Mosh patted down his clothes. Unlike his daily clothes or his work clothes, his formal clothing was stiff, overstarched, the crisp white shirt tucked into the formal red pants rubbing as he moved. His feet ached in the new leather shoes his mother insisted he wear; he would have preferred his black boots, comfortable and strong. Were they not formal enough when polished to a high shine and worn with his trousers covering their top? His mother thought not, and he did not have the heart to go against her wishes. Especially not today, as he watched his six older siblings, four with their wives and children, adorned in their own finery as they came with well-wishers to support him as he came into his adulthood, and he awakened his calling. His eight younger siblings, still children, were smartly clothed, though they missed out on the discomfort of truly formal wear. They ran and played, the younger ones with their nieces and nephews the same age, a laughing cacophony of children looking forward to the party and sweets to come, though the youngest was still confined in his pram. To the side, two of his cousins stood, looking as uncomfortable as himself in their Coming-of-Age finery, though Mich, at least, was more used to finery as she commonly dressed in less formal versions as she helped to sell the fine woodwork in her father’s workshop. Thomal looked the most discomfited; he spent most days out on boats, hauling nets and packing fish. His attendance in school patchy, his socializing with those outside of his family and boat crew rare. Somehow, he often found excuses to be absent even from the family gatherings. No avoiding today, though!
Mosh gave up on getting comfortable, accepting the minor discomfort, smiling, his smile not even forced, as he stepped amongst them, some of the small ones jumping onto him for rides, and being chased off by mothers, exasperatedly reminding them to behave. The mob waited until their hired bus arrived and they boarded. The children running in, again being admonished by parents as they jumped on seats and swung around poles. Mosh was stopped as he entered, an armed guard, holding a crystal projecting his image awaiting him. He nodded and smiled, but it had Mosh wondering, why a guard, there had been none for any of the trips to his elder siblings Coming-of-age? The two others were also stopped, the man seemingly ticking off names on a remote list.
A whisper behind him came from one of his uncles. “They only have a guard if it is a lottery year, and they fear the news is out and people will stay away or attempt to flee.” He heard his aunt shushing him, admonishing him that the chances were so low, to not let his speculation spoil such a happy family occasion. But it made Mosh think and wonder at the odds of the lottery. Every year there were millions passing into their Celebration of Age, and he had never heard of a lottery of more than thirty. Less than one in a million. He shrugged; he could not envisage that one farm boy with dreams of living amongst the books of the libraries would fall afoul of whatever criteria drove the lottery.
The bus trip took an hour, their farm falling behind them as the bus rose, floating steadily up until its mana engines engaged and it started moving towards the distant spires. It went at a steady and sedate pace, its speed regulated by the mana lanes it was allowed into. According to the history books, it went at the same speed as the prejudgement motor vehicles, though trips were shorter since it flew and did not need to worry about obstacles on the ground. Pre-judgment, pre-Mileu integration. He tightened his fists; like all his age, he had learned of the Mileu and their so-called justice. Of their intervention, of the mana wave, of the resulting genocide of five billion sapient beings, the destruction the old civilization and of their laws forbidding the resurrection of human technology as it being too disruptive to the Mileu mana. No one believed them. Mosh like many others was convinced the lottery was just for them to get victims for their sick entertainment. The forbidding of the old technology merely a tool to keep humanity oppressed. He knew of those who studied to keep it alive, who toiled in secret, deep beneath the earth, to rebuild and find ways for technology to beat mana. Those never spoken of, those who were humanity's hope to break away from the Mileu oppressors and murderers.
Mosh put his thoughts aside, instead enjoying the feeling of his younger brother and nephew perched one per knee, staring out to the land beneath them, exclaiming as a burning dove flew past. The two were fast friends, both three years old, and a known team fighting on the playground often referred to as the twins, despite not even being brothers. Mosh enjoyed their simple exuberance at the world new to them. It reduced his tension; the tension he did not even realize he was feeling from even the slight chance of the lottery selecting him.
The bus came to a halt in a wide plaza; streams of people passed through it, and fifty pathways branched off to various halls for those undergoing the celebration. There were at least a thousand centers across the planet processing all those in the celebration, but that still meant thousands per city, and in a major city like Kalthek, even more. Mosh was thankful that he would not have to stand in those queues, that his parents and the other two clan families had booked a private venue, and his and his cousins celebrations were a part of the family party that would take place immediately afterwards.
A man and woman, both in red gilded uniforms, stood outside their bus, a welcoming smile on their faces. They greeted Mosh’s parents as they exited the bus, clearly realizing they were the matriarch and patriarch of the unruly mob, even though some of the older generations were there. Or else, Mosh realized, they had their pictures as the ones paying for this and thus their prime customers to be pleased. The guard that had been on their bus exited as well, nodding to an older looking man wearing a uniform laden with decorations.
The clan followed their guides, passing through the plaza moving towards a spire, a pristine white in colour with purple highlights along its ridges, bright in the sun. Colors of the Mileu Council and mandated for their buildings. The glare died as they entered the spire and Mosh spotted more guards at the entrances. He looked around, seeing others of his age moving towards their own destinations within the spire, individual guards gone, but the spire easily closed if needed. He had been here when his brothers and sisters had been their celebrations of Age, there had been no guards. He could only think of his brother-in-law’s words, Was there a lottery this year?
They were guided into a beautifully decorated hall. Tables adorned with flowers and sculptures surrounded a raised dais. On the dais stood a simple black box, a kolb, or snake-dog in slang used in impolite company, in a formal suit, white with purple piping and the emblem of the Mileu Council on his shoulder. It smiled, its fangs showing as they entered. Mosh regarded it, kolb not being common in his school, though there were a few. He looked at the kolb’s strange mix of canine and reptiloid features. Its scales belying the fact that like all of Earth’s sapient species it is warm-blooded. Briefly he wondered if it was male or female; there were no obvious markers when clothed, but he shrugged it off as irrelevant. It was just here as the witness and officiant for the Celebration of Age. Mosh smiled back at the kolb, looking forward to what would come next.
The family found their seats, name tags directing them, the placements a matter of great discussion over the last few weeks. Mosh himself was in a slightly raised seat at the table at the front, his parents flanking him, with his grandparents seated next to them. A few hors d'oeuvres and drinks had been served, but the main celebrations would not start until all had their Celebration of Age and the awakening of their descent. The kolb officiant below smiled, patiently waiting for the chaos to come to some semblance of order. It glanced at Mosh’s father, and when he got the nod, it stepped forward, a series of chimes ringing out to gain attention.
“I welcome all of you of the Barmenash clan to this celebration, the Celebration of Age of Mich, Thomal, and Mosh. I, Fulan of House Digar, have the duty to carry out his Celebration on behalf of the Mileu Council, to oversee the descent of their class. That said I must also be the bearer of news.” Those watching him could not miss the tightening of its fists, the slight growl that entered its words, “It is my duty to inform you of the possibility of the lottery. The Greater Mileu,” and the growl in its voice almost beyond its control, “has decreed that ten shall be taken into what they call the ‘Game’. Ten, from all of Earth’s sapient species. As has been decreed by the Mileu Council, we must allow those selected to go. On behalf of all here, and all on Earth, we pray for those selected and the end to the evil the lottery brings!”
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The hall went silent, a few of the younger children, who had yet to learn of the judgment and lottery in school, looking at each other in confusion and wondering at the sudden somber atmosphere. A lone baby started crying in the silence, its mother trying to shush it as the tension grew.
Fulan looked out, visibly forcing himself to relax before he lowered his head and declared, “May those taken in the past and no longer within be remembered, may those within live, may those who live be returned to us, however they may be!”
A murmur went through the hall, the words repeated. Mosh looked at the kolb, surprised at the vehemence from it considering it worked for the council. Some considered all working for it to be collaborators and traitors, but from what Mosh could see, the hatred the kolb felt towards the Greater Mileu was even greater than his own. Perhaps driven by what it saw and knew, for who knew what those who lived behind the armored walls saw?
Fulan raised its head, an attempted smile on his face. “With the official announcement done, I call on Mich, Thomal and Mosh to prepare themselves to come down and celebrate your coming of age. Let us see if your wish descends upon you!” He gave a crooked smile, fangs sticking up, “We shall start from the one born first in the year Mich Barmenash; step forward; may your wish and prosperity descend!”
Mich stood up, her long, flowing dress elegant on her as her sisters surrounded her in a circle, singing and dancing, throwing petals and sweets at her as she moved towards the dais. Everyone sang as the ladies danced around her and the little ones ran to collect the sweet, packing their pockets, desperate to gather as many as they could ignoring the fact that two more were going to come up and the rain of sweets would be repeated.
Fulan smiled, the kolb’s fangs briefly glinting in the light as he held out its hand to help her up. The hall quieted as she stood beside him, a nervous smile on her face flushed from the dancing. It seemed Fulan whispered to her before addressing her out loud. “Mich, your parents tell me you wish to walk your own path, that you wish to break away from the family tradition of carpentry to walk the path of the hunter and keep your family, your city, humanity, and all of Earth safe!” A few whoops and rounds of applause followed, though most were a bit surprised that the petite girl harbored such ambitions. Fulan grinned, his fangs making it almost predatory. “The human Polity, and the Earth Mileu in general, need brave souls. We will always need those looking to protect us and grow stronger as we strive towards our pre-integration glory! May your wish descend!”
Gently he took her wrist, holding it in his own, declaring, “Mich Barmenash, we welcome you to your descent. May your wish be granted; may your class reflect your inner being and fulfill your dreams.” And without further fanfare placed her hand into a dark slot in the black box. All waited with bated breath. Mich withdrew her hand and Fulan leaned forward, smiling as he withdrew. “May it be declared with the permission of Mich; her wish has descended. She has been granted the class
The hall erupted in cheers as Mich descended, her face flushing again with the attention, but even now, straight after the class descent, her grace and strength could be seen to have grown, such was the power of the system and a class. Some looked at her warily, combat classes tended to be more direct in its enhancements. And there were always rumors of it making its recipients more volatile, though this was denied both by the recipients and the system.
After a few minutes, the Fulan indicated for the indecorous celebratory pandemonium to cease as he spoke again. “Thomal Barmenash, step forward, may your wish and prosperity descend.”
New singing and dancing started as Thomal was hoisted onto the shoulders of his brothers’ and father, being thrown into the air and caught again as they whooped and charged towards the dais, with the obligatory pretending to almost miss as he came down, along with the obligatory shouts of “Be careful” from his mother, though everyone knew nothing would happen. More sweets were thrown, and the mass of rushing children was a greater hazard than anything before! Deposited on the stage, his formal wear now looking disheveled, Thomal tried to straighten it out, then gave up, grinning at Fulan, who once again leaned forward and whispered before addressing the gathering.
“So Thomal, according to your father and shipmates, you wish to sail the seas, bringing its bounty to feed us all! Something needed by all as we bring our people back to where we were before the integration. We need all those willing to help humanity progress, feed us, and bring us to our pre-integration glory!” Smiling, Funal took Thomal’s wrist and placed his hand into the black hole of the box. “Thomal Barmenash, we welcome you to your descent. May your wish be granted; may your class reflect your inner being and fulfill your dreams.”
A few minutes passed, and Thomal withdrew his hand, a look of wonder on his face. Funal spoke to him silently, a more extended conversation than with Mich, and people began to fidget, worried there was something wrong. Funal smiled and stepped back. “May it be declared with the permission of Thomal; his wish has descended. He has been granted the class
Pandemonium broke out. People had expected him to follow in the path of his father as a
“Mosh Barmenash, come up! According to your father, you follow your own path and desires. Helpful to all, you look to extend that with learning and disseminating knowledge to all. Those looking to extend our knowledge, to make us all stronger by breaking the boundaries of ignorance, are never enough. Humanity and all of Earth’s inhabitants require such as yourself as we search for an end to our oppression!”
Mosh almost laughed at the statement. Whomever went up, be it those he shared the day with or when his siblings had stood here in the past, the same sentiment had been expressed for whichever descent they wanted. It seemed that humanity and all of Earth’s inhabitants had a need for whatever was wished, be it farmers, hunters, vets, cooks, or caravaners! It seemed all were needed, not too surprising as even after three centuries the population of Earth did not equal that of the pre-Mileu Integration Earth. He did note a slight change, talking about an end to oppression rather than the more formulaic wish for the pre-integration glory. Briefly he wondered if this was indicative of them seeing him as a possible candidate to get a class to allow them to restore the lost forbidden technology. He wondered if that was someone’s actual specified dream if it would also be announced, or was it done more surreptitiously? But a slight tension had entered the air with the last few words; it was rare for the ongoing oppression of Earth’s inhabitants to be mentioned at such happy occasions.
As he stepped down, the previous tension evaporated; cousins and his siblings closest to him in age whooped and cheered him on. Flags and whistles were thrown and quickly grabbed by the younger children who ran in front as he walked to the platform. His two oldest brothers ran forward, scooping him up and holding him as if on a chair to dance him to the platform, carefully avoiding tripping over children trying to fill already full pockets with even more sweets. The hall was full of cheer as he was deposited onto the dais and stood before the black box. Fulan smiled and raised his hand. Silence fell, and a few of the children’s whistles took longer to fall silent.
Softly, so only Mosh would hear, Fulan spoke. “Know, if the lottery takes you, do what you must to stay alive! We work to rescue all those taken. Do not worry; whatever happens, however you change, you are always welcome and always of Earth; your form matters not!” Its voice became louder, sounding out across the hall. “Mosh Barmenash, we welcome you to your descent. May your wish be granted; may your class reflect your inner being and fulfill your dreams.” Fulan gently took Mosh’s suddenly clammy and slightly trembling hand and inserted it into the gaping black orifice in the side of the box.