Off-Grid
The Tree House
The star had set and the Ribbons were coming into their own, dancing across the darkening sky.
Padi leaned on the porch rail, wineglass held loosely in one hand. She was wearing Tekelia’s extra robe, and her hair was loose to the wind’s caress.
Tekelia was likewise en déshabillé and careless, radiating a sleepy contentment that reminded Padi forcefully of a satisfied cat.
“It’s a shame that one cannot see the Ribbons at the port,” Padi said lazily.
“Ah, but Civilization does not wish to be reminded of the wilder aspects of their environment,” Tekelia said. “It’s not only light pollution that keeps the Ribbons dim.”
“The Grid?” Padi asked, and Tekelia raised the wineglass in salute before drinking off what was left.
“Civilization deeply distrusts the ambient—the unregulated ambient, I should say.”
“I still don’t understand why that is,” Padi murmured, leaning companionably against Tekelia’s shoulder.
“Well, history,” Tekelia said. “You know the First Wave failed; and the reason it failed is because the ambient acts differently upon those who are Gifted. Some thrived, but others—broke. Some merely killed themselves; others preyed upon their neighbors. There was a general lack of understanding of the invigorating atmosphere. By the time the survivors understood what was happening, and figured out how to shield, so they might control the effects, the colony was in danger of becoming nonviable.”
Padi shivered, not only because the air was growing cool.
“Civilization is the child of the Second Wave,” she said, carefully.
“The Second Wave had the survivors of the First Wave to teach them,” Tekelia said. “But incidents did still occur, one of them quite horrific, and I will not relate that story this evening. If you are curious—which of course you are—the account is available from the library.”
“No one wants an incident,” Padi said, turning her head to look into Tekelia’s eyes. “It’s what people say, when they offer the cake.”
“So they do, and it is true,” Tekelia said. “But cake is not a preventative. Some still broke, though not as many. To shorten the tale considerably—a group of Greater Talents at last realized that the constant assault of the ambient was the danger, even for those whose shields were strong. This realization produced the idea—and then the reality—of the Grid. On-Grid, the energy loss is more manageable. Off-Grid, we must be on our mettle.”
“So it is dangerous, to live off-Grid. The families who chose to Deafen their children are right in that.”
Tekelia turned a hand palm up, palm down.
“Right and wrong. The ambient is a natural condition. As with any force of nature, it must be respected. Not all people are suited to live out in the open, constantly buffeted by nature.”
Tekelia paused.
“I should say that Haosa as a class have a taste for risk. I don’t know if that’s an inborn trait that allows us to live more comfortably off-Grid, or a result of living off-Grid.
“We also tend to be—more exuberant in our emotions. Bentamin tells me that, to him, it seems as if the Haosa are always—playing. He disapproves, you understand.”
Padi laughed, recalling the stern Warden of Civilization.
“Of course he does.”
A shout intruded into the small pause following her laughter. A shout from rather high up.
Padi straightened and stared into the sky. A small figure shot past the dancing Ribbons—and again came the shout.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Who,” Tekelia corrected. “I believe it must be Kencia.”
“But—Kencia can fly?”
“Oh, yes. As to why Kencia is choosing to fly just at this moment, and in such a state of hilarity—there’s a Ribbon Dance tonight.”
A Ribbon Dance.
The phrase thrilled, and she looked to Tekelia, who was still staring up into the sky, amused, she thought.
Tekelia turned to meet her eyes.
“There will be a surfeit of food, a number of people in various stages of exuberance, gossip, games, and dancing. Would you like to go?”
“Yes!” Padi said with decision.
Tekelia laughed.
“Of course you would.”
“Do you want to go?”
Tekelia swayed a bow.
“Of course I do.”