“Say what you will of leaders and followers. But human beings were not supposed to be either. An imperfect authority is just as likely to be as a disobedient subordinate. It is not in our nature to bow our heads, or to stand above others.”
– Render
The alter darts were still, perhaps trembling under the gaze of the lone haloamp above on the ceiling. Light did not move them, let alone reflect into Tristan’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to look but knew he had to, to restore the One Body to Pops’ vision. No, the One Fleet.
Tristan sighed and sat down on the floor next to the body. “A single group that will soar the skies,” he murmured, disarming the alarm on his receptor as he’d already memorized Pops’ words while staring at the techist piece he had thrown to the ground after returning with it from the Exhibition yesterday. Because of the man who hadn’t been working for his father he’d been distracted, led away from his booth, violating GAT regulations for a work left unsupervised. He’d lost to the Rin family with their robots. They were also suspended but thought that the greater viscosity of charged liquid alter glass was superior to the more uncertain suspension of open air which, yes, didn’t allow for as much Brownian motion but the model robots (which weren’t real) weren’t free. As Pops had said, planes yearned to fly, and it was their precise inability or restriction from doing so that made his idea so unique. Tristan cherished it.
Gazing at the flightless alter darts, not laid out in any pattern, Tristan let his eyes wander his room. Equations, theorems, and proofs covered the walls and to the corners emitting three lines in non-right angles. He’d designed it that way, after all. He smiled as he took time again to examine the wall-shelves, one directly adjoining the bathroom and the other surrounding his bed. Hologram trophies lined the area of the wall-shelf next to his pillow, a smiling techist in each of them. He liked how they didn’t fill up all of the wall-shelves, especially the one next to the bathroom, kept clear for the One Body. Pops wanted winning pieces to be on that shelf, but Tristan kept his first places in his working alcove––a snug room of its own adjacent to the door––neatly on his desk. Four of them, size-reduced as Upload portation was only available in High and Plent. Tristan wondered if Upload could sustain plants, as he had eight on a table across from his bed and size-reduction didn’t work on living organisms.
Well, back to the One Fleet. He had to think. How to incorporate Pops’ instructions. The ten alter darts, unconnected; wind strings and clips. He had to give them reason and purpose. He had to give them flight. They couldn’t fly now, and they hadn’t been flying or even floating at the Exhibit. They couldn’t fly either way.
Tristan’s eyes flitted to the closed door of his workspace, the one that contained his first places. He pretended for a moment that he was looking through the door, at the small bookshelf he kept for non-techist reading. His carefully worn copy of The Phenomenology of Spirit and the still-pristine Defined Principles, borrowed from the library’s physical section at Restor. “Occam’s Razor,” he said aloud, looking again at the clips and wind strings. No inertia. Inertia was both constant movement and stillness. Lack of rule, yet controlled. Without flight, there was no rule, no control. They’d be free to ponder the real planes, not the ones used in the past but the birds whose movements inspired scientists since Aristotle.
Satisfied, Tristan reached over for the first clip and wind string. First, but not really first, as the planes were of the same squadron and would have no commanding pilot, no V-shaped formation. The alter dart’s paper hull accepted the clip, which Tristan via wind string linked to the second he touched. It came about then to do the same for the next alter dart. The next seven followed in due sequence, linear for they were equidistant. He held on to the last alter dart as he got up onto his feet to gain a better view of the second iteration of the One Body.
Nine alter darts lay in a single line. It could signify a true fleet without a commanding vessel, which would be the one sitting on his palm. Or, linked as they were by the wind strings, eight of the same, constant piecewise function that without a Cartesian plane referred to an unknown number. But he knew it was positive.
To describe a positive delta, he would lay the tenth alter dart some distance above the fifth of the fleet. So even if all ten were docked below the x-axis, the commanding ship––which was not connected to the rest by wind strings––was placed above such that the others had to look up to him. Untethered to any point on the grid, he would order the others from a vantage point of freedom.
Tristan placed the last alter dart down onto the floor.
Pops would be satisfied this time.
1. Describe the origins and resolution of the fourth world war.
Skylark scratched her head. This was chapter three of the V-book, after the one about WWIII and stock markets combining. Fourth world war… well, everyone knew that robots, true robots, not like the ones at the Exhibit but real ones that had the freedom to do as they liked, weren’t around anymore because of WWIV. Or AIV as it was called sometimes.
Origins… it had something to do with the robots wanting their own country, right? After people’s robot servants and caretakers started to strike, form unions, years to get them integrated into society as citizens. WWIII was before 2100. Dates were always hard to remember, but she could gauge, and as the robots came after WWIII and lived in society for a while, that’d make WWIV around 2150? WWIV started in the mid-22nd century, she Thought, seeing her answer appear across the page below the question in the Restor font. She Thought next to move on.
2. “New World Reconstruction” is which period in the modern era? (Hint: Sectors.)
Skylark knew that the five Sectors weren’t around for all of the modern era, as her V-book said 1922 to the Present. 1922 was ancient. It said Reconstruction, but Abur was trying to trick them. She glanced up from the V-book; Mr. Abur was lying back on his chair behind his desk, a V-book open on his face, chest rising and falling. She had an urge right then and there to lift the V-book off, but quelled it as she knew Abur liked to pretend to sleep during tests. Falara had fallen for the trick before.
So Construction was the real word. The Sectors were made after WWIV. She quickly changed her answer for #1. Thinking, she reworded it for #2: “New World Reconstruction” refers to the time of rebuilding after the fourth world war. Instead of countries, five Sectors became the new centers of civilization. There, that would impress him. Next.
3. The Worldnet is used by the entire planet. True or false, and why.
Ah, Falara would know this one. Skylark almost TM'd her but remembered that they were all in the Restor test-feed, so any TMs would be noticed. Um… Well, everyone in each Sector used it, except for the Lowers. They used something called “Internet.” False – the Worldnet is available to all in Might, Plent, and High in each Sector, but not Lowers. 3 for 3 so far. She looked out of the corner of her eye at Falara, who sat next to the window. Her friend was nodding off, her bright red bangs swaying. Skylark snorted. OK, OK, next question.
4. When were the Agencies of the Sector governments founded, and by whom?
She groaned inwardly. Everybody loved the Agencies, or rather, the Agents who all had personalized weapons and got recognized for their public service. She didn’t care much, as the way she saw it Agents were just highly trained mascots. Sure, they were selected from a testing process more rigorous than that of the best universities, but could they levitate objects? She’d skipped over this part in the V-book.
Thinking about her trait reminded her of Jaceus from yesterday, and the offer he had made. She still had to contact him about meeting the other Scions he knew. Someone like me is out there, going to school or work or whatever, with an ability that they also can’t use in public. Falara was her best friend, but she sometimes imagined what it’d be like for her best friend to understand what it felt like, going to classes but wanting to practice her power.
Skylark Thought for the time. 9:30 AM. Still had thirty minutes. #5, then.
She took one last glance at Falara—her friend was still in a half-awake, half-sleeping stage.
As Agate put up the CLOSED sign out front, Lucas looked around the now-crowded bakery. Luckily, the bread stacked in the window served as a cover, for there were now… fourteen people in the room, including himself. And everyone was a Scion.
Well, except for Eleanor’s friend. Probably. He was busy going around, shaking the hands of Kelit and Valha’ya, even Wisteria who was right at the boss’s side as usual.
This time it was the second boss on rotation, a hardwired professional Lucas actually admired. Always came into work in business clothes, today a button-down shirt and khaki pants, both Lowers-made of course. He stood there talking with d’Voris, who at least didn’t look at him with eyes of alter as she did with the lazy one, and Faer.
The acting kid––Tray-This, it sounded like? He never got aristocratic names right, with the exception of d'Voris and Valha'ya––was now trying to butt in, putting a hand on his chest and all that. The CEO shook his head, prompting Tray-This to laugh it off and step away. Good call. Sure, Nodari and Valha’ya were strong, but the bosses were monsters. Even if they almost never participated in combat themselves. But he could tell, he could tell.
As for Valha’ya. Must’ve come in a few minutes ago, but she was already sitting at the table nearest the door like she owned the place. She didn’t, it was owned by Agate’s parents. But with her black tank top, jeans with tears in them, and lack of hair––a choice, and a powerful one when so many people above Lowers chose blue or green or orange and so on––she was, alter––alter something. Sigh… he’d tell a joke, ask her what she thought of his next weapon idea, but she only talked to the boss and Wisteria.
Damn, he needed a smoke, but all the bread would burn.
He saw Cade coming over to him.
“‘Sup, Lucas. Heard the new member is Scion Element’r?” Cade queried, while feeding his bird what looked like breadcrumbs from his hand.
“Yeah… Don’t know about ‘new member’ just yet, but yeah. Nodari gave her some of his flames.”
“Oh––I see.” They both turned to see that d’Voris was introducing Eleanor to the CEO, a hand on her shoulder. Lucas envied that shoulder.
“C’mon, let’s sit down. Within earshot.” Cade beckoned and sat down in a nearby chair, one next to the counter. Lucas followed suit, certain that everyone in the room was listening while pretending to be absorbed in their own conversations. Kelit, with Glid’s bot hovering next to them, was chatting animatedly with Zef but both were clearly keeping the main conversation in their peripheral as they feigned close inspection of one of the shelves of bread.
As Cade started speaking, Lucas knew in the forefront of his mind that he could easily––as long as he was looking at him––see the CEO’s emotional state. But he’d tried before, and… well, it didn’t go so well. “I know right? Agate must know some secret recipes or something,” he said.
“Have you tried her Marshmallow Brioche? It’s sick. I mean, it makes you feel weird. In a good way,” Cade responded. Lucas laughed out loud.
“Uh-huh. Either immunity to fire or the ability to shape its movements.” Lucas missed the CEO’s radio-like monotone. Made the Lazy’s sound like a drunk. “And you are averse to exposing, or at least using, your trait.” Eleanor was nodding. The CEO shook his head. “Well, Malae, I appreciate your concern, but she’s lived in Plent through high school––you said you were in the third year?” Eleanor nodded. “And as she’s done so without actively utilizing her ability, I wouldn’t ask her to join the Furies.”
“We have high school students, boss,” Faer piped up. “Glid, and Wisteria who’s seen more than most of us here.” Wisteria, who always looked like she’d just lost her dog, was typing a dictionary on her phone and didn’t look up. She was basically the CEO’s secretary, after all, and only sixteen. Lucas did not envy that.
Porte was now there, too. He could do that, he might’ve been older than the CEO anyway. Was part of the Furies even before d’Voris joined. “We should ask the girl, should we not?” He was looking at Eleanor kindly. “And your friend here, even if he’s not a Scion.”
“Furies, you say? Seems more like Olympians, as there’s twelve of you.” Tray-This had joined the fray, now somehow wearing Nodari’s hat. Lucas did wonder now why Nodari had come after all, it wasn’t part of the plan, but he wasn’t in the store anymore anyway now that he looked.
The CEO smiled at that. “There are actually thirteen of us, and we cannot use that name. Were the Agents twelve in number, they could use it.” d’Voris was nodding thoughtfully. “What would you say, Eleanor? Would you join our effort in resisting the Government’s purification of Scions?”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Eleanor was shaking her head slightly but when the CEO said purification, she stopped. Oh, here we go, Lucas thought. Scions usually stuck to their lives, using their traits however they would, not that he’d met many outside the Furies, but who would join a rebel group anyway? But, once they heard about what was happening to Scions around the Sector, they’d pause. Lucas remembered well his own hesitation, back when he first met the third boss. And his disappointment when the third boss––the best one, in his opinion––turned out to be on rotation with two others.
“Purification?” Eleanor asked.
“That’s right. To put it bluntly––” Even Glid’s bot was now facing the group, and everyone had stopped talking––“the Government has means to remove your traits permanently, which both they and we refer to as purification. An ironic term, but no less true.”
Eleanor was silent for a second. “What happens to you afterwards?” she asked.
“Just that, Eleanor,” d’Voris said. “Your memories will be intact, all the times you’ve used your trait. You just won’t have it anymore.” d’Voris’ voice sounded a bit strange. “I understand.” Eleanor’s voice was firm. Trying to appear like she didn’t worry. “I’d like that, actually. I don’t mean to offend any of you––but my trait has only been––been inconvenient for me.”
Lucas couldn’t believe it. She must be acting, like her weird friend.
“Thank you for the offer. But Tr’aedis isn’t a Scion, and I’d like to return to Plent.”
“That’s understandable. You are free to go––as long as Tr’aedis here and you do not reveal to anyone what occurred today, and who you met.”
Eleanor nodded, and looked to her friend. “Let’s go, Tr’aedis. I’ve had my fun.”
No. No, that was not how it was supposed to go. Scions were special and extraordinary. He could only read others’ emotions. But she was immune to fire! That was… that was arguably better than d’Voris’s trait.
Tray-this was nodding, and making a ridiculous bow. “I hope to see you all again,” he said, Nodari’s hat nearly brushing the floor.
Lucas got up, dragging his chair along the floor so that it shrieked. “No,” he started out saying. He shook his head emphatically. He was seeing a future where Eleanor and Kelit fought as a pair, that’d be perfect. He’d have to convince Kelit, but they were used to their hair being burnt. Eleanor was clearly lying to herself. He wasn’t reading her, but he could tell.
“You’re bluffing. You want to join us but you’ve grown too comfortable up in Plent to see what it’s like out there for us Scions. Are you a Scion, or not?”
“COCK-A-DOODLE-DO!!!” rang the clock, and as Skylark hurriedly dropped her V-book the clock sprouted stiff, silver legs and proceeded to hop off Abur’s desk––he was awake, rubbing his eyes––and around the front of the room. “Gawk! Gawk!” it screamed as it went. Her classmates who had still been finishing up mostly didn’t react, as it wasn’t that loud and every test had a clock of a different extinct animal. A few laughed, including Falara, who of course took interest in anything remotely technological.
Oh, she was awake. Skylark got up and moved with the others who’d needed the whole time to do the test to the front, where she placed hers into Abur’s V-locker. Skylark then returned to her desk to pack up and head to Technologies with Falara, her favorite class, not Skylark’s favorite class.
Sigh… the first three questions were easy, but Abur of course had done it the long way and made the next seventeen successively harder. How was she to know the names of at least ten current Agents, that wasn’t even world history, more a bonus about-me-what-I-like question for Mr. Abur but it actually counted. Name at least ten Agents who protect us from terrorists such as the Furies. (For points) She didn’t care?
Falara came up to her, smiling as if she hadn’t just slept through most of the test. “Skylark! Did your studying pay off?”
Skylark smiled right back at her. “Altered it, Falara. Got around Abur this time.”
Her friend nodded seriously. “History includes old technology anyway.”
Skylark laughed, deciding this time to extend the joke––she’d tell Falara during lunch. As they left the classroom, Restor’s raider team swept by, five of the best-looking students in school, or just the five students with the most expensive body-maintenance prescriptions. Skylark was fine with her light-and-dark blue hair, and didn't have to look perfect anywhere else. The team was wearing their game uniforms, complete with white rackets of alter wood strapped to their backpacks. They could’ve been using their V-lockers. Skylark didn’t envy them at all.
“They’re so cool, aren’t they,” Falara said from beside her, and Skylark nodded out of courtesy. From what she understood of the sport, the five raiders would hit a ball made of alter plastic between each other as they ran around a circular field. Unlike Lowers sports, there wasn’t any place to put the ball in––only that a certain number of “passes” had to be made between players on the same team. The other raider team, of course, would try to intercept passes and then make their own. A silly sport, if you asked her, with little objective. Skylark didn’t stop to wonder about what high school raiders would even do professionally.
She was glad that this wasn’t one of those mainstream young adult novels like Din Dat Bin where the apparent hero would be accosted by the most alter, popular kids every day after one of her classes. Because if it was, the captain of the raider team––their fastest runner, named Shelley––would lead the jokes. And from what she’d heard, even if the captain was just as incredibly alter as the rest of them, his jokes were terrible and always involved dead Alterfaces in ancient deserts.
As it were, the raiders moved past and down the hallway to wherever they were going, probably practice, all their schedules accommodated practice during the day. The Technologies room was just two classrooms down from World History and as Skylark followed Falara into the bowl-shaped classroom, her thoughts returned to Jaceus and his Scion connection. Luckily Ms. Darth believed that learning was primarily self-driven, and thus most Tech classes proceeded with hands-on interaction with whichever cool new toys she had brought in for them. This meant that Skylark could watch Falara do her thing as usual and think about how to contact Jaceus during.
The sides of the bowl rose all around, rows of seats matched by small stands for the technology pieces––kind of like the Exhibit, much smaller of course, there being just five rows and the ceiling only some ten meters above. Some students who had arrived early were already inspecting the pieces in clusters, and Ms. Darth herself was sitting on her “floating chair” up front, on the center floor of the bowl.
It wasn’t actually floating, it was just hung from wind strings which were nearly transparent. But Ms. Darth loved talking about other Sectors’ technology, particularly Sector II’s, which was what the chair was supposed to imitate. Skylark followed Falara up to the fourth row, where they set their backpacks down and her friend immediately sat next to their stand, which just had a see-through sort of dome on it. Also like the Exhibit, but there was nothing in it. The image of the young techist Tristan’s piece floating appeared in her mind.
Smiling, she took her seat and looked at whatever this stand was supposed to have, but her thoughts went to her ability.
Twice now she had used it successfully in a public space. Well, the first wasn’t that public, but it had been on an energy-field with no one around except for the young techist. Practicing at home was safe, but not free, and finding actual human-created objects to float rather than leaves was so liberating… And then she’d done it again, at the Exhibit, with the same boy and the same planes. She should not have done that… but they’d forget, Jaceus said they all forgot. He didn’t, though, as he was a real Elf, or “Emulus.” When he’d just told her about it in her house, she just went along, but he was an elf. She was descended from wizards, but he was the real thing.
“So it’s not Upload, not quite, but an imitation. See here.” Ms. Darth had come up to their row and was talking with Falara. “Upload typically is outfitted into a house system, accessed by its authorized residents' Thoughts. These utilize both the house system's private Worldnet network and air portals to summon a copy of the original object, usually furniture, that was encoded into the system." Falara nodded eagerly, probably scurrying along on her Thoughtnote. “Here the dome is a model of the house system. And its login credentials," touching her hand to the dome, upon which some text appeared on its surface. “Think into it as if it's your home, and access the system."
All she could do right now was make light objects float a bit. Back outside of the Exhibit, Jaceus had said something to the Exhibitist that had made him turn around and walk away. At home he had said he could show even more of his magic. She had finally succeeded in floating a noticeable distance, but that couldn’t be the extent of her trait. Skylark just knew, somehow, that she could go higher.
Skylark, you paying attention? I’m Uploading! Skylark switched her attention from the empty chair at the front of the room back to the dome. Falara was pointing excitedly at it, within which now flickered a textbook. Not the real thing, Falara, Skylark Thought. Jaceus was, she knew, someone she could use her power in front of. Maybe also the other Scions he mentioned. She wanted to meet them. How else could she talk to Jaceus… ?
“I also go to Restor.”
How did she forget that? He was also at Restor, probably in class right now, in the same building as her. She could find him at lunch!
Her breath caught.
Come to think of it, Falara wasn’t having trouble for once! Skylark moved closer and noted the little book blinking out of existence, before being replaced by a mini floafa, a portal, a desk.
Eleanor didn’t like how the light was partially blocked by the packaged bread in the store window. More illumination would be nice.
The Scion Lucas was staring at her after having posed his question, standing with his arms on his hips as Tr’aedis might do. Are you a Scion, or not? How long had she known?
Before she had unwittingly caused Mr. Tupil’s injury, which he’d since refused to have repaired normally for her sake? Before she’d look at fairy tale V-books with Mother, tracing her finger along the raised hologram scales of dragons. Before she had first come to see light coming in through the house's skylights, as Mr. Tupil would carry her high… reaching up, grasping at intangible rays. She’d known even then, she knew, she’d always known, that she could touch their source and only be caressed.
In that regard, coming to the Lowers had been both enlightening and dim-witted. As much as she hated to admit it, the modern world was her true place.
“It makes us rather bear those ills we have, than fly to others that we know not of,” Tr’aedis beside her said. Eleanor nodded. “I’m not a Scion like you,” she began to say.
Tinkle, tinkle.
The small door to the bakery opened. A tall woman with lavender hair and dressed in more of the Lowers clothing that, she realized, all the Furies had been wearing, came in. But she made them look nice. “I’m sorry, your sign says CLOSED out front, but I saw there were customers… ?” She seemed to scan the room in an instant before looking past her at Agate, the only one actually dressed for the part, standing behind the counter.
Eleanor turned behind her to see how she’d respond. But it wasn’t Agate who was standing there, but the Furies’ leader, the one who spoke like an AlterCast® pod and was around her father’s age. He’d given her the strongest twange of any in the room––they’d abated upstairs, but as soon as d’Voris introduced her, they’d surged with even more force than Nodari. She was glad he wasn’t in the room.
“Good morning. No, these are not customers, but we’re closed. Friends of the owners.” His articulation was exactly the same as it was for her some minutes ago, just as if he was the bakery manager.
“Ah––ok, thank you.” The stranger nodded once, seeming to stare at the Furies leader for a second. “Well, I am here, and I’ve heard so many great things about Poisso’s. You seem to be dressed for work––” she nodded to Agate, who was standing next to one of the shelves–– “so if I could just buy one item, I can be on my way?” Her voice was as lively as the leader’s was monotonous, and Eleanor had to admit that it matched the lavender hair, which danced gently on her shoulders.
The Furies leader ignored Agate’s look of outright concern and smiled in acquiescence. “No problem at all. These folk here haven’t paid for anything, either.” The woman smiled back, and walked up to the counter.
As the conversation in the room returned, Eleanor’s thoughts went back to what she had started to say. Started to lie. The bakery was nice and the Furies welcoming, but they spoke as if having traits was the most wonderful thing in the world. Mr. Porte and Faer, especially. Her father was a Scion but didn’t care. Her mother was fully human. She’d thought she’d successfully repressed the incident, but it’d come back with fire thrown at her merely to see what she was capable of. That wasn’t why she had come here.
The woman paid for her bread, a loaf of the Lumpy Bread, the tinkle of physical coins swishing in the machine. “Have a good day,” the leader said, and she nodded before heading out. Eleanor noted the bald woman who had been sitting near the door cross and uncross her legs in their torn pants, while following the customer out the door with her eyes.
“Could’ve stayed longer, but you didn’t finish answering my question, Eleanor,” Lucas said loudly, still standing. “Do you really think you can just live the rest of your life ignoring your trait? Ignoring fire when it can’t touch you?”
Eleanor nodded, firmly. “I’m not going to become a… a freedom fighter, yes,” she replied. I’m not going to shave my hair and sit in bakeries.
“But you know! There are Scions out there, besides us, who are being purified by the Government as we speak.” He was sounding almost desperate.
“People also get hurt,” she said. “We’ve really overstayed our visit,” she said, walking towards the door, beckoning for Tr’aedis to follow. Their leader understood, and she wouldn’t tell anyone, not because he asked, but because she didn’t want the Government coming to her door and getting her father involved. Or Tr’aedis’s parents. They didn’t know they were here, after all.
Suddenly the silent black-haired girl who’d been next to the leader the whole time stood in front of her, an arm extended to block her path. The other hand was still holding the Lowers phone, and the girl said without looking up from it, “Nodari hasn’t reported on schedule.”
The conversation in the room subsided again. “Wisteria, show me your phone?” the bald woman asked, already standing. Wisteria handed it over silently, not retracting her arm. The bald freedom fighter gave it a look, and before anyone else could say anything, Eleanor found herself pushing past the black-haired girl and pulling the door open, walking out of the bakery and into the daylight. “Thanks for the hat,” came Tr’aedis’s voice from behind her, and they rushed out onto the sidewalk. “Let’s go,” she said, and began running back the way they had come. She ignored Lucas’s shouts from inside the bakery. She barely noticed the fact that no one else was in their vicinity, except for a man showing a red tattoo on his bare chest on a bench on the other side of the street. As she ran and ran further down, already looking forward to getting her vest and receptor back, out of the corner of her eye she saw the man get up and head in the opposite direction.
Tr’aedis, she noted, was having difficulty keeping up with his ridiculous chef’s hat still on.