Within the same day, the class learned about all types of mantled equipment: repulsors that could be used to push objects and people, the ratlines that are used to protect ships from distant cannon fire, as well as devices that transformed the utility of compartments within an aeroship.
The platoon of students experimented with mantling objects with gemin provided by the Cloudushun College. Transforming basic swords into items with elemental magic abilities. A correctly mantled blue gemin turned a sword cold while retaining the mechanical properties of its spring steel. A red gemin would heat the metal without weakening it. Cyan, caused it to rip arcs of electricity through the air.
“As a soldier of the Argentian Military, your enemy will likely have an elemental weapon of some type. A mantled weapon often has objectively more utility than a weapon in its base form. You will be expected to be able to identify the gemin color of any weapon you encounter. Once you know its color, predicting its effects becomes much easier.” The crowd of students discussed among each other the difficult prospect of “predicting” the effects of an enemy weapon.
One of the more erudite young women stood up. “Professor. Shouldn’t a gemin’s effects be consistent between weapons? Is it not correct to assume that all weapons mantled with a red gemin will generate heat.” After she spoke up she sat down, and the class continued its discordance.
The professor addressed the class by handwaving them into silence. As the platoon sat he clarified. “A red gemin will almost certainly generate heat. It is the way that it does so that is not predetermined. Gemin are intelligent objects, which if managed correctly should not wish you harm.” He got up from his seated position, to pace around the lecture hall stage.
“Imagine you have a firearm, the body and the barrel are made of steel. A gemin will not waste energy heating the barrel, as that is not the part of a firearm that damages. That would be the projectile. Likewise with a longbow, mantling a red gemin body of that bow might cause the head of a nocked arrow to glow.” Proposing this thought experiment to the class, he walked quickly to the center front of the stage.
“A problem arises when we consider what happens if we nock an exclusively wooden arrow into the bow. When there is no metal for the gemin to heat, what does the gemin do... in, that, case? In testing, as it turns out, the gemin generates its own surface to heat. Turning the head of a sharpened wooden arrow shaft into pure red hot charcoal.” He boisterously ejects his voice into the lecture hall. Grabbing a desk ruler he points it forward at the students, in a loose fencing stance.
“The deeper you think about it, the more complicated it becomes. You can turn anything into a weapon. A table leg, a leather strap, a length of chain, or a tool like a desk ruler.” Rosin taps the ruler against the table.
“What happens if I mantle a gemin into something like this? Does it become a charcoal blade? My hand must grasp it in some way. Which side becomes the handle so to speak? Does mantling the gemin on a specific side, or in a specific orientation cause a change to that position?” He taps the ruler upon the table in silence until his short attention becomes mentally tired of doing so.
“The truth is that we don’t know until we test a specific object for the first time. Even then there can be changes between two seemingly identical mantles. The most important takeaway from this lesson, vital in understanding, is that a gemin is under the control of its wielder. A mantled gemin in an object that is intended to become a weapon will become a weapon. One likely more powerful than even its wielder expects.”
Professor Holiday revealed a red gemin from his pocket. To Temora’s eyes, it appeared to be a similar-sized stone to the one that was socketed in the eye of his cane. Perhaps, it was the exact same stone. He pressed the stone up firmly to the base of the ruler.
With both the stone and ruler in the same hand, it blinked into wisps of fire and blue plasma. These wisps shimmered down the entire length of the desk ruler, as wide as the professor’s own arm. With a flick of the end of the ruler into the open air it discharged an elemental bolt with a crack as if from a whip. The bolt of plasma impacted a metal plate hanging from the far side of the hall ceiling. Leaving the plate ringing from the impact. There was a small sooty scorch mark on its face.
He released his tight grip on the ruler and stone. The ruler blinked out its last whisper of plasma and returned to normal. Rosin then pocketed the red gemin into his waistcoat.
“Difficult to predict right? Unfortunately, your survival in combat may depend on approximating unexpected results. Forbid the enemy mantles a swivel gun, crossbow, net launcher, harpoon, or a main ship gun. Evaluate your situation quickly. Requisition an enemy’s gemin in any case where you feel you might be able to do so. Even if the stone fights against you.”
The class had already rolled over its allotted time, and the platoon of young novices were prepared to leave. Professor Holiday dismissed the mob of students out onto the campus. As the boot camp approached its final week, the platoon was given more freedom to leave the compartment than when they first started. Students and faculty held the soldiers in high regard, and although many of the platoon were still novices by rank; they knew of the prestige that was associated with being under Holiday’s tutelage.
As the mob approached the mess hall, students of other platoons greeted theirs with the usual formalities. They lined up with the cafeteria staff to be served. The Argentian schools never had assigned times for meals. Students were free to eat at any time between courses. Outside of the first six school grades classes were not scheduled at regular intervals. For Temora, there would on certain days be enough time to eat a full meal and walk home to retrieve belongings before her next class called attendance.
The mess hall building contained a mixture of students of different ages, grades seven through to Apprentice Rising. While the academy had students and faculty of all ages, there was a separate mess hall for Apprentices and higher. After becoming a Lecturer, they would deliver meals directly to your office.
The cafeteria staff was comprised of primarily young women and many of them were culinary students of the academy. Temora was thankful she did not end up there, as she considered just a few years ago. Cooking was more like a hobby for her, and she didn’t want to ruin it with the stress coursework.
A woman behind the counter grabbed an empty tray and placed it onto a rail where it was served with a dry-rubbed meat dish, that to everyone’s relief was not poultry. Followed by fried potatoes, a barley pottage which was spiced more heavily than the meat was, salted fresh steamed carrots, and a waxed paper cartoon of tart pokopomme juice; which she was excited to see refrigerated.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The group of three sat together in their section of the long wooden benches in the large mess hall. The tables each covered half of the length of the room. Maybe twice the width of a city street, it could sit twenty people on each side. Only an arm span's worth of walking space existed between the tables. The wood of the seating had been worn and polished into natural depressions from a century of use. Making it more comfortable than its appearance would suggest.
“I can’t believe he called you out like that.” Cocole smirked for the first time since Temora had met him on the field. “I just know he’s been waiting to do that for weeks.” He sensibly chuckled at the thought of Professor Holiday crossing days off of his office calendar until he could finally ask Albe a question about sporting equipment.
Albe looked both intrigued and concerned, to Cole’s dismay. “It did not come to me, until this class, that they would use this type of equipment for a military purpose. Why shouldn't they? What kind of special operation would give an advantage to someone who can fly? All of them right?” His brow narrowed. “Most of their work is on ships, and the skysurfers do not help you maneuver as quickly. They don’t keep you in the air for long either. They could be used to prevent people from falling, but cloudwalkers do that already. The military could use them to board other ships, but why would you risk giving your enemy such expensive equipment? The only reason I can think of, a military application, would be in some situation where they knew there would be no risk of getting caught. One that requires stealth, some clandestine operation where you might need to go over something.”
Albe was rapidly putting the pieces together in his mind as the others looked on as the realization hit the three of them simultaneously. They would not be “giving equipment like this to novices”, which he said himself. They would only be given to a special operations group in some deep military, black-budget type exercise. Their professor had access to some highly privileged information, that they were now able to speculate on.
“Albe, I have a question for you.” Temora tapped her trowel against the pressed metal tray, clicking against it rhythmically. “I’m not much of a gemite, I’ve never used gemin before myself... other than for water.” She took out her notes from the class, where she drew a crude diagram of what she saw in the shoes.
“Each of the boots has two floatstones in it, right? Meaning someone is under control over four gemin total. How is that possible? Doesn’t that violate triad?” It was a purely academic question for Temora, there wasn’t even a hint of curiosity in her voice. The question came out as if she discovered something malformed in her concept of reality.
“It does, which is why skysurfers are so physically taxing. Your entire body will exhaust its energy. Airstride players must eat high calories between periods. Some resort to caffeinated supplements, or strong stimulants. Then they get failed and get pulled.” He made the cutting of the neck gesture with his hand. “I am to understand that the yellow gemin are the least physically taxing color to use, but I would not want to control four of any color of gemin for longer than it would take to play an airstride game into its second period.” Albe, tipped his trowel into the dry-rubbed meat, still trying to figure out what kind of animal it was exactly.
“Do any of you own a gemin?” Temora proposed them, hoping to see one used outside of a classroom setting. Cocole and Albe looked at each other in slowly calculated contemplation.
“I have just one, and I did not bring it with me here. It was my grandfather’s, and carrying it around would be a grievous misuse of it I feel. It is a bright, and clear green gem. We have never had it graded because we feared for its theft.” Albe spoke with his head down toward the plate in front of him, thoughts distracting him from the food; as delicious as it was.
Temora opened the refrigerated carton of pokopomme juice. It was still tart and a little bitter, just the way she liked it. “What about you Cole?” she pointed at him with the same hand she was holding the carton with.
Cocole again looked at Albe who looked up toward him as they thought through his response. “I used to have three before I ended up here in Argentis. They were... requisitioned, by the military when I arrived here.” He clasped his hands and pressed his thumbs above the bridge of his nose into his inner brow. “I was wrong to ever assume I would get them back after I made it through port customs. I loved them like... no... they ‘were family’, and I hope that one day I will be able to see them again.” His gaze moved up to meet Temora’s eyes. Cocole’s voice stammered with the obviousness of someone heatedly holding back tears.
Temora did not understand why he had such a strong emotional connection to those objects. Maybe it was sentiment or the pure rage of injustice. She assumed incorrectly, but resonated with his emotions regardless. “I am sorry to hear they took them from you. I am sure they are out there somewhere looking for their owner.”
“I hope that they are, but they were not too strong. I doubt they could accomplish that feat on their own.” He shot down the possibility in an instant. Cocole already knew the pain of getting his hopes up with that kind of talk. The Port Authority and thus the Argentian government took his stones, and they were certainly depleted by now.
“Oh, so they were keygemin then?” Temora now better understood his pain. Depending on how long he had them, it would be no less painful than losing three pets on the same day. It could have been even more emotional still. “I didn’t know you were a keygemite.” She was still curious, but wanted to move on from bringing up the loss.
“They were. I learned how to set with my mom. She was a big name in carnivals and festivals where I grew up; in Lusteria. We never had a real home that wasn’t an aero, and we went through a couple of those because we leased them. I never met my dad, but I heard he was famous. He never took responsibility for... uh... me, you know.” Cocole returned to resting his head on his thumbs.
“My mom would use keygemin in shows. Showing off some amazing abilities and forms. The carnival group had so many unique keygemin. There was this one I remember, that would reform itself into geometric shapes. Then reappear inside containers. It blew snow onto the audience. I was always upfront when mom was going to be on stage, so I always got covered by the snow.” His eyes lit up as he reminisced about the stage show. He might have even smiled a little.
“That does sound incredible.” Temora leaned into the conversation. Although Argentis was mountainous, none of them were snowcapped. It was hot at the end of the year. Just after, during the coldest six weeks, during the blue grads, the weather was mild. Temora had never seen snow. “Does it snow in Lusteria?” she pried for more information.
“No... and I think that is what made it special for us too.” Cocole clasped a locket that was around his neck. She could tell from its appearance alone, that it was a gift from his mother. A guy with his attitude would not wear an accessory with that floral a style without it having sentimental value.
“The rest of the barracks is starting to get ready, it must be dimset.”
The three of them returned to the compartment and quickly fixed up their bunks before the windows would go dark. They got halfway into tucking their bedsheets under before the sirens began to sound. Cocole damned this blast from the klaxons. Then instantly, the light coming in from the compartments many windows snapped into darkness. This left them holding the corners of their relative bedsheets. At least their commanding officer wouldn’t be coming in to check.
For the three of them, this marked the penultimate day of their extensive training. The rest was all coursework and standardized testing. All three of them were prepared for the final day of work. Even Cole, who didn't test well, had the best tutors possible next to him. The three of them were destined to succeed.