The Lesser One

by Zeppy Cheng

  I look up at the darkening sky. Time to go home. A couple minutes later, as I ride the subway, I watch the lights flashing by and think about what it means that I have been chosen as an Adventurer. Even if people don’t seem to have high hopes for me, I do know that I am one of the few people who have been authorized to enter a dungeon.

  That is, if I’m selected in the draft.

  Whatever the future may bring, I’ll face it.

  2 Judge

  “Police are still questioning what happened to the party that entered the dungeon that appeared on Fifth Street just this past Sunday…”

  I eat breakfast as the news plays behind me. My mother is feeding my baby sister with that face that moms make when they are, well, feeding babies. My father is standing in the kitchen, juggling cooking and reading the newspaper.

  “So, I didn’t get to ask you last night.” My mother turns away from the baby. “How did your Awakening go?”

  “It went, well, okay,” I answer.

  “Did you get your job assignment?”

  “I was assigned to be an Adventurer.”

  Mom appears a little bit taken aback. “You must have a powerful companion spirit, then.”

  I shake my head. “Blue Anima. I don’t think people have high hopes for me. Well, maybe most of them. I guess some people believe in me.”

  “Adventuring is a good job,” Father says. “As long as you get seated with a well-equipped guild, the job is less dangerous than a cop. Definitely less dangerous than being a pizza driver.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll be seated with a powerful guild.”

  “And why is that?” Dad looks up from his newspaper.

  “Blue Anima is a really weak spirit. I was only assigned to be an Adventurer because they need people.”

  “I don’t know much about Adventurers,” says Mom. “But I know you like to watch them on TV.”

  “It’s an obsession,” adds my father.

  I shake my head. “I won’t be on TV. My spirit is weak and I’ll probably be placed with a lesser-known guild.” I pause. “I have my power assessment today at two.”

  My mother gives the baby another spoonful of baby food. “And do you need a ride?”

  “I can take the subway.”

  Mom nods. “Good. It’s good to be an independent young man. I have high hopes for you.”

  “Well, you’re my mom.”

  She frowns at me. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  I stand to leave. “I’ll be going now.”

  “You haven’t had eggs yet!” says my father, still working by the stove.

  “I’m not hungry. Plus, I have to get there early and tell my teachers what’s going on.”

  “Are you going to have to go to a special school?” Mom asks as I get ready to leave.

  “I don’t know. I may not even continue going to school.”

  “They have to educate you,” insists my mother. “Not having a high school education is a serious impediment in this world.”

  “I’m sure they’ll do something.” I put on my backpack, checking that all my homework is there before heading for the door.

  “Tell me how it goes!” says my mother as I leave.

  Once out of the apartment building, I head towards the subway station. School is just three stops down. While riding the subway, I try looking at people beside me and figuring out if they have companion spirits, and if they do, what they are. It’s tough — there are no obvious signs. It’s a habit of mine that I’ve been practicing ever since I understood there were spirits. Most people hide their spirits. But some people, the lucky few who can brag, are all about showing off. I like watching them.

  The headline on the newspaper of the person sitting across from me reads Jane Bossman Acquires Thousand-Year Spirit!

  I feel a little bit of pride at that. I’ve been following Jane Bossman for a while now. I even have one of her limited-edition dungeon cards. It’s not signed. If it was it would be worth thousands. I’m happy that she has finally gotten what she has deserved. A thousand-year Spirit Circle! Feeling a little giddy about the whole affair, I get off at the stop closest to my school.

  Newman Academy. A school that appears more like a prison than an institute of education. Metal detectors, barbed wire, the works.

  Most of that is simple inner-city design. I’m pretty sure, though, that at least a bit of the fortress-like atmosphere is to protect the students in the case of a portal break. But this is New York. I don’t think that will be happening any time soon!

  I enter the school building. The halls are not that crowded — it’s early — but I try my best to stay low. There are the people who come to school as kings, and there are the people who come to school as paupers. I am one of the latter. I had been hoping that my awakening would change my status, but with a weak spirit like Blue Anima, I doubt I’ll be able to rise up the ranks.

  The least I can do is try to step out of the target of the Spirit Wielders’ club. They’re a bunch of entitled bullies who I don’t want anything to do with.

  Aaron Jammie appears, walking around a corner. He is not a member of the infamous Spirit Wielders’ Club, and is salty about that, taking it out on anyone he can get away with bullying.

  I avert my gaze. It doesn’t work. Aaron approaches me with his usual intense swagger. “I heard you had your awakening this past Sunday.” He pushes me up against the lockers. “You probably got some stupid spirit, like a spoon or an Anima or something like that.”

  “Yeah…”

  Aaron’s face displays an inordinate amount of pleasure. “Ha! So you’re still weak, even after getting a spirit.”

  I turn my face away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” says Aaron. “What do you have to be sorry about?” He grins. “Of course, I would apologize too, if I were as weak as you.” He grips my chin. “Come to the alley after school. If you don’t, you know what’s coming to you.”

  “But I have my assessment at two—”

  “Doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to score high enough to earn a place on the draft.”

  I don’t know what to do now. Aaron is bigger, stronger, and has a valuable companion spirit. A pure elemental. Copper. With it, he can do things like conduct electricity, create heat, and form copper with his mind. I have no chance standing up against him — not because of the physical power of his spirit, but because of his sponsor. Anyone who goes against him will feel the wrath of the sponsor’s “Men In Black.” Families ruined, houses foreclosed on, jobs lost with no warning. Corporate sponsors have that much power, and pure elementals are that valuable.

  “Okay…” I pick the easiest route out. I’m sure the Association will understand why I don’t show up for the assessment. It’s not like I’ll end up with a high score, after all. The cryptic words of the bartender are knocking around in my head, but I don’t have the faith to believe in what he said about me being special. He is just a guy who serves drinks.

  The whole of the school day, I am dreading the last bell at one-thirty. When the final bell rings, I grab my backpack, walk into the hall, and start heading to the alleyway. I plan on telling my teachers as little as possible before heading out. I just want to get the next hour over with.

  In the middle of the hall, though, stands Judge Erin. He approaches me, radiating an aura of power. I can almost see the psions flowing off his skin. He nods at me, waving me over. I freeze. What now?

  “Is there a problem?” asks Erin.

  I shake my head. “No. I just have something to do.”

  Judge Erin narrows his eyes. “What is more important than taking an assessment test? You realize that this is a high-priority assignment, right? You could face legal consequences if you don’t cooperate.”

  “No, it’s not that. I want to go, but…”

  “Is it something with family?”

  I shake my head. “No…”

  “Then what is it?”

  I turn awa
y. “I can’t go. Not today.”

  “Who’s this meathead?” says Aaron from behind me.

  I spin around. “Um, no one, um—”

  Judge Erin cuts me off. “Excuse me. This is a conversation between me and this young man here.”

  “Eh?” says Aaron with a nasty grin. “You’re his grandpa or something?”

  A flash of something dangerous crosses Judge Erin’s face. “I’m giving you a chance to apologize. I’ll be the adult here, but only if you give me the chance.”

  “Hah!” says Aaron. “I can have my sponsor beat the crap out of you if I want. No teacher here can oppose me. Not with my spirit!”

  “You’re not an Adventurer, are you?” says Judge Erin. “Who awakened you?”

  Aaron pauses, apparently uncertain. “Judge Westley.”

  “Ah, Westley. I thought I trusted his Judgment.” He smiles ever so slightly. “Looks like I’m going to have to give him a talk next chance I get.”

  Aaron thinks for a moment. I can see it in his eyes. Then he grins. “If you don’t move out of the way so I can pummel this kid here, I’ll get my sponsor to ruin your life.”

  “But you can’t do anything physical with your spirit, can you?” says Erin. “Otherwise you would be appointed as an Adventurer.”

  I cringe. That’s Aaron’s soft spot.

  “And what?” Aaron’s face twists with rage. “You’re saying this bean-sprout is an Adventurer? With an Anima spirit?”

  Erin nods. “I made the decision. I’m sure Westley would have made you an Adventurer had he detected the slightest bit of potential in you.” His lips curl up. “As it stands, I doubt you are suitable to whatever job assignment you were given. And I would like to let you know that I am, as it stands, the VP of public relations for SMART Industries.”

  Aaron’s face goes white. “SMART…”

  “Yes, SMART Industries.” Erin does not appear smug — only a little bit saddened. “I did not realize that a pinprick like you had gotten through our rather comprehensive personality screening procedure. Ah, perhaps it is time to do a little weeding out of corruption in the Talent Acquisition Program.” He pauses. “You remind me of someone. Are you, in fact, the son of Ryan Simmons?”

  “He’s my uncle.” Aaron brightens. “He’s more powerful than you are! He can get you fired!” It is clear that Aaron is grasping for straws here.

  Erin nods sagely. “I see. Well, I’m going to have to be doing a lot of paperwork in the near future. As it stands, however, I will not tolerate anyone interfering with the government business of acquiring Adventurers. They are our lifeblood, and anyone who stands in the way of the system will be pushed aside.”

  The principal, Mr. Freedman, approaches cautiously from down the hall. “Excuse me, sir, do you have a visitor’s pass?”

  Erin flashes his official Adventurers’ Association badge. “I want you to deal with this student here. Detention, expulsion, whatever you deem appropriate.”

  The principal turns ghostly pale. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that with…”

  “With his sponsor, I’m aware,” says Erin. “I’ll put it in writing as soon as possible, but from this point forward SMART Industries will no longer consider this student to be a part of our Talent Acquisition Program. We will no longer be his sponsor.”

  The principal looks at Aaron worriedly. “But sir, I must ask you what this student has done to offend you.”

  “You shouldn’t need to be told. With behavior this obvious, my only conclusion is that you have been ignoring it. Shall I remind you that SMART Industries is a major donor to this school, both financially and politically?”

  The principal bobs his head. “Yes, sir, yes, sir.” Then he turns to Aaron. “Mr. Simmons, come with me.”

  Aaron’s face is both scared white and flushed red with anger. I won’t be escaping his wrath if, or when, he gets back to school.

  Judge Erin seems to grasp what I am thinking. He smiles at me. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be transferred to a specialized school after your draft selection. You probably won’t ever see this place again after today.” He pauses. “That is, unless you go to your high school reunion.” He smiles again. “But you don’t strike me as the type to remember high school fondly.”

  I shake my head. Relief is falling over me like a waterfall. “Are we going to the Association now?”

  Judge Erin looks at his watch. “We will be a bit late, but I can explain the situation to the assessors.”

  “Am I the only one being tested today?”

  He nods. “You have probably not heard this before, but Adventurers are a rare breed. Even here in the city of New York, with its millions of people, we only get perhaps ten Adventurer-qualified Awakenings a month.”

  “I heard there weren’t many,” I say.

  Judge Erin glances down, genuinely surprised. “Who did you hear this from?”

  “A bartender who works at a small bar a block away from the Association building.”

  He chuckles. “And I assume Jim wants you to meet Glen.”

  I open my eyes wide. “How did you know that?”

  His smile is knowing. “You don’t have to worry about that. Just know that, among possible mentors, Glen is a strange and, perhaps, thoughtless choice.”

  “I didn’t say anything about mentors,” I say.

  Judge Erin claps me on the back. “I can’t know what fate has in store for you, but know that finding the right mentor can greatly affect your growth and your future. Anyone who recommends you talk to Glen would have that goal in mind, most likely.”

  I nod eagerly. “Okay.” I follow him through the streets and to the subway station, where we ride the subway for a couple of stops and get off near the Association building. When we enter, a pair of black-suited men approach us. They seem to have been waiting for our arrival. The one on the right nods.

  “Sorry for being late,” says Judge Erin. “We had a little trouble getting him out of school.”

  The man nods again. “Dr. Irr is waiting.” He turns and begins walking to the elevators.

  Judge Erin gives me a little push. “Though I don’t have much to expect about your power and potential, I am rooting for you. Wherever you end up, if you want someone to help, just contact me.” He pulls out a little business card from his jacket pocket.

  The Men In Black pause. I take the card. It radiates psion particles, converging to show a little animation of a rearing wolverine. I slip it in my pocket.

  Following the Men In Black into the elevator, I watch Judge Erin as the doors close. He nods understandingly one last time.

  3 The Meaning of Anima

  The elevator doors open with a ding. We are far, far underground, with no way to know how deep from the buttons on the elevator. I could feel the drop in my stomach once we went below floor negative twenty. From how heavy the atmosphere feels, we must be very deep.

  The room I step out into is tiled with large, white squares from the floor to the ceiling many, many feet up. A glass-paneled command center sits halfway up the far wall. Inside it, I can just barely see Mason Irr. He meets my gaze.

  The two Men In Black behind me walk to the right side of the room, where a small stage holds equipment and wires.

  Dr. Irr’s voice booms from above. “First, we will test your physical traits.”

  A hole opens in the ground and a tube rises out. It is made from glass, with a sweeping metal arm inside rotating at a constant speed. The arm stops, and the glass slides open.

  “I’ll guide you through what is happening,” says Dr. Irr. “You will now be subject to a Psion Resonance Imaging process. Don’t worry, it’s not like an MRI. We don’t have to check for anything, like metal.”

  I step inside. The tube slides shut. The metal arm rotates, slowly at first, and then faster and faster and faster. Soon it is just a blur around me. Warmth blossoms through my body. A heady feeling comes over me, like when inhaling too much oxygen.

  After about two
minutes the machine slows down, stopping after another thirty seconds. The door opens and I step out, a bit unsteady.

  “Now we shall test your spirit,” says Dr. Irr. “Please manifest your spirit indicator.”

  I hold out my hand. I know what to do, even though I’ve never done it before. A blue light shimmers above my palm. It feels a bit like I am pushing cheese through the cheesecloth that is my skin. A bit of whey simmers in my mind. I am becoming a cooked meal and the blue stuff is an apple pie.

  It's the weirdest sensation, and it goes away after a couple of seconds, leaving behind a bit of ash and a highway in my bloodstream through which this Anima matter flows.

  “Thank you,” says Dr. Irr.

  A poster, like the ones at an optometrist’s, appears on the far side of the wall.

  “What can you see?” says Dr. Irr.

  A series of colors swirl around my vision. It’s a considerable effect, and I know I’m the one who manifested it. The poster is plastered with a patchwork of colorful indicators — mostly shades of blue, but some red, some yellow, and some green.

  “All I see are colors.”

  “Very good,” says Dr. Irr through the speaker. “Please describe the colors and their shapes to me.”

  “Um, there’s a big yellow triangle at the top right corner.”

  “Um hm.”

  “And there is a lot of blue. But it’s not all the same.”

  “Yes, as expected,” says Dr. Irr.

  “And there’s this… black dot at the very center.” It’s all I can comprehend. The rest of the colors are too crazy for me to explain. I think this is enough explanation, anyways, gauging by Dr. Irr’s expression up there in the observation room.

  But this time, Dr. Irr is silent.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask after a long, strained pause.

  “Please repeat your last observation.”

  “A black dot,” I say. “Near the center.”

  Dr. Irr falls silent again. The Men In Black at the control station are looking at each other, as if something is happening that is not supposed to.