to meet hers, his lips to meet hers. 

Willo turned her head and looked down at him.

“I like your hair, today,” Orien said, embarrassed that she caught him looking at her, “I…I was just admiring the colors…”

“Oh, thank you,” she replied and her hand patted his knee, “Camille did it for me, she’s staying at my house for a few days.”

The transport passed the Penhaven showhouse just after reaching the arched signpost that read ‘Welcome to Penhaven Village’. Orien watched with his head turned to the frnt window shield as they passed many shops and Willo signaled to halt at the spot in front of the antiques shop. He followed her off the port and the walked together along the stone pathes.

Orien could hear the gushing of water, from a large fountain across the path where the other transport stop was, just next to the large Village Hall Building.

As the passed Sweeneysen’s sweet shop and stopped at the crossing, Willo looked around to make sure the snow-patched path was clear of zooming jetcars, and she led Orien across by the wrist.

“Where should we go?” Willo asked once they reached the other side and were passing Simmon’s bookshop.

“oh…uh…uh…we-we should/could, uh…” Orien stuttered.

“We can go through the market…we can get something to eat...?” Willo suggested.

“right.”

Orien looked up into her eyes as he answered, and could clearly notice the height difference between himself and Willo.

“Follow me,” Willo said and Orien followed her. 

He looked around and felt overwhelmed at the crowds. He saw groups of late youths of about his age, all artistic types, for the most part, the majority of passersby were unique creative people with different colored hairstyles like Willo, beaded necklets, herblace wristlets.

“Would you like to cross and have a steamee at ‘the quiet rest’?” Willo asked as she stopped at the front entrance of an art gallery and gestured toward a steamee parlor on the other side of the path, next to a boarded up shop that was empty.

Jetcars were whipping by and Orien didn’t want to cross, was afraid to cross, and so he answered, “Uh…oh…um…uh…n-no.”

“Every been to Haye’s market?”

“Uh…I think when I was youth/early youth/with my parents/don’t remember…”

“The entrance is right up here,” Willo said.

There were several people walking out of the entrance to Haye’s and Orien recognized a dark haired lady about his height with ring piercings in her lip and brow. She smiled brightly, held her arms out and rushed to greet Willo with a hug.

“Hi, Orien,” Camille said and gave him a hug.

“What have you been doing?” Willo asked.

“Browsing around Turners Music Shop,” she said.

“I was thinking about going there, myself, Orien’s never been to Haye’s, I don’t think he’s ever been to the village center much…”

“I grew up in Hilliar,” Orien said.

“Us three should go to the diner, get some food. I’m starved,” Camille said and followed them back the other way, passing Simmons again.

“Are you hungry, Orien?” Willo asked.

“Yes-yes I am,” he answered.

“Let’s go across to Gibb’s Diner,” she suggested, “They have good food in there.”
“Right, we can do that/let’s do that,” he answered.

His heart pumped in wild thumps as he saw that they would be crossing. He stuck close by Willo, feeling safe and feeling comfort and hurried across with her and Camille. He was relieved once he got to the other side. Along the way to Gibb’s, Camille took out a packet of smokstiks, lit one and smoked it. Her and Willo chatted, while Orien lagged behind with crowds of people passing. Orien felt lost and every so often skipped up ahead to Willo and Camille.

“…Axley was there and he was talking to Perl…” Camille was saying. She took a drag from her stik.

“You must have felt awkward…”

“He’s a creep…”

Willo opened the door to Gibb’s and held it open for Camille and Orien. Camille stamped her stik in the dirt and they entered the diner.

They waited in front of the podium and once again Orien was overwhelmed by the sound and the commotion. He could hear faint music over loud talking, clinking dishes, and bells ringing from the kitchen. A lady in a black smock with a pierced lip and dreadknots in her hair, who was just about as tall as Willo greeted them and they followed her to a table in the far corner by a window.

They were seated in the smoking section and so Camille lit another stik, offered one to Willo and Orien.

“I don’t smoke looseleaf,” Orien said.

Willo took a stik and the two of them smoked.

A lady servant in a red smock, wearing a yellow blossom in her honey colored hair, introduced herself as Trish and asked them what they would like for drinks.

“S-steamee,” Orien said.

“Citran spritz,” Willo said.

“Water,” Camille said.

They opened their menus and looked. Orien rarely ate in restaurants, so as he looked over the selections, read the different sauces, he was unsure what to order. He didn’t think he would like anything, had never tried much different types of foods, couldn’t think if he would like any of the seasons or spices, any of the sandwhich meats. 

Drinks were served and Trish asked if they were ready to order. Orien felt glued to his seat, stiff and nervous as Trish looked at him, and Camille and Willo were looking at him, puffing out smoke and waiting for him to order, but he said nothing and so Willo said, “I’m going to be having the house salad with breadcrumbs and sweet vinoil dressing.”

She stubbed her stik in the ashtray, along with Camille who then ordered, “Finmir sandwhich on 
oatsen bread, with garlen sauce.”

They all looked at Orien again and Orien loudly declared, feeling himself sweat in his pits from nervousness, “I…I just would like…a plain bovil sandwich, nothing in it, no sauce, no vegetables, just meat and bread/plain bread/with fried tatos on the side,” Orien said, sighed and breathed.

“How would you like the meat cooked?” Trish asked.

“Cooked…how?” Orien said.

“How done?” she said.

“Done…on a grill,” Orien said.

“How red do you like the meat?” Willo clarified.

“I don’t know,” Orien answered. He was feeling pressured, he was on the spot, he just wanted Trish to go away. He wanted to hide under the table. Orien didn’t want to answer questions. He wanted to be let alone. There were a lot of people in the diner, a lot of noises, he thought he didn’t want to be there anymore and the place smelled like leaf smoke.

“It can be done all the way, we do it pink for you, or a little redder. We have four levels of doneness. Level four is blackened to a crisp…”

“In between, like three, maybe,” Orien said. Orien sipped his steamee and hid his face in his mug. Trish took the menus away.

Orien was embarrassed. He wanted Willo to be attracted to him, he wanted to be able to talk to her, he wanted to seem like a fun person to be around, yet he didn’t know his way around Penhaven Village and didn’t even know how to order food at a diner. She might not even want him to be a friend anymore as she saw him as a fool.

“Scripted any new poems?” Willo asked.

Orien gulped his hot steamee, burning his throat and looked up at her, “n-no,” he said in a scratchy choked, voice.

“You feeling right?” she asked in a worried voice.

“Burnt my mouth.”

“Be careful.”

She smiled and Orien smiled back. Her smile and the words ‘be careful’ soothed Orien as if she was really looking out for him. Maybe if they were companions she would look out for him, she’d know if he was nervous ordering at a diner, she’d see his shoulders locked up and notice his tone of voice and ask if he was all right.

Orien knew they wouldn’t be companions though. They would always be friends. Willo even mentioned her ex-companion, in conversation with Camille, once they had gotten their food.

“Long term companionships are no good,” she said, “I’m finished with having companions…”

“Well…” Orien said in a soft shy voice, “well I want a/want a long term companionship…” and he was thinking in his head, he might want a long-term companionship with Willo. He was getting lost in her eyes and the color in her hair, observing each follicle and each brightly colored bit of hair was pleasing to his eye. Everything was pleasing to his senses. He remembered the smell of her perfume on the public port, he remembered being near cheek to cheek with her in the back deck of Kip’s jet.

“No, you really don’t,” Camille said, “Companionships are just messy and troublesome, better off just playing the game.”

Orien tried to picture it in his mind. He thought about some of the ladies on the school transport. He thought about Jasmine and Gabrielle and he liked both of them, but he would be nervous asking them out for a date. 

After their meals, the group paid and Orien and Willo followed Camille out to her dark green dented jetcar, which was halted at the keephouse. Willo and Camille each had another smoke as Orien sat and waited in the back deck.

Camille piloted the jet to Willo’s cottage on Rubinsen Way, only a short distance from the Village center. They entered the neat and clean two-quarter cottag and Willo invited Orien up to use the communicator to page his father for a ride. He followed her up the stepway, gazing at her hips as she rushed up and he followed her into her bedchamber.

Willo had her own personal communicator, polished and painted pink on her bedtable.

“I’ll be in the guest chamber with Camille,” Willo said.

Orien looked over Willo’s bookshelf next to her bed and saw many of the same books that he had in his collections, tech-fantasy stories by Maxen K. Hil, schoolbooks like ‘The Island Society’ and a few Thebuek plays. There were poetry collections and a selection of verses by Mora Emi. Orien was certain that he had all the same books in his collection, which meant he and Willo had alike reading preferences. He couldn’t help think that a lady with similar preferences would be the ideal companion for him and he couldn’t help think that Willo was that lady. Willo was his ideal lady, he knew it, and he believed it and he couldn’t help it.

Orien picked up the communicator from its cradle and punched the code for his father’s newly purchased pocket communicator.

“This is Gilforde speaking,” the voice on the other end said.

“Yes it’s Orien, I’m ready to be picked up…my friend’s house is at Rubinsen Way…it’s a white painted cottage… she said the number is 54.”

“54 Rubinsen…”

“Yes.”

“How close to the village center in Penhaven?”

“It’s…I don’t know…down a few paths, a ways, but not far from the center, I think you’ll find it on 
a map.”

“I can find it.”

Orien’s father traveled quite a bit and was very good at reading maps and finding places, so he knew it would be easy for him to find. Orien put the communicator back on to its cradle, left Willo’s bedchamber and turned to the end of the hallway to the guest chamber.

Willo and Camille were sitting on a bed, looking at a gossipbook and talking about a popular boy idol, which made Orien feel slightly uncomfortable. The boy in the gossipbook picture was much elder than Orien, possibly taller, definitely muscular. He was a singer in a music group and popular with ladies. Orien seemed inferior in comparison and if that boy represented Willo’s ideal companion, Orien didn’t match up.

The doorbell rang soon later and Willo said, “That might be your dad.”

“I’m sure it is,” Orien said. 

Willo stood up to give Orien a hug goodbye and Orien hugged back and he couldn’t stop himself from showing some affection, he had to, because he and Willo were alike. She was a poet and she liked the same books he did. Her cheek was right within range of his lips and his lips couldn’t help smack it. He had kissed her. He wanted to kiss her the way he had kissed Lysee once ago, but he could only muster that little peck on the cheek. Willo was blushing.

Orien said, “goodbye,” turned and hurried down the steps, scared and afraid to look back. He hoped he had not done anything wrong. He had made a very foolish move. He shouldn’t have done it but he did it.

After that day Orien would continue to think about Willo, to want to see her, to see if she could love him, if he could find himself acting confident around her, maybe if he saw her on her own. After that day, however, he stopped seeing Willo at school, until three calendar blocks later.

He still had her pagecode. He knew he should page her and see if she wanted to meet him alone in Penhaven center, yet she only wanted his friendship.

Penhaven’s West End

Orien worked hard on his school assignments, during the bloom season semester, fueled by Lydia’s statement that he was a ‘top scholar’. He completed his history report on the events depicted in ‘the pilgrimage’, using the school’s cyber system to access copies of articles and critical reviews and putting in his own opinions-it was too simple-Orien smirked to himself when he thought of his early years at the arts school. Completing work seemed difficult at that time-possibly from the potions or the fog. Maybe work would become easier as he would receive praise from his teachers. 

Orien made a habit of stretching each morning, and lying on a blanket in his bedchamber with his eyes closed practicing his breathing. He would practice the positions learned in his ‘body relaxing’ class, which would help him feel calm throughout the day.  

Just before Orien was to give his verbal report on his ‘Pilgrimage’ research, he attended his body relaxing and lay on a mat in a small wood shack near the woods, by the art house. He laid his back straight, relaxed his eyes and took a deep breath from his lungs, imagining a wave of ocean being pulled to the tide on a beach like at Nautuk shore. 

He fantasized that he had brought Willo along with him to his uncle’s cabin in Nautuk Town and imagined that at night they walked along the shore, as Orien preferred not to be by the water in the busy afternoon and be amongst the crowds. Although walking together Orien would feel like a little boy holding his mother’s hand, from Willo being so tall, once she wilted in his arms, they would lay down on the sand together and he would make a move and kiss. He would caress her and look into her eyes; she’d be his other half, the other poet, the other spirit.

Juno, the ‘body relaxing’ instructor, said in a soft voice, “inward your deepest breath, starting from down in the stomach up through the chest and outward for several long clicks… and let your eyes open.”

Orien awoke to be in class again. He sat up and bowed to his teacher along with the other scholars.

Orien stood up and felt tall like Willo. He marched out of the shack, up the pathway, past the art house. He was a small speck in the big world-he looked around at the tall trees, lit by the sun, the late youths all chatting and walking, making their way to their classes. He was one of the many, but he was unique. He was the poet, the spirit. He walked with confidence to the main house, walking up the back stepway, to the top quarter.

He felt as if he were being guided. He was not making his legs move. His legs were moving to guide him. He and his spirit and his mind, were displaced from his body, but walking along with him. It was as if he was walking along with some figure holding his hand, like a winged spirit from the sky, resembling Willo, making him feel as if he were in harmony, and so he would name this spirit, this lady guardian, Harmoni.

Orien walked into Jermaine’s class chamber for History of The Promythican Colonies, and sat in a chair.

“Our last two verbal presentations are today,” Jermaine said, “We have Orien’s on…what was it…?”

“The pilgrimage events…” Orien asnswered.

“Yes and Helena-Liz’s report on the current situation in Sanstrahm…who is going first?”

Orien looked at Helena-Liz and she turned her head and looked at him.

“I’ll go up,” Orien said. He took his chair and moved it up to the front of the class and turned it to face his fellow scholars. 

He didn’t feel frightened or nervous. He remembered years ago auditioning for the arts school and Helena-Liz had been there. He looked at her and at Malia. Looking at the other faces, there was not one face for which he did not know. He knew his peers and was comfortable in speaking directly at them.

“’right then, ‘the pilgrimage…,” he said paused and thought for a bit. He had not practiced at giving any report and had nothing prepared. He assumed he would simply talk of the research he did and of what he found.

“I saw the reel show presentation,” Orien continued, “when it was playing at the Penhaven theatre.”

“I love the showhouse,” said Bev, a freckled lady with ginger hair. Orien thought she had a rather adorable look to her. 

“Yes. I went in not knowing anything of the true facts and it was a rather fine performance. Nicely done tragedy…”

“I heard it was sad,” Bev spoke again.

“It was very sad, but actually I did some research on articles, I used the school’s cyber database.”

“It’s a fine tool, isn’t it?” Jermaine said.

“Yes it is… ‘the pilgrimage’, the feature is a tragic piece inspired by an event which we actually know little about… it was something passed on verbally… we don’t know exactly what happened on the boat, but we know the captives were mistreated, we can guess that they were beaten bloodily…”

“I heard the show was really violent,” said Ceddi, “for me, personally, I don’t think it is necessary to show so much blood and people being cut up…”

A debate began, with Orien defending the show’s violent scenes.

“That’s what most likely happened,” Orien said, “the captives fought back and it was only natural for them to hit back after how they were treated.”

“That does not need to be shown in a theatre show…” argued Ceddi.

“But why wouldn’t you show it? You show it, so the audience sees that it is nasty. Violence and bloodshed is horrifying to see. The point is not to approve of the captive’s vengeance but to understand where their rage comes from…”

“You cheer for them though and want to see them beat the villains, but they act out of eval…and the rush the audience feels is exciting…”

“You are right on some points, but that doesn’t mean that the audience is being manipulated into eval acts, this isn’t Dasahd’s conjuring, this is just a showpiece…”

Jermaine stepped in and said, “I’m curious to hear about some of the real events- the showpiece was a dramatic telling, and you said we know very little of the events…”

“The legend around the story began with news articles about a shelter master who was boarding these people who spoke in their own language and must have landed on our planet after Odysseus’s landing and the settlement of our colonies. They must have been from one of the other arriving spaceports and landed on another island or territory. Most of their story was myth and speculation, but a search discovered a trail of death, a trail of corpses,”

“Oh my spirits!” Bev said, covering her mouth and shocked.

“Yes, Bev, right, it was gruesome. This trail of death led to the boat wreckage and the theory of a group of…perhaps pirates… harboring these natives as slaves and them attacking back and making a pilgrimage for food and shelter became a legend. The show uses a single character as a leader of sorts, to give the story a focus. The shelter master doesn’t understand his language as he tells him the story, but we do, because we can read the captions-which makes it feel real.”

“Did you like the feature or did you not like the violence?” Bev asked.

“I thought the violence was necessary to tell the story… I did think some of the dramatic bits were overdone though.”

“Fascinating,” Jermaine said, “many people would disagree in regards to the violence. I thought there was a bit much and agree with Tobin that it was treated as spectacle and violence as spectacle is never good. I suppose it is fine if you understand the reason behind the violence. Personally, seeing the show, I didn’t like the violence.”

Orien shrugged.

“Well done, presentation,” Jermaine said and extended his hand to shake with Orien.

Orien shook Jermaine’s hand and stood up from his chair. He took his chair back to the circle. Helena-Liz gave her presentation next about the island of Sanstrahm, where the original, winged, sky dwelling inhabitants of planet promythica had migrated, after the landing of the spaceport Odyeseus.

“We know them as sky-spirits, or spirits of the sky, but they are a race of people that have integrated into our society and some of them are still oppressed…”

Orien didn’t understand much about current events, but he knew that the colonial army was in conflict with the sky natives settled in Sanstrahm and that the island contained resources such as mountain slick, and mines of silvenrock, materials needed in fueling jets and the production of various inventions. It was important for the colonies to maintain good relations with the natives, for the use of the materials in their environment, but from what Orien understood the natives were hostile to their land being invaded.

Orien was distracted by thoughts of Bev, who was sitting next to him. She had been so focused and attentive to him when he was speaking his presentation that he knew she must have admired him. She was incredibly beautiful, a timid lady youth, but an artist, in a splash-painted daydress, with several beaded necklets. 

The thought of asking Bev out on a date occurred to Orien, yet, another thought occurred to have her wait for him to ask her. It was nice to be admired, but it was also fun to play the game and to have your admirer guessing if you would ever choose them.

Class was dismissed for lunch break. Orien slung his shoulder bag on, got up from his chair and followed Bev out the door.

A tall boy with brown hair from Bev’s year was waiting in the hallway and Bev threw her arms around him and he picked her up and spun her, in a romantic manner. They were companions, 
Orien guessed and felt heartbreak in an instant.

“Ori,” Bev said as Orien passed them in the hallway.

“Are you going to Walt’s gathering to celebrate the end of the school year?” she asked.

“Possibly/he did ask me/I seem to recall, but I may have said no.”

“But you should go…” Bev said.

“Oh…yes, I might,” Orien said.

Orien walked out the back door down the stepway and found Dug and Maxen, talking together. Orien was going to ask them if they had been invited to Walt’s gathering, thinking maybe he should go, but he didn’t want to interrupt their conversation.

“Do you want to go into the village and get some food?” Dug asked Maxen.

“I have classes after lunch break,” Maxen said.

“Are they classes you need to attend?” he pressed on, but Maxen seemed uninterested.

“Possibly not,” Maxen said, “but I don’t have any paynotes.” 

“We can use my parent’s credit tab,” Dug suggested.

“I can leave school early,” Orien interrupted, “I can probably skip out on my creative scripting class. I turned my short story in to Maggie already-” 

Orien didn’t get to finish as Dug began walking and said, “I need to talk to Reann first, we’re working on a project.”

Orien followed Dug to the art house, up the steps, through the hall and into one of the dance halls, where a choir rehearsal had just completed. 

Reann, a timid brown-haired lady, was talking with some of her choir mates. Dug stepped in to talk to her.

“Hi, Dug,” she said and the red-haired friend she had been talking to gave a small wave to Dug also.

“Are you free Sunday?” Dug asked, “To work on Maggie’s assignment?”

Reann thought for a bit, “uh… at your place?”

“Yes, at my house. Or where else? The library?”

“Perhaps…” Rehann said, “Or…no, I’ll just go over your place, I’ll have my mom let me off,” she turned her attention to Orien and said “Hi Ori,” and then went back to talking with her choir mates.

Orien followed Dug out the door of the dance hall.

“You ever notice how everything is just pulling you in different directions? Like a puppet or, don’t know…” Dug said on their way through the main hall of the art house.

Orien didn’t reply. He walked slowly behind Dug as he made his way down the steps and continued, “I get pulled into this and then into that. I’ve been rehearsing for my piano recital, working on my assignments for history, my project with Reann and want to work on a piece to show Brigham College, next semester-have you thought about where you’re applying?”

“Don’t know.” Orien said. They were making their way to Dug’s green jet in the lot in the back of the art house.

“You could do some semesters of Adelyn Academy, do flash imaging, reel production or try applying to Mansington University.”

“I don’t think I’m going to University.”

“You should, though. You should experience the pull. I’m being pulled. Being pulled into rehearsing for my recital, working on the project with Reann, and I don’t know where things are going with us, we’re not companions, I don’t know what we are…” Orien got in the co-pilot’s side of Dug’s jet and Dug put his tab in the starter to bring the jet up, back it up and out into the path. Dug continued to talk, each word and statement like music notes, he would play on piano.

“She pulls me in, and that’s a big pull, pulling at your emotions.”

“I know what that’s like.”

“Do you?” Dug asked, curious, “But you don’t interact with many people at school…you don’t talk much, especially not to ladies.”

“I do. There’s Willo.”

“I thought Willo left school?”

“I’ve seen her though…well, I saw her the other day, and we went to see a show.”

“This-this thing with Reann, it’s different, though. It’s terrible.”

“It’s terrible?”

“Yes. Love is a terrible thing. Don’t fall in love.”

“Because of the pulling?”

“Yes. Ladies pull at your emotions and it’s terrible. Everything is pulling, like ropes pulling you like a puppet, then someone takes your heart and controls you and plays games with you and you never win, but she pulls you and pulls you, while everyone else pulls you…”

Dug halted the jet at the lot in front of a quaint market on the other side of the village several pathes away from the arts school. 

Orien slid open the jet door and read the the large wooden sign above the enrance that said ‘West End Groceries, Dining and General shop’

“I thought we were still in Penhaven?” Orien said, thinking ‘West End’ to be the name of a town somewhere close by.

“We’re still in the village. We’re in West end.”

“I’ve never heard of it…” Orien said following Dug to the entranceway.

“The West End of Penhaven-the area where I live-this is where my family purchases their groceries…” he explained as they walked out into the bustling crowds roaming the aisles of food and food parcels, “there’s a dining spot down the end, if you follow me, everything you need is here, general supplies, food supplies, but not packaged and artificially processed rubbish. My dad thinks all that chemically altered waste is harmful to the body. I don’t know how people are even surviving off of that rubbish.”

Orien followed Dug past an aisle of bottles of fine joice and imported berus.

“Then again,” Dug said, “I eat rubbish, now and again, when I’m out with friends-and I’ll survive, it’s all in moderation, well at least the food stuff…”

Orien peaked down every passing aisle as they made their way to the end, to a small parlor.

“Do you eat meat?” Dug asked before they stood in line at the counter.

“Yes, you don’t?”

“No, I don’t, usually, it isn’t good for you, but, let’s live a little, and get a plate of fowlin wings…”

“With uh… with seasonings and sauces…?”

“Yeah, the selections are right here…” Dug said gesturing to the food sitting behind the protective shield and the labels, with the sauces- spicy herb, savory glaze, hot and spiced, citron peppered.

“They leave the food out like that to get cold?” Orien said making a face of disgust.

“No, the food won’t be cold… come on, you’re hungry right?” Dug said.

“I don’t like spice and things like that.”

“The citron and pepper is good, have you ever tried it?”

“I eat my meat plain,” Orien said in a stubborn manner. He was afraid he might starve but he wouldn’t want Dug to use his parents’ card to purchase food he wouldn’t eat.
A gentleman walked through the kitchen doors carrying a tray, to put under the shield to sit.

“Sir!” Dug said, getting the gentleman’s attention, “Can we have a little taste of the pepper citron fowlin on a pick?”

“Yes sir,” The chef said, took a wooden pick from the cup, took out a knife and sliced a sliver of meat off and placed it on the pick. He handed it to Dug, who handed it to Orien, who stared at it.

“Can we also try the glazed… two picks, please?”

“Yes,” the servant said, and sliced two slivers of the glazed fowlin, while Orien, nibbled at the piece of food already on a pick in his hand. He bit and chewed and then took the rest of the food in, chewed and swallowed.

The taste was fine to Orien. He was surprised to find that he liked it, although the citron taste was overpowering and the pepper gave it a little kick, it wouldn’t make him sick or gag. He tried the glazed bit and it was bland in comparison, simply a sweet coating over plain meat, but no significant flavor other than that.

“Which did you prefer?” Dug asked.

“The second, but… I want to try more of the peppered one.”

“Give it a change, why not…” Dug said.

Dug pointed to the plate of citron peppered fowlin and said to the servant, “Some of that…” and pointed to the six-piece box on the counter, “In one of those…”

The servant scooped out six pieces and placed them in a box. He handed the box to Dug and Orien followed Dug as he shifted to the side to the money counter.

Dug took out his pocket purse and his parent’s card, which the money handler fed through the machine and handed back to Dug.

Orien followed Dug again to the dining corner and they sat at a wooden table by the window.
Orien waited for Dug to grab a fowlin stick and when he did, Orien hesitated before picking out a wing. The sauce was getting on his fingers and he made a face. This was one reason he preferred not to eat food with sauce. 

“I gather that you don’t try new things much,” Dug observed.

Orien didn’t respond. He felt his fingers get messy and after several bites, Dug plucked several disposable tissues from the dispenser and for himself and wiped his fingers and mouth.

“You have sauce all over your face,” Dug said.

Orien was embarrassed. He reached for the tissue dispenser and took out three sheets. He deposited his bones in the box, before wiping his hands and face up. His hands still felt greasy and it made him feel not clean. It made him feel grimy.

Orien had a sudden odd recollection of being an early youth, eating a messy dessert, possibly a melting sweetreme dessert, and his mother trying to wipe his face with a cloth, which made him scream and swat her off. He would never eat sweetreme tartetts after that, or any messy food with sauces. He resented feeling like a helpless child, he supposed, needing to be cleaned up by his mother.

Orien was drifting into his own thoughts as was typical of him. He stared at the box of fowlins and hesitated again, before picking out another piece.

“You can have as many as you want,” Dug said.

“I don’t like eating in front of people,” Orien said, “it’s odd.”

He snatched another piece, a stick and began to eat it.

“Believe it or not I understand,” Dug said and Orien nodded his head in response as he chewed and Dug said between bites, “I know what you mean and I never liked eating in the dining halls during school, for me, mostly it was because I always brought things like sealeaf and curd sandwhichs, while everyone else ate meat and tatos and I always felt like people thought I was strange for eating strange things. ‘What in all the spirits above is that you’re eating?’ they would sometimes say. My parents only liked me to eat things they knew were healthy for me, you see, so I would feel embarrassed.”

“I never ate the school foods,” Orien said with a bit of chewed meat in his cheek.

“Eww, don’t talk with food in your mouth, it’s gross,” Dug said, making Orien feel embarrassed again.

“I’m sorry,” Orien said.

“I’m sorry,” Dug said.

Orien looked around the dining spot. He needed to wash up. He felt pain below his abdomen, as his bladder ached to be relieved and it was making him sick, but he felt awkward at having to ask Dug where the washroom was.

He couldn’t finish his food.

“I’m all set,” Dug said, “I need to wash my hands,” and he got up from his chair, and Orien followed him with his eyes to see where he was going. He saw that there was a hallway next to a drinking fountain and that is where Dug went. Orien got up from his seat and walked over to the drinking fountain. There were several glasses on the table, as well as sauce bottles and extra hand cloths. 

Dug came out of the hall and Orien asked, “A-a-are we allowed to drink from the fountain?”

“What else would it be there for…?” Dug said as if the answer was clear and Orien felt stupid. 

Dug took a glass, held it under the tap and filled it. Orien did the same and drank.

They deposited their glassware in the designated area, under the shelf and Orien turned to the hall, to the washroom. Dug returned to the table.

Orien relieved his bladder and washed his hands and coming out of the hall, looking around, felt lost. He wandered around the dining spot a bit. 

Dug wasn’t at the table. Orien walked over to the counter and Dug was standing, waiting as the food preparer was packing their remaining food to take home. He handed Dug the leftover food sack.

“What would you like to do?” Dug asked, “did you wanna see a show…?”

“I don’t have paynotes on me,” Orien replied.

“Ah, that’s right,” Dug said and Orien followed him down back to the doors, to walk out of the market and to the green jet in the lot.

Dug strolled ahead and Orien followed in a slow clumsy pace, maneuvering along the lot, feeling small and that he were in unfamiliar territory. He couldn’t make out Dug’s jet among the many, until Dug stopped at a multi-passenger green jet, slid open the pilot-side and got in.

Orien got in the co-pilot side, slid his door to close, sat and buckled his restraining belt.

“There’s an indoor market in the next lot, that has a bookshop, a theatre, a gameroom and various things we can do, if you wanna go there,” Dug said turning his head to Orien. 

His tab was in the starter and he turned it. The vehicle rose.

Orien shrugged his shoulders and said, “anything you wanna do is fine.”

“Wann have a pipe, later, my parents won’t be home, maybe we’ll have a few berus…”

“I’ll have to page my dad if I’m staying overnight…”

“You can use the comm. at my house.”

Dug steered the jet out, down the main path and turned to enter a very large lot, with a marketplace, similar to the Adelyn Market. The green jet floated past rows of halted jets before finding a space next to a dented blue regal jet. Dug halted, the jet lowered and the duo got out. Dug strode forward and Orien trailed behind, looking around, watching for moving jets.

The sign on the arch above the doors they entered through read, ‘Tall Forests Shopping Emporium at West End’.

The sound of feet patting tiled floors, from late youth ladies and boys echoed through the hall as Orien walked alongside Dug, who led the way. They passed a general shop and Watkinsen’s Bookshop, a dining pit and reaching the end of the market, Orien craned his head to see over crowds to the theatre and postings for featured shows.

“Justice Crusader part II is already out?” Orien said.

“Today is the first showing I think, you don’t have any notes to pay for tickets, though?”

“No, but…I think I’ll see it with Willo. My dad can give me notes.”

Dug hooked right and Orien turned along.

“The game hall’s down here,” Dug said and led the way.

The hall was filled with sounds of marbles clunking and plunking, and balls whooshing through chutes. 

They stopped at the billiard table and Dug opened up his purse, took three 25 pieces and deposited them in the slots. Orien grabbed a stick. Dug setup the balls.

“Who should break?” Dug asked.

“You go…” Orien said.

Orien hadn’t practice billiard much. Last he remembered playing was at Trot’s, over a calendar year past. Orien’s first shot was a lucky one. He sunk it in a corner pocket, but his next shot was a miss. Dug took a turn and missed. Orien took a turn and missed. Dug missed. Orien missed and it continued that way for some time until Orien finally got another ball in.

Dug won the game in the end and they moved onto a chute game, which neither could toss the ball in very well, although Orien used to practice chute ball with Alto at the cottage, he was never as good as he was.

After they called it quits and left the game room, they stopped at Watkinsen’s bookshop. Orien found the rack of projector reels and surveyed them for a bit as Dug browsed the music recordings and when both finished looking they met up at the front and walked back out into the hall. With little left to do besides more wandering through the market, they did just that, passing the same shop fronts, talking along the way back to the game room.

“This place it could be like the set of a reel feature,” Dug said, “like one for the teenaged audience-ever see ‘Girl chasers’? It’s terrible-but like one of those movies, late youths chasing ladies, getting into trouble and hanging about at shopping markets like this…”

Dug continued to talk as they turned around and made their way back to the front doors and decided there was not much else to do. They left the shopping emporium, got in the green jet and Dug brought them back to his cottage deep in the forests of Penhaven’s West End.

Orien paged his father on the comm. and made arrangements to be picked up in the morning at Penhaven.

The remainder of the night was spent passing around a pipe of herbs on the back porch and drinking berus in the main quarters.

“you want another?” Dug asked, taking Orien’s empty bottle and placing it on the book table, as they sat on the couch, both dazed and giddy from herb and blis.

“No, I’m fine,” Orien answered.

Orien stared at the bookshelf, which contained books of different sizes, hardbound, paperbound, worn and read, crisp and unread. Orien recognized some titles and imagined himself as an elder man, married to Willo, with his own bookshelf of titles that they had collected. There was a row of books on healthy living, with yellow colored binding with Dug’s father’s name as author. Orien imagined that his fantasy self of the future were a scripter of books.

“Sure you don’t want another,” Dug asked again.

“Another what?” Orien asked, still daydreaming.

“What?” Dug said and laughed.

“Another what? You said, do you want another…”

Dug laughed. Orien continued to fantasize about his life with Willo. He imagined being in his scripting den and Willo knocking on the door. She would come in and give him a kiss, and look over his shoulder at the ream of paper in the typescripting machine and ask, ‘What are you working on?’

“Did you want another one?” Dug asked.

“Another what?” Orien asked.

Time passed and Dug got up from his chair to walk into the kitchen. He stopped, glassy eyed, and grinning and waved his arm, gesturing Orien into the kitchen. Orien got up and followed Dug. Dug was uncapping two berus. He took a gulp of his and handed one to Orien who took a small sip.

“You don’t drink, often, do you?” Dug said.

“What?” 

“Slam it down!”

Orien tipped the bottle into his mouth and opened his throat and let the fluid slide down and down, till the bottle was emptied.

“Bravo!!” Dug said and clinked his glass, “I got an idea-we should do a script, let’s do a story,” Dug took another gulp of his beru, uncapped another for Orien, “You should do a poem,” he continued.

Orien took a few gulps of his beru and followed Dug back to the main quarters and sat, but Dug had disappeared into the hallway, and it seemed as if to Orien that he was gone for quite a long time, though from the time on the clockpiece, it had only been a chime or two.

Dug had a loosepaper book in his hand when he re-emerged from the hall and when he sat down he began scripting words on the paper.

“Let’s start at the end and think up the beginning at the end,” Dug said.

“What?” Orien asked.

“Let’s go backwards-remember the feature we watched in reel studies that was backwards?”

“So I should come up with the end, before we begin.”

“The beginning will be the end and the end will be the beginning and it will begin backwards.”

“In the beginning there was backwards…” Orien said in epic intonation.

“Yes,” Dug exclaims and begins jotting in his loosepaper book, “It begins backwards, since time began there was backwards, there was always backwards.”

Orien and Dug broke out laughing. Orien and Dug tossed ideas at each other, until the sun lit the main quarters, and more sunlight came, and it became morning, and Orien felt exhausted. 

Dug brought him to Penhaven Center and the two had breakfast at a diner and waited in the back lot of the Penhaven Showhouse for Orien’s father to bring him home.

When the silver jet arrived, Orien waved goodbye to Dug, got in the co-pilot’s side and kept quiet on the way home. It wasn’t until they were close to Hilliar Town that his father asked, “Did you have a good time at Dug’s house?” 

“Yes I did,” Orien replied.

“I’m glad to see you out of the house and making friends. I’m really glad. I’m proud of how well you’ve been doing in school, too.”

Orien didn’t respond. He was tired, ready to get home and fall onto his bed to sleep.

“I have a gift for you,” his father said, “I don’t have it yet, though, I have to pick it up at the shop later this evening. Do you want to come with me to pick it?”

“Surprise me when it comes,” Orien said.

“You need a rest, don’t you?” His father said.

“Uh…yes,” Orien said in a guilty manner, “I didn’t… sleep real well.”

“Orien, I was a youth your age once, don’t think I don’t know, what you’ve been doing all night. I’ll let you rest up when you get home,” and the silence continued until they reached the cottage on Emarldleaf Way and Orien went straight to bed to rest.

He drifted off into sleep and dreamt about flying, not flying a jet, but flying in the sky over Penhaven and flying to find Willo’s house. He remembered being there. He remembered the books on her shelf. He remembered kissing her cheek and he imagined making mischief with her. She was a poet and an individual and he felt in his heart that she was his match and he wanted to see her again.

Pitstink
(Orien’s First Date)

Orien rested for at least two tolls and awoke to a ringing in his ears and a pounding headache. He sat up and stared at his Kiley Laval hanging, took several breaths and waited for the after affects of the night before to wear off before standing and then he got to his feet and creaked open his bed chamber door and stretched on his way to the dining quarters.

Orien’s father was sitting, fiddling with a black device with a small antenna. He folded the thin square pocket device and handed it to Orien, who sat down in front of him. The small gadget fit right in Orien’s palm. 

“It isn’t an advanced model, like I have, but it does have type communication as well as voice,” his father explained, “You make sure the antenna is raised before you open it up…”

The antenna was raised and Orien’s father flipped the communicator open in Orien’s palm. There was a screen on one plate and a typepad on the other with numbers and letters. His father pressed the red button with his thumb.

“Make sure it is powered on,” his father continued to explain, “and choose the option on the screen…”

The three options, in gray rectangular boxes on the screen read- 
1 Voice 
2 Short Message
3 Long Message

“Click on the number for the option and enter in a code,” Orien’s father said pressing 1 on the pad. The options screen was replaced with another screen with the words ‘Enter code’ in black and at the bottom a gray box that said, ‘# view codebook’, and his father explained, pressing the # symbol, “You can save codes for your friends and family…”

The codebook was empty. Orien’s father typed in a code, and a gray box appeared asking ‘save?’. His father pressed the # button and a blank gray box appeared. He typed in the word DAD using the letter pad and pressed # again. The box disappeared and the name DAD appeared on the list. He pressed the button with the leftward facing arrow several times before returning to the main options.

“A long message,” his father explained, “Is like a short letter and it takes time to process and reach the person, but a short message is instant. If you have a brief statement such as you type in to me ‘I’m staying at Dug’s overnight’. Understand?”

“Yes.”

His father took his hands away from the communicator and Orien folded it up. Orien was anxious to use his new communicator. He had the code to Willo’s house and he wanted to see her, to see if she wanted to see ‘Justice Crusader Part II’, but he feared that she didn’t want to. She was no longer in school anymore. Orien was no longer her fellow arts scholar, but just another boy and just a friend. 

Once he got into his bedchamber and found the note in his bedtable drawer that he had scripted with Willo’s home code, he lay in bed debating in his mind.

He had to take action, he kept thinking, but every time he unfolded the communicator, he stared and hesitated. It took several chimes before he held his breath and realized he wouldn’t get anywhere hesitating and that he’d better make a move. He exhaled as he punched the code in and put the speaker to his ear.

The tone pulsed once on the other end and again and a gruff elder male voice responded, 
“Hello?”

“Yes, I, Uh, I wanted to speak to Willo, if she’s there, if I have the right code…?”

“Hold on,” her father responded, and Orien heard an echo in the background of “WILLO! WILLO!!” followed by Willo’s answer “WHAT!!” then her father, “Some boy’s on the communicator!” then Willo “Who?”

“Who is this?” the voice addressed Orien into his earpiece. Orien trembled and felt his pits begin to sweat.

“I’m Orien.”

Orien heard footsteps as if someone was running down steps and then more echoes of conversation, “Some boy named Orien,” her father said. She then responded, “’lo there.” 

“How have you been?” Orien said, not sure what else to say.

“I’ve been fine.” 

There was a pause as Orien listened to the static on the other end and tried to think of something.

“Did you come to a decision/on the arts school/I mean only because I haven’t seen you/didn’t know if you were returning/or if you weren’t coming back/if you’re getting an equivalency certificate or if…?” Orien rambled, afraid to stop talking, afraid to hear the static silence, but Willo stopped him and said, “I’ve decided I’m not going back.”

“That’s too bad because I wanna see you/I mean I’ll miss seeing you/I mean maybe we can get together…” Orien began tossing words and phrases out again and then paused but only for a brief click or two to breathe, then continued to fill the empty static, “I was with Dug the other day at the West End shopping market/Tall trees or…tall forests market, I think/There’s a posting at the theatre for ‘Justice Crusader Part II’”

“It’s supposed to be good. I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Right,” Orien said.

Several clicks of static later Willo asked, “Did you want to go see it?”

“I do, but I don’t know if I can get a ride/I’ll have to ask my dad to drop me off/I’ll go ask him/should we/maybe tomorrow/when did you want to meet…”

“Actually, you’re very lucky Orien,” Willo chuckled, “I do have time tomorrow evening…”

Orien walked into his own chamber door, as he clutched the knob and almost dropped his communicator. He then turned the knob and opened the door and almost tripped. Then he removed his hand from the knob, so he could walk without his arm being in the way.

“I’m looking for my dad…I’ll ask him when I can find him…unless he’s not home…but I’m looking,” Orien said as he skipped around the cottage turning down the hall to the empty kitchen to the empty dining quarters to the empty main quarters, looking out the window to see that his dad’s jet was still halted, and then making his way to his dad’s chamber door and knocking.

Orien held his communicator to his chest and waited. The door slowly opened and his father was standing there, “Yes,” he said.

“A friend of mine invited me to a show, tomorrow,” Orien said.

“Dug?”

“No, a lady.” 

“Oh. Where?”

“Penhaven/well, west end Penhaven…”

“That’s far, Orien, that means a lot of fuel, is it possible to meet her in Penhaven center and get a transport to West End?”

Orien put the communicator to his ear, “It’s too far for my dad to pilot to the West End… but he says he’ll let me go, if he can drop me off at the center and we can get a transport.”

“I can walk to the center from my house,” Willo said, “and meet you, and we can go from there, how about around the eighteenth toll?”

As she said that Orien’s father asked, with slight impatience, “What time?” and Orien responded, “eighteenth toll.”

“You’ll need notes to pay for the ticket, are you planning on eating in Penhaven…?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Orien’s father shut his chamber door and Orien’s heart burst with a pounding sensation of excitement and he felt his eyes water with tears of happiness. He put the communicator to his ear to tell Willo, “It’s set with my dad. He’ll drop me off, where should I meet you?”

“Oh, I suppose in front of Haye’s market?”

“I’ll see you there tomorrow.” 

“All right, then. Bye, Ori,” she said.

“Bye Willo, see you tomorrow, really looking forward to it.”

She chuckled and said, “Bye then.”

Orien punched the red button, folded his new communicator up, and ran to his chamber, held his arm out to clutch the doorknob and nearly tripped falling inside. He then shut his chamber door. Lay in his bed and tossed his communicator aside on the blankets. He looked up at the ceiling imagining a starry sky, then sat up and reached to turn on his radio and tuned it to a serial, which he listened to as he lay still in bed, smiling and tapping his foot on the bedboard.
Sleep didn’t come easy. Orien stayed awake until the very latest tolls, listening to radio, and couldn’t stop his mind and his heart, from the excitement. When he started to get drowsy, he turned out the lantern on his bedtable.

He tossed and turned until he slept, and awoke, and tossed and turned some more before he fell back into sleep. He drifted in and out of sleep, until the twelfth toll.

Orien ate breakfast at the mid-day toll and listened to the radio in the main quarters, while his father tended to the yards.

“Is this how you plan to spend the day?” His father asked, coming from outside, in a sweat.

“What else would I do?” Orien asked, turning his head to look at his father standing in the hall by the front entry.

“There’s hedges to be trimmed, I’ve already trimmed the grass in the side yard, the backyard needs to be tended- there’s things to be done, Orien. Don’t you want to go out tonight?”

“What does that have to do with trimming the lawn?”

“Most youths earn their allowance pay helping around the house…”

“I know that!”

“You should do your part and earn your pay!”

“So, if I don’t I can’t go out?”

His father thought for a chime and frustrated answered, “I’m not going to keep you from seeing your friend, I’d rather you spend time with her, then time alone in this cottage, but you need to learn to earn your pay, it’s something you’ll have to learn once you get elder and have to be responsible for yourself… I won’t be around forever to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself fine, and I’ll get a job when I’m elder. Where do you come off telling me I can’t take care of myself! You don’t know. I can be tough. I can handle it out there.”

“I don’t know if I can believe it until I see it,” his father responded and turned to go to his bedchamber.

Orien focused on his radio programs as his father washed up in the washroom behind him. Orien was lost in his thoughts, nervous and worrying about making a good impression on Willo. He drank several mugs of steamee, meandered about the house, wandering from quarter to quarter, pacing.

He went into his bedchamber, opened his wardrobe to decide what he would wear. He knew he had to pick something trendy, he knew that would appeal to her. Orien had been styling himself in the same manner as his brother, which he felt comfortable with. 

He picked out a loose white dayshirt, with rolled sleeves and an open collar, and roughworn pants.

Orien took his clothes with him to the washroom, cleansed in the showerstall, and got dressed.
He opened up the washroom cabinet, to find a cologne or odorstik. He found a very old bottle of gentlemen’s perfume, sprayed it on his wrist and sniffed. It smelled off, maybe from being old. 
There was nothing in the cabinet that was within a usable date. The odorstik he rubbed under his pits was past expired, so he rubbed it on several times, hoping it would work.

He wet his hair and mussed it several times, until he had a controlled messy look. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long while as if waiting for his hair to dry.

He was startled by a knock on the door.

“You finished?” his father boomed.

“Yes,” Orien said and opened up the door and skipped out, past his father into his bedchamber.
He had a hidecloth necklet in his wardrobe drawer, which he put on. He put an earring in his ear. He only owned one-a small silver loop.

Once ready, Orien sat on the couch in the main quarters and watched the time pass on the radio clockpiece.

His father approached him and startled him when he asked, “Have you had anything to eat, today?”

Orien answered, “No. There isn’t anything to eat,” though he hadn’t actually looked, or even noticed that he was hungry.

“I’ve bought plenty of bread and bovil trimmings for you to make sandwhiches,” his father said.

“I’m sick of eating the same thing.”

“Tell me what else to purchase for groceries. I don’t know what you’ll eat. You don’t like anything.”

Orien looked at the clockpiece and he wasn’t going to prepare a meal. He didn’t have time and his stomach was uneasy from his nervousness-which meant he might not stomach food.
His father got out his pocket purse from his pants pocket and handed Orien two twenty notes saying, “Page your friend and see if she wants to get something to eat.”

“I didn’t do anything around the house, today…” Orien said, staring at the notes in his father’s hand with guilt.

“I’ll give you things to do tomorrow. Don’t worry about it for now. I want to see you earn your pay though.”

“I will,” Orien said, took the notes and put them in his own purse.

Orien paged Willo’s house on his communicator to let her know that he and his dad were leaving and when she should expect him. He asked her if she wanted to grab something to eat.

“We can grab something at Gibb’s, and then take the port to West End, I’ll see you soon, Ori.”

“I can’t wait to see you/I can’t wait to see the show/I’m looking forward to it,” Orien blurted. He hoped she missed the first part, because it made him sound too eager.

Orien followed his father to the silver jet and got in. His father tuned the radio and Orien listened to the hard style music tunes as he looked out the window and fantasized about what he might say to Willo, what they might talk about. He imagined her laughing. He imagined himself being calm and suave and coming across as an easy-going, mellow-type. He imagined holding her hand in the dark theatre. He imagined talking about the show after it was over.

The silver jet passed under the archway with the signpost, ‘Welcome to Penhaven Center’, and as it rolled down the path Orien could see Willo waiting for him.

 “See the tall lady with the pink/blue hair-”

“That’s her?” his father said slowing the jet and halting at the side, in front of Haye’s market. 
Orien slid open the door, unbuckled his restraint and leapt out as his father said, “Have a good time,” and Orien slid back the door.

Willo smiled and said, “’lo there.”

Orien had forgotten just how tall she was, as he looked up at her and felt almost a bit intimidated, but he was happy to see her and he threw his arms out and hugged her as she hugged back.

“So, did you want to eat at Gibb’s or somewhere else? Maybe you want to eat at Tall Forests?”
Orien released himself from clinging to Willo.

“W-we can go to G-gibb’s,” Orien stuttered.

“We need to go across,” she said and gestured outward.

Orien didn’t move. He waited for her to walk across to lead the way. He was afraid to be hit by the speeding jets, hovering only slightly above ground and passing steadily up the pathes.
“Come on, then,” Willo said, walking forward, stopping and looking. The jets halted to let them go and Orien rushed with her, in fright, thinking some jet might zip through from somewhere unknown.

His heart steadied as they made it to the other side and Orien stood beside Willo, walking in stride with her.

“What have you been up to?” Willo asked.

“I…not much.”

“Any luck with the ladies?” she asked.

Orien wondered what he should say, if he should let her know he’s available or make it sound as if he has other prospects beside her.

“I asked about this lady Gabrielle/to see if she wanted to go out sometime/she said she had a companion.”

“Aw, bad time-damn the spirits,“ she said snapping her fingers, ”but you’ll be lucky one day.”
Lucky with you, Orien thought and since he thought it, did not speak, to stop it from slipping out. 

He simply smiled an awkward smile.

They made their way to Gibb’s, were seated and Orien was confident, as he had been to Gibb’s before. He knew how to order and ordered the same thing he ordered the previous time.

“Are you going to the Penhaven Arts formal this year?” Willo asked as they waited for their food.

“You’re not going, right? You dropped out of the arts school?”

“I’m going, Pat asked me to go with him,” Willo said.

Orien suddenly noticed his pits start to get wet. He cleared his throat and said, “Pat, the rythymist from the Abyss? I didn’t know Pat and you were…”

“We’re not… anything-we’re just friends and we’re going just as friends.”

She should have asked him, Orien thought, or he should have asked her, but he didn’t know she would be going, or wanted to go.

“I asked a lady from the transport,” Orien said, “do you know Jasmine, she’s a second year…”

“Describe her. I’m not good with names.”

Some significant physical characteristics came to mind, but there was on which Orien was embarrassed to mention, until he remembered that Willo was the relaxed, free spirited type and wouldn’t think any less of him for mentioning Jasmine’s most prominent body trait.

“She’s shorter in height than me… a bit… uh… large… large in the chest/large busted.”

Orien cupped both his hands in front of his own chest, to clarify what he had meant.

“Hmmm… what color hair?”

“Darkish and short.”

“I think I might know who you mean.”

“She said no. She’s waiting for her final year/and I’ve decided to do the same/unless something comes up with Pat and you and I can go…”

Orien began sweating again and he was squirming in his seat. He hoped that there weren’t dark stains under his arms. He shouldn’t have worn a white dayshirt.

“I wasn’t really planning on going otherwise,” Willo said, “I’m just going for my friends.”

“I’m your friend.”

“I know, but I mean, my friends from the village area and the ones from the arts school I don’t see any more.”

“Oh,” Orien said.

She was far away from him, he thought. Far off in distance, and in her own group with Pat, Camille and others from her area-her regular group, that he wasn’t part of. 

The servant, a tall and well put-together gentleman, with neat, styled-black hair brought their plates and set them. Willo took a crisped tato sliver and dipped it in her radiche sauce.

Orien and Willo ate and Orien was unsure if he should make conversation with Willo while eating or not, but after several bites of her sandwhich Willo spoke up and asked Orien, “How do you like your classes at the arts school? You must do fairly well. I know you’re smart and you script plays and things, right…?”

“I get a lot of help/you remember/you were in support class/I get help in support/actually it’s helped a bit and Lydia says I’m a top scholar.”

“I didn’t know Penhaven Arts had top scholars.”

They both took bites of their sandwiches and after chewing and thinking Orien replied, “Oh, uh, I don’t think she meant it like there’s list of top scholars or something similar-but Lydia thinks I’m doing well.”

Willo took a bite of her sandwich, chewed her food and asked, “Taking a lot of classes this term?”

“No, they keep my schedule light/I can’t handle a lot with my learning difficulties.”

“Oh, I see,” Willo said with a smirk.

Orien couldn’t help thinking after the conversation, that he was only getting by in his classes, from the exceptions his teachers were making, which he fought for from the start. He was an average scholar, possibly below average. The scholars who made their verbal presentations in his history class, he recalled had put more thought and effort into learning their topic then Orien had, since Orien just read a few articles and talked about the show he had seen.

When the check came and Willo and Orien read it, Orien wanted to do the gentleman thing and pay it off, but he only had the paynotes his father had given him. They split the check and each paid separate. Willo left a couple extra notes on the table for the service and they left Gibb’s.

“Do you want to see if ‘Justice Crusader II’ is playing at the showhouse?” Willo said as they walked along the side path.

“They might be sold out…When does the transport come? What time?” Orien asked.

“It should be coming by in a few chimes, so we better hurry if-“ and Willo stopped in the middle of speaking, held out her arms and embraced a muscular gentleman in a longcoat, about twenty in age, who had been passing. The gentleman lifted Willo off her feet.

“You’re back!” Willo exclaimed.

“I’ve been home for a bit, I dropped out,” the gentleman said.

Willo chatted and caught up with her old friend as Orien stood, ignored. He looked around, watching out for the transport, hoping they won’t miss it, thinking the Penhaven showhouse would be too crowded and not particularly wanting to settle there.

“We should get together for a show,” Orien heard Willo say in the background to her unknown friend, “Let’s see ‘Raising the Dead.’”

“I’ve already seen it,” the man replied.

“I’ll go see that one with you,” Orien chimed in, but Willo wasn’t paying attention as she continued her conversation.

A village transport shuttle thundered from down the path, Orien followed it with his eyes, cleared his throat and signaled to Willo.

“I’ll page you,” Willo said, “We’ve gotta go catch the port.”

Orien saw the transport stop in front of the fountain, lower down, and slide open its doors. Orien skipped forward a bit, stopped and looked back as Willo gave her friend another hug and then ran ahead to catch up with Orien.

Orien stopped and let Willo step on first and then he climbed the steps behind her. Willo reached into her purse for a one note, and slipped it in the box for fare. Orien paid his fare, walked down the aisle and sat next to Willo.

The port began to move.

It wasn’t much crowded. There were three passengers sitting in front of Orien and Willo and a group of late youths in the back.

There was a smell of armpit odor, which Orien suspected might have been from the pilot, as it had hit him first when he had stopped to pay the fare. The more he wondered though, and smelled it and gagged, on the way to the market, the more he began to worry and fear, remembering the expired odorstik he had used, that he was the source of the odor. He was feeling himself panic and become embarrassed, which only made him sweat more under the arms.

Willo pulled the rope to signal the port to halt at Tall Forests Shopping Emporium. Orien leapt up just before the port sank down and nearly lost balance.

“Careful,” Willo said, concerned, reaching her arm up to catch him, “You have to wait for it to halt completely…”

Orien had wanted to rush ahead of her, in the case that if she got close she would discover his secret that his pits stank.

When the port was fully halted, Willo stood, the doors slid open, and Orien turned and walked out and off. He stopped at the sidepath and Willo joined him.

The transport sped away. Willo walked beside Orien, seeming not to notice any unpleasant smell and so he was relieved, suspected it may have been the pilot after all, or that the smell had passed-possibly it would just escape him and float into the air outside.

“Have you seen the first ‘Justice Crusader’?” Willo asked.

“Yes, I did, I paged you after I saw it/you don’t remember…?”

They were walking up the vast lot, being on the lookout for transports roaming about for spaces.

“I…I suppose I do,” she said, “it seems like a long time ago, it’s been a year since the first part, hasn’t it?”

Orien opened the front entrance door for Willo, who blushed at his gentlemanly ways.
“I don’t remember us being in contact much that far back, but I suppose we were,” she hesitated, Orien looked at her, the wheels were turning in her head and she was trying to remember, “funny, I really don’t remember…” she laughed and found it amusing, but Orien couldn’t help feel dissapointed.

The smell had come back. It wasn’t as strong as on the port. Perhaps he had gotten used to it.

“Did you like it? The first ‘Justice Crusader’?” Willo continued, as they walked past a flash developing shop, making their way down the hall to the end of the marketplace.

“I really liked the first part/I used to read the books/my cousin worked at a bookshop/I used to read the panelbooks/after school I would read them-“

“The second part is supposed to be better. I thought the first part was a bit over done with the drama.”

“That’s what made it fun!” Orien replied.

They reached the ticket booth and the pit smell was as if he had taken a stale tato root that had gone to rot and made cologne out of it. He admired Willo for being polite and not mentioning his condition, or turning her nose at him and blindly stating ‘You stink.’

Willo paid for her ticket. Orien paid for his ticket. They stood in line to have their tickets torn and entered the auditorium while Orien imagined Willo running up ahead of him and imagined her saying, ‘I’m sorry, you stink so bad, I’m really sorry, I can’t sit next to you, I just can’t!’

That didn’t happen. The theatre was fairly full. They found two open seats in the middle row and sat next to each other (maybe she only sat next to him, because it was the only seat available, he thought.)

The titles had already been flashing on the screen, along with images from ‘Justice Crusader Part I’.

The titles came to an end and the first scene flashed of a crouched figure, dressed in a sleek black disguise, swinging his grappling rope to the top of a high tower. In the next scene, a criminal was running, sweating, up a winding stepway. When he reached the top, the tall black costumed man was waiting for him.

The criminal threw a punch, but the justice crusader swerved. The crusader blocked every move, every punch and ducked as the criminal leapt with a high kick. The criminal rolled off the tower and the crusader pulled out a device from his belt and with a swing, threw out a rough black net, which caught the criminal and the justice crusader fled.

The story unfolded from its first fight sequence to show Prym, much older as a University scholar, unable to focus in his classes and still holding a torch for Salli.

With Prym’s grandfather retiring, Prym has to take on the role as benefactor to his father’s estate and affairs. He attends a dinner party as the guest of honor but hides from notice. 
At this point in the story, Willo tapped Orien on the shoulder and whispered, “I’m going to get something to drink from the refreshment booth. Do you want anything?”

Orien nodded his head and she got up from her seat and passed him, missing a crucial moment in the story.

A golden haired lady appeared on the screen, dressed in a black daydress and stood out amongst the crowd. It was Salli and Prym approached her.

‘Prym,’ Salli said, ‘I’ve tried to keep in touch, you know I have, I miss you. There isn’t any reason we can’t be friends….’

‘I… there’s been a lot going on with me,’ Prym replied, ‘since I’ve been on my own. Life is a crusade, an adventure for survival.’

‘and you like the adventure,’ Salli said huffily, ‘I like adventure, too, but… I have my own life, battling my own crusades, now. We’re growing apart. We’re from two worlds now, neither can understand the other’s.’

‘It has to be that way.’

Orien couldn’t help being fixated on Salli’s quote, ‘We’re from two worlds now, neither can understand the other’s’. It was as if the show were trying to remind him about Willo, who had her own life and group of friends in the Penhaven village, far off from Orien in Hilliar.

She had left him alone in his auditorium seat, with his thoughts. She was missing a good amount of the story’s important dramatic moments and Orien thought he knew why.

It seemed like a long time that Willo was gone. He imagined her outside, breathing fresh air, smoking a stik, and talking on communicator, if she had her own pocket communicator, about how much her date reeked of rotten tato perfume. 

Orien wanted to cry. He thought, Willo would never want to see a theatre show with him, any time, again, but Willo returned, with a spritzer cup from the refreshment booth and remained seated next to him through to the end of the last reel.

‘I’ve come to a decision Prym and this is my decision,’ an injured Salli cried in Prym’s arms, ‘I don’t care what risks, I love you…Life is a crusade and we both love adventure. I want to be with you. I accept whatever risks that come with that.’

Prym embraced her in the dark night and the camera’s scope drew outward as the image of the two lovers grew smaller on the screen and began to fade until the screen was black and the end titles began.

The auditorium lights slowly came on. Several audience members stood up, some remained seated, such as Orien, taking in the full story he had seen.

Willo stood up and stretched and looked down at Orien asking, “What did you think?”
“Powerful/good storytelling,” he replied.

“It is a good story,” Willo agreed, “Still overly dramatic, but good fight scenes.”

Orien stood up and began to walk from out of their row.

“The actress playing Salli, did a better job this time around,” Willo said following Orien.

Orien was hit with the bright hallway light, blinking several times to adjust. Willo stood next to him and began walking out to the hall, past the refreshment stand and the ticket booth with Orien.

Orien was still taking in the story of Prym and Salli, wondering if Salli would be fully recovered in Part III. He hoped she would. He hoped Salli and Prym would realize their love, make whatever sacrifices they had to, accept each other and build a life together as companions.

“What did you think of the fight scenes?” Willo asked.

“Exciting,” Orien answered.

“and the acting?”

“The performances were fine/they were good.”

They walked along the market hall, passing by all the shops closing down for the night and drawing down their blinds.

“Did you like it better than the first?” Willo asked.

“It all fits together in one story,” Orien replied.

“I liked the performances better in this one and the story had more to follow, I’m not familiar with the original stories-do you think it lives up to what you thought of?”

“Yes, it does.”

Orien opened the front entrance and let Willo pass. He walked out behind her, into the dark lot. The sky was black, with vaporous gray wisps, and the sun had only just sunk.

“How long will we have to wait for the transport to pick us up?” Orien asked as they walked down the empty lot to the gate, to turn to the waiting spot.

“It’ll be a while,” Willo replied.

She stopped and sat on the bench at the waiting spot. She lit a smokstik and as orien sat down he hoped the odor from the stik would overpower the odor from his pits.

Orien took out his clockpiece after some time. He wondered when the transport was scheduled to arrive.

Willo was minding herself, looking around. It seemed an ideal moment for Orien to say something, but he couldn’t think of what to.

“I like the night/being out at night/I like the sky/especially when there are stars/though theirs no stars tonight…” Orien rambled.

“I like the stars, I enjoy the night regardless, stars or not,” Willo replied and took a drag from her stik.

“Me, as well, but I really like when there are stars.”

“Hm,” Willo responded, in thought, “yes. Stars are nice.”

Orien was looking down. He looked at his clockpiece. So much time passed. The clock clicked and clicked and Orien looked up at the gray mist in the black sky, and listened for vehicles passing, but everytime he turned his head to look it was just another jetcar.

Willo flicked her smokstik out onto the dirt as the transport finally stopped and Orien let Willo step on first. The port was near vacant compared to earlier that day. There was only one other passenger on board beside Willo and Orien.

Orien took out his communicator, unfolded it and found his father’s pagecode in the address book. He put it to his ear, listened to the tone and waited until his father picked it up.

“Hello,” his father said.

“The show’s all finished, we’re on the transport,” Orien said.

“Meet me at the lot behind the showhouse. I decided to go out to eat with Marj in Penhaven, so I’m here now,” he replied.

“Are you on the line with your dad?” Willo asked.

“Yes,” Orien answered.

“Is he able to give me a ride home?”

Orien’s father heard her on his end and asked,“Where does your friend live?” 

“You’ve picked me up from her house before-it’s a few paths down from the center on Rubinsen Way. Is Marj with you?”

“She took her own jet, so there’s room for you both. I’ll pick you up in a bit.”
Orien folded his communicator up and put it in his pocket.

“It must be convenient to have your own pocket comm.,” Willo said as the transport halted and Orien made sure not to make the mistake of getting up until it was fully grounded.

“Yes,” Orien said, although he had only just gotten it.

“I may be getting my own soon,” she said standing up.

Orien stood up and walked out with Willo. The transport sped away, and they walked along the center pathes.

“My dad’s meeting us at the lot behind the showhouse, he’s just finishing dinner with his companion,” Orien said.

“’right then, let’s make our way there and see if he’s waiting,” Willo replied.

Once again Orien was faced with crossing traffic to get to the other side, this time in the dark. He hurried with Willo and once they got to the front of the Penhaven Showhouse they hooked along side down the stone steps to the dirt lot behind the theatre. Orien recognized his father’s silver jet, pointed it out to Willo and led the way.

He slid open the door to the back deck and Willo stepped inside. Orien sat in the co-pilot chair and Orien’s dad, turned his tabcard and started the vehicle.

“You’ll have to help me out, here,” Orien’s dad said, as the jet turned at the center crossing, 

“What’s the name of your path, again?”

“Rubinsen Way,” Willo replied.

“Did you end up going to West End? Or the showhouse?” Orien’s dad said making conversation.

“We thought the showhouse might be sold out,” Orien said.

“It’s a nice theatre, I’ve been there with Marj. Worth going to see a show at.”

“Of course it is,” Willo said and chuckled, “I went to see a premiere there a few day-sets back with some friends. The show conductor was there-every hear of Ark Snox?”

“No, I don’t think I have,” Orien’s dad replied.

“He was answering questions from the audience and my friend stood up and asked a question about ‘Wild Runners’. She asked if the scene where they had the eating contest was staged…he said, no they played it for real…” Willo was grinning and laughing about it, “but I suppose he had a hard time getting them back for the next scene they were sick in their dressing chambers and wouldn’t come out!“

The jet halted at the front lot of Willo’s house and she slid open the door and said “Bye, Orien,” and blew a kiss, which took him by surprise.

“I’ll page you again sometime/and we can get together again,” he said.

“’right,” she said with a smile, “Bye.”

She slid the door to a close and the jet rolled onward back home.

“Did you use scentsoap in your pits this morning?” Orien’s dad asked once they were out of the village.

“Yes, and I used an odorstik. I used the one from the top shelf cabinet in the washroom.”

“I think it’s expired,” his father said.

“It is.”

“Well, you have pitstink, Orien,” his dad said in a straight matter of fact manner and added, “you might want to take better precautions next time you plan on being out with a lady.”

The rest of the way home, Orien couldn’t help be reminded of his pitstink, and of how Willo left in the middle of the show and didn’t return for several chimes. He knew that she had just been polite, to mention it, and it was good of her to have stayed with him through to the entire show, but she must have smelled him. Chances are she didn’t have the best time with him and yet she did seem happy on the ride home and did smile and blow him a kiss. 

If his dad hadn’t reminded him of his pitstink, he might have forgotten and simply remembered the image of Willo laughing in the jetcar and blushing as she said goodbye to him-but instead his thoughts lingered on the stink and once he settled in his bedchamber listening to his radio that night, he wondered if he should ever page her again after that embarrassing night.

Walt’s Gathering

Orien had his final advisory meeting of the semester with Lydia within the next two day-sets and as the two day-sets came and went, there would be only one more to get through before the end of Orien’s third year of school at Penhaven Arts. It seemed just fine to celebrate and Orien had been invited to the gathering at Walt’s house with some of the music scholars, but had not decided whether he was going or not.

Felice was curled up on her pillow next to Orien and snoring when his alarm rang Friday morning and she still lay breathing as the clockpiece buzzed. She may have opened her eyes, startled, but she didn’t stir. Orien silenced the clock and set it for twenty more chimes. When it went off again, he reset it again. As he ignored his bedtable clock, there was a knock on his bedchamber door.

“I’m leaving for work, are you planning on waking for school today or no?” his father boomed.

Felice leapt and scampered off Orien’s pillow as Orien sat up. He stretched and got up from his bed. He washed up, listened to the radio, waited for his mother, waited for the transport, got on the transport and began another school day, his last learning day in the set before the end-days.

During Orien’s study support class that morning, he read over some of the articles Jermaine had given as guides for the verbal exam he had to take. His mind wandered however, though he read the words, the events barely sank in. He had his second study support class after Advanced Science Research and one of the ladies in the class was Risa, the singer from Walt’s music group, ‘the Abyss’.

Risa was sitting at one of the tables, dressed in radical fashion with her hair knotted in dreads and listening to a portable radio with headsets. She had no books broke open or loosepaper book in front of her taking notes. She noticed Orien sitting at the table and staring into open space and she took of her headset and asked, “Ori, have you ever listened to the ‘Drop-outs’?”

“No,” Orien replied.

She brought up her shoulder purse, snatching it from where it had laid by her feet, untied it and took out a small black disk.

“Your portable radio plays diskets, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes…”

She handed the disk out to him and said, “This one is a selection of the best performances from them. Give it a listen!” 

“Oh, thank you, I will, thanks much,” Orien said and opened up his shoulder back which was slung over the chair he was sitting in and took out the portable disk player that Pace had given him, that he had been listening to on the transport rides to school. He put the disk in the player and listend to the music during his study session.

The hardened-style of ‘the Drop-outs’ was heavier than what Orien was used to from his brother’s favorite music groups and heavier than the style Alto and his band played.

The song lyrics were lost amongst the heavy tones of the instruments, so Orien couldn’t follow the stories, but he found himself enjoying the atmosphere and the rythym created.

Orien turned of his disk player, when study class was dismissed, gave Risa her disket back, and tied up his shoulder bag, to walk to the main house, to Jermaine’s history class, where Jermaine showed a reel about the old wars, which Orien found fairly entertaining and after Jermaine turned the projector off and dismissed the class Orien, along with Malia remained in their chairs and waited.

“Ready for your makeup exams?” Jermaine asked them both as he spooled up the reels, deposited them into their container, and wheeled the projecter into the closet.

“All ready,” Malia said.

Jermaine took his desk chair and placed it in front of the chalkboard and gestured Orien and Malia to pull up their chairs, which they did.

“Ready?” Jermaine asked.

“Yes,” Orien replied.

“Yes, me, too,” Malia mimicked.

“Starting from the beginning…so, the Odysseus has landed on our planet, the astro-explorers discover that the planet is habitable, it has oxygen and water, but there’s one problem, Malia…?”

Malia thinks before answering, “Uhh, the winged natives…?”

“Yes and no. The winged natives aren’t a problem, we live peacefully with them, for how many of our calendar years…Orien?”

“Uh, a hundred,” Orien guessed.

“Very close, to be exact, though, it was one-hundred three. One hundred and three years after our settlement what happened…?”

“We fought Dasahd,” Orien answered.

“Yes. Captain Shields had become sick, from the pollution in the air which the natives called ei-val, a word remarkably close to our word evil and that’s exactly what it is…”

As Jermaine continued his enthusiastic account of settlement history, eventually leading to discussion of the old wars, Malia and Orien kept up with him and answered his questions, with whatever came to mind.

“How is it that Shields cannot die, if he’s mortal, like us?” Malia asked.

“Shields died,” Orien corrected, “He died of the disease, from the eval, but his obsessions with dictatorship and ruling an empire were what survived in his body, which now, as Dasahd, runs purely on eval…”

“Ran on eval,” Jermaine corrected, “Before the army executed him last year, but going back to that early battle, where Shields, transformed to Dasahd, was captured in the Volhadia prison, what year was it that the revolt happened, that we speculate?”

“When he came to the colonies with the ghost warriors?” Orien asked.

“We know that exact year…which is…?”

Orien and Malia couldn’t answer.

“After settlement year 276,” Jermaine said, “but before that was the mass revolt, in which Dasahd had perfected his voodoo, and began spreading the disease of eval amongst the Volhadia inmates, we can’t trace exactly when it happened…”

“A.S. 272,” Orien said, remembering it from the reel he had just seen.

“Yes. That’s exactly what the historians say, though we don’t know exactly do we?”
Orien and Malia shrugged.

Orien had a clear vision in his mind from what Jermaine was saying and from the reel of the old war history after settlement of Promythica. His answers must have been good enough for Jermaine as he gave both Orien and Malia full credit for the exam in the end and Orien tied up his shoulder bag and walked out of the class chamber and out the back door, across the field to the art house, for ‘scenery design’, a class in which he learned how to lay out plans for stage sets for the school performances. He had a creative scripting class with Maggie after that and listened to his fellow scholars read aloud their story assignments.

When the lady scholar seated next to Orien was too shy to read hers, Orien volunteered to read it to the class for her and there was so much bravado and enthusiasm in his voice, likely from his experience in ‘perfromance poetry’, that there was a rise of applause at the end and class was dismissed.

Orien got up from his chair and slung his bag over his shoulder. He passed Pat on his way out the door.

“You coming to Walt’s tonight?” Pat asked.

Orien stopped and answered, “I still need a ride.”

Pat began walking toward the stairs. Orien followed as they walked and talked and Pat asked, “Do you wanna hang around in Penhaven a bit with me, maybe have a pipe of herbs?”

“We can do that,” Orien said, without further thought or hesitation and walked with Pat out the front door and across the way to the lot behind the East house.

Aliana, a lady Orien shared a few classes with in his second year, was leaning against a rusty silven pink Roamer model jet, with Alene and Helena-Liz, trading puffs from a hand-rolled herb stik.

Helena-Liz, looking just as pretty as she did when he met her at his audition, waved at Orien as she puffed from the slow-burning stik. Alene also waved and shouted, “Orien Sage!”

Orien smiled in his usual awkward manner, and as usual could not think of anything to say.

“What are you doing tonight?” Alene asked from across the way.

“Going to Wal’s gathering. Are you going?”

Helena-Liz put out her stik and kicked it and got into the jet with her other friend.

“Us virtuouso ladies are having a ladies’ night out-maybe we’ll show up later…” Alene said before getting into the pilot side of the pink Roamer.

The pink jet floated slowly and struggled a bit backing away, but soon started to soar out, and Helena-Liz said, “Don’t get into too much trouble, Ori,” from the open window shield as the jet passed him out the lot.

Pat was smoking a stik behind Orien with Risa, who stamped hers out and said, “Bye Pat, bye Ori, I’ll see you both later tonight,” and she gave Orien a seductive look and blew a kiss.

Once in Pat’s jet, secure in his restraining belt, Orien took his comm. out of his pocket. The jet rose and soared away as Orien found his father’s code in his code directory and waited for his father to reply.

“It’s Orien.”

“Yes. What’s your question?” his father answered.

“I’m going to a little gathering tonight,” Orien said hoping to leave it at that, but his father continued to pry asking,  “Where?!” to which Orien answered, “A friend’s house, out of the way a bit, but…”

“Who are you with, Dug?” his father said and Orien was annoyed.

“No. My friend Pat.”

“You’re not on the transport home?”

“No, I’ll be in Penhaven.”

“How are you getting home?”

“Someone will bring me home in the morning. Everyone will be there… My friend Risa lives in Hilliar. She’ll be able to bring me home.”

“Have you asked her?”

“I’ll find a way home…”

“Orien! I need to know that you’ll be home safely.”

“I’m seventeen. I’m smart enough to make my own choices-which you’re always saying to me anyway and I’m smart enough to be safe, and I’ll find a way home. Just letting you know, so you don’t have to send Marj to pick me up at the grocery later. I’m doing you and her a favor. You don’t have to worry about me at all.”

“I will worry about you. I am your father.”

“But you can’t come get me, I’ll be way out, you’ll just have to trust that someone will bring me home.”

“Page me if anything happens. Page me if you can’t get a ride home. I’ll fill up my fuel tank and I’ll come get you.”

“You won’t have to. Everything will turn out.”

With that Orien ended their conversation. Pat’s jet reached Penhaven Village center and was rolling along past the Village Hall, where Orien remembered running to make the transport with Willo behind him several day-sets past.

He wondered what would be the chances of seeing her in the village, he even wondered at his chances seeing her at the gathering, since she was friends with Pat.

The jet rolled along and turned at a crossing. It followed down a path, barren except for a small diner and several trees. Onward, the jet kept on, until Pat halted it before a large brush of woods.

Pat removed his keytab, unfastened his belt and opened the door. Orien did the same. Pat walked forward and gestured for Orien to follow, which he did, and he walked alongside Pat as he led the way through the forest.

Orien leapt, avoiding sticks and branches. They came to a path, and walked leisurely down it until they stopped.

Pat put his hand in his shortcoat pocket and took out an herb bag and pipe. Orien stood stiff with his hands in his pockets looking around and looking up at the tops of the tall trees and the gray sky that was faintly visible through the branches. It would be getting dark soon. Nighttime was nearing.

Orien heard Pat cough and turned his attention away from the clouds. He took the pipe and flame that Pat was handing him, pressed the pipe to his lips, lit and sucked in the smoke.
Orien choked, removed the pipe, and coughed up wads of smoke from his mouth.

“Fairly…” Pat said and coughed, “harsh…” (cough), “mix…”

Orien looked down and had a feeling of spinning, and flying upward and then he coughed several more times and looked up.

Pat coughed and handed Orien the pipe again. After another puff and another coughing fit, Orien was finished.

Orien looked up, breathed, though his throat was scratchy, and kept staring up at the trees wondering how far they went up, precisely, as he was so far down, so, so far down. He remembered the tree he used to climb when he was a youth, back at the cottage in Hilliar. He could go, up and up, he thought, and up and see the sky, see the sun set, see the planet below, be high on top.

Pat finished off the pipe, coughed and put a hand on Orien’s shoulder, which startled Orien into thinking a tree branch had come to life.

“Ready to walk on…?” Pat asked.

There was a pause before Orien responded, before he processed everything.

“Where to…” Orien asked.

“Ahead…” Pat answered and Orien laughed.

“But to where…?”

“To Penhaven,” Pat said and Orien followed him down the trail, through the trees and out of the woods. As Orien walked in a steady pace, he seemed to be going slower than his feet were moving. Once they reached the jet it had seemed like a long way and it seemed like a long way down the barren path once inside the jet and once Pat steered the vehicle to Penhaven center.
The jet halted and it seemed like several chimes passed before Pat got out. The sound of the keytab being removed, of Put unfastening, of the door opening, echoed in Orien’s ear and Orien breathed and felt his heart thudding in his chest. Orien unbuckled, opened his door, got out, stood and looked around.

It had seemed to have gotten dark rather quick, the lights on the poles glowed like vibrant fire, hypnotizing Orien. Orien was in a trance, walking along side Pat, listening to him talk, and being bathed in light from the poles, from the jetlights, passing and flashing in his eyes.

“Do you wanna stop in the gallery…” Pat suggested as they passed G. R. Stollington Painting Exhibitions.

“Let’s just walk,” Orien replied.

Did any of the passersby notice that Orien and Pat were stupefied from herbsmoke? Orien guessed not, as groups of colorfully dressed scholars of the type he might find at the arts school, walked along the streets, resembling Willo, in the way they dressed and made up their hair, and elder gentlemen and ladies of the type of old-style radical dress that Lydia Lubek fashioned herself in. Artists and free spirits surrounded Penhaven and Orien.

Pat and Orien crossed and walked along the other side of the path before crossing again and making their way back to the jet.

“Starting to get your senses back?” Pat asked leaning at the jet.

“Oh…uh…almost,” Orien lied.

“Ready to go to the Walt’s?”

“Let’s go,” Orien said.

Pat got into the pilot’s side. Orien opened his door and sat in. The jet lifted up, turned out and pushed onward, steady, leaving the village center.

Orien watched out the window shield as the jet zoomed, and trees and cottages and shops would be left behind. Moments passed. The jet passed the West End emporium, left behind West End.

“Ready for some acceleration?” Pat asked while the jet crept along through a path surrounded by woods, with no passing jet.

Orien made no reply. He clutched the handle on his door as the jetcar rose higher and Orien’s heart began to beat in a wild frenzy as he heard the loud blare of the jet’s rear pipes, watched the passing trees become a blur and imagined in fear, that if the jet would not or could not halt or if something were to block their path, they would be crushed, they would be engulfed. The jetcar seemed reaching speeds it should not reach.

Orien couldn’t breath. He hid his panic from Pat, but deep within he was struggling. He wanted to leave-to be somewhere else. He wanted to be somewhere safe. Somewhere with-Willo! He thought. Willo wouldn’t let this happen. Willo was truly his friend. He knew she was. He knew she would never allow this. She would never put him in danger. Dug would never put him in danger. They were his true friends.

Orien blinked and everything was moving at regular pace. The jet was sinking and slowing and all terror was gone.

“Whooohooo!” Pat yelled and turned to look at Orien, “How’s that thrill? Good rush, huh?”

“Oh. Yes, uh, yes.”

Orien felt calm and relaxed for the rest of the long ride. Orien felt himself become happy and at peace, once the jet was halted at a sidepath in front of a family cottage and he was safe. The jet had stopped. Pat would be losing himself in the crowd at the party and Orien would be free to mingle and mix with other friends.

Orien followed Pat, in the dark, to the back of the cottage. They followed a trail of yard torches. Orien could hear laughing, and radio music playing.

“Ori,” cried a lady with dreadknots, holding her arms out and rushing his way. She clutched him in a hug, being careful not to spill the cup in her hand.

“Hello, Risa,” Pat said, “I’m gonna find Walt,” and he walked off.

“Have a drink?” Risa asked Orien, once she realeased him.

“I…suppose I could,” Orien said. Risa was standing quite near him and looking into his eyes and he was so enticed that it made him fearful. He felt himself shake. He felt his head empty for words to say to her.

She handed him her cup, “Try this…” she said.

Orien stared into the dark brown fizzing contents and asked what it was.

“tartberry spritzer with two parts Jonas Mitchen thequer.”

Orien swallowed it and his face squinted at the bitter bit, and opened his eyes wide, at the burning aftertaste. He took another gulp and could taste the tartberry flavor, his tongue and throat accustomed to the raw thequer.

“That’s for you,” she said, “Come on, join everybody.”

Risa ran forward, stopped and waved her arms. Orien took another sip of his Jonas-spritzer mix and caught up to her, to a circle of friends ahead sitting around a fire. Risa sat down and joined the group. Orien stood drinking, looking around at the faces he recognized, smoking stiks and passing a pipe along. Risa looked up and smiled at him. She patted the ground next to her, gesturing Orien to sit.

Orien felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Ori, glad you made it,” Walt said as Orien turned around and pat Walt on the shoulder. Walt patted back and asked, “if you wanna snack or some food, it’s in the cottage.”

Orien hadn’t eaten all day, and after the smoke he had earlier his stomach had been tossing and turning to be filled. 

Orien walked up the back steps to the cottage, entered the kitchen, finished his drink and looked for a place to toss his cup.

“There’re bottles in the cooling box, in the porch lounge,” Pat said, holding a bottle of beru in one hand and with his other taking Orien’s empty cup and throwing it in the wastebin. 

“Thanks,” Orien said, “Walt said there was food…”

“There’s some snacks on the table…there’s a plate of spiced wings, you’ll wanna get a beru to wash them down though.”

Orien never ate spicy food, usually wasn’t very adventurous, but in his current state, he was willing to try a bite of wings.

He walked over to the table, where a few bits of fowlin wings were still left, next to a pile of bones people had neglected to throw out.

The meat was smothered in a red sauce, which smeared on Orien’s fingertips as he plucked a wing. He nearly coughed at the overpowering scent of the spice. When he bit into the wing, his nose began to run, his tongue seemed to go numb and his mouth ran dry. He felt sweat on his forehead. He chewed. He took another bite. Orien had never had a spicy fowlin wing before. He had never eaten anything spicy and hot in his lifetime.

He kept eating.

Someone had left an unopened bottle of beru on the table. It was a popcap, so Orien popped it 
open and gulped it down.

Orien had another wing, and another.

He heard the back door open and he quickly chewed and deposited his bones on the plate. He took a disposable cleancloth from the table and wiped his hands.

“Gina says I said I’d get her a beru,” Walt said, “I thought I…did I leave a beru on the counter?”

“Uh…” Orien shook his head.

“I forgot then… come with me in the porch lounge…”

Orien sipped his beru and followed Walt through the main quarters to a small den attached to the front of the house. 

“Hi, Ori,” said a familiar voice. It was Willo’s friend Camille, who was leaning in the corner, smoking a stik and talking to another face Orien recognized. Bev was wearing a pair of tinted eyeshades and dreamily twirling her hair.

Camille gave Orien a hug. Orien looked at Bev in an awkward manner, expecting a hug, but not sure if he should just give one. Neither happened. Orien stood, sipped his beru while Camille and Bev talked, Bev asking Camille if she could smell the herbs and berries in her hairwash.
Camille took a lock of Bev’s hair to sniff, but said, “I smell it a bit…but when you’re a heavy smoker like me you kinda lose your sense of smell…”

For a brief moment Orien smiled and he laughed thinking about sitting in a theatre, smelling of pitstink with a lady who probably never noticed. Willo had been just as much a habitual smoker as her friend Camille.

Orien was more interested in Bev, at that moment, however. She had wanted him to come to the gathering afterall, it was she who had invited him.

“I wish I could stay…” Bev said.

“You’re leaving?” Orien said in disappointment.

“I get in trouble if I break my curfew,” she said and smiled, “you haven’t talked much, why’s that?”

“Ori never does,” Camille answered, “he doesn’t need to. He’s a poet, a thinker.”

Bev stepped in closer to Orien, took her shades off and placed them on him, stating, “Let your wild side out,” and giving him a hug before waving goodbye to Camille and leaving the porch.

Camille stubbed her smokstik in the ashtray and said to Orien, “Let’s see what the group is doing outside.”

Orien went with her, out of the porch, past the main quarters, past the kitchen and out the back door.

Orien looked around the circle to find Risa, but she was not where Orien had left her. Orien felt disappointed. She seemed as if she had wanted his company and Orien knew that was not something he should pass on. He would be spending the night at Walt’s house, he knew, and there was a possibility that he would not be sleeping alone.

Orien sat with the group around the fire and watched the flames. The pipe was passed to Orien and he took it and puffed. Orange and yellow vapors, gray and blue smoke twirled and swirled and danced before Orien’s eyes.

Walt was playing harp. Plucking strings. People were singing and talking. Pipes continued passing. Orien saw a lady sitting alone, off away from the circle, near a tent. Orien wondered if she needed consoling. Maybe it was Risa.

He stood up and began walking. He felt as if he were walking on a conveyer, walking but not quickly getting to where he wanted to be.

He caught up to the lady. It was Malia. Orien knew there was a potential that she might bed with him. Malia was friends with Lysee and much like Lysee, bedded with any willing scholar. Orien was willing and he was eager to be with Malia, his fellow top scholar.

“Hi Ori,” she said, dizzily, looking at the ground.

“Enjoying the fun,” he asked.

“I’m…not…feeling…too…good…” she mumbled in a slow voice, hiccupped and belched. She shot out a wad of phlegm and then gagged. Orien turned his head away as he heard her gagging and heard a splash from her vomit hitting the dirt.

Orien hurried into the tent and looked around for Risa. Lysee waved at Orien. Craig and Filbert, two elder classman, were sitting with her. Craig took a swig from a bottle of a brown blistonic drink and handed it to Orien. 

Even before the bottle met his lips, the smell of it burned his nose and when it hit his tongue, it numbed all the nerves. It was the same drink that had been mixed in the spritzer that Risa gave him. Orien winced and shook his head. He then decided to try another sip. He winced again.

“Did…” Orien said in a dry voice, “Risa go home…”

“She’s in the lounge area, I think,” Lysee said.

Orien left the tent, briefly looking over to see the state of Malia. Walt was sitting with her, arms on her shoulders, brushing her hair back and comforting her. 

Orien hoped to not fall victim to the same plight of being sick as the ground moved as he walked and everything around him spun.

He made his way to the backdoor and walked through the kitchen. Pat was standing talking to another boy, holding a beru. He raised his bottle to him.

Orien followed the radio music to find the lounge and when he did, he had found Risa, sitting by the cooling box.

“Nice shades, Ori,” she said opening up the box. She took out a bottle and handed it to Orien. 
Orien popped it open and sat down next to Risa. Risa sighed, listening to the music. Orien took a couple sips of beru and wondered if he put his arm around Risa, what she might do or say.

He reached behind her and curled his arm around her shoulders. Risa leaned in and allowed it. They sat together sharing the moment, listening to the music, drinking their berus.

“Bev gave me a pair of shades…” Orien said, suddenly thinking he had lost them.

“They’re on your head,” Risa said.

“I think I took them off at the tent,” Orien said searching his longcoat pockets.

“No, they’re on your head, I told you I liked them, remember,” Risa giggled.

“Why would I put them on my head?” Orien said, his hand on top of his head.

“No, on your face,” Risa was laughing.

“My face?”

“You’re wearing them!”

Orien suddenly was aware that there was a rosish-tint to everything he was seeing. He smiled and he held Risa closer to him as they laughed.

 There were more people gathered around in the lounge, but it felt like in those moments it was just him and Risa. He closed his eyes and rested his head on Risa’s shoulder as if to pretend to sleep and he stayed that way through the next song and then he opened his eyes and took some more sips from his beru.

His arm was getting tired from holding Risa, but he remained that way, until a cot was brought out to the lounge. Risa rested along the cot, but Orien didn’t join her. He instead fell asleep on the floor.

The night continued in his dreams, but when he awoke he wondered if his dreams were memories from before he went to sleep that he blacked out. If they were real memories then he had shared a passionate kiss with Risa in the lounge, but then maybe that had been a dream. 
When he woke up, she was no longer on the cot. She had gone home, possibly.

Orien was alone in the lounge, looking at the sky through the ceiling window. He blinked and felt dizzy. He blinked again. He sat up. His mouth was dry. His head felt as if something tight was wrapping around it. There was no music in the lounge. There were no people.

Orien stood. He walked out of the lounge, past the empty main quarters. He found the dining quarters and sat at the table.

The kiss from the night before was so detailed, but possibly it was only because he knew what a kiss was like. He had kissed Lysee before. He would have been able to imagine and dream a kiss. That part of the night must have been a dream. It had to be, because he woke up alone on the floor and if he had shared passion with Risa, he should have held her in the night on the cot while they slept, but then maybe he had been too timid.

How was he going to get home? He wondered. He was far, far off from Hilliar. Whom did he think would bring him home? Had he had a plan? No, he remembered, he didn’t have a plan. He decided he wanted to be adventurous. He had decided this because he had been too cautious in most of his early learning days and missed out on fun. 

Orien felt so dizzy, his head pounding so harshly, that he was beginning to forget how fun the night had actually been, until he thought back to what he did remember-sitting with Risa while the music played and he held her close to him, while they smiled and laughed together. That made the night worth it, whether they kissed or not made no difference.

Orien did find a way home once Pat woke up and emerged from Walt’s bedchamber. He dropped Orien off in Penhaven, where he paged his dad to pick him up. 

Orien waited on a bench by the garden next to the Penhaven showhouse and when the silver jetcar came for him, it brought him back to Hillar Town, to the cottage on Emardleaf Way, where he recovered in bed and he decided that he had enough excitement for the school year and he was ready for the end of the semester and ready for respite season.

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