> Section VII-A: Description of Cards Falling Within The Martial Censure
>
> 1. Strength Cards that exceed any of the following limits or breach restrictions must be assessed for limitations and potential societal risk:
>
> a. capacity to throw a kilogram weight a distance of five hundred meters;
>
> b. sufficient strength to shatter stones in a single hand;
>
> c. capacity to lift and carry a weight of five hundred kilograms a distance greater than ten meters;
>
> d. strength that precludes the use of non-reinforced tools for regular tasks;
>
> e. strength cards that infringe upon mental faculties in any capacity with their use;
>
> f. any bearer of a strength card that has killed another person regardless of circumstance.
>
>
>
> Excerpt from “Edict for the Safety and Well-Being of All”.
The caravan left the city quickly, close as they were to the periphery already. The amblers had reached their pace on the well-kept road, just slightly faster than a comfortable jog. Jack and Stroph were positioned on the middle wagon. They clung to leather grip handles on the side, leaning out over the road to peer further ahead and get a view of the upcoming scenery—they were impatient for each new horizon's arrival. Occasionally, they would jump off for a chance to stretch their legs or switch sides and rest one arm and leg after the other. Whenever they grew too tired of these antics there was seating on the backs of the wagons, but looking back on where they'd come made for a boring view and they were giddy with the beginning of the journey and wanted to look forward.
They were passing through the agricultural greenbelt that surrounded Calamut, the densely developed farmland that fed the city. They passed all kinds of crops, fields of grains and vegetables in late stages of growth, ready for harvest. It was becoming a hot day, an inevitability in late summer sun, but occasional clouds and a refreshing breeze kept the worst of the heat at bay. Scattered through the fields Jack could see the field-hands moving through the crops. While he watched, one fellow set down a wicker basket and gestured, the row in front of him suddenly erupting into activity as the dirt spilled to the sides. Tubers vibrated themselves to the surface, only then rolling their way into the basket like a crowd of children cluttering a doorway.
Occasionally, he could spot one of the small mounds marking the underground bunker-homes of the farmer-residents who worked and lived there. Every scrap of space was used, as every square meter of cropland was needed, but the buried dwellings had a dual role. Proximity to the city meant security, but even here fortified dwellings were necessary. As idyllic as the day felt, they were exposed now to a hostile world—one that kept crop-growers close enough to receive help even with their fortified homes. The wilds did not treat organized human activity with passivity.
They soon passed beyond the limits of the greenbelt and untamed grassland spotted with occasional stands of haven trees became the dominant scenery. A few hills was all it took for Calamut to disappear from view. Jack was impressed that the amblers managed to only slow a bit on the uphill, though it required everyone to get off the wagons. Stroph seemed to take the brisk uphill walk as a great exertion, and was red-faced by the time they returned to level ground.
Eventually, they broke their journey for the day, having made good enough time that there was still quite a lot of light, though it could be deceptive at the time of year how late it truly was. They made camp within a haven grove—actually a single organism, connected by roots beneath the earth. The long-lived and incredibly tough trees formed powerful barriers with their interlocking spiked branches, preventing access from any wandering creatures in the night. This close to the road it was clearly a managed grove, as the wagon height opening into the grove's serene center evidenced. A minimal camp was pulled together, though most seemed content to sleep out in the open and made no effort to do more than stake out a corner to place their sleeping mat.
A simple early supper was swiftly prepared and then with all their responsibilities tended, Jack and Stroph wandered out of the grove to explore. They spent the time making observations about all they passed and chatting casually about their respective families and interests. Jack learned that Stroph had a love of mathematics, and wondered privately at what might have kept him from a career in the Springworks—but such things weren't to be asked of new acquaintances. Stroph in turn was fascinated by Jack's revelation of being a tester among the night-runners.
"Ya’d climb the buildings without any card at all?!" Stroph asked.
Jack confirmed it.
"But what happens if ya fall?"
“You get caught... most of the time.” A few months ago Jack would've had a very easy answer to that question, but now it necessarily came with that addition.
"Sounds like ya have a story there,” Stroph replied with a laugh, but he let it fade into silence. Jack wondered in the sudden quiet if he’d been too transparent, if something had crept into his voice that told of the bigger truth. Maybe he’d let it, to see what kind of response he’d get. Stroph obliged. “Seems to me there’s also a story as to why Jam is lettin’ ya work the wagons even though he’s never done such a thing s’far as I know.”
Jack remained silent.
“I won’t push ya on it, not my business. But if ya’re ever of a mind to share, I’ll admit I'm the type to have it wear on me something fierce, like a burr in a sock ya can’t find. So if ya’re at all merciful, tellin' me at some point will be a great relief,'' Stroph eventually continued.
Jack wondered once again at the moderate enigma of Stroph, who was smarter than he pretended to be and clearly more perceptive as well. Certainly he was a bit absentminded, there had been a dozen occasions through the day that Jack had gently reminded him of a piece of the routine that he'd picked up from observation—small things like checking the stowed goods hadn't shifted on bump, or pulling tight any ropes loosening through the movement of the carts. Something told Jack that Stroph, for all that he was the son of a caravaneer himself, wasn't besotted with that life.
'Can I trust him?' was the thought that gave Jack pause.
If he decided to share details with Stroph, it meant a real chance that they would make their way back to Jam, or elsewhere. Some secrets were not his to give, some opportunities he couldn't risk. But an ally... that could also be the difference between success and failure, and some risks came with rewards.
“There’s nothing as lurid as me having something over Jam if that’s what you’re curious about,” Jack ventured.
"I won't get overly excited then, though that's only part of what's eatin' at me. Ya will do me a service to calm my stirred mind," Stroph took him up on the implicit offer.
Jack took a moment to organize his thoughts, some of this would be delicate. What he wanted—needed—was for Stroph to reciprocate. If there was going to be trust between them they both needed to reveal truths, and the nature of Stroph's answers would tell Jack how far he could go.
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"Mutual vulnerability and mutual respect," Jack declared.
"The burr in my sock sure is fierce, digging into me like that, taunting me with incomplete explanations," Stroph sarcastically complained.
"You dropped your metaphor, but fine, I'll give you the rest. I caught him in some kind of deception, I’m not entirely sure what. Our agreement was that I'd tutor his daughter on the journey, but then I found out that she's not here. Jam was evasive about when she'll appear and rather than letting him get away with it I pushed back."
"He hired you to tutor Wyli?!" Stroph asked, flabbergasted.
"Don't say another word," Jack hushed him with a raised hand, holding still and serious until Stroph settled. "Jam will tell me when he decides I need to know. When he does I’d prefer it to be new to me. He needs to know I didn't try to learn more behind his back. That's the respect I'm showing him because I expect it in return."
Stroph, a bit more cautious, carefully asked the question he was holding in.
"But why did all that mean he was going to let ya work the caravan? Jam hates it when passengers try to help out ‘cept in a few ways. Too often someone has a bright idea and causes delays or damage; ya did well enough today but he couldn't have known ya'd be capable."
"I'd shown Jam respect by not demanding he explain himself, and vulnerability by revealing some of my own intentions. But so far he'd only tried to dismiss me. I made it clear I needed to blend into the caravan for my own reasons. If you think of it like a negotiation, I’d caught him in a lie but also let him save face, one point for me. If he didn’t reciprocate it would mean I likely couldn’t trust him, and I’d just walk away. He wanted me to stay badly enough that he agreed to my terms.”
"Ya covered all that with him in the time ya spoke? It wasn't more than a minute!"
"Well, we didn't say most of this to each other, it was all subtext. I've seen my father play the game often enough...”
‘And I’ve seen my mother win,’ he thought to himself.
“...and I have some training in it. Jam understood what was going on I'm sure, you don't get where he is without having a head for these things," Jack explained.
Jack didn’t say that explaining all of this to Stroph was its own play. He was doing exactly the same thing he'd done with Jam, revealing vulnerabilities but also offering respect. If Stroph picked up on that, he’d reciprocate by sharing something about himself; and they could start the process of potentially becoming allies. This wasn’t a shortcut to trust, but it was the first step towards that destination.
“Yer doin’ the same thing with me now aren’t ya?” Stroph asked with exaggerated slyness.
...Or he could trample through.
Jack blinked.
'All my layers of intrigue are confounded by a red-haired troll of a man!' he thought.
“Stroph, the first rule of playing social games of subtext is you can’t just acknowledge that you’re playing!” Jack said, exasperated.
“Oh right. What I meant to say was, ‘whatever do you mean good sir?’” Stroph replied with a ramshackle attempt at a formal accent.
That was enough to pull a smile from Jack’s expression of feigned disapproval.
"Nah, not my style. Here’s how it is: I'll bite yer hook. There's enough to your hints that's got me intrigued," Stroph continued, "I already mentioned it to ya in passing, I've got a strengthening card set. What I didn't tell ya is that they're a bit too powerful for my own good. I didn't intend to join the caravan trade. Me Da worked it his whole life, and while it’s got its pleasures, I felt his absence more than I knew him. Bad enough luck for me that my cards decided for me. Me card is well beyond the threshold to warrant the martial censure, enough to see me watched me whole life if the nobility caught wind of it. That's no way to live, and so I went out to where I'd be useful and out of the way."
Stroph had just admitted to far more than Jack had anticipated, in fact he'd so exceeded the expectations of disclosure that the pressure to reveal was now on Jack.
Jack had already evaluated what he could share with Stroph and what needed to be held back for now. After what Stroph had shared, he figured that explaining his own cards would be a fair trade.
So Jack told him of his fall, and the broken cards he received in turn. At the end of it they each understood each other better, both had been flung outside of the lives they expected because of carding circumstances outside their control. And if there was uncertainty dwelling in their eyes, if the optimism they presented to the other about their prospects rang hollow, it was mutually ignored in favour of lighter topics.
With the details of their cards shared, it was only natural that they both wanted to show off a little. Jack activated Vital Flow, and then with a showman's flourish stepped within arms reach of Stroph.
"You win if you can touch me. I win if I can do a handstand before you manage it," Jack challenged.
Stroph gave him a puzzled look, and slowly raised a hand to reach for Jack—and then in a burst of motion darted it towards his arm!
But Jack had already triggered Pivot.
With a twist at the speed of thought his body rotated out of the way, far faster than Stroph's lunge. Stroph's hand failed to encounter resistance and so his motion continued, leaving him stumbling towards Jack.
With Pivot still active Jack rotated himself forward, slamming his own hands against Stroph's shoulders and using the new leverage to swing himself up and into a handstand atop Stroph. While Pivot was active he could keep perfect balance, micro-adjusting his position to remain aloft. But then Pivot ran its course and Jack felt the sudden loss of control of his body.
The freckled young man looked up to see Jack using him like a perch. The expression of bafflement, and barely restrained amusement threatened to upset Jack's poise.
"Don't you dare laugh," Jack warned.
"Feeling a little precarious?" Stroph shifted underneath him worryingly, his face bunching up with a telltale quiver in his voice.
"If you laugh I'll fall right on your face, head first, see if I won't. If I'm lucky I'll break your nose, now that would be funny."
Carefully, he let his center of gravity tilt back, and with significantly reduced grace, he let himself fall into an awkward crouch.
"Alright, ya've some impressive maneuvers. Let me show ya mine," Stroph said with a grin.
He knelt to the ground and with frightening ease wormed his hand into the ground like it was loose sand and not dense soil. His efforts were shortly rewarded with a fist sized stone.
He glanced around a moment as if deliberating. Then with an audible woosh he threw the rock at the horizon.
Jack tracked it as far as he could, but ultimately after a few seconds it shrunk past the limits of his perception. It was still ascending when he lost it. He looked back to Stroph with new respect for the power he kept in check.
"That was... astounding. I'm actually speechless."
Stroph gave him an abashed grin. "I don't have more than a few of those in me at a time. If ya really want to see somethin' give me a sustained job to do. Bursts like that take a lot more than their worth," he paused his explanation and his face lit up with boyish delight, "it's fun as all hell though."
The evening had begun to turn. The lingering sun of the summer was making its final stand against the night, and the air had grown cool. The tall grasses had gone to seed and Jack was continually brushing them off his clothing. The plains stretched in all directions, texture lost in forever. Amidst the expanse, despite being the one of the few things of height, Jack felt very small.
"We should head back in soon, yeah? Ya will get another opportunity to see the consequences of my overwhelming might another time!" Stroph said, dramatically flexing for emphasis.
Jack was tempted to try and find the landing site of the stone, but he had detected a troubled note in Stroph's voice. Ultimately he deferred to the experienced traveller and so they made their return to the caravan.
Jack and Stroph had already set up their sleeping sites, and arrived tired enough to simply fall to their bedrolls and fall into slumber.
He woke to screams.