Free Spinning Starlight by R.C. Lewis Page B

because I welcome any break in the silence. As for whether I’m ready to go, I
don’t know where we’re going, but I’m ready enough, so I follow him out.
    Yesterday Tiav had a cautiousness that’s gone today. Now his eyes hold a distinct energy as he leads me back down to the street, like he’s overflowing with the questions he mentioned
last night. He sticks to easy-to-answer ones like whether I slept well (yes, well enough), whether I’ll need additional clothes (yes, most likely), and whether I have any lingering injuries
from my journey (no, not that I’ve noticed).
    I don’t know what other questions he could possibly have. They already know the Points exist, and they somehow control portals, which puts him at least seventeen steps ahead of me. Any
details he doesn’t know are insignificant next to the mind-boggling parade of
aliens
that again greets me outside.
    We don’t get into a streamer, instead just walk along the street. Tension I hadn’t noticed relaxes from my body. Give me a hovercar over those confounding streamers any day.
    Walking means weaving among the other pedestrians, including all the alien types. Again, they look at Tiav much more than at me. Like I’m only interesting because I’m with him.
Whatever
primary Aelo
means, being her son calls attention to him, too.
    I get that.
    “We’re going to the Nyum,” Tiav says, keeping his voice low enough that only I can hear him. “Every town and city has one. It’s where the Aelo work, and sometimes
representatives from the Agnacki, Crimna, and Haleian governments. Remember, Kalkig is Agnac. That woman over there, she’s Haleian.” He subtly jerks his head toward one of the big,
athletic-looking types. “And that one’s Crimna.” One of the slight, delicate people.
    The building—the Nyum—isn’t far. The front wall curves away from us and goes up in four asymetrical levels. It’s not huge by Sampati standards, but big enough that I
can’t tell whether the whole building is round or just the front. Judging by the inside, I’m guessing the whole building, because the lobby taking up the entire first floor seems to be
completely circular. Smooth tiles cover the floor and shelves line the walls. All the shelves are packed with similar rectangular objects, varying sizes, but I don’t recognize them. To the
left and right, sweeping staircases lead to a balcony overlooking the lobby before continuing on to the rest of the second floor. Several people stand near the shelves or on the balcony. A few of
them nod at Tiav before returning to their conversations.
    Something about this place reminds me of Tarix, but I’m not sure what.
    Tiav leads me up the stairs, then to a smaller staircase leading to the third floor. It’s much less grand than the lobby, more utilitarian, and I spot more touchscreens and other signs of
a technological presence. We enter a small room—some kind of office, I think—with a desk in the middle and a few chairs, plus a large wallscreen.
    “My mother suggested we work in here,” Tiav says, gesturing for me to take a seat. I do, and he taps some commands into his com-tablet. The desk in front of me lights up, and so does
the wallscreen, both with the same grid of symbols he showed me last night. He looks at the wallscreen and scratches the back of his neck. “Okay, where to start?”
    He doesn’t say anything else for several long minutes, until he finally turns around to find I’m staring at him, waiting.
    “Sorry. I just never thought about how to teach writing to someone who’s never seen it before. It’s a semi-syllabic system, so there are two stages to the keypad. This is the
primary stage with the base characters. When you tap one, it takes you to the secondary stage. See, each of these has different markings added to the base character to complete the syllable. The
primary is in alphabetical order, but the secondary stages are a little more complicated.”
    I slump in my chair.