by Pam Uphoff
“Hutchinson-Gilford progeria syndrome.” The father had stress lines around his eyes. Leaking distress and fear. He waved a sheaf of papers. “I printed it all out . . . in case . . . Can you help Arlette?”
Xen pulled his gaze away from the little girl who was dying of old age, and took the papers, and read quickly . . . “That is a really impressive effect for a single nucleotide error.”
He nodded to the girl. “I can fix the gene. That’s the easy part. Fixing the damage it’s done is likely to take some slow careful work.”
Her cautious expression slipped, and she swallowed. “Please try.”
Her parents closed in to add their stares to hers.
“Certainly. There is one problem. The Earth won’t let her return, with genetic engineering.”
The father nodded. “We know that. We don’t care. I’ll look for work here, or some other world that will take us. If they don’t need a fire chief, I’ll do something else. And we can pay for Arlette’s treatment. We sold the house . . .”
“The treatment is free . . . did you say fire chief? Have you ever started from scratch? Umm, never mind. Let’s just see what Arlette needs first, then we’ll talk.”
***
Julianne Prescott tapped her comp and sent the map to the wall screen. “The consensus is, at this time and expanding later, mind you, five elementary schools, and two high schools. The high schools being split between magic and normal. I’ve looked at the subjects taught in the schools and apart from the individual polities’ histories, there shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
She eyed Xen. “And I’ve no idea how we’ll add your odd school into the whole system.”
“Perhaps as a boarding facility for students whose parents travel a lot?” Xen gave her an innocent look. “Of course, the Empire is sending some of the kids back for a second round of training. And may continue to do so. So maybe it should stay as is, for them and for other groups of students coming here, for training, or just exposure to the greater Multiverse?”
Julianne paused. “Right. A youth hostel. So . . . Staffing requirements for the ordinary schools . . .”
Xen kept his face neutral, and nodded to show that he was paying attention. I have created a monster!
Chapter Twenty-four
Second school
The second school was easy to slip into. They just tossed their bags into their rooms and headed for the beach.
"Right. Everybody spread out. Beginning physical effect magic, brute force style, will now commence.”
Ryol slipped and slid through loose, warm sand. A bright clear day. It didn’t feel like winter.
She'd grown up two blocks from the beach, so this was nothing special. Really. Even with big rolling waves piling up into breakers that were just begging to be surfed.
I wonder where the surf boards are?
She turned and looked at the big sand dunes, further back from the shore. Ten meters high, easily. Maybe twenty. Like in the Sahara.
She lined up between Gior and Voyr. Just eight of us. The school building seems empty, and somehow a whole lot less safe. What does he want with us specifically?
Master Xen Biofather kept on talking. “You eight are both the strongest magically and the strongest dimensionally. So you’ll be getting extra lessons, and probably much different ones than the kids with only the One power gene.
“So, most of you work on heat? Gather a bunch . . . " He curled his fingers and glow formed and intensified in his hand. "Picture the heat in the air, and squeeze it down."
It was very different from her lessons, no meditation and gradually accumulating energy . . . Ryol pictured heat and tightened her grip . . . and her handful of air glowed. She opened her hand . . . and her hand kept glowing. Or it was the layer of air within a cem of her palm and fingers that kept glowing? The glow refused to be shaken loose.
"Touch your hand to the ground and imagine it seeping away." Master Xen walked by, stopped with Lala and Voyr. "Try with both hands, just strangle that heat down and concentrate it. Good."
“Arno, you have the genes for this, so let’s see if you can tap the heat for power.” Master Xen smiled as the idiot twin just held up his hands and did it!
The other three boys had clustered to one side. Now their hands were glowing.
"Good. Now, push some sand without physically touching it." He demonstrated, hand out with the fingers up, like he was pushing something with the palm of his hand.
Jay made a shoving motion with his hands, and the sand rippled a bit, piled up . . .
Ryol heard a faint hiss behind her. Diuc whispered to Izmo, "That much mass! At fourteen years old! That's . . . "
"The Warriors of the One were reported to be able to move huge masses." Izmo looked wistfully at the modest heap of sand.
Ryol gathered up another handful of sunshine, and pushed. Rocked backwards a bit, leaned in and stared down at the sand, as two hand prints, a meter away from her hands, deepened and shoved the sand up into two heaps. She stepped back and sat abruptly. Exhausted. Is that how micromanufacturing works? Except . . . very small amounts of material moved, precisely where it's wanted?
Master Xen walked closer. "Good, now you need to do two things at once. Gather power, then at the same time you are pushing, think about that power flowing from your hands into the push."
Yrno grabbed two handfuls of power . . . and an area easily two meters wide started moving, scraped down ten cems or so, piled up into a berm ahead of him.
"One!" astonishment with an edge of glee from the priest.
Ryol stood up and gathered power in her hands.
"Picture a broad, wide scoop, and push it." Master Xen's voice.
Broad. Wide. She visualized it, pushed the power down with it. Dug up a deep scoop, lifted and pushed.
She opened her eyes and gawped at the heap of sand. A miniature ridge, a couple of meters long and heaped up about a meter high above the reciprocal ditch in front of it.
"Hey, don't push me!" Or What glared at an innocent looking Jay.
"Push back," Master Xen suggested.
Ryol caught Voyr's eye, and they pushed at each other, got blindsided by Gior.
Master Xen made a gesture with his hands, Lala turned and duplicated it, going down under the sand and lifting . . .
Ryol went flying. Thumped down, rolled to her feet and dug down to flip Lala . . .
Went flying again, and heard her brother laughing. Oh yeah? Think I’m too weak to tackle a boy? This is magic, not muscles.
It turned into a free for all. Until it was gals versus guys, and then every . . . magician . . . for herself.
One by one they staggered out of the arena and collapsed in exhaustion, watching until Yrno and Jay were the only survivors, staggering and too stubborn to quit.
Or What collapsed in the sand beside Arno. "I don't believe I did that!"
Arno snickered. "I don't believe you dumped four incipient Princesses! Do you have a death wish?"
Or What grinned. "Coward! I saw you running for your life."
"I was merely retreating in good order when I was out numbered. And my head aches."
"Yeah. And my head aches too."
Ryol nodded. My head aches too!
Master Xen called the last battle a draw and distributed drinks, then shepherded them back through the corridor to clean up for an early dinner.
Ryol was exhausted, sunburned and close to euphoric. This is not much like meditation and memorizing silly charms!
As she staggered down the hallway, she spotted Lala, beaming. Yeah. Even the Drip did good.
***
Arno rolled his aching head and watched "Master Xen" walking among them pulling drinks out of . . . something iridescent electric blue, except half the time it just seemed like a figment of his imagination. In fact, the man seemed to have several stuck to himself.
He turned away from the man, and looked at the other adults. Tried to analyze them.
It’s all different,
now that I can “see” people magically.
The same six Priests. Or should he call the three women Princesses? Or Dancers? Hard to say if they were a part of the One or agents of the One.
And then there was Aunt Rael.
The other three princess/priests were beautiful, and had glow. But there was something dark and dangerous under it. Something calculating and cold. They repelled as much as they attracted. Around them, he felt wary.
Nothing like Aunt Rael. Around her he had always wanted to laugh and dance. And with her hair short and spiked, like it was now, she wasn’t as pretty as the other three. But in person, she glowed. She grinned, laughed. Extravagant motions, full of life. And, of course, the Oner glow.
But now I see a bit deeper, and there are bruises underneath. Did I do that? With one stupid question? He shut down that line of thought, and looked back at the four powerful Oner women.
Their interactions were interesting. The three PrincessPriests oozed and slunk and tried to look superior. All sly smiles and measuring up for the backstabbing. Rael bounced and giggled.
Or, like now, sat in full lotus, eyes closed. Glowing.
Observing mentally, studying all the magic use, he suspected. Arno looked back, up, at Master Xen as he handed down a bottle. Cold, chilly condensation on the outside.
"Are those dimensional bubbles? Why do you have so many?"
The man raised his eyebrows. "Lighter than a backpack. You can see them?"
"Yeah." He frowned as something like a not-really-there soap bubble floated by. "Is that one?" He poked at it, but it ignored him and floated on.
"Yes. That's one. I think I'm going to need to do some dimensional training, right away. Well, no doubt this is going to turn into an annual event. You lot have some interesting potential."
Yrno looked over. "Same as Comet Fall? Or different?"
"Both. Different in subtle ways. Part of it may be different training. You are all very well trained in concentration and small delicate manipulations from mental templates. We use more speech and motion induced control for early work, and progress to pure mental processes later. And we start with large, obvious work." He waved back at the sandy battlefield. "We tend to not have the control for precision small work so young."
One of the girls, Gior, frowned. "Do you really call your princesses, witches?"
"Yes. In a very respectful tone of voice."
That got giggles and grins.
"And you do, like Lunar phases, instead of Withione and Neartuone and so forth?"
"No. The phases are a mark of training levels. Strong or weak, all the same. New Moons haven't grasped power yet, so they're getting academic training, meditations and memorizing those verbal and gesture cues I mentioned. Crescents have grasped power, and add practice to what they've learned. You are all younger than average for grasping power, for a Oner or a Comet Fall mage, about right to slightly late for a Comet Fall witch." He shrugged. "It varies wildly with us, and the most powerful are the most likely to be either dangerously precocious or infuriatingly late."
"How old were you?" Voyr, the pretty blonde from Paris, batted her eyelashes at him.
"Three. Kept my parents on their toes for a few years. At least I wasn't a firebug like my sister. Q was a menace at seven."
Arno considered his younger siblings, and shuddered. They were menace enough without the touch of the One.
"Anyhow, I suspect you lot all have headaches and sunburns. So let's get back to the school and clean up, then dinner. We'll start again in the morning." Master Xen eyed the seven chaperones, or whatever they could collectively be called.
Rael bounced cheerfully to her feet. "Dinner sounds great. I worked up an appetite, just watching you guys work. It looked like tons of fun!"
One of the Priests, Ytry, snickered. The rest of them glared.
***
Rael waited until the last kid had straggled through the arch and into the school's main room before she turned back to the sandy shore.
She "strangled" the heat of the air down into a glowing double handful of power. The One doesn't teach kids this. This is advanced work, for magical battles. This is halfway to making a fireball! She pictured the power running through her, and into the mental push.
Nothing.
She made a pushing motion, and sand ruffled, moved away. She scooped and flung a shovelful of sand about ten meters. And shivered. Cold. No more power in her hands. Oh One! Those Fallen techniques really do work better for me. Why does that surprise me? I've known for years. My biomother was an Action Team Leader on "Target Forty-two" as we called it, then. And seduced, she thought, an info agent. Armed with that wine.
She shrugged dismissively. "It hardly matters. I'm not going to ask Xen."
"Ask me what?"
She turned and glowered. "God of Spies. I might have known you'd check up on me."
"Well, I'm more comfortable with Urfa's agent than the agents of the One."
"What? Not going to seduce them all?"
"Nope. Not a single One. Especially the Priests."
Rael giggled. "Ah, C'mon. Ytry's cute for an old wallah."
"Not my type, I'll leave him to you. Need some wine to get things going?"
"Ha! Don't think I can seduce a Eunuch?"
"I think you could seduce a rock, if you really wanted to."
"Heh. Been there, done that. A rock called Endi Dewulfe. Took me almost two months. And then it only worked because he was trying to distract me."
He flashed a brilliant grin. "Or because I just couldn't pretend to be indifferent any longer?"
"Oh, you charmer. I don't trust you a bit."
"Oh, you Dancer. I can't believe the only woman I feel safe enough to sleep with is a trained assassin."
"Sleep as in actual sleep? Good grief. All those women and you never fell asleep with one of them?"
"Oh Hell no. And they were so much less dangerous than you."
"Umm. The current batch are not less dangerous than me. Two of them are current Dancers, and Diuc is . . . was . . . a part of the One. She may still be. Or maybe not. It's hard for me to tell, unless they want us to know. You are well advised to not trust them." Rael bit her lip. I don't think I ought to have said that.
"Probably not. Coming to dinner?"
"Of course."
"See you there." He disappeared.
Rael growled. I must extend my range. She turned and marched through the arch to the school. Shower. Change of clothes. Dinner. And I'm not going to notice the one upsmanship. I love watching them gnash their teeth as I fail to notice their little plots and ploys. How can they win if I don't notice there's a game on? Too fun for words.
***
The next day they worked on control. Building sand castles. Quite elaborate. Of course they then had a miniature battle and knocked each others' castles down with "cannon balls," flying sand clumps the size of apples.
Arno tackled Xen over it. "So, I've got these dimensional abilities. How come I can't throw sand balls any better—in fact worse—than the others?"
"The dimensional ability is . . . neither dependent on, nor supportive of, magical strength. It can mature at a different rate, as well. Add that to the mix of Oner and Comet Fall genes, which despite a eighty-five percent overlap, can still produce some new combinations. We don't have a lot of experience with the various combinations that are possible."
Diuc frowned over at Xen. "How much experience do you have?"
"We have identified fourteen people who are half Oner. We know that there are a lot more, but they are generally down in Auralia, where the Action Teams were more . . . active. So, in fact we have only one or two examples of any given combination of two genes, and of course if you want to consider three or four genes." He shrugged. "No doubt eventually there will be enough mixing that we can get some statistically significant results."
***
“So what was it today?”
“Magic sandcastles,” Ryol grinned at her Fallen sisters.
“I’m whipped.”
“Oh yeah!” Styx grinned across the table. “Sand castles are fun! We both grasped power last summer, so we started lessons.”
“Hmm, how interesting.” A stranger’s voice.
Ryol turned in her chair to eye the woman who’d stopped behind her. Spectacularly gorgeous . . . holding the hand of a squirming child.
With the expertise of an older sister, Ryol categorized the child. Girl, two years old, holy terror . . . with big bright golden brown eyes and golden brown hair. The woman was undeniably a Oner; Ryol would have guessed Princess, except for the child.
“So half-Fallen children are very powerful and probably able to do dimensional work. Excellent.” She turned her head and stared at Master Xen. “I’ll just have to persuade him to train my little Qyvr.”
Gior boggled at the child. “Is this another sister?”
The woman waved her hand dismissively. “Certainly not. Her wretched father ran away when he spotted me.” A snort, and toss of head. Then the girl twisted loose and bolted, the mother in hot pursuit.
Kassy snickered. “That was ‘Choir,’ spelled Q Y Y R. She’s your Ambassador’s Princess, and she got pregnant during the first Fall Festival.”
Styx snickered. “With Cor! Can you imagine? He’s like the Archetype of the Dirty Old Man. He’s disgusting!”
“And if he ran away when he spotted her, then the stories that she . . . used . . . him until he escaped and ran back home are probably true.”
Ryol eyed the Fallen sisters. Ick! Surely they’re just trying to shock us. An Assigned Princess getting pregnant? Umm, don’t think so. Except . . . that wine . . . but surely she’d want the Ambassador’s child? Or is she an old fashioned racist? That’s even ickier.
Chapter Twenty-five
Junior Intel Agent
“Arno! Just the man I was looking for!”
Arno looked around . . . “Ebsa! I didn’t know you were on Embassy.”