Washington, D.C. Winter 2054
Avery Ham sat on the park bench kicking her feet.
The playground called to her with its sounds of laughter and joy.
It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t join the other kids.
Doubly unfair that she had to wear her church clothes when it wasn’t even Sunday.
Sooo uncomfortable.
There was no way she was going to be able to run around after the dumb meeting even if her parents let her, which they weren’t because her stupid fancy shoes would get scuffed.
She stared wistfully at the playground, imagining being one of the kids playing tag as she sorta listened to her parents talking with the magic teacher.
“Mr. Finley, your resume says your class is Ghostly Sorcerer. That is certainly unique. Most of the other teachers the school has available are mages,” her mom said.
“It’s intriguing,” her dad added. “We’ve read everything we could get our hands on concerning the differences and similarities, but thought that it’d be best to hear it from the actual person.”
Mr. Finley nodded.
He looked like any other adult to Avery.
Tall, thin.
A bit tired with the dark circles under his eyes and the way the lines crinkled when he had smiled down at her.
“I don’t know that I could add anything to what the government, the school or the spires can provide about the classes. Beyond my personal experience with myself I’ve probably read a lot of the same materials as you have.” Mr. Finley tapped finger to chin for a long moment of silence.
Avery got bored looking at him and turned her wistful gaze back to the playground.
“But,” Mr. Finley continued, “I think it’s better if I turn the question to you. What would you like for Avery to achieve?”
“Safety and prosperity,” her mom said, squeezing her shoulder.
Her dad ruffled her hair. “Specifically, we want her strong and knowledgeable in a way that others won’t be able to exploit her and she won’t be put on a battlefield.”
“But, we want her to be able to defend herself if necessary.” Her mom fussed with her hair, trying to smooth everything back into place.
“You’re aware that the government is funding the program for the purpose of future recruitment. Now, that doesn’t mean those positions are all battlefield ones. A functioning society needs more than just soldiers and roaming adventurers.” Mr. Finley smiled. “There are plenty of other valuable positions, like mine, not to push, of course.”
“And how is it? Being a magic teacher?” her mom said.
“Well, I’ve only been in my position for about a year, but I find it rewarding, both from a salary and purpose standpoint.”
“And you haven’t had to do any fighting?” her dad said.
“Not as requested or otherwise ordered. I have had to defend myself and others from the odd random monster popping up out of the sewers or dropping out of the sky, but I’m sure that’s something you’ve had to deal with.”
Avery remembered the incident last month when gremlins leapt out of trees.
She had missed with her magic missiles, but her mom and dad were able to shoot them with their guns.
“I’m not opposed to service,” her dad said. “We both served and are still technically in the militia. Having Avery allowed us to take a step back.”
Mr. Finley nodded. “There is no future without children.”
“Yes!” her mom said. “We’re planning on a second once Avery’s settled into her education. The house will feel empty without her running around all day.”
“That’s good to hear! I’m—” Mr. Finley suddenly turned his head to the sky. “One moment.”
He stood, striding toward the playground with his fingers and hands dancing an intricate pattern in front of his chest.
Avery felt he mana surging.
Her eyes widened.
That was a lot of mana!
More than she had ever been close to in, like, ever!
It was almost like that time she had stared into the sun before an eclipse after her parents had warned her not to. The healer hadn’t been cheap and she had been grounded for so long because of it.
A magic shield shimmered to life overhead.
The massive umbrella covered the playground, the benches arrayed around it and a lot of the surrounding green lawn.
“Everyone! Please hurry under cover!” Mr. Finley’s voice boomed unnaturally.
People obeyed quickly.
Experience and lessons had drilled it into their heads that hesitation meant death or worse.
Avery stared in awe at the rainbow of colors. “So pretty!” she whispered up at the symbols dancing in Mr. Finley’s magic.
She wanted to do that.
“Mom! Dad! I want to do that!” she pointed.
“Yes, honey,” her mom said distractedly, pulling a submachine gun and a shield from a bag of holding before pulling out a tiny helmet and tiny armored vest to roughly jam on Avery.
Her dad had already drawn his armor and a carbine, taking up a position in front of her and her mom, which was annoying because she couldn’t see Mr. Finley.
A shadow loomed.
Sudden thunder cracked.
People screamed.
Something big had impacted the magic shield.
The monster, what else could it have been, was a huge mass of weeping red muscles and writhing tentacles.
It sorta reminded Avery of the gorillas at the zoo, but a lot bigger.
“Cover your ears, honey!” her mom crouched in front of her, covering with shield and firing with gun.
She plugged fingers into her ears.
“Fire!” her mom snapped.
Dad squeezed the trigger.
Full-auto.
Avery could feel the rapid pops.
Her parents and other parents blasted the monster.
Red blooms erupted from its flesh.
Seconds emptied magazines.
“Reloading!” Many cried.
The monster charged, only to be struck by a white blur.
There she stood for just a moment.
Avery’s hero! “Captain Patriot!” she cheered, throwing her hands into the air.
“Honey! What do we say about being a target!” her mom snapped.
“Don’t be one,” she muttered as she crouched back down behind her mom.
It didn’t matter anyways because Captain Patriot was gone again.
They could hear the booms echoing across the park as their number one hero was putting an end to that monster.
“Well…” Mr. Finley sighed, “that was a bit too exciting. I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Ham, to you too, Avery. It seems I picked the wrong venue.”
“Or the right one,” her dad said. “If you hadn’t been here…”
The other parents nodded thanks to Mr. Finley as they tried to calm their children down.
It was half and half from what Avery could tell.
For every kid crying out of fright, another was like her, smiling, heart pumping, quivering in place.
She couldn’t wait to tell her friends that she saw Captain Patriot smashing a monster!
They had been so close that she could’ve almost touched them.
She totally would’ve fired her magic missile if her mom hadn’t told her to cover her ears.
A surreptitious eye roll conveyed her silent thoughts on that matter.
“In any case, I will understand if you feel that another teacher will be better for Avery,” Mr. Finley said.
Wait?
What?
Noooo!
She tugged her mom’s pants.
Mr. Finley was way cool!
She wanted to learn how to make that rainbow magic shield!
Had to learn!
“We certainly have a lot to discuss,” her mom said.
“Of course,” Mr. Finley said. “Whatever you decide, I’ll prepare a list of teachers and courses to avoid keeping in mind what you want for your daughter’s future.”
----------------------------------------
Washington, D.C. Spring 2055
A knock on the sideroom door.
“Congresswoman?”
“Yeah, Reg?”
Her chief of staff’s partially-dyed locs peeked just enough so that she could see his eyes.
“5 minutes. Unless you want more time.”
“That sounds fine.”
“You sure? They’re enjoying the drinks. I think we can stretch that to 10 or 15 before anyone starts getting impatient.”
Brinley Johnson-Lopez’s smile was made all the more dazzlingly by how natural it appeared.
She had worked hard on it.
Hundreds of hours in front of a mirror.
A few minutes every day after she had washed the sleep off her face and a few minutes before going to bed.
It was the least of what she had to do to get to the position she was in and, more importantly, to keep it and rise further.
Much like the fundraiser dinner with its speeches, handshaking and promises to the wealthy and connected donors.
It was just how things worked.
She took one last look in the mirror.
Dark hair was a minus, but the fair skin made fairer with her stylist’s makeup Skills was a much larger plus.
The dress was an even bigger plus.
Modest, but did nothing to hide her shape, which had been a blessing from her genetics that had been improved upon by hard work and a few appearance Skills of her own.
It was a poor politician that didn’t pick up a few of those along with charisma Skills.
Things inherent to a person’s class couldn’t be banned like enchanted items or alchemical potions.
But, such things tended to pass in and out of law depending on the whims of the three branches of government.
Were she to be truthful, she’d much rather they put all their stock into the truth in their cores rather than tricks.
Another knock, but she was already at the door.
“Smile,” she muttered, preparing herself with a deep breath.
Smiles.
Handshakes.
Hugs from the worse of the lot.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Old men, old enough to be her grandfather, taking liberties with their hands even as their wives stood beside them.
Brinley didn’t know which was worse.
The perpetrator or the one that turned a blind eye.
A speech.
Empty.
Vapid.
Say the words they expected.
One didn’t want to be unpredictable.
That didn’t get donors.
Donors liked predictability.
Liked knowing that what they bought with Universal Points and dollars stayed bought.
It was just how things worked.
Speech finished.
Give silent thanks to a Skill that kept her cool under pressure, literally and figuratively.
Donors wanted a perfect look.
Sweat on her brow and upper lip didn’t belong in a fundraiser.
No doubt they’d rather see that in more intimate settings.
Not that she had ever or would ever entertain such a thing even with how it would help propel her political career.
She had thought of getting a husband or at least a relationship, but she had seen it with her peers.
Such wasn’t a shield against the advances.
Powerful men didn’t let such things stop them.
Thus, she accepted less and relied on demurring at every advance.
It wasn’t too hard, to be truthful, the men had wandering eyes and she could play them off against each other.
All she had to do was keep herself out of those danger situations many a young woman without her position found themselves in everyday.
She regarded the young waitresses and waiters.
Which one of you will end up with a bad night? She thought. You’d think they’d be happy with the escorts and brothels.
The ugly truth was that for some men the unwillingness was what they craved.
Dinner went as well as expected.
She had made sure her table was devoid of those kind of men.
Instead, she had it filled with practically ancient men and women.
Old timers who still remembered the nation and its capital in its glorious pre-spires era.
“It’s a shame President George won’t budge on the issue of the hybrid program. He’s listening too much to the bleeding-heart liberals,” Lawrence Hitch said. The old man was blind in one eye and deaf in both ears. None of which mattered thanks to enchanted glasses that made his vision perfect and enchanted rubies that made his hearing perfect. “We had it right with the first implementation. Giving way to the soft voices has only left us with an inferior product. If we had kept with it we wouldn’t be struggling with Rightful Destiny. Wouldn’t have to sell ourselves to outworlders just to cling to what we have when we should’ve already taken everything back from the traitors.”
Brinley agreed without quite saying those exact words regardless of her true thoughts on the matter, which was to say that she was actually with the president in regards to his position on the hybridization program.
Weaker, but plentiful product was infinitely desirable over stronger, but fewer. Especially, when one did the human thing and understood that said products were actual human beings.
The old program had something like a 10% success rate according to what she had read and been briefed on.
They hadn’t specified what happened to the failures other than to say that almost all cases ended in death.
Thus, she spent dinner listening to old people complain, while promising to do her best.
Not that she was specific.
Let them fill in the blanks in a way that made them happy enough to donate to her re-election campaign.
It was a long game she played.
Congress for an appropriate amount of time.
Then Senate.
Then President.
Then she could truly effect the change the country needed to keep up with the times.
Dinner mercifully ended.
Reg came in with the save, keeping her from getting stuck with pawing hands and insipid conversations.
And he didn’t even have to make something up.
She had a legitimate call.
Outside and into her armored SUV.
Bodyguards everywhere except in the passenger compartment with her.
Anti-surveillance turned on. Tech, magic and a combination of the two, plus an additional secret device meant to block the hidden surveillances by who knew how many different entities slipped into every little crevice one could imagine.
She tucked the tiny dot into her ear, somehow it never fell out or in, for that matter.
Hiding her mouth with her hand she subvocalized.
“Yes?”
“I found a mercenary band that’s looking for patronage. Just started, but I’d get in on the ground floor if I were you. Operating out of Vegas, but looking to move east because that’s where the real wealth and power is. They call themselves ‘Mist Spekters’. I dropped your name, so better get on it quick. Message through the spires for first contact.”
One wasn’t a serious mover in the halls of power without having powerful individuals at her disposal.
“Can you tell me anything about them?”
“You can find out on your own, but as agreed I wouldn’t suggest a group that’d be incompatible with your ethos.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“I got a few more things.”
“Okay.”
“Warnings. A handsome young man is planning to bump into you on your daily runs. Your exact type.”
How would he know that?
“He’s a honeypot. Combined Intelligence Agency.”
“Again,” she sighed.
“They’re never going to stop. They have too little over you in the way of leverage and they don’t like that. It’s the same for the party the Hitches are going to invite you to in a few months. A lot of people want more leverage. Think spiked drinks and food. You can figure out the rest. I suggest being busy elsewhere.”
“How? I’m campaigning.”
“Elections are in the summer, right? Maybe it’s time to visit your actual district? Isn’t it strange how I can count on one hand how many times a congresswoman from Texas has actually gone there?”
There had been changes to the Constitution necessitated by the extraordinary circumstances of the spiresapocalypse.
Residency requirements for congress were now simply having a past relative residing in said state at any time in the past.
The district didn’t even matter since they were still at well below the number they had pre-spires.
“Do your campaigning with the people you claim to represent. Be a trendsetter.”
“You do realize that Austin, which is just about the only populated area in my district isn’t technically back in the fold? They can’t even vote. Even if I wanted to, my security detail can’t escort me all the way there.”
“There’s a diplomatic envoy mission scheduled around the same time. Hitch a ride. After that? Well… the Mist Spekters can handle the escorting on the way back. Who knows what you might encounter on your journey? Could be plenty of opportunities to build your resume?”
The call ended abruptly as it always did.
She didn’t know who her mysterious benefactor was and she didn’t care.
He hadn’t steered her wrong yet.
Saved her many times from traps she and her team had no idea were lurking in the shadows.
Ambition and caution.
Tough to juggle, but she had good mental reflexes.
It’d all be worth it if she could get to a position from which she could guide the country not beholden to the whims of the powerful few.
----------------------------------------
Southern California, Spring 2055
“First things first, you little shits,” Captain Mouthy said flatly, like she was reading from a grocery list, when in fact she was reading from a list on the podium, “you’re still Rayna’s Rangers. That’s important. Don’t forget it. Keep it in your stupid minds. Mani-shit-that-fest like your life depends on it… cause it might. Second, you’re also not Rayna’s Rangers. That needs to stand up to scrutiny. Fucking cover stories, right? You were rangers, but now you’re ‘Mist Spekters’… the fuck? That shit’s not even spelled proper like. God damn, edgelords,” she snorted like an angry bull for a moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Fuck it. Stupider probably helps sell it. Any-fucking-ways… you’re Mist Spekters,” she rolled her eyes, “but also Rayna’s Rangers, except keep that quiet, so no ranger names, make up new ones, use your regular ones, whatever you want. Like I was saying before you taint smears interrupted me… cover story. Just don’t say that shit out loud and you’ll be fine. I’ve been assured that your thoughts won’t betray nothing and they’ll stand up to all but the highest level truth spells and Skills. As long as you buy into the whole Mist Spekters thing. Before you ask me, how?” She let the moment breathe in silence. “Don’t. Cause I don’t know the details and I don’t care.”
Alin sat at the back of the assembly.
It was a small group of Rayna’s Rangers gathered in the lecture hall.
20 to be exact.
About 40% of the Mist Spekters.
The rest were waiting in Las Vegas.
People from the Golden Eagles and others his dad had selected.
It had taken a few months to run those people through an accelerated recruitment process to the rangers, so that they could be counted as true Rayna’s Rangers for Captain Mouthy’s Skill to work on them.
Not all had managed it for one reason or another.
Whether they just didn’t fit the ranger ethos and standards or the ranger ethos and standards didn’t fit them in the end they had failed.
Those people still hadn’t bailed on the Quest.
They had decided that the rewards were worth the risks without that potential safety net.
A safety net that Alin didn’t have on account of not having a class.
One didn’t need the Rayna’s Ranger class for the captain’s Skill to work on them, but they did need a class.
He listened to the captain with one ear.
The details of the Quest were things he could recite by memory. Planning with everyone back home had been a grueling process. His dad and the others had been determined to break him down enough that they could justify taking him off the Quest. But, at the end of the day, they couldn’t come up with an adequate replacement for the one crucial thing he could do.
Only he could find the ritual site with speed and certainty, while not exposing himself.
Well… he was less confident about the latter.
“Fifth!” Captain Mouthy jabbed her finger at them like they stole her last burger, “level like your lives depend on it! Until you reach D.C. When you’re in that shithole, keep your heads down. Complete the Quest. Don’t die. Now, line up, so I can get this shit done.”
Kat squeezed his thigh before she stood to get in line with the others.
Childhood friends stood there.
Some, like Steph, who was a ranger now, smiled like it was going to be all fun and excitement.
Others, like Victor, Luzi and Gob, were stone-faced for they had seen a friend die. And in the latter’s case, had been minutes if not seconds away from joining Lee and the other rangers murdered by a slasher.
Steph may have seen more combat against human opponents on a regular basis in the arenas and stadiums, but death was never on the table for the gladiators of the GCA.
Then there were those, like Eda, who he never would’ve called as the adventuring type.
Her witch training at his Aunt Wytchraven’s slice of the Fae Realm had clearly changed her from the girl with her nose buried in a book to a straight-backed young woman with glinting glasses hiding eyes that he was fairly certain saw more than what reality presented.
There was also her owl staring at him from behind the ceiling lights, twisting her head more than what owl’s should’ve been capable of. Bad enough that her brown feathers always looked like they were oozing black slime like those pictures of birds caught in oil spills they used to show in class when he was a kid as a reminder of the perils of the pursuit of wealth and power at the cost of the environment.
There was something rather… eldritch about Earthian society being built around the extraction of what had once been the collective bones of animals dating back eons into the planet’s past.
Eda’s familiar, at least, wasn’t actually oozing oil or some other black, eldritch substance. It was merely for the aesthetic. Eda had made them all touch her familiar’s feathers when they had looked askance at the owl.
A slap on the back jarred him from his rumination.
“At least that sour look on your face is gone,” Victor whispered. “Now you just look like someone stole your slice of cake… you know like every birthday from 6 to 10-ish.”
“That’s cause someone always stole my cake.”
“In our defense, most of the time it was your aunt who told us to.”
“I didn’t forget. I’m just biding my time. One day, it’ll be her who’s crying about the cake.”
Victor chuckled. “No reason to be that bummed. The captain’s Skill… well… I’d say it’s us who should be concerned about you.”
“That Skill is a one time thing for a very specific situation. It won’t do shit for any of the thousand possible ways you guys could get hurt or worse.”
“That’s the life of a ranger.”
“How’d your husband take it?”
“Low blow.”
“Sorry,” he sighed. “It’s been settled then?”
“He’s not happy, but understanding. We all know how important this is. And if I wasn’t qualified or judged to be a valuable contributor to this Quest they wouldn’t have picked me. Do I need to remind you that a lot of rangers applied?” Victor patted him on the shoulder.
A lot was an understatement.
Thousands had applied with only the barest information about the Quest.
He didn’t mention it to anyone, but his dad had winnowed that down to a hundred or so.
The right classes, expertise and experience.
The right levels, not too high, not too low.
The right amount of notoriety in the places they were headed, which was to say little to none.
The Mist Spekters were supposed to be a new group, up and coming. A splinter off the Golden Eagles, recruiting from the Southwest parts of the former United States of America.
Naturally, recruits would be drawn from Rayna’s Rangers, the largest, strongest group in the region.
The cover story was that they were young and eager for more than standing on the walls shooting monsters and mutated animals.
They wanted levels and items they could only get by taking on greater challenges out in monsterland.
Encounter Challenges, Spawn Zones, bounties, anything and everything.
“No one here is here because we’re being forced,” Victor continued. “And no one— well, most of us are aware of the risks. It’s just… I can’t speak for others, but for me? Those are worth it. War’s no good for anyone and it’s obvious that the demigods are the ones propping up the Americans. Get rid of that support and they’ll fold like… wet paper.”
Alin regarded his friend out of the side of his eyes. “You… fold wet paper a lot?”
“Actually, no… that was a bad comparison. Let me try again. How about a blanket? Those are easy to fold.”
“I’ve heard like a cheap suit and a house of cards. The first makes sense. The second… not as much.”
“Huh?” Victor mused. “A house made out of playing cards? I’m imagining it just collapsing.”
“I think it’s something to do with poker, cause you fold when you want to give up or something. I don’t know. I don’t play cards, but I’ve watched old people do it.”
“I have not, so I’ll take your word for it. But I think I like the blanket comparison the best. It conveys weakness, like one that quits is a baby needing to be wrapped in a blanket to stop the crying.”
“Jesus F. Christ, you guys have the dumbest conversations.” Bluewolf popped into the chair next to Victor in a puff of white smoke.
A familiar snarl stilled the lecture hall.
“Fernandez! You narutard!” Captain Mouthy palmed a cut log where she stood at the end of the central aisle. “You’re lucky my Skill took cause you weren’t getting another try.”
The log turned into a deadly missile that Bluewolf just managed to duck.
“Sir,” Eda, who was next in line cleared her throat. “That term, though modified, is still against regulations.”
“So many taint smears,” Captain Mouthy muttered, rubbing her face. “Look at you!” The captain’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “A couple of years in magic fairyland was all it took to grow that spine.” Her grin was downright predatory. “I’m damn proud! Keep up the good work!”
Eda winced as the captain palmed her head none too gently.
“You should probably clean that up,” Alin gestured at the scattered splinters behind them.
“Huh? Why?” Bluewolf shrugged.
He suppressed a sigh.
He supposed there was a reason that Songbird had made officer on a skyship and Bluewolf had… not.
Though twins, one tended to think things through a lot more, while the other did and rarely thought of anything beyond the action.
“We don’t leave until Wednesday.” Victor helped. “That makes 3 whole days that you’re still within the captain’s grabbing radius.”
“So?” Bluewolf blinked slowly, almost like Eda’s owl.
“Clean it up and make yourself invisible.” He sighed. “I’ll ask the captain questions, clarify things. Maybe that’ll be enough to distract her from thinking up a punishment for you.”
He didn’t add that the captain was feeling pretty unhappy about the whole Quest thing in the first place.
At the risks to her kids.
Not that she’d ever admit it.
Indeed, he only knew cause he had overheard his dad and mom talking about it.
They too, were unhappy about the ‘kids’ going out to do dangerous things.
Word was that Captain Mouthy had been ready to throw hands with the other captains, who saw the pragmatic value of bringing down the ritual barriers as worth the risk to 20 rangers.
It was only her Skill with its potential of a last-second save for 19 of them.
Ah!
A silent curse crossed his mind.
He had to stop thinking in ways that could jinx him.