A Feature; Not a Bug
From Runtime, by S.B. Divya:
“My name is Ardhanaua Jagadisha, but that seems to be a mouthful for Americans. You can call me Ardha.”
“Arda,” Marmeg repeated, trying to shape the unfamiliar sound.
“Close enough,” zie said with a friendly smile. “So, what brings you to this contest?”
The size (116 pages), pace (rapidfire), and presentation (future, computer tech slang) of S.B. Divya’s novella match the title of her excellent work that takes place mostly within the Minerva Sierra Challenge, a foot race of 75+ miles through the Sierra Nevada mountain range.
Teenager Marmeg spends her last credits to escape the terrain of a home life unfulfilled. At the tree line of the mountainside, she’s strapped into her homemade (made from scraps) exoskeletal gear, testing its capabilities in passages that Divya crafts to be more an event than a highlight.
Marmeg flips over tree limbs and sprints faster than any “nat” could imagine. She might also leave maimed or crippled or dead at day’s end.
She’s running for her life in an organized scrap heap against an array of strangers who wear kit that’s far more advanced and from well outside the poverty and stigma anyone in her own neighborhood would know.
So when Marmeg meets Ardhanaua in this moment of rest, it’s a tense and strange exchange. Not only does the story take a breather for the first time; you feel the shaking of hands between non-equals. Ardhanaua presents in zir smartskin suit visually unbothered by the cold and rain. Marmeg — described as “damp, chill, and borderline miserable” at this point — suffers from a broken core heater that would have only buffed her human skin under common clothing.
What they say first to each other appears unremarkable on the surface. What’s in a name, anyway? Looking deeper, it becomes much more.
Between these competitors, names can be many things, and certainly they heighten the effect of everything you already know. Marmeg and Ardhanaua come from different families; different upbringings; different expectations. These young people, hardly more than children in their ages and experiences, display the class system of this future world and what this foot race represents.
Ardhanaua looks down from privilege. Zie even offers a simplification, as if zir is in control of the social microcosm of this introduction. It’s Ardha; not Ardhanaua.
Further, zie insists, “Arda” is good enough.
Authors make stories reach beyond their own coverings by tying plots to real-life conflict and by placing measures of allegory into overall presentation. This happens at several levels.
At its most basic, try to recall any fictional story of groups of people in conflict. These groups might look like ones you can read about in the newspaper, and their leaders might appear similar to our own. Immediately, I can think of a handful of satisfying novels and short stories that accomplish that feat, which is remarkable in its own right.
Of that crowd, a few authors stand out. They take another step forward by creating stories that are much more personal with their characters. They take a chosen injustice, for example, and have their characters embody the traits of the universe that support that injustice. Their actors don’t just join the fight against wrongs; they act and speak like they have lived those wrongs themselves.
The few best of that select crowd then take one last step. Like Divya in her Runtime, they let the smallest of gestures make sure no gaps remain between character and universe. The progression of Ardhanaua to Ardha to Arda makes no mention of class or privilege, yet it could stand in for a world ruled by it.
Divya’s matching of these two characters makes you consider these kids, the race, the race organizers, the state sponsors, use of land, video broadcasts and social support, public expectation for this and the following year’s event, the social allowance of any one person to achieve or learn, the position of countries in world order, and overall how people in general view each other. It extends outward, but begins with ‘My name is….’