Pass! Melea, PASS! comes a Thought, and I’m not listening because the ball is in front of me and the nearest Hedro player is not too close, and I have to decide between what I call the Self-Restoration Pass which doesn’t add to the Impro team’s total but is the only way to move across the field, and what I call the Portal, doing the same thing but accessing the ball’s settings by Thought and enabling it to move slower through the air—but I already did that, and the ball is still floating back down, and the Hedro guy’s getting closer, he’s right in front of my eyes.
I slap the ball to my right with my racket. Before the guy can get to it, he’s already pivoting—I access the field’s settings by Thought to bring a launchpad out, which I jump onto with my right foot, and then launch off, I slap the ball higher—should I Portal now, keep moving up—
—and Mik’vael is there, speeding onto the second launchpad which she Uploaded, hitting the ball behind her, and before another Hedro player can get to it (what was his name, Jin’to) is there and he bounces it back—it’s moving faster now—and Telot catches it with a few consecutive slaps of their own racket down the field. Three Hedro players converge on them, and the ball changes teams and I quickly check the count: Improvement—7 con, 22 total, Hedron—1 con, 14 total—Melea Voraëson, 4 R, 1 P. I’m only not doing as well as I should be because it’s my second game.
Vael besides me gets back down to the ground, jumping down one step, two steps down from the launchpads. She returns the one she’d summoned, but I keep mine up. I still have to create the Constellation Manifest Attack. Mel, this is a team sport. You don’t get any points for passing it along the field by yourself.
I rest my racket back against my shoulder. It feels much cooler than I thought it’d be for a sport like this. Thought—Sub 4, 3rd Digit. So 74 minutes left.
I eye the group of players up ahead, a swerving panoply of bodies, rackets, and one white ball flashing in the sun, the three Hedro players flicking it between themselves as Telot struggles to intercept. Jin’to and another Impro player, I forget her name, run over to assist. Mel? You’re good at handling the ball, but you’re not helping us very much, you know.
I’m still developing my techniques.
Techniques? Mik’vael shakes her head, and sends a Thought to the team feed—Zeus Blitz, let’s go!—and she starts to head over. There’s only strategy in raider, she sends back to me. She runs off.
Soon the four Impro players are executing Vael’s Zeus Blitz, named so because my sister has always had a strong interest in the dead gods of a place called Greece, and because the movements of player and ball are supposed to be like a bolt of lightning. Mik’vael doesn’t really understand. She may be inept when eating her lunch from the highest vertical setting of our classroom seats, but when it comes to raider, she truly is an absolute wizard. I see her now, commanding the head of the lightning bolt, charging into the group of Hedrons and, using their launchpads before they could release them, catching the ball herself.
She is good at this sport because she’s been playing it since mediary. Why now I am joining, in my last year of preuni, I don’t know… after Alteryear, I’ll have to follow my sister into Sector University, there is no other choice.
Wait! They’re all over there. Which means I can begin setting up my Constellation Manifest Attack. I head down the field, summoning launchpads as I run.
“AND SIARA EL'TO RUNS DOWN THE FIELD! SHE FLIRTS WITH THE LAUNCHPADS LIKE GENGEN YUME FROM THE BODIEZES STORY! Have you seen The Bodiezes Story, Oigo?”
“No, I have not, Oro, but I yearn to know the meaning of that analogy. Siara’s called The Lightning That Never Comes, or Alter 3 in the Upper League. And look, she’s escaped three of the five other team’s raiders, and is now passing longshot back to her teammates.”
I turn off the announcers, and return to watching the game with my own eyes. El'To has indeed passed, and the player Fazzid Mi’er now has it. It appears that he is preparing for the original technique that had inspired Mik’vael’s Zeus Blitz; Mi’er had been playing back then, too. Of course back then none of us could execute longshot legitimately; it required pulling the ball with a backspin that made it ‘float’ slowly, while set on high rotation speed.
Mi’er successfully executes what is now taught, I think, by University and some PreUniversity coaches as the Moving Portal. El'To receives, and between the two they circle around the three Alter Terriers, continuing the technique, and I put my receptor back on again. Game—Beacons—14 con, 72 total. Only three minutes into the third digit, and already 72 passes. I am more surprised, and pleased, than I’d like to admit.
I didn’t know that I’d enjoy professional raider this much.
“77! 78! 79! THE MOVING PORTAL TRULY MOVES!” Oro says. Paying attention on both receptor and physical eyes is a strain but—but the game is so entertaining. “82! 83! 84! AND THE CONSECUTIVE SPEED IS NOW OVERTAKEN BY THE ALTER TERRIERS’ LUCID AM’DRE!” Lucid Am’dre now passes above the leaping Siara, and using two summoned launchpads meets a fellow Alter Terrier, and the two bark consecutively.
I am enjoying myself a bit too much. I take off the receptor again. I am here to spend some time after Alteryear, exchanging updates with Mik’vael and my parents, and to get my bearings on what to do next with my life. The life of d’Voris! Watching pro raiders for the first time since first semester at Sector Uni, before she had gotten herself expelled and teamed up with Rocket who called themselves the Furies—‘fire’ and ‘us’—she’d liked being on that team, starting right out in combat, back then Taylor was just becoming three versions of himself, struggling to maintain control over both his selves and the Furies and ultimately relinquishing most of his original self into the only version that kept going by Taylor.
Agate had been there previously; when I joined, she was there, just entering college and still pursuing her education, and she’s still with the Furies, or rather the Powers, because Jaceus chose her, and also because she’s been with the team roster too long and doesn’t know how to leave. She doesn’t get tired, after all.
I should contact her. And leave this game behind…
A collective rise of voices pushes that thought away. A flurry of interceptions and receives are happening further down the field, within the obstacle course. I touch my receptor with my fingers, and move it over my right ear.
“We are in the 100s and this is when we stop counting! Now that both teams are in the Alter Land, we have entered the Governors’ Arena, and passes will be judged on quality but you know that if you are a fan of this game! Oigo, what do you think?”
“Oro, that sounds right, and that is how we do things in the Upper League. I’m personally still not keen on the Higher than Hundred rule, and haven’t been for the past five years.”
“Only in third digit, Oigo, nearing fourth, and already Alter Landed. I think that’s an exciting game. And look, the first Governor to take the Golden Seat has already arrived.”
I look back at the stadium. Truth be told, a golden launchpad has entered the sky above the field, with what must be the Governor materializing upon it. They are likewise covered entirely in something golden, and are looking down at the field below.
The passes are now nearing a fast blur, as Mi’er and El'To run through their opponents, the ball of alter material whizzing back and forth like—truly—like it was a trickling bolt of lightning. I watch them, and remember a day when I performed my own series of consecutive returns with Mik’vael, and called it the Savores. I remember, now, what I told my sister, after winning that game, and advancing to the Levgion tourney—
“I CAN pass, sis. Only when I want to, though.”
Mik’vael looks to me, smiling, as we have our arms across each other’s shoulders and heave with exhaustion but we throw our other arms up in unison to the crowd cheering on. “You play better with a partner,” she said.
I find myself crushing my receptor between my fingers.
14. Identify each of the Restors and their contributions to society.
She didn’t even watch the Restor documentary when they were showing it. Uh, there were seven of course, and William Restor was their school—the techist. There was an actor, a Governor, and… they all contributed to society in a way that was still important. Charles was that actor that was globally famous, he wasn't in their Sector right now. One of the few people who could move between them. And… wait, no he was dead. Hmm, they used portals all the time. There had to be a Restor who invented those.
Skylark wrote down Diane, portal inventor. She looked down at the V-book. Six questions left.
Good enough. Alter. She raised her hand away from the V-book, and closed it. The words Confirm Submission? appeared on its cover, and she tapped the letters with her hand to confirm. She picked up the V-book and moved to the front to place it on top of the nonexistent stack. Because, she was the first to finish. Mr. Abur was playing asleep as usual. When he woke up he’d open up his V-locker and put the tests in.
Skylark glanced back to the seat by the window. Falara was, as usual, nodding, her forehead almost hitting her V-book, her hair brushing it in separate, red strands.
She knew that the others were staring at her. Without looking at them, she walked out of the classroom. As she turned into the hallway she immediately sent a Thought to Lucas. Thought message to: Luke, former Fury. She walked quickly through the classrooms, that turned this way and that way in a design that probably made a lot of sense to William Restor but made zero sense to her, still, halfway into her second year here. Hey Lucas, we’re still meeting today, right? She wondered if Ms. Darth saw her walking right past her classroom. She wondered, and didn’t care for another second. They still had some time before moving. Lucas, she didn’t like to think of him as Luke now, had said they would start training, at least on the physical end, and Cerise on the Gene. Skylark passed by the whale-shaped cafeteria, and soon out the side doors. Lucas, are you busy? I can do later if—
Hey, Skylark. Yeah, I’m ready. You ready for day one of your training?
I will fly today, Yes, I’m ready! she Thought back, and soon broke into a run, and entered the nearest portal that stood right by the school that way, and entered it, and Thought for home, and her surroundings disappeared—
—and she opened her eyes to see her home bloc, and the familiar low hill marked by stones, one for each year that Alauda had not come back. She stepped out of the portal. But then remembered that the others were using Jaceus’ home for the Powers’ new place of operations. She went back to the portal, and Thought for Home of Jaceus. Her surroundings disappeared again, goodbye the stones—
—and she opened her eyes to see a gigantic triangle, designed all in green, standing in front of her. Not many houses in this style in Might, or at least in her bloc, and seeing that it stood on its own ledge separate from the others—which were all grouped in their own line, down that way—she knew that it was Jaceus’. Earth wasn’t his home, after all.
She stepped out of the portal. Between her feet and the house in front of her there was only the narrow path that wound its way around the houses. She looked at the other homes again, around those and around the whole bloc. The path was only a meter in width. Looking across it, she saw that the front area of Jaceus’ house had a low circle set in the ground, with what looked like water. She walked across the path.
Skylark looked down into the circle; there really was water, and while she could see the bottom, there were several small creatures roaming around in its two meters or so of depth; the water was clear. She didn’t recognize the creatures from the animals they were taught to be extinct, but she thought of fish. Although they did not have scales.
She looked up again, and there weren’t steps leading up to the door, just the front face of the triangle all in green, with the same drawn-out lines that Jaceus had put on his chair. All of this she had already seen—this was only her second time visiting—but Jaceus had made his presence here known, and she could not help reliving the visit once more. Wings on his door, she thought. I want some too.
She stepped closer, and pressed a hand to the center of the green.
Rather than her receptor ask for her entry as normal houses did, or that was what she was expecting, it merely opened. As it did last time. Jaceus has magic, she thought. He can do anything. She entered, and light came upon her in the atrium, and Agate was there, as well as Mr. T. Agate was looking tired again, holding a tall vase of coffee, and Mr. T put his hands on his hips and smiled at her. “Welcome back, Skylark,” he said. “You don’t mind if I observe your training?” He was wearing what looked like imitation Plent or High clothing, a shirt that ran in squares and diagonal lines in red and green.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“No, no of course you can watch, Mr. T,” she responded, and fully entered, and the door closed behind her. “Watch your step, Skylark,” Agate told her, and she nodded, she’d missed it the first day, but right below the front step was a small drop; Jaceus could walk, after all, and never used it.
Agate’s hair, though, was tied back, and she gave her a smile when she met Skylark’s eyes. Unlike her own, Agate’s trait ran constantly… maybe it was the trait itself that got tired? Was that even possible…
“This way, Skylark,” Agate said, and motioned for her to follow. Skylark walked after and wondered why Jaceus himself didn’t greet her at the entrance. But maybe he was still at school. He probably cared about how he was doing… She saw the series of arches that ran as they turned right from the atrium towards the main room, where they had met the other day. The walls were each colored differently today.
Skylark briefly wondered what she was doing, learning to fight, when she didn’t even think raider was that alter, skipping out on the rest of an exam—mm, okay but Cerise would be training her to bodiesify. And Cerise had another name, Claude, or rather she was also Claude, who hadn’t appeared yet, whatever that meant, but she was sure she'd find out.
They turned another corner, Mr. T walking behind them; and Lucas was there, back facing them, looking at the objects on the wall-counter. Jaceus was not in the room, and neither was Cerise.
Lucas turned around. He swept back his hair.
“Welcome, Sky. Can I call you Sky?” He was looking excited. A thump thump thump rang in her chest. I am going to train with another Scion.
“Yes, Sky sounds nice.”
“Alter, alter Sky,” he said in return, and nodded to Agate and Sterne; the former of whom turned around and walked out, Mr. T staying and settling himself into a floafa. He put his fingers together, forming their own triangle.
“Now, Skylark,” Lucas said. He began to walk a bit from side to side. “I’m—I was one of the Furies’ best fighters. You haven’t really done any hand-to-hand in your life, right?”
Not counting v-World in a V-store, no. I will fight like Cerise.
“v-World doesn’t count, right?” she asked, and Lucas upon hearing that stopped walking, looked right back at her. He almost seemed to want to say something—but resumed walking from side to side. “No, it does not,” he only said. But he wasn’t quite smiling as before. He glanced at Sterne, but looked back at Skylark.
She noted that, with only three people in it, the room was quite large. The objects behind Lucas stood out. “How will we train?” she asked.
“Well, if you’re training to fight, we should fight,” Lucas said.
Cerise would take him down, I thought. “We could, but I haven’t learned yet, it wouldn’t really be ‘fighting’.” If they were going to train, then they’d start with combat exercises or something. She remembered trying that out in Soldier v-World or Shinobi. But she felt that Lucas had to have learned naturally, at some point earlier on in his life.
“You know, Skylark, on the Furies, I was partnered with their very best at this, Valha’ya Glorae, and most of the time, I didn’t actually fight much,” he said. It almost looked like he was increasing the pace at which he walked from side to side. “Of course, I learned how to fight earlier. At school, mostly, and after, on my own. There’s just one thing, Skylark—” he stopped.
I could take you right now, she thought. “You know my trait isn’t that powerful,” she started to say, but then Lucas raised a hand. “Scions, as a rule, generally don’t fight Scions,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“I have a question,” came Mr. Sterne’s voice from the side.
“What, Mr. T!” Luke said back to him, without turning to face him.
“Why don’t they?”
Lucas shook his head. “It isn’t right. Scions are special people, and for one of us to fight another, to go against one another, is not the way things should be,” he answered.
“But—Luke, you were—” She didn’t want to say it.
“I’m still a Scion, I remember using my trait, I remember how it felt, I just can’t do it anymore!” He turned back to Mr. Sterne. “Any more questions?”
“Well, I was just wondering, because I’ve been using my trait for longer than you were alive.” But he stopped there, smiling, and Skylark stifled the question she was going to ask him right there, because Lucas was now raising his arms.
“I’m going to come at you, Skylark. Plan A: I—”
Something in the wall to their right shook, and as they both looked, the wall began to fall through, five lines were emerging horizontally across it, but not all the way across—and Skylark watched, as five silver plates—but they were too large for dinner plates—moved across the room, almost slowly, but spinning rapidly—struck Lucas in quick succession, and he fell.
“Oh, sweet Centauri!” came Sterne from the left.
Skylark stared at the five plates stuck in Lucas and was forced to look away, at a tall, dressed all in glaring white, man who looked older than Mr. Sterne, but walked like he was in high school, over to Lucas, and one by one, yanked the plates that were just far too large, out of his chest, two from his left arm, and one from his leg.
Skylark watched as the stranger began wiping clean the plates with an equally massive cloth. The cloth was white, but was staying white. Skylark looked back at Lucas, and there were—one, two… five gashes on his left arm, right leg, and chest. But no blood was coming out. Only depressions—which were fast turning blue and purple, and Lucas, grimacing, was struggling to get back to his feet.
“Stay down, you horny mutt,” the man said, as he put the five plates back together. It was now somehow one large white hat, which he was returning to his head. “My design. You weren’t cut; I made sure of that, you’re lucky. Damned Rules.”
“How—are you an Agent?” Luke asked.
“Call me Perry. I’ll be your waiter for tonight,” the stranger said, and Skylark, without thinking, raised her arms.
They were good. He cared not to admit it to himself, but they were good.
C. P. jumped back, spinning their weapon, and with a bop it split in two. With a smile on their lips, they leapt forward, and Bola engaged, holding her Gift Wrap with one hand outstretched, and the other reaching back into her hair. Ah; that was where she kept the other end of the string, constructed of Artok’s combination of alter plastic and iststarkes, hidden within the jellyfish follicles like clownfish in sea anemone.
Bola was not smiling, precisely because R Squared Equals X Squared Plus Y Squared had already won the position of Tenth Agent within their Bureau. Agent Dube Dube had not appeared for the decision battle, or, it seemed, anywhere on the Agency campus. C. P. had then immediately challenged Bola, their newfound superior, for the position of Ninth. Before Raegoth himself could set forth any of his own plans, which were just parts of an idea, but a grand one.
R Squared let one part of their weapon be caught by the long string, and with another pop, the other half split into two smaller parts; which C. P. took from the air with both their hands. Their black eyes shone. “You’re good with that string,” they said, and Bola, after quickly unfurling it, tossed the first half away with a flick of her hand. Her other pulled more string from her hair, and R Squared hit the two pieces together, bip. It sounded almost like a bodieze would ring when struck against another bodieze; and Raegoth realized that C. P. must have enlisted Artok to use bodiezes to create their weapon.
“What is your weapon’s name, R Squared,” he asked, as R Squared continued to strike the two quarter pieces, bip bip bip. They did not spare him a glance, proper combat etiquette, but said, “Z Equals, if you’re shortening it. Or just C. P.,” and after two more bips threw one of them at Bola in a feint, making it appear like they threw both, but kept the other tucked behind their knuckles.
Bola caught the one part which she immediately threw away, while R Equals pressed both sides of the remaining piece with their fingertips, and Raegoth smiled. C. P. was going to win this fight. Bola, not seeing the concealed piece, jumped forward lashing out with the string, and R Equals swooped in as well, ducking beneath Bola’s kick and, in a swift and clean motion that Raegoth doubted Bola caught, had tucked the string’s end into the last piece, and the string was being pulled in with a fwit fwit fwit sound, Bola was reaching into the almost invisible pocket on the breast of her uniform for the small blade that she’d use to cut the string from her hair; but C. P. was already picking up the first half and quarter pieces and putting them together. With a click they did, and the weapon’s color shifted from black to a solid grey.
“My weapon’s name is now Z Equals X Squared,” they said to both Bola and Raegoth. “I’d be happy to show you afterwards how it works, but you'd tell the other Agents,” and now the two faced each other once more.
“You’re the talented one, C. P.,” Bola said to them. Her string was now much shorter; she held its full length between her hands in front of her.
Z X Squared shook their head. “Pure practice and alteration.” Those words brought Raegoth back to something he’d heard them say before:
“I like that alteration. It’s similar to my plans for 2237.” What had he said just before?
“I will become First Agent.” Echoing the words of—
Raegoth thought of a different color. He then thought of blankness, the absence of color; and turned his attention back to the pair. C. P. was now standing on Bola, or rather, had her string in their hands, and one foot laid on Bola’s neck. Bola was on the ground, and panting. C. P. had not yet broken their sweat glands, and Raegoth felt a tremor in his mind.
“What is your weapon called now, Z Squared?” he asked.
For it was shaped differently; or rather, rather than the two pieces attached horizontally, the smaller quarter was now somehow vertically arranged on it, but still connected to the half.
“We’re done here, sorry Bola, Raegoth—it’s just a name. But I’ll tell you—the full name is an anagram!”
And the tremor in his mind became cracks, splinters of a hidden color, as Raegoth felt with his hands the hair that was red, his original color, and repeated the words in his mind. The full name is an anagram.
He reached down, and pushed Z Equals X Squared Plus Y Squared’s foot from its position. It was a triviality—for C. P.’s full name was ridiculous, far too constructed, and undeserving of such form. He left it to the follies of purpose, congratulated C. P. on overtaking Bola as the new Ninth Agent, now her superior; gave Bola some appropriate words of reason, and mentally considered advising N’ziet on giving Felton some pointers, before C. P. would overtake her as well. For he was Raegoth, and he was grave, gentle, and glorious—he would not let the Ranking Order rearrange itself so artificially.
Cel looked at him, and Tristan looked back.
Cel bent down to the ground, and as his hair brushed it, the coherent black lengths making frictionless contact with the grass of the Exhibit floor, Cel took in his hand the alter dart, and, holding it, kept his eyes on Tristan. Tristan looked back.
Tristan looked at his father, Pops, who was still descending the magnetair, and not looking at Tristan. Tristan looked back at Cel.
But Cel Rin was now crumpling within his hands the alter dart, and tucking it into the lapel of his uniformed collar, and with his hands, now gesturing to the people watching, for Cel was before his own exhibit, and Tristan knew that he had missed.
Pops was still descending the magnetair; he was approaching.
Tristan looked now at the thing that he was holding, a piece of work which was his, but not truly, only created without planning, without thought, without conscious intent. It was a ‘V-bow,’ and while the word applied correctly to what he was holding, regardless, the work he was holding was not correct. It was not the One Body nor the One Fleet nor the Eternal Vessel but something—incomplete. Pops was getting close enough now to see without feeling the thing he had made. Tristan, without letting go of the V-bow, began walking. He began walking, holding it, away from the magnetair and towards the other piece, a real work of art; a real piece of Cel.
He started to shout inside.
Something inside of him, as if there was a door in the lowest floor of a secret castle, that led to the dungeon. Across from that door, there rested another door, bolted from the inside; there was something behind it, pushing against the wood. He pressed against the door and it didn’t budge. He pressed against the door and nothing gave way. He pushed against the door, which seemed to be made of wood; well-constructed and of a dark, solid brown.
“Tristan!”
He turned away from the veil of black. He turned and there was his father. His father was holding one of the other alter darts, and Tristan stumbled. He was perpetually conscious of Cel’s face turned towards him, and he fell.
He reached out his hand, and thought—
He reached out his hand, and thought of preventing himself from hitting the ground; Tristan reached out, and took hold of the V-bow, and landing on it, felt it hit his chest hard and he turned off of it, and hand still outstretched, imagined the alter dart in his father’s hand pulling away from it, and going upwards, without wind—
Tristan reached out, and stopped himself from hitting the ground.
Tristan looked at the alter dart, which was still falling from his father’s hand, and gently swaying from side to side as it descended. He looked to his father. His father was staring at him with the look. Tristan began to scream inside and the door began to thud, thud from within, and somewhere inside, muffled sounds of feeble resistance began to waver, and he turned and tried to leave the dungeon floor, but his legs were stagnant, only his hands he could extend outward, and imagine holding—something—that would—
—That would fly.
Tristan spread his arms and legs as he lay there. His father was looking down at him from where he was standing, and Tristan remained still in his position, both hands empty, and he was not looking at his father. His father was saying something in metal tones, and Tristan knew that he had done it, he had brought out the steel man in a public place and his father’s bob was no longer straight, but tangled over the front of his forehead, and his father’s face was crinkled. And Tristan was no longer staring at his father’s face, but he was looking at the sky. It was an open-air Exhibit, and there were clouds.
Tristan looked at them, and moved his arms and legs up and down.