I LOOK AT THE HOLOGRAM. It is seamless, a ripple in the fabric of the world. I feel as if I can pass my hand through it and into the air of the Lowers, and yet when I pass my hand through it I am still grasping the air of my quarters. I have looked at it from the other side, only to behold the stucco of my wall––a vista of its own.
Through the hologram lies the Fifth Agent, comatose, her chosen weapon nearly unidentifiable beside her. “Mic Drop” indeed, her Lowers reporter guise broken.
My view arrives thanks to the small drone that is at the scene, Sixth Agent Joe’s. Both the Hacker and I have deigned to observe remotely, as he is not one for combat though possibly superior to Hector. Nevertheless, it is his work that enabled me to educate that idealistic Descendant. The Fifth Agent on the other hand had lost, but I am unperturbed, for I am only Third.
Second Agent Mik’vael’s voice is heard: a lilting tenor that bespeaks a grey-eyed epithet. The drone turns to face its source, and I behold the Agent called Athena standing some two feet away from the body. Her lavender hair cascades in due form onto her shoulders, and her brow is furrowed. “She’s still alive,” she says.
“Well, of course,” another voice responds, and the drone swivels once more, taking my view. I see the Eighth Agent N’ziet rik Drie, whom we call the Philosopher, standing there wearing nothing but a set of white, baggy pants that I might don when practicing my footwork in our gymnasium. He is lean, having shaved his entire body, decorating it with a single undulating tattoo of a foreign creature said to hail from the Sector of his ancestors. Its shape is ill-defined, but it is a red bird of sorts.
“If she were dead, that’d mean cause for revenge, and revenge is futile,” he continues. “But then again, ‘living’ as a subordinate has never been my strongest suit.” He has always been articulate. Certainly more well-spoken than my subordinate.
“It certainly wasn’t Sara’s, either,” Mik’vael replied. “Her going ahead of us was what led to this.” The drone moves back a bit to encompass Mik’vael, N’ziet, and Sara, as well as the Seventh Agent, 1123.
While the others’ names are their own, “1123” is a mere identifier they have taken for themselves, one final addition to their professional outfitting which has been tinkered with to resemble pre-WWIV androids––that is, no discernible change at all. We call them “Humanoid” instead, an epithet created by the Philosopher. They do not speak in this convenience of Agents, as they never do; admirable, although making poetry recitation impossible.
I deign to input my thoughts on the matter.
“She will be healed,” I say. “That is an easy matter.”
“Which is why we’re fortunate they didn’t kill her,” Mik’vael replies. “Either they’re merciful like you, R’aegoth, or they just didn’t care enough. What good does it do them to leave us alive, without even capturing us?”
N’ziet kneels before Sara. “Whoever it was, looks like a Descendant dragon or wizard. One of the stronger ones.”
1123 nods. Hacker’s voice from the drone says, “Even by the Furies’ standards, fire manipulation of this caliber is extraordinary. Therefore––”
“Ergo, she faced one of their upper echelon.” I wonder about their strength, compared to the Descendants I last faced. I hope they are not representative of their upper ranks.
“Who is the strongest Fury we’ve faced?” Mik’vael asks Joe, facing us.
An apt question, Second Agent. I have been pondering the same myself.
“Let’s see… in the seventy-two years of the Agency, the most significant threat was the ‘Immortality Incident’ of 2190, in which a Descendant of unknown Magycal Gene singlehandedly overran Headquarters and resisted all of the Agents who were set against him. He was seemingly impervious to all attacks, including the High-grade power we reserve for––”
“Yes, we all know about that. It was before our generation and wasn’t even a Fury, and something of that scale shouldn’t be expected or taken into account in our operations. Next?”
“For the current Agent roster, it was the Descendant wizard Valha’ya Glorae, currently active. Gave First Agent some trouble, and we weren’t able to secure her.”
Mik’vael nods, thinking. By this evaluation, this Valha’ya––whose name is intriguing, as it indicates high socioeconomic birth––is close to First Agent on the pyramid. As I have said before, my only tangible ideation of his strength is his ranking. While I have heard tell of Mik’vael’s exploits, Xeric is laconic, and has refrained from sharing how he triumphs over Descendants time and time again––merely bringing them into Headquarters. I conclude that Valha’ya must be within my own capabilities, and anticipate the day we meet on the battlefield.
“In other words, if their fire-user is stronger than Valha’ya, then they present a sizeable threat,” N’ziet provides, standing. “Of course, we have yet to see their leader.”
“I look forward to the day I meet them,” I say, and the Philosopher gives what appears to be a smile. “But then again, we already worked along those assumptions, and the addition of one strength from their side is little different than it would be coming from our side," he says.
Mik’vael frowns.
“For example, I have yet to face a Fury. That is but one unknown threat from us to them.” He stretches his arms until they audibly crack. “And provided how much they underestimate pure human beings, that comes to our advantage.”
I nod, and the frown departs Mik’vael.
“That does encourage us,” she responds. “Now that we’ve settled that, we need to get Sara to the nearest hospital here. After we’ve made sure she’ll be fine, we’ll head after the Furies. They can’t be too far from here. Can someone carry her?”
“I’ll do it,” I say.
Mik’vael laughs, and N’ziet shakes his head. “You’re not here physically, R’aegoth. I’ll appreciate the exercise.” He bends down again, pockets the microphone, and lifts the still unconscious Sara onto his shoulder. “Where to, Athena?”
1123 points to me––I did not need the calisthenics regardless––and Joe’s drone moves to hover directly alongside N’ziet, who walks along an aisle of what appears to be an amphitheater of sorts. Mik’vael says, “Havens Hospital. It’s about eight kilometers away, I’ll call a vehicle.” 1123 follows in her wake, and I realize that Hector is standing behind me, in my room, and not in the theater.
“I was wondering where you were! Scouting the enemy?”
I do not turn my gaze from the hubbub of Lowers streets. It is strangely comforting. “The Fifth Agent’s been incapacitated,” I respond. “They’re taking her to a medical facility.”
Hector chuckles. “If I was there, I’d have knocked out that Fury easily! I told you, we should’ve tagged along. Why can’t I go, if Agents Sixth through Eighth are there? I mean, I’m Fourth.”
“Hector, you put too much faith in these rankings.” The Second Agent is using her phone, a purely Lowers device, but essential given the prohibition of receptors there, to call the vehicle. Although why they are not utilizing 1123 is a question I may ask. The Eighth Agent is now doing squats, still holding Fifth. “But I will train with you this morn. Joe, you can close the feed.” I am sure Mik’vael has her reasons. The hologram winks out, suddenly closing the square gap of space and returning the vision of my room to normalcy. I rise and nod to Hector.
“Let’s see your Whirlwind Fury technique, Hector.”
He grins as we leave my quarters. “I won’t disappoint you, R’aegoth!”
Jaceus maintained his sight on the Scion as he closed the distance between them. Seeing her look back quickly before leaving through not doors of brightwood but the exit opening of the Exhibit, he allowed himself to walk faster, closer to his true pace, ignoring the looks from those around him.
He reached the exit in three seconds and the open air beyond the Exhibit. The sun’s light, which had previously been precluded by clouds, was now sharper, more clear. Jaceus took in his surroundings in an instant––there. She was walking rapidly towards one of the tall, not quite transparent towers that were called portals, which he knew would take her away from him in a moment. He began running.
The air coursed past his ears as he caught up to the Scion and took hold of her arm, bringing her to a stop. Jaceus glanced around to confirm they were alone in the spectrum of three meters. She turned around.
He’d seen it before, but upon closer examination the manner in which her cerulean hair cupped her face, complementing eyes of an even brighter blue, was quite striking. He’d always noticed, but it was still interesting to him how both his people back home and the people here chose their hair color; from his research, though, it was a fairly recent advancement on Earth, body-maintenance prescriptions and Alterfaces.
Her face held a rough medley of fear, confusion, and a strong yearning.
He smiled and let go.
“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to do that!” The––the god, or whatever he was, he was just too perfect this close, even body maintenance-prescriptions couldn’t do that––as he smiled––somewhere, she felt a cage shattering––and all thought of leaving, she couldn’t explain why, but a vision of her house, running to the door and its opening to a pair of happy people that she couldn’t identify––not to mention that the same urge she had felt at the Exhibition was screaming at her––
“I’m Jaceus, and your name is… ?” he asked her. She didn’t try to turn her eyes away but the more she looked, the more she felt like––she couldn’t place it––a bird from a V-world meeting a real bird.
“I’m uh, ha ha, Skylark.”
“Skylark. That’s a pleasing name.”
“Thank you!” she managed to reply without speaking over herself.
“Well it’s good to meet you Skylark. I have something I need to talk to you about––it’s important. Is there someplace we can go where no one will disturb us?”
Skylark, at that moment, blanked out.
Today’s Exhibit was a success, Tristan decided. Pops had been satisfied with his work, and he had been able to explain the One Body. He’d had people come by, too. He still had two hours left to continue that success. If the sky had been clear, then it would’ve been just right. But he couldn’t change the weather.
An Exhibitist was walking over to his stand. He was going to receive an award. Tristan stood straighter; he was already standing as straight as he can.
“Sir, was that your piece floating?” the Exhibitist asked him, and he nodded eagerly.
“Yes, it was!”
“And was that a registered feature of your piece?”
He shook his head.
The Exhibitist frowned. “Sir, that is a violation of GAT regulation 1 for professional display of work. Techist pieces cannot deviate from their registered features.”
Tristan realized that he’d forgotten that. But something struck him. “It was not me, it was––” he looked around the Exhibit, but she was nowhere to be seen––“it was a girl, with blue hair. She made the piece float.”
The Exhibitist shook his head. “That is not a technology available to us, sir. But can you direct me to this person?”
Tristan pointed in a general direction away from them. She had been running away; she was leaving. He moved his finger to point to the nearest entryway.
“I’ll take you to her,” he said, and the Exhibitist nodded.
It wouldn’t work, he realized, being this close to her, sounding like an Arc being goaded into speaking with a Nam or Crea after Orientem. He then remembered that, the scarce other meetings he’d had with Scions, they’d react in a particularly strong manner––and not due to his appearance––which made sense. A human with a minute thread of the Gene coming face to face with another composed entirely of that material was akin to one of the replica android mannequins they’d study in Technologies coming to life and meeting its eager examiners only to reel back in shock at the difference. He would never forget his first encounter with a human.
Jaceus took a step back from Skylark. It pained him to do this, but this close––
“Sorry––” He laid a hand on the badge of his uniform, the same as hers, William Restor’s sigil of a V-book in silver––“I also go to Restor. I’m fairly new in the district and just wanted to say hello. Didn’t mean to shock you.” He wasn’t new, but he hadn’t seen Skylark before.
Her mouth opened with surprise, and she hesitantly smiled. “Oh, don’t mind me, I just––I don’t hang out with my classmates too much, besides Falara, Falara Miyander.”
Stolen story; please report.
“Oh! I met her earlier, we were both at the alter dart piece. It was really good––and the techist, Tristan Mott, actually goes to Restor. Were you able to see it?” He looked at her intently, for a show of––
––recognition, which her eyes evinced. She hid it quickly, but he caught it.
“Tristan? I don’t think so.”
Jaceus realized suddenly that the boy would’ve noticed. Of course. No matter how firmly he held to his core beliefs in the technological coherence of his world, seeing the clear use of magic would surely have given him doubt. Jaceus himself occasionally doubted the difference in seeing the capabilities of technology and remembering the powers of magic.
But the doubt would be forgotten, as it ever was. Jaceus shook his head. Skylark had the right to know. “Skylark, I am––” Quick steps approaching. He turned to see Tristan himself, accompanied by one from the Exhibit’s protection system, walking towards them. The boy’s eyes also showed recognition and he was pointing at Skylark while saying something.
Jaceus saw that Skylark was turning rapidly and towards the portal––in that moment, he knew what he had to do––no one was within their immediate vicinity––he laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her––and looked directly into the Exhibitist’s eyes. “Leave us,” he said, endowing his words with his will. The human’s eyes reflected a deep, impenetrable shock before slacking and then they nodded, turned, and walked away. The boy Tristan looked like a sentient beast at the moment of possession by an Ab’maluk. Jaceus beckoned to him with his other hand. “Come with me, Tristan,” he said. The boy followed obediently, and they walked towards the portal together.
Tristan liked going by portal, keeping his eyes open during the transfer even though it was practically instantaneous. Whenever Pops would take him to conferences, he always liked to admire the construction and design of Netbank portals during the meetings. He’d go by portal between home and banking site, banking site and home, keep his eyes open, and try to see the hyperspace through which the billions upon billions of human atoms would travel.
But this time he was with the model student of Restor who had talked with his father, and a girl who seemed familiar, especially her bright blue eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him. She pointed to a small house, the first along the row of houses allocated by the portal. “That’s my place,” she said, and the student whom his father must have sent smiled. “A fine abode,” he agreed, and followed her up the sidewalk. Tristan thought it was much smaller than his father’s house, but walked after Mr. Jaceus, as they climbed the path that moved up onto a low hill lined with small stones.
After the girl Thought to access her house system, she opened the front door, entered, and hesitated. Tristan wondered why his meeting with Mr. Jaceus was taking place in this part of the district.
“Um... my parents aren’t home right now, so you came at a good time,” she told Mr. Jaceus, who nodded. “Perfect. With your permission... ?” he asked, and she smiled nervously, as if she hadn’t met him before. “Yes,” she replied, and Mr. Jaceus turned to Tristan. “You too, young techist,” he said, and Tristan beamed. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said.
The absence of both her parents was unusual, but Jaceus did not question it. It was common practice for the youths of this world to spend most of their time separated from their parents, who often lived in their far more decadent places of occupation.
Jaceus immediately noticed that the interior resembled a bird’s nest––the house-elevator tube in the center ringed by a railing or fence on the perimeter of the foyer, with each of the spokes delineated against the wood background returning to the center in concentric lines. Two sets of doors lay to the right and left, and the tube would lead to the floors above and below.
“Lead the way, Skylark,” he told her. “Quite the design, if I may say so myself.”
She smiled back slowly, laying a hand on the fence. “My parents were birdwatchers when we were in the Lowers and they really liked birds so they named me Skylark and had it built this way.”
Jaceus was aware that, while birds no longer populated most of the Sector, the lowest levgion still had some; he told himself, as he had many times before, that he still had to see the birds for himself.
Skylark pointed above her. “My room’s upstairs, but we can talk in the living room.” She pulled the right door open, revealing a small, comfortable area with some sofas and potted plants, bioterra of course and completely foreign to what he was used to. Jaceus entered, followed by Tristan who’d been staring in front of him fixedly; likely preparing himself for whatever he imagined himself to be called here for.
They sat down, Skylark choosing a chair of a mixed blue-purple that contrasted with her eyes; Jaceus a low green one without a back; Tristan remained standing, still staring fixedly.
Jaceus faced him directly. “Why don’t you sit down, Tristan,” he said, gesturing towards a rigid, high-backed chair. Tristan sat. “I’ve spoken with your father. He’s a very good techist.” The boy sat up straighter. He then turned to Skylark. “Forgive my intrusion, Skylark, and for arranging this unexpected meeting––but I noticed what you did at the Exhibit.” He looked at them both. “Tristan noticed as well, but he may have already forgotten. There are forces in place that seem to erase such incidents from the minds of those who aren’t Scions.”
Skylark looked like she wanted to say something and Tristan’s face showed confusion––all rather expected––so he continued. “Skylark, you are a descendant of one of seven original races that resided here on Earth and that are here no longer––if I had to guess, you are Scion Emulus or Magy’cal.”
There. He told them.
Skylark gasped. “Magy’cal,” she answered. “I’ve always just known that. I don’t know what Emulus is.”
“I understand,” Jaceus said. So far, this was proceeding as it usually did. Every Scion he found whom he talked to––every one––knew which race they were descended from––“And do you know what Magy’cal is?”
“No, I don’t,” Skylark answered. She’d always wondered, of course, but other than the awareness of her being a Scion Magy’cal, she even knew how the name was pronounced. She didn’t know what it meant, and it had been the same for Alauda. She’d realized she could make things, only small objects at first, move when she was around five; and Alauda had already been doing it.
She just knew she was descended somehow from Magy’cal; and for some reason, she’d never questioned it. Alauda had been the same and he’d been the only other Scion she knew, until they’d taken him away. And brought him back different.
She’d known all this time that she was born with magic.
“I am an Emulus,” Jaceus said.
So he was a Scion too. Of course! And a different kind than she was.
“There are seven races Scions can be descended from,” Jaceus said. “And I am not a Scion like you; I am an actual Emulus. There are eight races in all, seven that used to be on Earth but are here no longer. Tristan, what do you know about the Black Death?” he asked the young techist.
An actual Emulus? So––wait, why was he asking the techist about something? Skylark wanted to ask about the other races––because while she knew Earth used to have those, there weren’t any now. Maybe she should have paid more attention in Modern History… but, instinctively, she knew, Tristan couldn’t be a Scion too. But then why had Jaceus brought him along?
The techist was still sitting very straight, like he was trying not to fall off. They didn’t have those kind of chairs at school here in Might. “Yes, Mr. Jaceus, one of the most widespread epidemics in human history, from the 14th century and over 100 million people lost their lives. Of all major death-events, the third largest, after World War III and AIV, which had four and two billion, respectively.”
Just like he had his V-locker right there in front of him, reading from the V-book, or more likely from his Thoughtnotes. He was busy doing techist stuff, right? He knew it better than she did… if she remembered right, the world currently had between 2 and 3 billion people… while there hadn’t been a major death-event since AIV, that was a lot. A lot of people had died.
So if Emulus and Magy’cal were two different races, there were six others?
“That’s right, Tristan. Or, at least that’s how your government has recorded it. We all use the same V-books for history.” Jaceus adjusted his sitting position, such that he was facing them both equally. “For both of you now––what do you know of dragons? Or elves, dwarves, unicorns, other fantastical creatures.”
Now those names she knew. Some V-worlds had them. “They’re not real,” Skylark said.
But then she made the connection, and she looked around her room, at Jaceus and Tristan seated there, at the various V-photos and still photos of Alauda and their parents, all the plants… it couldn’t be.
“Wait, they were real! All of them!” she exclaimed. She almost left her seat––her feet felt like they had to leave the floor, and her chair like a floafa beginning to rise––“And, the Black Death––” She gasped again.
She almost couldn’t keep herself from jumping; but Jaceus was smiling.
“Not really,” he said. “Of course, after I came to your world, I looked through what your references and current culture has to say on those races. No, not all of them were real. But seven of them were. Where I’m from, those seven are still a part of the world.” His voice was rising. “So, as the Black Death and what it did to the races is taught in H’trae, I discerned which of your fantastical races correspond to the original seven that with the eighth populated Earth since the dawn of things.”
Whoa.
The room now had a very clear, shallow tint to it. It felt like something was in the air. It felt like she was in a V-movie.
“That’s not true, Mr. Jaceus.” Tristan again.
“Yes, Tristan. I know it’s difficult to believe. But I will show you. Skylark, do you have something I can write on?” Jaceus asked her, and she immediately went to her Thought-feed but of course his name wasn’t there.
“I can just link you to the house,” she said, but he shook his head. “The government can’t know about this conversation. Do you have paper and pencil?” he asked.
She got up halfway out of her seat––and almost sat back down. But what if––no, it wouldn’t be like Alauda, Jaceus was different. He wasn’t a Scion, he was the real thing, and that realization calmed her like the feeling she got whenever she came home from school and took the stairs up to her room and resumed her practicing. It was only her. Only her and her magic.
Skylark reached into a drawer of a nearby desk––she was glad she still had a lot of things from back when they’d lived in Lowers. She took out a faded notebook and rummaged around for a few pencils, which she handed to Jaceus. He began writing words on them.
“Mr. Jaceus, if dragons and elves existed, there’d be evidence. We have, for example, evidence of the dinosaurs, which did not have their own civilization, contained entirely to fossils, which of course were all found by the 22nd century. But you’re talking about civilized races, which would have to mean Netblocs’ worth of cultural residue.”
Jaceus was still writing. “In your culture, while dragons and elves often had civilization as or more advanced than those of the humans’, many races did not. I’m surprised you made that inference,” he said, as he finished writing, and put back the desk. She hadn’t even noticed he’d moved it. “It didn’t return underground as it did for the dinosaurs. Yes, the other races had their history, their culture and empires and all of it was attributed to the human race. Here,” he noted, taking the desk back to push in the center, and placing the paper on it.
Skylark swiveled it around to face her. It was two lists of names.
“The dragons had an empire?” Tristan was asking, but Skylark moved her eyes quickly down the rows.
HUMAN | CELBRIAN
LIGHTWIELDER | LIGAERYAEN
THOUGHTLESS | AB’MALUK
UNDIER | ZARR
PHOENIX | INMORTALIS
DRAGON | ELEMENT’R
ELF | EMULUS
WIZARD | MAGY’CAL
She saw wizard next to Magy’cal.
“So I’m Scion wizard?” she said. She’d once played a V-world with Falara, where they’d waved staffs around and wore these really heavy cloaks, and fought off hordes of undiers and had to ally themselves with the lightwielder clans, but all of it was real? All she could do was make her V-book float a half meter.
“The row on the left are the names you know them by. The names on the right are how they called themselves, back when they all resided here on Earth, together. We don’t know how it happened, but the Black Death only targeted the seven races with magic, leaving the Celibra behind––the human race.
“So, Skylark, yes––you are descended from the race of Magy’cal.”
Skylark smiled to herself. I am descended from wizards. The thought satisfied her.
“So Jaceus––you’re––you’re an Elf?” she said, and it all made sense, why he was perfect. Elves were always perfect. Even more than anyone with body-maintenance prescriptions.
“Emulus, yes, and I was born not here but in H’trae, the Other World where the seven other races still live. Descended from those who managed to survive back then, from the 14th century. All of us in H’trae know. It is taught in our histories, and the things we have accomplished with magic are––“ And it was like a light was filling the room, emanating from his eyes, a nearly green tint––“and your governments have erased all record of us here. That, Tristan––”
Jaceus put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“That is why you find it hard to believe.” Tristan did look skeptical. Skylark wanted to laugh, and jump up, point at the plants and make them grow but of course she couldn’t do that.
“And this is why, Skylark, I am so, so glad to meet you, a Scion and thus a living remnant of the world we used to share,” Jaceus told her. He didn’t put a hand on her shoulder. But he was smiling at her, and while his eyes looked even less familiar and more marvelous, she knew she was blushing.
“But Mr. Jaceus, if she is descended from wizards, who weren’t a race in most depictions but an occupation, isn’t she also still human?” Tristan asked.
“She is human,” Jaceus replied. “However, her possession of some degree of levitation shows her Magy’cal inheritance.” Skylark nodded. Hearing him say it like that made it real. She could make things float, even if it was straight upwards… a sense of warmth now pervaded her.
“But how did she acquire this trait? Now, this is not to say that I am convinced, but of the original races, some must have survived, remained here, and somehow––somehow, you know, became partnered with human beings and spread their genes down. That’s the only way Scions can exist. Furthermore, say that occurred. Given the myriad generations between then and now, how can any such descendant even manifest a trait? Its presence would be infinitesimally small.”
Skylark wished he could just stop talking. He was bringing her back down to earth.
“That’s true, Tristan. But it happened, and Scions exist. And they have traits. It just shows how potent the magical line is,” Jaceus said.
“Why is this relevant to me?” Tristan asked. “And can you even prove what you say?”
Jaceus turned to him. “I can very well show you my magic, but you will forget. You’ll have to believe me, Tristan. I am telling you because you’ve witnessed Skylark’s magic yourself.”
He would forget. Now it made sense that he didn’t remember her.
A small thought rose in Skylark’s mind, then, something to do with the government, but she put it down as Tristan rose from his chair.
“Magic isn’t real,” the techist said, shaking his head. “I have to return to the Exhibition.”
Jaceus sighed, very audibly. “You are free to leave.”
Tristan nodded, and walked out of the room.
Jaceus seemed to stare after him for a bit; but he turned back to Skylark, who struggled to put some words together.
“Thank you! For telling me. All this––so there are more Scions?”
“Yes, there are.”
She couldn’t believe it. That meant––“You’ve met some?” She held her breath.
Jaceus smiled back at her. “Yes, I have. There are one or two I have in my receptor’s list of people I know.”
“Thought-feed,” Skylark said immediately.
“Yes, thought-feed,” he answered. “Well, you know my name, and we’ve met. I grant you permission to send me thoughts.”
She opened her Thought-feed again, to the same spot; and there it was.
Jaceus.
He stood, extending his hand. She took it; it was firm, and she imagined magic coursing through it; through his entire being. She couldn’t imagine what Jaceus could do.
As she walked with him to the entrance, she saw some missed TM’s next to Falara.
END OF ACT I