As of late, Mister Meaning's thoughts had turned back to his father.
Meaning had gone meta early in his life, at the age of seven, or perhaps eight. It was difficult for him to remember, for those childhood days in the swamps of Louisiana, of his time in the bayou with his old man, living on the outskirts of society. Mister Meaning's early years were filled with fishing and trapping and swatting mosquitoes at night, of watching for alligators and listening to his dad's old tales from the war.
“It's a hell of life out there, son,” he said, “You just have to get out there and see it.”
“What will they think of this, Pa?” the boy who would become Mister Meaning gestured to his chest, to the door that latched to his skin, that opened up to yawn towards a heartless chamber.
Old Man Meaning's eyes softened. His smile became sad. He drew his son close, rocking the fishing boat the two had been hanging out on. Crickets chirped with the setting sun. Frogs croaked and whistled. A heron was picking over the long grasses on the shore, towerish legs rising and falling ankle-deep into the water.
“You hide that, around certain folk,” Old Man Meaning said, “Some people will love you for it. Others will hate you for it. But you're used to that already, aren't you?”
The boy who would become Mister Meaning nodded.
“It's best,” Pa continued, “If you learn how to hide it. Don't go near swimming pools. Don't go shirtless on the beach. Your chest there's a secret, and only those you trust should see it. Got it?”
“I will, Pa,” he said.
There was a way his dad smiled. All lopsided like, as though you were perpetually in on some sort of joke. He poked at his son's chest.
“Be careful how you use it,” he said, “You can put all sorts of secrets in there.”
…
…
Perhaps his thoughts had been of his father as of late because of the presence of Myron Becenti. Which was odd, considering that the old metahuman was nothing like Old Man Meaning. He was a man bereft of humor. Bereft of good cheer, despite the smile that was on his face. He had seen everything about New Ludaya, the hope and the wonder, and still there was a stillness to his joy. As though everything around him could disappear in an instant.
Not like his father.
And, yet, still, when Mister Meaning saw Becenti, he could not think of anything else.
His heart, then, hammered in his chest as he presented the news to Luminary.
“Three of Becenti's guildmates are gone,” he said, “Gallimena saw them in Thunderhead's car. They disappeared somewhere north last night.”
“Thunderhead?” Luminary said.
They were eating breakfast in her personal quarters. Becenti had, of course, noted that most of his guildmates had not returned last night. He chalked them up to finding other places to spend the night, all of them save for Iandi, who now ate breakfast next to him, the super soldier looking somber as he picked at his eggs.
“Who Thunderhead?” Iandi asked.
“A...” Luminary was choosing her words carefully, “A more controversial figure in the community.”
“He's got some strong opinions about New Ludaya,” Mister Meaning offered, “He's been known to do… well, let’s call it ‘drastic action,’ to make his point.”
“Was he related at all to this Lunus Oculus?” Becenti asked.
“He is,” Luminary said, “I believe their relationship is from before New Ludaya.”
“Old nomad buddies, if I recall,” Mister Meaning said. He opened up his chest, fishing around inside for a few records. He found what he was looking for, pulled it out, and read it aloud.
“'I met Lunus Oculus on the Runway. We were close allies during my time there. We watched each other's backs during a series of High Federation investigations into dealings near the Seventh Caravan. She is a fine individual, and I'm proud to call her friend.'”
He looked up at Becenti, who was giving him a stern look.
“That came from an interview we had with Thunderhead a few months ago,” Mister Meaning said, “After he had a bar fight with a member of the Warrior class.”
“And you were asking about her?” Becenti said.
“They're part of a small gathering of New Ludayans,” Mister Meaning said, “The fight was in relation to something that Lunus Oculus had been protesting. Ah, give me a moment-”
He began looking through his little chest of secrets again, but Becenti shook his head.
“That won't be necessary,” he said.
“Nasir go with them?” Iandi asked.
“It appears so,” Mister Meaning said, and he added a level of mocking sympathy to Iandi, as though he were talking to a particularly stupid puppy, “I'm sorry, big guy.”
Becenti's eyes narrowed at that.
“I would refrain from taking such a tone with my guildmate,” he said.
“Right,” Mister Meaning said, and his oily smile returned, “Just trying to read the room. Sometimes I don't always read it right.”
The old metahuman let out a snort of derision. Luminary spoke up now.
“Is Gallimena still trying to find them?” Luminary asked.
“Trying to,” Mrister Meaning said, “But...”
He shrugged.
“It's like they disappeared.”
Luminary nodded.
“Where Nasir go?” Iandi asked.
“Not sure,” Mister Meaning said, “We don't know where they're headed.”
“Then I will find him.”
Iandi rose from his seat, a serious expression written on his cherubic face. Becenti joined him, put a hand on his shoulder.
“It's alright,” he said, “We'll take a look around. You can ask your friends.”
“Myron, wait.”
Luminary was writing a few notes down. She passed them to Mister Meaning, who put them into his chest.
“Don't worry about your guildmates,” she said, “We've been keeping tabs on Thunderhead and his associates for a while now.”
“If they're mixed up in something, I want to know,” Becenti said, and he turned to look at her. His voice was hard and cold as ice, “I understand that you have your resources. Use them. I will use my own. Look for them of my own accord.”
“Mr. Becenti,” Meaning said, “It's a very big plane.”
“Iandi,” Becenti said, “You've got your friends by the lake, right?”
“Wavemaker and Sparks and Teambop and-”
“Yes,” Becenti said, “Can you ask them if they know anyone who-”
“I'd like to ask that you don't involve civilians in this, Myron,” Luminary said.
Becenti looked at her.
“Civilians?” he said, “Is this a military matter? A matter for the government?”
“They are visitors to our land who have disappeared,” Luminary said, “It is a big plane. We have people who can find them. You can join them on the investigation. But anyone who will be able to help you will be here. I've already given Mister Meaning instructions and orders. If you wish, you and Iandi may accompany him.”
Becenti studied Luminary. His old friend stood straight as a pillar, and her usual matronly smile had gone flat. There was a steel to her voice, one that he hadn't been subject to for a long time. The steel of authority, usually reserved for soldiers in her platoon.
And, old comrade that he was, he fell in line. Just nodded.
“I'll go with Mister Meaning,” he said, “I understand that those like Thunderhead are malcontents. I'm surprised you have any at all.”
He turned to Iandi.
“Stay here, in case they return,” he said, “Notify me if that happens.”
“Okay,” Iandi said.
Luminary shrugged. The steel evaporated.
“Some people can't get by, in paradise,” she said, “They don't know what to do with themselves, after everything they've seen.”
“Even so,” Becenti said, “If Joe and the others have disappeared, I want to be there on their behalf.”
“Of course, Myron,” Luminary said, “Mister Meaning, please, pass out my orders. We'll find them all soon.”
***
We should speak of Iconoclast.
The Seat of History, though that was not his first choice. Iconoclast wanted the Seat of War, but Luminary had claimed that role at New Ludaya's founding. He was not angry about this, for Luminary excelled in her role, setting up an intelligence agency to make sure that the citizens of New Ludaya were adhering to their roles in this new society. That the Workers built, the Rulers made laws, and the Warriors prepared.
For when the time came.
And even as the Seat of History, Iconoclast helped with these intelligence operations, for the agents actually under Luminary's employ were few. He volunteered to assist her with these efforts, an attempt to do some of the work that he had so dearly wanted. His background, aside from his work on metahuman histories, was in the realm of security. He had been a police officer on Prime. He had worked as a private investigator on Amzuth. Mercenary work across the Silver Eye.
As such, he was ready for when something like this sprang up, when malcontents muttered within society, to be weeded out.
…
…
Rainbowfish was in the middle of a weapons inspection with a squad of other Warriors. Melitta Dorucanthos's shipment from the day before had been a gunrunner's menagerie, primarily discarded weapon depots from across the Post-Colonial, caches of Fedtek weaponry buried within Federation records on far-off Library Worlds. No one would miss them.
More importantly, it would take decades for the Federation to notice that they were gone. The weapons in this shipment were rifles, sidearms, and canisters and canisters of plasma. Rainbowfish was working with Cutting Edge, a pile of rifles between them on a table. They would take one, inspect it for any wear and tear, fire off a couple of test rounds at a target set up in the middle of the field, then put it either into a 'good' or 'bad' pile, to be used either for combat or for spare parts.
When Iconoclast stepped out onto the field, all he could hear were a few shouts and the familiar pulsing dun-dun-duns of plasma fire. His jaw set as he approached Rainbowfish's table.
“Rainbowfish,” he said.
The scale-armed metahuman turned around, saw that it was the Seat of History. He put down the rifle he had been inspecting, nodding to Cutting Edge, before walking up to Iconoclast and saluting.
“Sir.”
“Walk with me.”
Iconoclast, without another word, stepped away. Rainbowfish followed him closely behind. They were walking through the training fields, watching New Ludayans spar. Riah Truegale was giving a training lesson to a group of young metahumans on firearm protocol and etiquette. He stood tall among them as he systematically took apart a plasma rifle, pointing out where each part of the weapon was located, how to clean away plasma stains, how the weapon socketed back together.
Iconoclast noticed this, but not Rainbowfish. Rainbowfish was keeping his eyes on the Seat of History's back. He surreptitiously wiped away a bit of sweat on his brow.
(Thank the gods that today was hot.)
Eventually, Iconoclast found a good place for his interview. He had brought them to the other side of the field, away from the rest of the Warriors. Just the two of them, and Rainbowfish obviously looked nervous.
How much of this nervousness came from speaking to a member of the Council?
How much of this nervousness came from his guilt?
Iconoclast furrowed his brow.
“Tell me,” he said, “What is your relationship with the one known as Lunus Oculus?”
Rainbowfish shrugged.
(Rainbowfish feigned apathy.)
“She's an old acquaintance,” he said, “From before New Ludaya.”
“Tell me,” Iconoclast said, “What sort of relationship was this?”
“Nothing major,” Rainbowfish said, “We were associates for a few jobs out in the multiverse. I was with a guild at the time. She was a Far Traveler. We saw a bit of action together.”
“You mind describing these actions?” Iconoclast asked.
Rainbowfish swallowed. His scales shimmered in the sun, rippling and dappling up and down his bare arms. Iconoclast had heard of his power. He earned a scale for each and every contest he won, be it a spar, or a coin flip, or a debate.
He was covered in scales. Up and down the length of both arms. Yet there were bare spots, near his shoulders.
Rainbowfish was thinking, his cheeks puffing. Then, he let out an exhale, and his eyes were hard.
“You mind telling me the reason for this interview?” he asked, “Sir?”
“I am collecting histories and stories,” Iconoclast said, “This interview will be collected and digitized, so we may know who we were before the founding of our nation.”
An amicable enough explanation. It was within the purview of the Seat of History.
Both of them knew that was now why Iconoclast was here, however. But he could not outright say that he was investigating Lunus Oculus and her activities on-plane. That was the purview of the Seat of War.
And yet.
“It was mostly military in nature,” Rainbowfish answered, “She was helping a few rebel cells on Alnolot. You know that plane, right?”
“I am,” Iconoclast said.
“Then you know that it's pretty low-tech,” Rainbowfish said, “I was part of a guild at the time known as Panther's Oracle. We were hired on to help the rebellion in a number of guerilla actions against the Embelgan Empire.”
“And you met there,” Iconoclast said.
“That's correct,” Rainbowfish said, “We fought in a few battles alongside one another. After that, we went our separate ways.”
“Do you know where she is now?” Iconoclast asked.
“I've seen her around,” Rainbowfish said, “I've only been able to speak with her a few times, however. We have separate duties.”
“Not even for drinks?” Iconoclast said, “Or meeting up to catch up?”
Rainbowfish shook his head.
“The duties of the Warrior class have given me little room to really explore the plane,” he said, “I know that the Workers moved to other parts of New Ludaya, but for the most part, I have been here.”
“I see,” Iconoclast said, “Very well. Thank you for your time. Return to your duty, soldier.”
He returned Rainbowfish's salute, and took his leave. Stepped out of the field, back towards the forest that separated the grassplains from Mt. Redress.
But before he did so, he turned around. Produced a pair of binoculars, and focused them on Rainbowfish.
He was returning back to the table of weapons. He spoke a few words to Cutting Edge, before picking up another rifle and beginning the inspection process.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
And there was a new scale, set in the dead center of his shoulder.
The interview had been a contest for him.
He had won.
Which meant he was hiding something, and Iconoclast hadn't figured it out.
Well, that indeed was answer enough.
Iconoclast put down the binoculars. And went to Luminary to make his report.
***
Mister Meaning went with Becenti to interview the metahuman known as Tallneck.
The giraffe-necked man was attending to class this morning. All of them were teenagers, around seventeen or eighteen, reaching that age where philosophy and more advanced sciences were settling in and they were beginning to actually glean something from his lessons. The class, like all of the others, was outdoors, in the woods, and one of the students, a bright young lass who had the power to replace surfaces with chalkboards, had cleared away a particularly large stone in the middle of the forest. As Mister Meaning and Becenti approached, they watched as Tallneck wrote down a few theorems to the class, who were hurriedly taking notes.
“And, as such,” he said, “The geometric shape of a Squall is difficult to reproduce, even on a three-dimensional surface. Gods forbid you try for two-dimensional. Only specific fourth-dimensional simulations have been able to try and capture them.”
“What about fifth-dimensional?” one of the students asked, a girl with a third eye on a stalk on her forehead.
“Well, that's the primary dimension Squalls inhabit,” Tallneck said, “And, so far, no one has been able to map them. Even fourth-dimensional simulations are... rudimentary at best. It could be that we may never know their true shape...”
He glanced around, his long neck allowing him to sweep over his class from a bird's eye view. He spotted Mister Meaning and Becenti, and for a moment his eyes widened. He nearly dropped the chalk in his hand.
“Right, well,” he said, to his class, “I'm afraid that we'll have to continue this lesson later.”
“But Mr. Tallneck-” the student with the eyestalk said.
“Later! Tomorrow!” Tallneck said, “I'm feeling ill. Dismissed. Have a good day.”
He made shooing motions, and the students dispersed. Some were grumbling. Some were happy to be out of another of 'Old Tallneck's Lectures,' others were already talking to each other. The girl with the eyestalk gave Tallneck a sad look, before she, too, went off to join her friends.
Mister Meaning stepped forward as the class left. He tilted his head at the diagrams Tallneck had been drawing on his chalkboard.
“I don't recognize them,” he murmured.
“I do,” Becenti said, “That's Walker's Geometry, isn't it?”
He looked at Tallneck.
“A very rudimentary form of mapping the multiverse,” he said.
“Without Walker's power, yes,” Tallneck said, “But with his power, it's revolutionary. Do you know why?”
“Because Walker had the power to collapse dimensions down,” Becenti said, “The third became the second. He hoped to push the multiverse down in such a way that planar travel was as simple as walking from Point A to Point B.”
Tallneck nodded, and despite his sudden anxiety, he looked impressed. He extended a hand.
“Professor Tallneck,” he said.
“Myron Becenti,” and the two metahumans shook.
“Why, practically metahuman royalty!” Tallneck said, though his voice was an octave higher than normal, “I've heard about you.”
“Seems like everyone has,” Becenti said in an unhappy tone.
“Y-Yes,” Tallneck said, “Being a friend to our beloved Founder has a tendency to raise you to... celebrity status.”
Mister Meaning cleared his throat. Tallneck visibly gulped.
“And,” he said, his voice careful, “How can I help you, Mister Meaning?”
“Well, now, the better question is, how can I help you?” Mister Meaning asked, “Everything's alright? Y'all have the resources you need?”
“Everything is working fine, yes,” Tallneck said, “I have the materials required for my lessons. Though I wish you wouldn't pull some of my students away from their classes.”
“That been happening a lot?” Mister Meaning asked.
“One of them, Geode, is pulled away four times a week,” Tallneck grumbled.
“Well, the needs of the state, and all that,” Mister Meaning said, “Those like Geode, they got those nicer powers. Powers that protect. I think their uses are better spent helping defend the homeland, don't you?”
“That is a debatable subject,” Tallneck said, “Geode has said that they quite like my lessons, and wish they could attend them more.”
“Needs must, Tallneck,” Mister Meaning said, “We're not in a state where we can afford to have our own goals. Not yet.”
(This drew a look from Becenti.)
“The needs of the nation, Tallneck,” Mister Meaning said, “For-”
“-For when the time comes, yes, yes,” Tallneck drawled, and Mister Meaning, straining to look up at him, noted Tallneck roll his eyes.
“By the way,” Mister Meaning said, “Did you know that your associate Lunus Oculus has gone missing?”
There was a sudden pause.
“A-Associate?” Tallneck said.
“Another one of hers, too,” Mister Meaning said, “Thunderhead. You know about him? Muscular. Turns into a car. Or a helicopter, when he's feelin' it.”
“I have worked with her a few times,” Tallneck said.
“And I know that it's been more than 'a few times,'” Mister Meaning said. He unlatched his chest, felt around inside for a few moments, before pulling out a paper, “Says here that you worked with her quite a bit, back when y'all first arrived here.”
Tallneck was quiet. He was sweating, Becenti noticed.
“Aaaand,” Mister Meaning said, “You ceased any major contact after an incident involving an organized protest near the lakes, when the Warriors’ homes were bein’ built.”
“We went our separate ways,” Tallneck said, “Tell me, how did you know this?”
“Eyes and ears everywhere, my friend,” Mister Meaning said.
Tallneck murmured something. Mister Meaning put himself on his toes, straining with a hand against his ear.
“Come again?” he asked.
“I said,” Tallneck said, nervous, “That obviously is not the case, if you've lost her.”
“You admitting you know where she is?” Mister Meaning said.
“Just making... just making an observation,” Tallneck countered.
Mister Meaning pursed his lips. He swayed for a moment, thinking, then nodded.
“Where is she?” he said.
“I haven't a clue,” Tallneck said.
There was another tense silence. Becenti hung back, watching the two of them. Mister Meaning's false calm had given way to a dark sort of glare, one that he directed up at Tallneck. Tallneck, to his credit, remained silent, returning the glare with one of his own.
“You do realize,” Mister Meaning said, “That if we find out you're lying, that you could be in quite a bit of trouble?”
“Why would I lie?” Tallneck asked.
“Banishment would be the proper punishment, I think,” Mister Meaning said, “We'd put you on some rock in the Silver Eye, let you go your own way. Though, being a metahuman, I can't imagine you'd get very far over there.”
“I'm not lying,” Tallneck said, his voice tight and almost angry, “I'm telling you the... the truth. I'm not sure where Lunus Oculus is.”
“Do you know where she's going?” Mister Meaning asked.
“...So she's going somewhere now?” Tallneck asked.
Mister Meaning's mouth became a line.
“Yes,” he said.
Tallneck, now, thought on this. Becenti watched the gears turn in his head. He was hiding something. He knew where Lunus Oculus was going.
And, by extension, he knew where Cobalt Joe was going. Him and the others.
And yet...
There was something in Becenti's gut that did not sit right. Perhaps it was Mister Meaning's words, the oil in them, the drawling arrogance. Perhaps it was the fact that Tallneck was a teacher, and a seemingly good one at that.
Now the old metahuman spoke up.
“I think that's enough for now,” he said.
Both of them looked at him. Tallneck with relief. Mister Meaning with muted surprise.
“Are you quite sure?” Mister Meaning asked, “We haven't gotten any-”
“He doesn't know anything, I think,” Becenti said, “And if he does, you can ask him later. It's not like he's going to up and leave the plane now, is he?”
“That would be suicide,” Tallneck said.
“Well, there you have it,” Becenti said, “I think you're wasting your time here, Mister Meaning.”
Luminary's personal right hand scratched his chin, thinking. The cold anger in his voice had evaporated, replaced with his usual hollow pleasantness.
“Very well,” he said, and he gave Tallneck a mock bow, “Thank you for your time, my friend.”
“Yes,” Tallneck said, and he nodded, “'Til we dream again.”
***
They had a few more interviews. Asked a few more of Lunus Oculus's associates throughout the Worker class who had interactions with her in the last few days. Only one or two questions were asked about Thunderhead, as though he were merely an accomplice, a tool in Lunus Oculus's menagerie. She was the true mastermind. Someone to interrogate, put on trial, and then banish, and then all of the supposed problems of New Ludaya would go away.
“They're definitely hiding something,” Mister Meaning said.
They had returned, at the end of a very long day of talking and interviewing and analyzing and judging. A very late dinner in the main dining hall, where Cobalt Joe had announced his name change only a day before. Iandi was tucking into a pot roast. Mister Meaning was leaning back, his feet on the table, rubbing his temple in exhaustion. Becenti was across from Iandi, his coat over his chair, his arms clasped. He had rolled up sleeves, revealing his tattoos. He hadn't touched his food.
Curiously, or at least, curiously to Becenti, the Seat of History was there as well. Iconoclast was reviewing notes that he had laid out, his observations put onto paper. The metahuman's brow was furrowed.
It occurred to Becenti that he had never truly spoken with Iconoclast before. He was, perhaps, around twenty years younger than him. There was a coldness to his eyes that set him on edge.
But, then, that coldness was in many metahumans' eyes. Even his own.
Coldness was a defense mechanism.
“They're definitely hiding something,” the younger metahuman said, “That Rainbowfish won a scale.”
“This is important?” Becenti asked.
“He only gains a scale whenever he wins a contest,” Iconoclast said, “And he saw my interview with him as a contest. One in which he won. He revealed some information, but not the main one.”
“Where the hell did they go?” Mister Meaning muttered, “Gods, Luminary won't like this.”
“Where could they have gone?” Becenti asked.
The two of them were silent. Iandi took another bite of his pork roast. He was a very loud eater, chewing voraciously. Becenti had disliked this, had admonished Iandi for this when he and Nasir had first joined the guild.
Then, he had learned that Iandi had no choice but to eat like this, with an open mouth. He couldn't breathe while he ate otherwise. His jaws latched and unlatched. It was why he sounded... awkward. Open and blunt. Experimentation had stolen his subtlety.
“There are,” Mister Meaning said, “A few small enclaves here and there. Small families, who live apart from the rest of society.”
“Hermits,” Becenti said.
“Yes. But they report to work, either way,” Mister Meaning said, “And we have record of them.”
“Maybe Lunus Oculus wanted to do this, too,” Becenti shrugged, “She and Thunderhead.”
“And she dragged along your guildmates?” Mister Meaning said, “And just the three of them?”
Becenti nodded.
“Why not him?” Mister Meaning said, nodding at Iandi, “And that... cleric girl of yours.”
“I...” Becenti hesitated, “I couldn't find her.”
“Well, you're certainly good at this,” Mister Meaning said, and his voice was devoid of mirth, “Hey, big guy.”
Iandi continued eating.
“Iandi, right?”
Iandi was chewing loudly, far too loudly for him to be able to hear Mister Meaning. The metahuman muttered something dark under his breath. Becenti reached and patted Iandi on the shoulder.
“Mr. Iandi.”
The super soldier looked up at him.
“What'sh up, Beshenti?” he asked through a mouthful of food.
“Mister Meaning is talking to you.”
Iandi turned. Mister Meaning suppressed an eye roll.
“Did your guildmates tell you where they were going?” he asked.
Iandi shook his head.
“Not anything,” he said, a bit sadly, “Nasir just askhed if I want go shomewhere. I shaid no.”
He swallowed his food.
“Then he went away.”
“Typical,” Mister Meaning said, “He knew you'd blab. Typical re...”
He looked up. Realized where he was, and did not finish his sentence.
“We'll find him,” Becenti said, giving Mister Meaning a quick glare, “Don't worry about it.”
Iandi nodded again. His face was morose.
“Don't like it,” he said.
“I know,” Becenti said, “But it is as Nasir says.”
“Cards.”
“It's the cards,” Becenti said.
He got up.
“I'll talk to Luminary,” he said, “Let her know what's been going on with this.”
“Saves me a lecture,” Mister Meaning said.
Iconoclast was still looking at his notes. He gave Becenti a dismissive wave.
“...Right,” Becenti said, “See you tomorrow.”
“Becenti,” Iandi said, “I go with you?”
“Of course,” Becenti said, “Let's go.”
The super soldier took his empty plate with him, and one of the attendants offered to take it from him as they left the dining room. He walked a step behind Becenti as they went through the halls of Mt. Redress.
“Don't like Mister Meaning,” he said.
“I don't quite like him either,” Becenti said.
“Was gonna call me something bad,” Iandi said.
Becenti suppressed a grimace. His face became like stone.
They moved to find Luminary.
***
They found her in the Cave of Awakening. The vast cavern, completely metahuman-made, was located deep within Mt. Redress, though Pauldros the Stonemaker had carved a long tunnel from outside, and multiple hallways converged into the ritual site from other parts of the mountain. Circular stands had been hewn from the stone. A square box hung a story up from the first floor, for the Council to watch the traumatic experience that was Awakening.
Becenti remembered his Awakening. It had been in his dad's garage, while the two of them had been working on a porsche. It was the height of summer in northern Arizona. He had sweat more on that day than he had in his entire life, and boy and old man worked on the porsche, spluttering and cursing, the old man out loud, the boy under his breath, always afraid that his father would hear him.
The heat sweltered around him.
And then the heat obeyed him.
And now, it was an old friend. Though it, too, had abandoned him in this room, this place of ritual. Awakening on New Ludaya was done here, not in random places, and not by accident. Many metahuman kingdoms had celebrated the sudden onset of powers. The randomness of it. The sudden diversity.
Others, the more martial kingdoms, those that defined their existence with their wars against the High Federation, were more reserved. They picked and chose who could ascend, and who could not.
And they did this with...
“A Walker's Gate,” Becenti whispered.
There it sat, a ring of stone. With all of the right runes. All of the right whispers kissed into the rock. A Walker's Gate was incredibly difficult to reproduce. One needed precise calculations, along with difficult spells and specific gemstones crafted into the masonry, like bones within the flesh, to hold the construct together.
It was much like a Traveling Point. But it did not point to a specific plane. No, it led to Imagination itself. That place beyond worlds. Beyond storms and ideas.
Some, like Walker themself, had walked through.
No one, not even Walker, had ever returned.
Luminary did not dare to stare directly into it. But she was beside it, lost in thought. She noticed Becenti's approach, and gave him a tightened smile.
“They didn't find them,” she said.
“No, they didn't,” Becenti said.
Iandi was glancing around the room. Luminary's eyes flickered to him, glowed with a sudden disapproval, as though the super soldier was bumbling on sacred ground.
Then the disapproval disappeared.
(No, it was hidden away.)
“I'll have Gallimena out there again, when she's rested,” Luminary said.
“Is there no one else you can send?” Becenti asked, “I've only worked with Mister Meaning and Iconoclast. It's not my place to say, but you're certainly misusing your Seat of History.”
“Iconoclast volunteered,” Luminary said, her voice even, “And... we could use the help.”
She hesitated, before adding:
“There is no one else.”
Becenti's eyes narrowed.
“It is a sensitive topic, Myron,” Luminary said, “Please, trust me on that. We'll find them. With who we've got. Mister Meaning will find them.”
“Don't like him,” Iandi said.
“He is a difficult man to get along with,” Luminary said, “But he is impressive. There is a reason why he is my right hand.”
Becenti was quiet. Iandi walked over to the Walker's Gate.
“Don't touch,” Luminary warned, “In fact, it may be good for you to stay back from it.”
“It make me feel fuzzy,” Iandi said, “I wanna touch it-”
“Iandi,” Becenti said, “Not a good idea. No one should touch it.”
Iandi looked back at Becenti. But the metahuman's words rang true, and after a sad look at the construct, he moved away and leaned against a wall, humming to himself, his voice like a helicopter's thrumming.
“Lunus Oculus,” Becenti said, “She isn't... dangerous, is she?”
“Her power is not combat-based,” Luminary said, “Your Cobalt Joe could stop her, if he needed to.”
“She won't hurt them?”
“I don't know, Myron,” Luminary said, “All I can tell you is that we'll find them.”
Becenti was quiet. He crossed his arms, looking at the Walker's Gate for a moment, being very careful not to stare directly at it. The runes were exquisite. Hand-carved, by the looks of it, painstakingly so. Someone in New Ludaya was a master runesmith.
“Like it?” Luminary said, “It took months to make.”
“I see.”
“I'll introduce you to Hanwe,” Luminary continued, “She's the one who worked the magic. We've got another metahuman, Geode, a bright lad who helped with the crystal work on the inside, and-”
Geode.
The conversation Becenti and Mister Meaning had with Tallneck came back to him.
“Luminary,” Becenti said, “There is... one other thing.”
Luminary faltered.
“What is it, Myron?” she asked.
“There was something that... one of the metahumans we spoke to, said,” Becenti said, “About there being pushback against New Ludayans and their own.... personal futures.”
He shuffled awkwardly.
“You're talking about the class system,” Luminary said.
“It's a macroscopic aspect of this, yes,” Becenti said.
“Big words, Myron,” Luminary said, and a smile flickered on her face, “But... there is some truth to it. A temporary truth, at least. We are more rigid here than in Old Ludaya.”
“I remember that freedom was a core part of what we were building there,” Becenti said, “This metahuman, Geode, how old are they?”
“Thirteen,” Luminary said.
“And they’re pulled away for... military applications,” Becenti said.
“Not military,” Luminary said, “Just training exercises, all of which involve their power. The Walker's Gate was part of that. We're stretching their muscles just a little more than the others, because of their potential.”
“Even though they’d rather be at school,” Becenti said.
“There are needs of the nation,” Luminary said, “What we are doing here, it is for the good of all.”
Becenti was quiet.
“I...” Luminary collected her thoughts, “The freedoms that we espoused, back on Old Ludaya. That people could do what they want. It was a good dream. But it was naive for the times we were in. I feel like they still are.”
“And this is the alternative?” Becenti asked, gesturing around. His voice was even.
But his eyes were burning.
“It is temporary,” Luminary said, “Until we can secure ourselves a future from the High Federation. Only then, only when our greatest oppressor is gone, only then will we have true freedom.”
She raised an arm. She, too, gestured at the room. At what it represented.
“It was that freedom that was a weakness, Myron. There is still freedom here, but it is tempered by reality. By what is coming for us. And until that threat is resolved, we must build. We must prepare. We must sacrifice parts of ourselves, for the sake of the whole. Our generation, and perhaps the generation after that, will live in this version of New Ludaya.”
“And after that?” Becenti asked.
“Paradise,” Luminary said, “Or, at least, as close as we can get. That's what I'm trying to build here, Myron. A world for my children.”
Becenti swallowed.
“And, in the meantime,” he said, “We are here. Where we must sacrifice our time for the sake of the nation.”
“It is a trade-off,” Luminary said, “Freedom for security, just like any other nation. Should we ask for any different?”
Becenti had no answer to that.
No.
He did.
But he did not wish to voice it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
(His hope would not let him.)
“It is a bitter pill to swallow,” Luminary said, “But we are better off here, in this way, than we ever were in the multiverse. At least here, parents do not have to lose their children. At least here, we are able to build something, and not have it torn down.”
She took a deep breath. It was getting late. The debate had obviously tired her.
“It will be a long day tomorrow,” she said, “For both of us. I'll have Gallimena do another sweep. If I find your guildmates, Myron, I promise you that you'll be the first person to know.”
She gave him a pleading look. She looked... frail. Against the backdrop of the Walker's Gate, she was just another old lady who had lost far too much in her life.
“Please, Myron,” she said, “Trust me.”
“I...” Becenti said, “I do.”
She smiled.
“Thank you, Myron,” she said, “...Good night.”
She made her leave, using a construct of light to carry her to one of the higher floors, and through the hallway. Back to her room. Becenti waited in the Cave of Awakening, mulling it over. But Iandi yawned his loud yawn, and he decided to go to bed, too.
To sleep, and wonder what tomorrow would bring.