“If technology is the means to leisure, then what is magic? To wield that holy power, to in essence manifest your will, that too is a means to leisure – for we are beings that seek leisure at the end of our days.”
– Render
He was almost there, not quite, but he could see it, imagining he was perched on the floor of his room in front of his plants. Pops’ idea for the upcoming Alteryear celebration Exhibit. A model of perpetual motion without the use of Altered material––to Convey the idea convincingly, as if it would work––Tristan connected the pieces of undecided material in his mind, imagining it. He opened his eyes to check on the documentary––still Charles Restor. Well, Syz would Thought message him when they got to William. He closed his eyes to the actor brother’s narration of his own life and returned to his mental room.
The distant sound of clapping hands and approval that had been playing in the distance suddenly ceased, along with Charles Restor’s voice, and the room halos re-suffused the room with their light.
Tristan opened his eyes again, and looked to Y’sazant who was sitting back on their chair, legs propped up on their desk. Their verdant bangs shimmered. He was glad they were enjoying it. The holoscreen was gone and the teacher was standing next to a student, saying something and smiling at them all. Then a notification on his receptor: William Restor Update. Please welcome Cel Rin to our school! Rin? The machine in Tristan’s mind stopped turning, and he opened his ears.
“... Yes, Cel Rin of the Rin techist family! Please, Cel, choose a seat, we are close to finishing Restor.” The teacher beckoned to the wide array of seats that characterized their classroom, and Tristan started. Rin family? But they’re in District A. That’s a different school. The apparent Rin techist child, Cel, whom Tristan didn’t recognize because the hair was flickering with so many colors that he couldn't tell which was dominant, just a bobbed ponytail atop a nearly bald head, passed Y’sazant and chose a seat two rows in front of Tristan. The Rin techist he knew, the one that’d won the Exhibit, had a polygon top entirely in grey. But as the light dimmed and the voices attempted to abate, for Cel Rin was now in the room, Tristan closed his eyes and closed his ears. Instead of the model in progress and his room he saw the smiling Rin family by their suspended robots, being awarded the top prize. He saw Pops reading aloud over dinner the latest headlines from Energetic: RIN CHILD TRANSFERS TO WILLIAM RESTOR. He shook his head, and tried to shut out the sparkling rainbow. Perpetual motion model, perpetual motion model. He could almost see it…
The holoscreen displaying an actor dressed in a vivid red tuxedo hurriedly rose to his mind, and Tristan found himself watching. Charles Restor, who’d begun the trend of single actors per generation being caught by the world’s eye––which was now focused on Fayar Gaebus––was narrating. Tristan found himself listening, anything to avoid hearing the tints of color from Cel Rin’s ponytail two rows ahead of him. A small robot accessory hung from the band tying it together.
“And that, my friends, is the brief, flickering story of a great life––mine." The actor brother swept back a cloak that wasn't there, and stepped to the left, out of the screen. Not into their room, of course––holotech hadn't bypassed the gap between portal and Upload technology yet. Charles Restor's hand waved from off-screen. “And now––my older brother, your founder and the First Techist, William."
A short, precisely handsome man in glasses, as this was before the Baby Olympian Act was passed, came in from the right. His hair, pre-body-maintenance prescriptions, was a solid yellow. He wore a fancy lapel with an R on his tie. What was still worn in the 22nd century, jeans, designed by Mary Restor as well as a black suit that made Cel Rin's steel-grey top look scintillating. Tristan looked at the many-colored ponytail.
The man who was responsible for his father's profession smiled at him. “If you are watching from my school, I wish you good luck and engineering. My younger brother Charles entertained you, I hope, but I will be telling a brief account of why I began the field of techistry, in this time, and why now in 2140. You're taking notes, of course… in a fairly more advanced way than my first students are, I daresay."
Tristan gladly pushed the perpetual motion model out of his room, out of reality. Cel's hair was something to look at, that and his mind. The Rins' fixation on robots was outdated, but for the heir apparent to change his hair when at school…
Tristan liked that. He opened his Thoughtnote, and William Restor's words clicked and spun, clicked and spun. Perpetual motion.
As he walked through the cafeteria of Restor, Jaceus couldn’t keep himself from smiling. For the first time on these grounds, he was actively closing off the natural pull that the human beings had to him. It was not that he could stand for their adoration, a feeling that, albeit from his kin, he had not been able to attain back home; but the act took his strength, and he had had no pressing need to do so. Until now.
He had to admit that it was a relief, passing under the hull of Restor’s gilded heroes and not causing waves in the seating around him. He noted that today Skylark was seated with Glid and three others, and that the blessed Scion was much more animated with the round boy than she had been with him, last week. Naturally, as the boy wasn’t Emulus.
Jaceus was now at the aft of the cafeteria, at the doors leading out to the school’s grounds. He pushed them open, and walked out of Restor.
As he moved to the portal across the raiders’ arena, he reexamined his conversation with Melea some days ago. Now that humans were out of his sight, he let out air––We need your aid, prince––she had urged him, after––! After revealing that she was part of an organized group of Scions. He breathed. Why had she held back all this time? He had been acquainted with her for almost a year, now. His aid. Well, there was that to think of, but he did not think of it. He entered the portal, and without thinking Thought to the portal next that would carry him directly into their part of society lowest down, denoted “Lowers.”
That disappearance and reappearance of location, that shift, was a thing to live for unto itself, it reminded him so of magic. He opened his eyes and saw the architecture of Highpoint. Ah, he did it again. He closed his eyes, and Thought.
Opened his eyes once more, to see the correct location, some ordered homes and along the horizon the moderately sized building that marked moving in and out of Lowers. It was some steps away––to go through there, and take more steps, and take more time to see these other Scions. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Jaceus took a deep breath of the midmorning air, and walked.
–––––––––––––––
Horizon was near––up close, to his eyes, now past their security, into
––Lowers. Houses. Melea had said, Magic Pictures photoshop. A Scion Magy’cal––Magy’cal!––named Porte, its owner. Inhale. A gathering of that many Scions… granted, few would be using their traits concurrently––a photoshop, now that was something to compare to memvenir. He walked. –––––––––––––––
And stepped forward, to behold a modest place, with their version of what, back home, they could do so easily! It was Lowers, but even their upper society’s V-photos were unpolished. Exhale. There was someone inside––he had his receptor but they were there and he could sense the magic being exerted beneath his feet.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
A song from the Bearing percolated through his mind as he grasped the handle of the door, and pulled.
“Skylark, Skylark! I'm flying!"
Skylark tore her head away from the V-photo of the Furies on the wall. Lucas, Melea (who went by d'Voris after all), and Cade, as they called themselves, left her vision as she looked at her friend. Falara was standing, her arms to the sides, her hair hung down normally. Her receptor was blinking rapidly.
“Falara, you know I can’t see what you’re seeing,” Skylark replied. You’re not actually flying anyway, she thought to herself.
“Join me then! By receptor,” Falara said. Skylark shook her head. Whatever sky Falara was soaring through, even if it was perfectly replicated, was not the real sky. She herself was not interested in experiencing other worlds in a different body. Being a bird and caring for chicks, flying out of the nest far, far away to retrieve worms from bio terra earth on a daily basis––it’d been fun for the first year. Then she got used to their absence. She was in her second year of high school, and she’d been living away from her parents ever since Alauda.
Skylark looked back at the V-photo. It not only contained Lucas trying to look cool––well, he had been pretty steel, next to someone like Glid––but the rest of the Furies. They seemed to be in some sort of shop with bread, looked like in Lowers. There was Cade with a bird on his shoulder, d’Voris, a young woman behind the counter, an older man who had the bearing of a leader––ah, there were so many––even a guy and a girl who couldn’t be more than two years older than her. The girl had strong orange hair, the color of autumn. The guy was wearing a tall white hat with lines and looking kind of alter weird. Skylark touched her hand to the girl, who wasn’t looking out from the photo. To be a Fury in high school…
She looked down below the photo, to the Government’s statement of MOST RECENT VIEWING OF THE FURIES––CONTACT YOUR LOCAL GOVERNOR IF YOU SEE ANY IN YOUR DISTRICT. Their District didn’t have any stores like that, there weren’t any that had food.
Skylark, test answers are in. Wanna check? Falara, flying. She knew her friend preferred the red hawk of the extinct birds available, at least in this store. Neither of them could actually afford v-World, anyway––not true v-World, which was one of the last questions on the test. There had been a worldwide craze where an entire generation of youth fell prey to living their second lives in v-World. The technology was toned down, now, although still very much real. Let’s check. She opened her Restor page, Thought for World History, Exam Results. Scroll… #17. Half credit, Skylark, don’t forget that the v-World Craze of 2119 led to a global recession, with two generations of citizens leaving work for the virtual plane. OK, back to #1. Falara was making peculiar waving motions with her hands. You don’t have to make the motions here, Falara, it’s all in your mind, she told her friend, but Falara kept moving her arms through the air, as if shaping something. It was harder to use than self-scanners. Back to test. #1. The AI did have discontent, but WWIV was started by James Restor, the first Governor. We still do not know why, although there are theories. It was resolved by Æthelstan’s founding of the five Agencies (see #4). The Restors again. One of them founded their school. #2––Correct. Not bad, Skylark, she told herself; #3––Not quite. Each Sector has its own division of the Worldnet. You can’t TM anyone in other Sectors, unfortunately. Skylark sighed and imagined seeing her friend beside her, two great eagles plunging their way through plains of cloud. She could tell peripherally that the store owner was getting a bit annoyed, tapping their fingers loudly on the counter towards the back. It was time to go. She closed the class page.
Falara, the guy’s getting annoyed. We can come back later.
Got a 90. You aced, right? Falara asked, returning to earth as a human and stepping off the pedestal. Of course, she’d gone over the whole thing while flying her happy bird adventures. Skylark quickly reopened the page and scrolled to the bottom––65%. “I passed, at least,” she said.
“That’s good!” Falara replied as they left the V-store and Skylark took one last glance back at the V-photo of the Furies. The person they’d described to be the one she’d partner with, Valha’ya, the bald one towards the far left of the V-photo––wasn’t smiling. A fellow Scion Magy’cal, but one who’d been fighting the Government longer than she’d been at Restor––Skylark fingered the V-book on her uniform.
“Falara, let’s check out the receptor store.”
“Didn’t you get yours changed this year already?”
“Yeah, but you know, the high-tier ones.”
“Sure! Today’s Tech class was really cool, wasn’t it?”
“Alter, Falara.”
Skylark thought back to the words Lucas had given her. We might be busy next week or two, so take your time to think, Skylark. But we’d love for you to be the partner of our #2. You can still go to school, like Glid. Busy? What, were they attacking the Government in the next two weeks? So she’d join early December.
What would Mom and Dad––they entered the receptor store, which was crowded as usual. Falara immediately rushed over to the stand most crowded, the newly released Blue Horus®. As Skylark walked up to it and tuned in her receptor, the words came on. Upgrade your speed of TMs by 0.05% with the most multifaceted receptor in Might. Now introducing holoscreen accessibility for personal use. OK, that was nice, only schools could use holoscreens here––until now. She checked the price.
815 realts. That was high––well, to be expected. Skylark watched Falara talk eagerly with some random high schoolers as she thought about the girl with orange hair, facing Lucas in the bread store, hands on her hips. Lucas hadn’t mentioned her… Skylark wondered what her ability was.
He stood outside the silver gates.
It was not a heaven he strove to enter, but an emblem of friendship he still adhered to, one he knew Eleanor was more than glad to maintain. He remembered that day, nine years ago, when Tuvi and Tr’iago von Hiischklen brought him outside to greet their new neighbor, the heir to the Dorr Netbankers. Her name was Eleanor, her father Delano, her mother Ulera. That day had been the first with sunlight uninhibited by clouds in a long while, he remembered.
The Dorr household gates had stood between him and the sun.
“And it is Eleanor,” he murmured. “I won’t go with you on your ‘theater’ quest, Tr’aedis, but I’ll see you when you get back. Enjoy High for me.” Were her words. Were they not companions?
Tr’aedis remembered the first time he’d visited Eleanor by portal and not by perambulation, and the first time she did the same in parry. He wondered if she remembered.
Eleanor’s confidante, Tupil, came up to the gates from within. “Tr’aedis! Here to see Eleanor?” he asked, back bowed, a reminder of something stubborn refusing contemporary healing methods. Admirable, Tr’aedis always thought. He nodded. Would Eleanor go to a Lowers hospital or order standard Laconica procedure after receiving injury? He shook his head.
“She's not here, Tr’aedis.”
“Is that so. Thank you, Tupil.” Mr. Tupil turned and returned to his hedging. Tr’aedis turned his eyes upward to look at the Dorr house. Somewhere up there was Eleanor’s mirror image, whom he still hadn’t seen since a day of rain eight years ago.
Tr’aedis brought his gaze down, passing across the dolphin-shaped hedges, past the von Hiischklen residence, to their area’s portal. It stood out to him. Well, he had to go to High first anyway. He glanced back once, before walking to the portal.
It took just one minute for the Dorr house to pass out of his peripheral vision, then the von Hiischklen house, until he stepped into the Aphrodite-pink container. To get to High, he first had to go to Highpoint, the intermediary area where Eleanor’s father would pass through for Netbank conferences. It was located in Plent but geographically close to High where the two Levgions touched. “Portal, do the thing,” he commanded, as he gave one last look at Eleanor’s window, one last image of Eleanor’s interrupted soliloquy with the rogue scion dilettante actors, one Thought of Highpoint––
and great, golden wings in a rush of wind and blazing light––