“My, what a blue tie you have,” Lind told him.
“I know, and my red flynder complements it highly,” Raegoth replied. He drank deeply from his glass of bluesimmer, and coughed.
Over by the Bridge, Agent William was juggling receptors; for her it was no difficult task. Not well worth his examination. He turned his eye some millimeters. Unranked Agent Shaen was using his Andante, over and over again, to run up the Bridge itself, only to fail halfway. To be so giddy, to partake of Alteryear with his ranked superiors, in one of the few events where unranked and ranked could vie towards folly together. In the fair Agency, where they laid their scene. Raegoth waved Lind off, adjusted his tie, and turned seventy degrees.
Attempting to hide behind a pillar was Agent Bola, her hair spikes visible and waving but clearly visible to Agent Felton, which barked and yelped, demanding play with her holo throwers, although those would wreak havoc in this crowded space, and so Raegoth began to walk over, but sighted Agent N’ziet coming to their aid, reaching over and prodding Felton away. Felton whined, tail between her legs, and sauntered off. N’ziet produced one of her holo throwers from his flynder suit, noticed Raegoth, and winked.
It was nothing to attract his desirous troubles, as N’ziet would be careful, but Raegoth noticed unranked Agent Dube Dube, using their chartreuse halberd against Mik’vael’s aegis, which was being wielded by Agent Tay, who did not know its proper form, and Agent Lind was looking on and fingering his maroon hair. To Bola’s unwavering excitement, not only was Agent Dube Dube’s chartreuse halberd now the largest weapon in the Agency to surpass Artok’s Weapon, it was also the lightest weapon in the Agency to surpass—he thought a few seconds—well, excluding the unarmed such as N’ziet, Agent Joe’s specialized receptor, which had commanded his representative bot when operating with the Furies. Neither as clumsy nor inarticulate as had been Mr. Crabs.
Agent Dube Dube was, he had to admit, skilled enough to make Agent Tay appear skilled. Perhaps he would ply the new Agent, who had rumors for becoming Tenth of the First Bureau and hence under Bola, in the Training Glass later. He was growing unfit as of late. Perhaps he would ask them to come together, as Bola’s Gift Wrap would pair well with the chartreuse halberd.
He was done with his glass. He would have another.
Raegoth walked over to the Fountain. Agent Ulyngorinoceros was monitoring the nexus tube concerto that was producing the bluesimmers. No Agent was needed for this task; but Ulyngorinoceros was here.
“Happy Alteryear,” he said. The Bureau of Communication’s Sixth nodded. “Happy Alteryear, Raegoth,” Ulyngorinoceros said in return. “Any alterations for 2237?”
“My tie. I’ve decided to have it be blue, my flynder red. Only fitting.”
“I agree, it is fitting,” Ulyngorinoceros said.
Raegoth, his glass now full, nodded. “Thank you, Ulyngorinoceros.”
“You are welcome, Third Agent.”
Raegoth left the Fountain. As he did, he saw another Agent retrieve a bluesimmer, and exchange the same words.
He returned to his vantage point. He looked back to the moving implements and saw that Agent Dube Dube was winning, Agent Tay losing his grip on the aegis, and Agent Lind, it seemed, wanted to take his turn. If Raegoth himself were to enter… no, that would be unfair indeed. It was not the prerogative of the other two Bureaus to engage in the Agency’s combative activities. But Raegoth then espied an unknown named person, a dazon of middling height—they were far away. They were on the opposite end of the Symposium. As he approached, he found that they were rather short, fewer than one-point-five meters; and that they were young, though with cases such as Joe, this new Agent could be any age from mediary to a full Sector education’s completed years. Body-maintenance prescriptions and such. Raegoth nodded to them. “Happy Alteryear, Agent,” he said.
The young Agent, who was sitting on a floafa, gazing pensively in the direction of the esteemed combatants, one hand on their cheek as they stared after them—turned their head to look back at him.
Both their eyes were black.
Raegoth took a step back. “My, what eyes you have,” he said. The Agent smiled. “Thank you,” they responded. “It took sixteen years, but I finally attained completely black eyes.”
So they were some over sixteen. Children typically did not step onto Alterfaces until they were at least four years of age. “What is your name, Agent?” Raegoth asked. “And to which Bureau?”
“Undecided, and my name is Z Equals X Squared Plus Y Squared.”
“Z Equals… you chose that name? I do not know mathematics.”
They did not look fazed. “When I was able, I chose Circle as my name. Shapes are my specialty. After a time, I changed it to Circular. Circular then became Circular Paraboloid. Just last Alteryear, I changed it to its current shape.”
He understood very little, or none, of anything in words that came out of Z’s mouth; but he heard C’s.
“I also incorporate my name into my combat style—I see that you’re still confused. A lot of people do. Just call me C. P.”
Another C, but one only followed by a P.
“‘C. P.’ Understood; I was going to inquire about your chosen weapon, but as you’re yet undecided as to whether you require one—”
“No, I’m going to get one. Artok’s being patient with me. I have some designs in mind… not quite like those.” And they gestured with a flick of their wrist at the clashing Agents, who were still at it; Lind now had Mik’vael’s aegis, and Dube Dube was exchanging some words of consolation with Tay. “Too much emphasis on the look, like most Agent weapons. I want mine to be actually useful. So I’m still thinking about it.”
Raegoth nodded. As one who forewent the use of weapons entirely, he could sympathize with C. P.’s plight.
“But what’s your name? Your tie color choice is quite apt,” C. P. told him.
“Raegoth.”
He sat down in the floafa nearest, the one immediately next to C. P.’s. “I am Third Agent, so you would not be working under me regardless, but I would recommend Agent Bola as the partner to strive for. You would learn much from her, not that I speak from experience.”
C. P. nodded. “Prior to Agent Hector’s departure, she was subordinate to an alter terrier. I respect that; more for the terrier.”
Raegoth nodded. “Agent Felton is quite talented.”
“From what I’ve heard, Hector would have made today’s activities even more interesting, right?”
Raegoth nodded. Agents Felton and Bola had worked well together; N'ziet would be happy to be Felton's immediate superior. As he thought about the implications, one of Felton’s holo throwers whipped by; he caught it, and launched it back—out of the corner of his eye he saw Felton swipe it from the air with a paw. N’ziet patted her on the forehead.
He had spent enough time speaking to a lower ranked Agent. He moved to stand; Z Equals X cleared their throat audibly.
“A few minutes left until the new year, Raegoth. Any alterations you’ve made?”
“My tie—” He thought for a more suitable answer. “I’ve spoken with one ranked below me.”
“In the time you’ve spent here, you’ve done that many times though, haven’t you?”
“Yes. But rarely one to one. Besides the Fourth Agent.” Raegoth said this calmly. Had R Squared Equals X Squared Plus Y Squared truly been skilled, they would have joined the dilettantes rather than merely observe.
“Mm. If you’re Third Agent, surely you can reach for Second or First?”
“That would be an idea,” he replied. To challenge Mik’vael—it was an idea.
“If I so desired, yes, I could reach for it,” he said. He stood up from the floafa. If he were to challenge the Second Agent, he would continue training as he ordinarily did, at the Glass attended by Hector; a tiring task, and yet he would do it, as Agency ordinance demanded. At some time he would formally invite Mik’vael to the designated venue, and triumph, leaving her to tolerate Hector—
TIME: 2236—12/31—11:59 PM. A Thought came to his receptor, one that all the other Agents received at the same time, for it was that time of year. Agents Lind and Dube Dube were lowering their weapons, and Felton, N’ziet, and Bola stopped running in a circle around the pillar. Raegoth straightened his tie, and continued to ponder. If he then challenged Xeric while Second Agent—there were no time limits between challengers, as the act was so rare—he would become First Agent.
He would become First Agent.
“I like that alteration,” Z Squared said from behind him. “It’s similar to my plans for 2237.”
Raegoth realized that he had uttered, audibly, his newfound plans for becoming First Agent.
Pull back, Tristan. Pull back.
And he took the green centerpiece within his hand, raised over the middle of the long wind string that curved elliptically, and placed his first alter dart upon it. It felt right. The alter dart felt right, correctly placed upon the centerpiece, ready to be thrown—no, ready to be fired—against—against its target.
Tristan took his eyes off it and looked straight ahead. Through the moving magnetairs that crossed the Exhibit space, his father was walking down one of them. This time, Tristan had an audience. He ignored the moderate number of onlookers who had been watching his movements with interest. Today, Tristan had a place for his movement—not like the last time. No superfluous movement to obstruct his candidacy for the prize. No unnecessary distractions or overtly attractive bystanders to herald him away from his cause. Only precision—the precision of an ancient implement, one whose name he could not recall, but one he could wield for himself.
Pops was moving down the magnetair. But this time, as the others walking down the magnetair moved around Meliodas, his father’s chocolate bob bobbing up and down, he saw that his father was alone, not accompanied by one with finer features.
It irked him.
The few passerby were still watching. Tristan anticipated how Father would react when he saw the true form of what was to have been the Eternal Vessel perpetual motion model. Tristan couldn’t think of a proper name for what he had made, though. He just knew, that to use it and display to the rest of the Exhibit, he had to pull back.
Tristan had to pull back. Pull out, Tristan, pull out. He pulled back on the string connecting the two ends.
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Tristan had to pull out. Pull back, Tristan, pull back. He had to stop his motion, or continue it, back and forth, back and forth, stretching and unstretching.
As if it would work.
Tristan sighed and let go of the alter dart.
And it flew, piercing the air as if it had its own will. Tristan cried out. Tristan watched as the alter dart shaped V flew towards his father. But then, as he watched an unseen force shifted the direction of its curve. Or rather, as he determined in the moment, it had to be a different curve than initially projected—projected from the V-shaped bow. That was the name—V-bow—and Tristan watched as the alter dart, swooping down and low over the grass of the Exhibit floor, caught air from a piece being unfurled down from two hands—and the alter dart struck the material, it hadn’t caught air at all, he was imagining science—it was like hair, a solid waft, black in its entirety, the hair of another techist. It was Cel Rin.
The dart fell off the curtain, and hit the ground.
Savior emerged from the Gene thread.
They arrived on green grass outside a tall building. Alauda arrived by then and Savior’s wings hit hers. It felt warm, and Savior felt like flying. But they didn’t know how to use their wings yet. They just knew that wings were not used for traveling by the Gene thread.
“You will rescue the Scion,” Alauda said, gesturing with her left wing towards the building. Savior looked and Savior saw a person carrying a very long, very strangely shaped implement, bound in yellow and green, walking silently towards a second person dressed in monochrome clothing walking out of the portal nearest the building. The second person soon saw the first person, and stopped walking. The first person continued.
“Who is the Scion?” Savior asked. Neither person had seemed to see the two with wings yet.
“The one without the chartreuse halberd,” Alauda replied. “You do not have a choice. Meraki and Sappho have decreed your role.”
Savior nodded. “Who are Meraki and Sappho?”
“Our Directors. They have been bodiesified the longest, and they founded our Company.”
Savior meant to ask about bodiesified, but Alauda looked as if she intended to leave, which she did, turning back and reentering the Gene thread. Blue dust wafted off of her flight.
Savior looked back at the Scion and the person with the chartreuse halberd, which had pierced the Scion by the shoulders with its two points. A red, humanlike liquid was seeping out, and falling onto the grass.
Savior flapped.
Savior saw a person carrying a very long, very strangely shaped implement, bound in yellow and green, walking silently towards a second person dressed in monochrome clothing walking out of the portal nearest the building. The second person soon saw the first person, and stopped walking. The first person continued.
Savior flew over. They themselves were carrying no weapon, only human hands. But they had flame-orange wings, which they swung through the air, towards the Agent. The Agent burned. The Agent’s violet-indigo hair burned first from the crest to the tips. The Agent’s face burned second, flickering tan and red like paper. The rest of their body followed until they dropped the chartreuse halberd. Savior stopped burning.
Savior looked back at the Scion they had rescued. The Scion, who was unburned, was looking shocked.
Savior smiled back at them.
“I am a hero,” they said.
“We are the Avians,” he told them. “Or, the Singers. Please tell me which name you prefer.”
Skylark looked around the room to see how each member would react. First, Agate; she was from the original Furies. How much I could ask her. Agate was standing behind Jaceus, in the kitchen area holding a cup of coffee. Skylark had noted—because she didn’t drink coffee—fairly quickly after coming, even just the past two days, how much coffee Agate drank. Especially given her trait.
Some to her left, Mr. Sterne. Because he was a teacher Skylark didn't talk to him much. He nodded and smiled, his eyes twinkling, but didn't say anything to Jaceus' suggestions. He was one of the oldest adults Skylark had ever seen in person. I can't imagine just talking to stars for forty years though. He probably sees Jaceus, a high school senior but also not really in high school, as one far more mature than his age—did Jaceus even go to high school before? Skylark hadn’t yet asked him about his past in the Other World. Maybe she should…
Cerise. She didn't know her last name, she should have asked. That day in the library… she breathes, just thinking about it. Haven’t felt as exhilarated.
Cerise was looking at her. “Why the Avians?” she said, to Jaceus.
Jaceus moved his arms back and forth along the arms of his chair. Now that Skylark looked at it more closely she saw that what looked like large, elongated hands had been inscribed into its arms and legs; no, they were too long to be hands, and the fingers were too close together. They were wings.
“Birds are sacred creatures in H‘trae,” Jaceus replied. “Of the few animal kinds left in your world, they are one.” He held his chair’s arms firmly. “Do you prefer the Singers, Cerise?”
“I don't,” said Lucas. Luke. I'm not sure how exactly he changed after being purified. He’s still the same. Skylark would ask him about that as soon as their Alteryear things were over; as soon as Jaceus would tell them about what they were going to do. “Singing is outdated, and I’m not a bird-human hybrid. Five of us are from this world, anyway.”
“If you don’t mind, Jaceus, you keep referring to ‘H’trae,’ and we recognize that you came from another world where ‘magic is available to everyone,’ and we still don’t know what that means.” Agate had now moved out of the kitchen area and, drinking in protracted sips from her coffee, sat herself in a floafa by the wall-counter that had five peculiar objects on it, each shaped different than the others. Skylark noted that Jaceus looked at them quite often. “I’m fine with either name, as long as we don’t go up against the Government again.”
What? But we have Jaceus.
Luke got up out of his own floafa, the one sitting by the wall that had all the main colors on it in swirling patterns that Skylark couldn’t keep track of. “We have Jaceus, Agate! He won’t talk about it, but he beat Raegoth. With him alone, even with our reduced numbers, we have a good, no, alter chance right now. They think we’re defeated.”
Jaceus shook his head. “I expressly told Agent Mik’vael that you were not the Furies anymore, and that I had different intents that would not involve them.”
“I still like the Avians,” said Cerise.
“Thank you, Cerise. As for my intents—well, I was going to tell you after we selected our new name.”
Mr. Sterne turned his head, and frowned. But didn’t say anything.
Lucas turned towards Jaceus. “Do you not think you can take down the Agency? You’re the real thing!”
Jaceus took his arms off his chair. “I do not doubt that I alone could trump their Agents. But they have Porters.”
Agate took another sip of her coffee. “Aren’t porters just carriers of Government news to the citizens?”
She got a surprised look from Jaceus at that, and Skylark remembered when porters had come for Alauda. Or Agents. She wasn’t sure. “Porters, Agate, are… ” He paused. “When I first came here, a porter was waiting. He was stronger than R’aegoth. More refined. Almost as if… I did not lose, but I did not triumph. Though I was quite distracted by my new surroundings. But yes, they have Porters, I do not know how many. But a name!” He seemed to be looking at them expectantly.
I believe I can fly. How could she move hologram birds? Maybe Cerise had done it… but she’d be lying about her trait, and Cerise was nice.
“The Powers, then,” Luke said. “I don’t know what you want to do with us. But we’re the ones left, and besides me, we all have powers. And you chose us specifically for what you want to do, right?”
Jaceus smiled. “I like that name. And you’re right, Lucas. You’re right.” He got up off his chair so smoothly then, Skylark might have thought that he was a bird stretching up from its nest. Ready to take flight. Although whether the image she saw was of an adult ready to fetch food for its young, or a hatchling ready to take the leap down, she didn’t know.
Agate was frowning; Cerise was nodding, a hand on her hairpin. Mr. Sterne was—laughing? But soft, and Jaceus was speaking still. His eyes were directed at the group of five objects on the wall-counter.
“Agate, I chose you because you were most committed to the operations of the Furies. Your trait served you well in that regard.” Agate smiled then, which she rarely did.
“Sterne, you were chosen because you’ve been using your trait the longest, to reach all the way to the constellations. I would use your wisdom.” Mr. Sterne dipped his head, causing the side of his hair to point upward.
“Lucas, you chose to stay, even after purification. We would need your skills in combat, though lesser to mine. But I also thought you’d do well for the newer members,” and he looked at Skylark and she quickly thought about how those two eyes had seemed like worlds and he said, “Skylark, your trait bears significant, if not immense, potential and I appreciate seeing it,” and he turned then to Cerise.
I appreciate seeing it.
Skylark couldn’t stop herself from smiling, but she tried to hide it. “And Cerise. How should I phrase it? You’re like Agent Xeric, who is Scion. One of the most consummate in your trait I’ve seen here. Of course, to the real Ab’malukae I knew in the Other World, nothing like, but impressive, and I immediately saw that you too bear a second self, don’t you.”
Cerise was looking back at Jaceus. One eye pink, and one eye silver. Thought message: Cerise. Accept. As I thought. Skylark, he’s truly special. Winged. Don’t ever leave him. “What do you mean, ‘second self’,” Luke said, and Cerise smiled back at Jaceus. “Well noted, free one,” she said. Free one. “Claude will say hello when she wants to. I can’t control her.”
For once, Skylark thought that Jaceus would be just as confused as she was, but he only nodded. “I will be patient. I hope to see her trait as well.”
He knows more than I thought, Cerise told her, as her brief moment of satisfaction faded and she remembered, “Well done, Scion,” told by two silver eyes. I’m glad you’re here, Skylark, Cerise said, and Skylark hastily Thought back, You’re going to help me improve my trait too right? and Cerise glanced at her, and made the barest of nods with her head. I will see personally that you bodiesify. Like me.
Bodiesify? Like bodiezes? Skylark thought of the strange objects, multi-purpose and with multiple appearances and designs, depending on how they were being used. ‘No two look the same,’ she remembered Miss Darth once saying.
“So, we are the Powers,” Jaceus said. “Happy ‘Alteryear,’ and please continue to use my home as you will, we will be leaving it at some point, for Sector II and beyond. If you—if you would all come with me. We are going to find my true home, which I know can be reached, somehow, if I came here through portal. The home of magic, where it is unrestrained.”
No one responded to that until Agate spoke. “Why… and going to Sector II isn’t possible, but why there, did you come from there first?”
Jaceus shook his head. “No. I have only seen Sector I; but I’ve discovered some things. In Sector II, to your alter, they have leave. People move airborne, without wings. The Porter spoke to me, in the language of my kingdom. The same language that was once spoken by families of High. It must be the case—it is possible that other parts of my world will likewise be in the second Sector.
“If, you would come. Using magic is more difficult here than it is in H’trae—it is not with the elements. But I will do what I can to enter Sector II, and further.
“Will you come with me?” he asked them.