Four hundred years earlier. — 1220 S.E.
Amandla remembered a different shame.
Kyuma never even knew Amandla went to magicians college. It wasn't part of the family mythology. No one knew. Now, Inyanga being the first to go was family myth.
Amandla remembered a different shame. She could hear it in Doctor Natsu's voice. "How could a woman be so foolish?" Actually, Natsu didn't say that, but that's what it sounded like when she asked, "Do you understand what will happen if we don't get the child an animus of her own before she's born?"
Amandla's belly was just beginning to grow round with Kyuma. A bulbous protrusion of the greedy infant who was making more room for herself like Amandla's body wasn't enough, she needed to build her own addition.
And while she was at it, she would sap Amandla's energy, steal some of umama's nutrition, disrupt her sleep, and as if all that wasn't enough, she would drain umama's immortal soul a little at a time until she, the mother, returned to the mortal cycle of life and death, and would grow old and die.
Only eighteen years old, if Amandla didn't buy the fetus an immortal animus of her own, she — the mother — would die a crone by nineteen, and the child would live forever. Until she got knocked up and repeated the cycle or maybe died in a bus crash.
How could a woman be so foolish? It would cost her life if it didn't cost every solidae she had ever earned.
The doctor's chair below her bottom was surprisingly hard. It was as if the doctor made her sit up there to humiliate her. The way her feet dangled, the way she had needed to hop up as if getting out of a pool backward, thrusting the big belly forward with an inelegant movement that made her feel like a whale. The way her marsupium pouch addition was on display from the seated position while Doctor Natsu said things like "First week of the third trimester is the safest time for animus implantation, so you need to pay by then," and "they should really teach immortal reproduction and animae 101 in first semester," and "we can help you set up a payment plan."
A payment plan so she wouldn't die and they would get her solidae.
Amandla had her own questions. "What if there are no immortal animae available?"
"Kill an immortal?" Doctor Natsu joked. She clutched her own belly, flat and barren, and chuckled. "Just kidding. There hasn't been a shortage in years, don't worry. The price is high due to limited supply, but there are animae available."
Next question. "Can't the company pay for the animus of the child of a future employee?"
"The company doesn't pay for the animae of the children of its current employees."
"So. When your company invented immortal life, drawing lines out of the stores and around the block with customers who wanted it, you had no idea what impact it would have on the reproduction of Soliari women and what cost would extend over generation after generation?"
"No one could have predicted—"
"You did not run tests?"
"On human test subjects?"
"Yes, on human test subjects."
"No. No one ran tests on pregnant women. No one tested the impact of immortality on reproduction. No one put an immortal animus into a pregnant woman to see what would happen to her or her baby after she gave birth." Natsu stopped, shook her head, and amended. "Wait, I can't talk about this. I'm not at liberty to answer these questions. Please forget what I just said."
Kicking her dangling legs, Amandla gave up on arguing. But she wasn't about to forget. The moment she was out of the examination room, she pulled Rei out of the waiting room to test out a memory replay spell.
Yes, Amandla had been a student at the magicians college. For one glorious semester, she dreamed her life would be different. After Kyuma was born, she never spoke of her college days again.
She and Rei ducked down a hallway, and Amandla withdrew her student permit wand. Pointing it at Rei provoke a protest ("Don't point that at me," "I know what I'm doing," "You haven't passed on single class yet, lady.") The early prototype of the glass gnomon had a heat and light byproduct problem. It made the caster feel as if aeh put aer palm on a star, but Amandla tried not to unnerve Rei by flinching. The gnomon in her hand felt like metal in the fire for a split instant while a stellar globe enveloped her hand.
When she was done, Rei could recite what Natsu had said word for word: "No. No one ran tests on pregnant women. No one tested the impact of immortality on reproduction. No one put an immortal animus into a pregnant woman to see what would happen to her or her baby after she gave birth. Wait, I can't talk about this. I'm not at liberty to answer these questions. Please forget what I just said."
That did not satisfy Amandla yet. "There is another spell I need. They do not teach it in first year. If I want to show this to more than a single person at a time, to reach a wider audience, I must replay what happened through a portal to the moment in which it happened — like traveling in time, but only viewing it through a window. The way that they record movies."
"How many magicians do you know?"
"None. But you know some." Rei worked at a cafe full of licensed magicians. Most chefs worth their salt used a little spell-casting to infuse their dishes with transcendent flavors.
Bringing in Yue Nimbus meant splitting the proceeds. Rei's boss herself, Yue was in for the take. She owned the Cloud Cafe, and she needed a cash infusion to get it levitating as high as its competitors. Literally. "If I get this money I'm applying for a flying license and flight path navigation. I can park the cafe on the ground overnight, but when we're open, we need to be in the sky. It's the only way the rich consume their pastries anymore. At two thousand feet up."
It was just Yue and Amandla in Echo's office high up in the corner of the Constellation building, one of the few levitating edifices in those days, despite what Yue had to say about the competitors. As centuries passed the skyline would fill up with floating real estate; the number of levitating restaurants would increase exponentially. Small businesses and vehicles would trace pre-destined flight paths.
Echo was the highest up executive they could book an appointment with. It was her job to liaison between the school and the company, so students were able to demand a meeting. "Just to let you know," said Amandla, "Yue and I aren't the only ones who can reproduce this moment in time."
Rei had stayed home out and out of this. Rei would be their backup, if an inconveniently obvious one.
Yue's gnomon was the real thing, not a student permit. A wand constructed, as first year students learned in class, from an extraterrestrial substance cast by the stars, just like Constellation's main conduit to stellar energy: the massive star dial in Julia Mars's audience chamber. Down on the ground, Yue and Amandla had passed a replica of Mars's star dial. Like a blown up sun dial, its time-telling gnomon faced the galaxy above, and some whispered it had once been a functioning magic conduit too.
Every time they practiced the blackmail routine, Amandla caught herself holding her breath, because Yue would sit with her gnomon up and her eyes scrunched close for at least a minute before the magic happened. And she did the same now. The speech Amandla had prepared would fill the uncomfortable wait, but she hoped she could time the dramatic climax with the moment Yue's spell finally worked.
"The people of Soliara will be shocked to hear from the mouth of one of Constellation's own doctors that no testing was done to determine the impact of eternal life on the next generation. To hear that even in terms of the theory of the impact on a mother and unborn infant, the company had no idea what would happen."
To immense relief, next to Yue, there was a portal the size of a standing mirror or a doorway between Echo and her wall-to-wall window. Echo turned halfway to look, but so far the link did nothing but reflect the patience visible from the ease in her face and body language. As Yue and Amandla had discussed, while those dimensions were ideal to walk through, the link needed to block the entire view of the city in order to provide the ideal cinematic experience.
Yue worked on extending the shape across the window to approximate a movie viewing link, and Amandla went on talking. "For centuries, families suffered the burden of being unable to bring a child into this world without taking the life of the mother. Yet you charge for the immortal animus you provide to the baby, the only remedy to the child's drawing a mother's eternal soul to form her own. You put the cost of your mistake back on the consumer."
Perfect timing. The screen had grown large enough to play the scene with cinematic effect. Yue wouldn't open her eyes while Doctor Natsu said the lines.
When Natsu finished, Amandla said, "Mothers have died for their children to live forever. Women who wanted to become mothers have been unable to. Families have gone without bringing children into the world for centuries. This captured memory, along with the op-ed I've composed, will reveal to billions of Soliari that company negligence led to the animae crisis.
"So here is what I want, in exchange for keeping said negligence to myself. An animus for my fetus. Both of our immortality fees paid for, every month, to eternity. And payment of my tuition.
"Yue wants 100 million solidae a year. For eternity. Which is no more than the salary of your executives."
Echo leaned forward across her desk. "I don't have the authority to grant any of that, but I will forward your complaint to someone who does. Effective immediately, you're expelled from Constellation College. But I'm confident the company will meet the rest of your demands."
Amandla choked on her breath. She couldn't breathe, but she sputtered. She couldn't speak, but words exploded her consciousness, tried and failed to get out of her mouth, and brought her brain to a paralyzed shutdown.
Flash Back In Time to be Continued...
Thanks for reading! If you need more to read, check out more Constellations, featuring characters like Yue. She can be found in Bay Works for the Magicians at the Cloud (external link below).