The little machine whirred for a moment before a green light flashed, accompanied by a pleasant ding. Cliff pulled his PMT off the diagnostic tool before slipping it onto his hand. The light and the noise meant his PMT wouldn’t explode when he tried to use it – if something was configured wrong, the light would be a bright, flashing red, and the noise would be decidedly less pleasant. It was a requirement of Lieutenant Ulster’s to run the test at the beginning of each class – really, most people only did it when they re-tuned their PMT, but their dictator of a teacher wanted them to ‘build good habits’, so he mandated they waste time on the machine at the beginning of every lesson. Needless to say, Cliff had forgotten more than once, and each time it earned him a lecture more impressive than the last.
He was one of the last to arrive, and most of the others were already practicing. He spotted Thalos and Deb at the range as he found an open lane. Whizzes and pops rang out around as dozens of fireballs arced through the air, impacting harmlessly against a long line of vaguely human-shaped dummies.
He found his spot and flexed his fingers, the cool mail of the glove crinkling around the movement. Slipping on the PMT was an odd feeling, like remembering that you’ve got a third arm that shoots fire. There was also a sense of steadiness that came with it, an effect of the Martial node that accompanied the basic fire circuit he’d stuck in the gauntlet. He knew it was more than balance, though – he was stronger, quicker, and sturdier than when he wasn’t wearing his PMT. It was a subtle feeling, and Cliff had almost not believed it until Lieutenant Ulster demonstrated by punching him in the chest – the shock of the sudden strike aside, there’d been nearly no pain.
He raised his hand in front of him, probing that new limb for feeling. He could feel the capacity for fire there – a little effort and flames would burst out in front of his gauntlet. The circuit in his PMT right now was not nearly as flexible as the one he’d seen in Barry’s on the road to the Academy. He had no control over the size or shape of the flame, and it was pre-programmed to shoot in a straight line forward. Essentially, it was just about as basic as you could get.
With a deep breath, he sent a bit of effort towards his PMT. He imagined the mail responding to the effort, sending a signal to the Prime Stone that sent a burst of magic into the fire circuit. The magic would then spin through the filaments, setting up the proper conditions before terminating at the catalyst and – he blinked as a lopsided fireball shot forth from his gauntlet, spinning awkwardly before breaking apart halfway between him and the dummy in front of him.
He sighed and pinched his eyes shut, reminding himself that he did not have to focus on the exact technological process every time he used his PMT. Focus was the key, Lieutenant Ulster had said – if he could keep his focus, the fire would keep its shape.
Again, he threw a fireball – it sputtered to the ground three-quarters of the way to the dummy. Again, and it popped like a bubble just above the dummy. Finally, on his fourth attempt, he managed to turn his brain off enough to hit the darn thing, and he sighed in a mixture of relief and frustration.
He was not very good at this.
It had come as a slow realization – at first, he’d dismissed his lack of skill as inexperience. But as more and more of his similarly-new classmates outpaced him, he’d realized that maybe there was more to it than just being green.
He sighed again, raising his hand to continue the volley of fireballs. Just because he was bad at this didn’t mean he was going to give up. He couldn’t wallow in his lack of talent – not with his team depending on him, not with Loria giving him scathing looks every five minutes.
***
“Hows the accuracy?” Percy asked when Cliff collapsed at the table, bouncing his forehead against its cold surface hard enough that it rattled his brain.
“Don’t ask,” he replied in a muffled voice, “I can’t seem to shut my Gift off long enough to fire them off without things going haywire.” The class was half over, and they were taking a break before moving into the more instructional part of the class. For Cliff, the second part was much easier – it was mostly a breakdown of the different PMT nodes and their uses – stuff he was good at, unlike actually using the damned thing.
“But you’re getting better?” Percy asked hopefully.
Cliff scraped himself off the table, sitting up in the chair and shrugging. “A little, I guess.” He laughed bitterly. “At this rate, by the time we graduate, I’ll be able to hit the dummy with all the fireballs.” He paused, recalling how poor his accuracy was. “Well, most of them at least.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Deb replied from next to Percy, “You’ve just got to listen to Lieutenant Ulster – stop thinking, start doing.” The last bit she quoted in an imitation of their instructors gruff voice.
“My Gift,” Cliff complained, “makes it real hard to stop thinking. It’s like every time I try to use the PMT, I get caught in my own brain.” He shook his head. “You ever wind up to throw a ball and realize, halfway through your motion, that your form is all wrong? That’s what it feels like.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever been big on throwing things,” Deb replied. She grinned when Cliff glared at her. “I get it, though – if your brain’s always moving fast, so it’s hard to slow it down enough to let instinct take over. You’ll get it eventually. I’ve got faith.” She reached over and patted Cliff’s hand in a gesture that was as condescending as it was caring. Deb and Percy’s sympathy irked Cliff just a little bit. As much as he appreciated their concern, he wallowed in the fact that they were both far better than him at this – Deb was a natural with a PMT, maybe the best in the class, and Percy wasn’t far behind her.
“Well,” Percy said, “on the bright side, Roose told us we won’t really have to use our PMTs for the first Hands-on, so you’ve got a month and a half before it really matters.” The Hands-on training activities were the signposts of their apprentice Courier education, monthly field exercises meant to run them through the paces of what it was like being a Courier. Their first was a short two weeks ahead of them.
Cliff shook his head. “No way I can take that long to get my feet under me – not with the Prissy Princess glaring at me every minute.”
“Cliff,” Thalos said with a warning tone.
“Sorry, sorry. Not with Loria glaring at me, I mean.” It’d been less than a week since they’d been assigned their teams, and already Cliff’s roommate had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t going to put up with Cliff’s constant complaints about their teammates. Loria was the perfect mix of humorless and bossy that made her Cliff’s worst nightmare to put up wit. Nym was better, but she tended to go along with whatever the Lady Loria said and did.
“I take it things aren’t going that smoothly in team B?” Deb asked.
“Oh, everything’s great,” Cliff said with false brightness, “besides the fact that I’m shackled to a leader who’s an infallible tyrant.”
“I swear to Gaeon, Cliff,” Thalos said, “she’d be a lot more agreeable if you didn’t take every opportunity to needle her.”
Cliff scoffed. “It’s not my problem she can’t take a joke.” He shook his head. “How’re things over in team A? Still hunky-dory?”
Percy and Deb looked at each other. “We get along well enough,” Percy said with a shrug, “Penny gets distracted easily, but Jenna’s good at keeping her focused. Not sure how she’ll fare when we’re in the field and she actually has to manage our logistics, though.”
“Are you adjusting to command, Deb?” Thalos asked.
The girl ran three fingers through her hair, her mouth pinching to one side. “I still think Jenna would have been a better choice, but then, she’s the only one who had any interest in being the Technician.” She shrugged. “I’m not too worried though. The way things are going, I’m optimistic about our team.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Thalos muttered.
“You’re Quartermaster, right, Thalos?” Percy asked.
Cliff’s roommate nodded. “Yeah – Loria was the obvious choice for Commander-” He glared at Cliff, preempting a snide comment. “-and I’m not sure there’s another person alive more suited to engineering than Cliff. Nym wanted to be Scout, so I filled the last role.”
Deb shook her head. “I still can’t believe you got both the Advanced PMT girls – I’m not looking forward to sparring your team when we finally get around to it.” They’d already started talking squad tactics, but the actual sparring had to wait until the greenhorns in the Basic PMT class were cleared to use them outside of a controlled environment – it normally took about a month, but Cliff wasn’t optimistic.
“You guys have Jenna and Penny – both of them are pretty good when it counts,” Cliff pointed out, “Plus, in a few weeks, you two will be right there with them.” He frowned. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be dead weight in an actual fight.”
“Thirty seconds,” Lieutenant Ulster barked suddenly. “You better have your PMTs racked before I start class.” He scanned the room until he spotted Cliff, who shivered at his glare’s weight, a cruel reminder of yet another lecture he’d suffered at the hands of the military man.
“Better hop to it, Cliff,” Deb said, “One of the Cadets set up a betting pool on the next time you get kicked out of class.” She grinned. “I put my money on two weeks. Don’t disappoint me.” With a glare for the girl and a grumble, Cliff tugged the gauntlet off his hand. As much as he wanted to ruin Deb’s wager, he really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture.
***
A stream of men and women passed by Cliff, slowly exiting the cathedral after the weekly service. His poppa had always liked to spend a few moments after the service in quiet reflection, and he’d picked up the habit of waiting for most of the congregation to be gone before making his exit. Most in the crowd were citizens of Westholden, though handfuls of black-clad seminarians were interspersed throughout. There were some cadets, too, and he even spotted a few apprentice Couriers, clad in the same brown and green as him. Their numbers were much fewer, though – unlike those enrolled in the Seminary, the cadets and apprentice Couriers weren’t required to attend the Church of Gaeon’s weekly service. Truth be told, it was Cliff’s first time in attendance since he came to the Academy, something that would disappoint his parents if they knew..
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His eyes wandered between the crowd and the cathedral’s drafty stone architecture. It was by far the oldest building on campus – apparently, the land that now made up the Academy was originally all owned by the church. Colorfully painted panels of wood were fastened regularly along the wall, depicting the Church’s history. It started with a dormant planet, painted in grays and browns, and then, when Gaeon awoke, her breath brought magic into the world. The panels became more colorful then, showing images of twisted animals, hunted by the Prophets as they established the Church of Gaeon, liberating the helpless of the world in the name of the Goddess of the Globe. He’d read the story dozens of times in his momma’s pocket testament. The little cloth-bound book was written for kids, he knew, but she once told him she preferred the simple language – the church was worth believing in because their ideas were fundamental, she’d said. Even a child could understand that the helpless needed helping.
His thoughts were interrupted when a finger tapped his shoulder. He turned to find Paolo standing over him, next to a shockingly prim Iona. She was always working by the time he arrived at the club workshop, and engineering was a pretty messy job by its nature. Standing before him, though, she looked like the quintessential nun. Where a spark of passion normally colored her eyes, she instead looked serene.
“Good morning, Cliff,” Paolo said. He glanced at the girl next to him. “Iona and I were just about to grab a late breakfast, if you’d like to join us.”
“We’re planning the next test,” she said. They’d gotten the engineering club’s little car running the week before, but the steering had been misaligned and it had just gone in circles. A few more tweaks and it would be done, Cliff reckoned. Not that he’d done much besides provide an extra set of hands to fulfill Iona’s vision.
“G’morning Brother Paolo, Iona. I would be thrilled to join you,” he said, standing up from the pew. He’d come alone to the service, and he didn’t really want to head back to the dorm yet. Their first set of exams was coming up, and Thalos would try to rope him into studying together, something he was putting off until the last possible moment.
They led him out of the cathedral and across the sunny campus towards the dorms, and before he realized it, he was seated in a dining hall, surrounded by seminarians on all sides. There was the occasional cadet interspersed, but he certainly stood out as the only green-clad guy in a sea of black cassocks.
Their breakfast was a spread of eggs, bread, and some cured pork sausage fried crisp. It was delicious, aside from the eggs being a little runny. He caught a few curious glances from people around them, no doubt wondering what an apprentice Courier was doing dining among the future-clergy.
“Is it normal for people from different colleges to eat together?” Cliff asked.
Iona shrugged as she dabbed her mouth with her handkerchief. “It’s not abnormal,” she said, “why? This your first time?”
“I’ve only been here a few weeks,” Cliff said, “I’ve hardly gotten to know the apprentice Couriers, much less anyone else.”
“How many are there this year?” Paolo asked between bites. That was another thing that surprised Cliff, that a teacher was eating with them. Roose tended to keep to himself, and it was rare for Cliff to spot him outside of one of their classes. He wasn’t even sure where the Templar lived. “Apprentice Couriers, I mean.”
“Sixteen,” Cliff said.
Iona grunted. “That’s two fewer than last year,” she said after swallowing. She shook her head. “Your dorm’s got to be half empty, right?”
Cliff shrugged. “I see the second and third years around, but they’re always busy with – well, whatever it is they’re busy with.” He’d heard mutters of internships with professional couriers for the third years, but beyond that the had no idea.
“You just got split into your teams, right?” Paolo said, “Last time I talked to him, Roose was nervous about it.”
“Nervous, huh?” Cliff frowned. He couldn’t very well imagine their perpetually-grinning advisor as anything but aloof and peppy, but Paolo probably knew him better. “Are you friends with him, then? This isn’t the first time you’ve brought him up.”
Paolo laughed. “I’d like to think so. We have a good working relationship, at least – we both started working here three years ago. He’s an odd duck, that’s for sure, but his heart’s in the right place. Plus, he’s got the red trimming, so you know he’s got the credentials.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Cliff said, “what’s the deal with the different trimming on your clothes? Back in Minton I only ever saw the green, but here – you’ve got the silver, Templar Roose has the red, plus I’ve seen a couple other colors floating around.”
“You don’t know about the different vocations?” Iona said, surprised.
Cliff shrugged. “Should I?”
“You grew up on a farm, right?” Paolo asked.
“Yeah,” Cliff said with a nod, “A vegetable farm out in Minton’s countryside.”
Paolo nodded. “That makes sense then, most rural clergy wear the green.” He fingered at the silver trimming on his own vestments. “When priests are ordained into the clergy, you are assigned a vocation. Most – and I mean nine out of ten or more – are assigned the vocation of service. That’s the green. Of course, there are others – gold is for the church administration, white is for pure scholars, my silver is for practical research, and Roose’s red, that’s for the Templars, the swords of the church.” He frowned. “Lots of clergy can fight – myself included – but in order to earn the red, you have to see some serious action, usually in the form of peacekeeping operations, rooting out heresy, or smashing cults.”
Cliff swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “How did Roose earn his?”
“Templar Roose,” Paolo chided gently, “and I don’t know. What I do know is that he was given the red on his ordination. That is almost unheard of; almost every Templar started with the green and was given the red in recognition for their achievements. Not Roose, though.”
“Huh,” Cliff said softly. He’d heard the others put some significance on the fact that Roose was a Templar, but he’d never actually bothered to ask what it meant. Thinking of the chipper man, it was hard to imagine him on a battlefield, but then, he’d never seen him fight. “Does he have a Gift?” He knew it was a rude question to ask, especially behind someone’s back, but they were already talking about it, so he couldn’t stop himself.
Paolo laughed again. “I think that’s a question best asked to the man himself.” He paused, the smile slipping slightly from his face. “He’s not been particularly forthcoming about his history – every time the topic of fighting comes up, he brushes it off.” He shook his head. “Anyway, that’s enough talking about the man when he’s not even here.”
Cliff clicked his tongue, reminding himself to grill Roose the next time he had the chance. “What about you, then? You’ve got the silver trimming, that means you’re a researcher, right?”
Paolo nodded eagerly. “Indeed. I was commissioned by the Hierophant to try and replicate an old relic using Magetool engineering – fascinating stuff, really. Remind me to show you sometime. Seeing that will really put your Gift to the test.”
Cliff was about to press Paolo on the topic when Iona suddenly cleared her throat. “As interesting as this is – and I mean that in the most insincere way possible – can we get back to the topic at hand? As I was saying, before we got sidetracked by breakfast – Paolo, can you authorize the club to use a more powerful Prime Stone? With the one we’ve got, we’ll hardly get faster than a jog. I want her to fly.”
“Brother Paolo,” the priest corrected automatically, “and get her to move in a straight line first, then we can start to talk about speeding her up.”
***
“What I’m saying is, fulfilling our contract is the top priority – hunting the monster would only be a distraction,” Loria said crisply, rapping her finger on the desk to punctuate her point.
“And what I’m saying is,” Cliff replied, “We can’t just leave a dangerous monster roaming the roads – escorting them is our top priority, yes, but that means there are other priorities, one of which is keeping everyone else safe, as well.”
Each team had been given a slip of paper that proposed a problem that needed solving – they were supposed to come up with a solution as a team and present it to the rest of the class. Team B’s problem read: “Your team has been hired to escort a newly-wed couple to their honeymoon in another city. While on the road, your team notices signs of nearby monster activity that may pose a threat to travelers like you on the road. How should you proceed?”
“When they hired us to escort them, our clients didn’t expect for us to run off and chase after the first monster we see,” Loria snapped.
“They hired us because we’re able to deal with monsters,” Cliff shouted back, “the next folk on the road might not be able to afford to hire Couriers, then what, huh? How will they handle it if they run into the monsters?”
“That’s not our responsibility!”
“So what, they just die? When we could have done something about it?”
“What if we do chase after the monster, and then another one comes and attacks our clients while we are away, hmm? What then?”
“Guys,” Thalos said, cutting in, “you’re shouting, and people are starting to look. Let’s take a step back.” Cliff looked away, chewing on his annoyance – sure, it was just a prompt for a class, but how could Loria have such a lack of common decency?
“You’re right, Thalos, I’m sorry about that,” Loria said, her voice significantly calmer and quieter. “Sorry it came to shouting – the team is more than just Cliff and I. What do you two think?”
“Well,” Nym started hesitantly, “I think, uh – it depends, really. But in most cases, I’d probably side with Cliff.” His head snapped back to the group, and he looked at Nym with wide eyes.
“I see,” Loria said evenly. Her expression was neutral, but Cliff thought he saw the barest hint of annoyance beneath it. “Could you explain your reasoning?”
Nym hummed a moment before responding. “Well, Cliff’s right on some parts – Couriers are much better suited to hunting monsters than nearly anyone, and if the monster is actually dangerous, it’s a Courier’s responsibility to deal with the danger.”
“I – see,” Loria said, her voice taking on a bit of strain, “What about you, Thalos?”
Thalos scratched at his head. “Same as Nym, I’m caught in the middle – though I’m leaning more towards Loria’s opinion. Sure, we should get rid of the monster, but it doesn’t have to happen immediately – I say finish the contract then come back and deal with it, if it’s dangerous enough to worry about.” Cliff frowned. He’d hoped Thalos would agree with him, but at least his roommate’s solution had a bit of consideration for their fellow travelers, unlike some people. Thalos shrugged. “It’s almost pointless to talk about, though, because the prompt is impossibly vague.”
“A lack of information supports a cautious approach,” Loria pointed out.
Cliff shook his head. “Or it suggests that we, the folk capable of solving the problem, should be the problem solvers, information or no.”
“If you think a little training means you’ll come out on top in every situation, I’m sorry to inform you that’s not the case,” Loria replied.
“And if you think that a few unknowns mean we have to turn tail and run, then I am forced to question your spine,” Cliff said, furrowing his brow.
Loria scoffed. “It’s not about courage, it’s about-”
“How we doing over here?” Templar Roose said, cutting off the beginnings of their argument retread. The teacher was wandering between the tables listening in on their discussions and offering the occasional bit of commentary.
“Better, now that you cut them off,” Thalos muttered.
“We are – having trouble agreeing on a course of action, sir,” Loria said. She glared at Cliff. “I want to fulfill our contract, but others want to instead rely on some vague sense of heroic obligation.”
“Forgive me for wanting to save the lives of the next sorry group that wanders on a monster-infested road.”
“What if there’s more than one monster, and as soon as we leave the others attack?” Loria snapped.
“What if the next folk on the road are an old man with a cart full of baby orphans?” Cliff replied with a grin, “I’m sure they’ll understand that the contract was more important.”
“Now that’s just-” Loria started.
“I think the issue is, sir,” Nym cut in, “that we can’t agree on the premise – a lot of important detail is omitted.”
“Well of course,” Roose said with a grin, “that’s the point. You don’t expect every contract to be the same, do you?”
“But-” Cliff started before Roose cut him off with a hand.
“You’ve got the basics down – different situations come with different responses. You’re smart. Think about it, come up with some hypotheticals and figure out what you would do. What if the monsters are pack hunters? What if they’re too fast to run away from? What if the monster is drastically more powerful than normal for the area? Think about it, and make a plan.” He nodded, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I have full confidence in you, team B – hop to it!” Before Cliff could say anything, he was gone, off to help another team.
Loria sighed. “Well, I suppose this changes things – I wish that man’s lessons weren’t so impossibly opaque sometimes.”
“On that, at least, we can agree,” Cliff mumbled.