The Lesser One

by Zeppy Cheng

  The blueprint is more like an IKEA instruction manual than the blueprint for a house. It’s easy enough to follow. Step one: generate two kilograms of iron.

  I pour a pile of goo onto the ground. Somehow, my mind’s eye seems to be connected to the stuff. I form the goo into two blocks and turn them into pure elemental iron. I try picking one up. It’s heavy, but I can still hold it in one hand.

  Step two: mold the iron into four wheels. The spoke diagram is pictured in high resolution, as well as all of the engineering tolerances.

  I take the elemental iron and use the diagram as best I can. The wheels don’t come out looking exactly like the diagram, but I believe they are stable enough to work for the next step.

  Step three: form a body for a vehicle out of wood.

  Apparently I’m building a go-cart. I imagine my jelly taking the form of a wooden go-cart. The wood turns out to look more like cheap plywood than anything else, but I test it with my leg and it doesn’t bend. I then form two axles and place the wheels on them. Instead of bolting or screwing the wheels on, I simply weld them by turning the contact points into goo and then solidifying them.

  The instructions go on for several more steps. When I am done, I have a crude-looking but mostly functional go-cart. While I wouldn’t ride it down a slope myself, I could imagine a kid in middle school building something similar for his town’s cart race.

  “Is this good?” I ask the observation room.

  “It’s good,” says Dr. Barrimore. “Your testing is over. Please exit and head to room B345.”

  The two Men In Black guide me out and lead me to B345. It’s an empty classroom, desks stacked up against one wall and a one-inch stage on the far side with a podium. There is a projector screen and a hanging projector. Alone, I sit in the only desk not stacked up, facing the podium.

  Dr. Barrimore and Dr. Irr finally join me. Dr. Irr steps up to the podium while Dr. Barrimore heads to the computer counter and sets up the projector.

  “We usually give power debriefings several days after testing, but your case is special,” explains Dr. Irr.

  The projector comes on, displaying that clean filter warning that always seems to be there. Then Dr. Barrimore clicks, and a hastily-made PowerPoint takes its place.

  Dr. Irr leans onto the podium. “First, I’m going to tell you the obvious. You have absorbed a spirit that, by our estimation, is at least ten thousand years old.”

  This is a bomb drop. I can’t help by feel my eyes bug out. “Ten — ten thousand?” I’ve heard that fewer than fifty Adventurers in the entire world have absorbed a ten-thousand-year spirit.

  Dr. Irr raises an eyebrow and clicks his tongue. “Usually, absorbing a too-powerful Spirit Circle ends in the recipient’s death. One must gradually climb the spirit ladder, starting at two digits and adding a calculated number to the maximum safe age of absorption. Thus, it takes many Adventurers years to gather the power acclimation required to absorb very old Spirit Circles.”

  “So it was Dr. Barrimore’s potion?” I ask.

  Dr. Irr’s lip turns up. “I do believe he broke ethics regulations when he gave you the potion. Considering the outcome, we have decided he should only be given a metaphorical slap on the wrist.”

  Dr. Barrimore grins sheepishly at Dr. Irr. “You call a ten thousand dollar fine a slap on the wrist?”

  “At least you haven’t had your license stripped,” says Dr. Irr. It appears this is a point of contention between them.

  Dr. Barrimore shrugs.

  Dr. Irr leans back onto the podium. “Your power is something we have not seen before. You are now able to mimic what a conjuration spirit can do, but with an infinite range of possible subjects. You’ve seen this happen, no?”

  “I have.”

  Dr. Irr smiles. “We don’t know exactly what limits the subject matter of a conjuration spirit holder, but we know that the rules surrounding an individual’s ability to conjure different objects are different for each person. Some people can only conjure very specific things. Others can conjure a vast array of things related to their spirit.”

  Dr. Barrimore clicks the PowerPoint. The new slide shows a series of graphs.

  “What you see here,” says Dr. Irr, “is an analysis of your Anima excretions. You haven’t taken Spirit Theory Two yet, so I’ll explain what this means. Anima excretions are created by every conjuration-class spirit. In most cases, a conjured object is in the Anima phase for less than a hundred milliseconds. Thus, it is not a very well-known substance.” He points to one graph. The bar above my name is ridiculously tall compared to the others. “This is your production capability compared to others.” He points to another graph with the same theme. “This is your flexibility.” He points to yet another. “This is the Beller gauge readings of your conjuration phase, that is, a reading of how much latent energy is within your excretions.”

  “So I can basically make anything out of my, er, Anima excretions?”

  “We don’t know. Further testing and experience in the field will reveal a lot more.” Dr. Irr turns to Dr. Barrimore. “As your case is critical to the understanding of spirits, Anima, and magic, you will be followed on all exams, expeditions, and activities relating to your spirit. Dr. Barrimore has volunteered to take this position.”

  Dr. Barrimore crosses his arms smugly and smiles at me, and then clicks over to the next slide.

  Dr. Irr says, “We have done an analysis on the fidelity of your conjurations. It appears that, while the objects look similar to their real counterparts, they have features the real objects do not.”

  The screen pulls to a picture that looks like a cross-section of a honeycomb. “This is a picture we took of the interior of the axle you created in your final test.”

  “It looks like a bird bone,” I say.

  One corner of Dr. Irr’s mouth hikes up. “Yes. That is exactly what we have concluded. There must be some aspect to your power that is capable of maximizing structural stability while minimizing the use of Anima and its excretion.” Next slide. “We have seen things like this, but never have we seen it so pronounced. You are the first case where the entirety of your conjuration is webbed or honeycombed to this degree.”

  The next slide shows stats. “Your physical stats have almost doubled. This sort of transformation happens whenever any Adventurer absorbs a Spirit Circle, but it is usually a small increment. I think the mind-boggling change in your latent spirit power when you absorbed the balrog’s ring has done its work on your body as well.”

  I hold up my hand. “I don’t feel stronger.” Although I did for a while, after it had first happened.

  Dr. Irr shakes his head. “Trust me. The judging chamber does not lie.” The projector goes dark. The briefing is over. “You will be given an honorary status as a full-fledged Adventurer. This has precedent; any student with the requisite amount of physical and magical power can become one, as long as they perform some sort of exceptional service to the Adventuring Community.” Dr. Irr presses a button and the projector screen retracts. “This is contingent, however, on your graduation from Ixtham Academy’s Adventuring program.”

  I look at Dr. Barrimore.

  He gives me a thumbs-up. I have never seen his eyes twinkle like this.

  I know I am in for something special.

  12 A Golden Goose

  I sit in Mr. Tuffman’s office. He faces me across a cheap wooden desk mounted with two monitors. “We are going to put you through the training that professional conjurers usually go through. That is to say, formation practice. I heard you can create weapons from iron and wood, and possibly steel, with your Anima.”

  I nod. “I can make a lot of things.”

  “You get better at it in this class. It’s graduate-level. Normally undergraduate or high-school aged students would not go through this.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Most conjurers are able to create enough things without practice that they don’t really need to expand their horizons. This c
lass is mostly used for research and development-based spirits.”

  “So, they mostly aren’t Adventurers?”

  “Right,” says Mr. Tuffman. “Ixtham Academy has two other courses beside the Adventuring course. Have you ever asked your fellow classmates in, say, General Spirit Theory what their spirits were?”

  “No,” I say. “I assumed they were all Adventurers.”

  “That class has about a thirty-three percent rate of Adventurers. The rest are from the two other courses we provide, Spirit Engineering and Spirit Arts.”

  “Ah.” I have known my whole life that spirit wielders are not always Adventurers. Some create awesome engineering marvels, while others contribute to the world of art. If someone had, say, a clarinet spirit, wouldn’t the arts be a natural place for them?

  Even though I always knew this, I have never thought about spirits this way.

  Mr. Tuffman types some things into his computer. “Advanced Conjuration is a seminar-style class. It is taught by Dr. Winding.” He pulls open a drawer and takes out an envelope. “This is your temporary Adventurer card. You will receive a permanent one once it is made.” He slides the envelope across the desk to me. “You will participate in the Riding Valkyries’ dungeon clearing operations as a full-fledged member of the party. As such, you will be compensated as a full Adventurer.” Mr. Tuffman looks sheepish. “I’m sorry to say that our pay rate is considerably lower than that of the big guilds.” He smiles. “But I’m glad our guild has someone as powerful as you on our side. We might become a lot more prominent if you deliver on your potential.”

  I take the envelope and open it. Inside is a piece of paper, sort of like a provisional driver’s license, that has all my information and status as an Adventurer.

  He taps his finger on the table. “Your assignment to Advanced Conjuration will not preclude you from taking your ordinary classes. If you have any scheduling conflicts, it would be best to bring them to your actual advisor.” Mr. Tuffman types some more stuff into his computer. “I tried to make the class work with your schedule.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mr. Tuffman looks at his watch. “About time for your next class.”

  Sounds like a dismissal. I say thanks and leave.

  But the class is in chaos. Everyone seems to want to ask me questions. I get the feeling that most of them aren’t really impressed — they just want to get the feel of someone powerful. After all, the official story is that the only reason I absorbed the ring was because I was closest to it when the missile hit. The military and government are getting most of the credit. I’m just a middleman who did what anyone could have.

  It seems that Dr. Barrimore’s potion is still a secret for now. And every other class I go to has the same energy, filled with people wanting to ask questions.

  After classes, I head to Dr. Barrimore’s lab. However, the door is locked and there is a piece of paper taped to it. Markus, my office has been upgraded. Please head to room 5014.

  Well. This was expected. Since his theory has been proven — by me — he has probably received a lot more attention and funding. Upgrading his office would be the logical move. I take the elevator to the 50th floor and knock.

  “Come in!” says Dr. Barrimore.

  The new office is at least three times larger than the old one. Since he has just moved in, the furniture and decorations are pretty sparse. A door in the side of the office leads to a lab. I put on my lab coat as two attendants in lab coats greet me. They both shake my hand.

  “This is Amber, and this is Gren,” says Dr. Barrimore.

  Amber is a normal-looking teenage girl with black hair and brown eyes. There is nothing obviously spectacular about her. Gren is wire-thin. His lab coat droops over his body like an oversized cape. His blonde hair is filled with gel and shimmers like the scales of a fish.

  Dr. Barrimore takes my shoulder and leads me to a small copy of the judging chamber I used during both of my ability tests. “Since you are the personification of my research, you will be the subject of our study. Please stand in the judging chamber.”

  The chamber has no closing mechanism; the machine is open to the air. Amber and Gren stand by on both sides. Amber fiddles with the judging device — it appears she is pretty experienced.

  Dr. Barrimore gives me a container that looks a lot like the urine jars used in drug tests. “Fill that with Anima excretion.”

  I fill the jar with a blob of my strange new power’s excretion substance — or whatever it is. As always, the red cracks running along my hands expand whenever I create the stuff.

  Dr. Barrimore stands at an expensive-looking computer terminal. Amber takes the jar from me and places it in a separate scanning machine.

  Gren hands me some sunglasses. “Please put these on.” Since Dr. Barrimore and Amber are both putting on their own pairs, I comply, and Gren puts on his. We look like a strange sort of rock band, all wearing sunglasses indoors.

  The jar of blue-green icky goo lights up like a magnesium starter in a bonfire. “Whoa!” I say.

  Dr. Barrimore chuckles. “This stuff is almost pure psion particles. I’ve never seen this much of it in one place. Plus, it looks like you can create a hundred times this amount without much effort.” He whistles. “Wow. That is a crazy Rohemm reading.” He turns the machine off and the Anima gel stops shining, but it continues to give off a soft light.

  I tilt my head. “Mr. Tuffman says that all conjured objects are made of this stuff.”

  Dr. Barrimore nods. “Yes. But usually the transformation is quick and only the amount needed to create the object is produced. It’s very hard to get a pure sample of Anima excretion.”

  “Would this be worth, like, money?”

  Dr. Barrimore freezes. He appears almost frightened. He turns to Gren and Amber. “You two head on out. We’re done for today.” He nods at me. “Wait here.” He then shuttles Amber and Gren out of the lab, out of the office, and makes sure they are down the hall before returning. He puts his arm around my shoulder. “I’ve been thinking. I think you should hide the full extent of your power as much as possible.” He points to a metal table. “Produce an ounce of gold.”

  A ball of goop forms in my palm and I turn it into a gold coin. The facing is a mess and it’s not uniform, but I cannot mistake the fact that it is real gold.

  “That, right there, in your hand, is worth over a thousand dollars.” Dr. Barrimore looks around himself. “And how much effort did it take to create?”

  “Almost none.” Then I realize the enormity of what I have been given. “Um.” Just to test, I create a platinum bar. It takes less than ten seconds. I am suddenly very, very afraid.

  “I’ve got this all figured out,” says Dr. Barrimore. “Those two assistants will leave this room and start rumors, about how you can create pure Anima fluid. This is good, as I’ve already prepared a scientific paper on the stuff and it needs to be public. However, most people think that you have limits to what you can conjure. The top faculty at Ixtham have all decided to keep it this way. Only a couple of them even know that you can create objects without print-webbing. I’ve got some artificial limitations that we can place on you to keep this farce going. You are a very valuable asset. People will want to do bad things with you and to you.

  I nod. I know enough about economics to realize that I could totally upend any market if I were to create large amounts of precious or valuable items. As well as this, I could be kidnapped and forced to work for whoever kidnapped me.

  I am a literal golden goose.

  Dr. Barrimore consults a notepad. “I’ve come up with several limitations that could explain why you will — as far as anyone knows — be unable to produce anything of major intrinsic value. The first is this: you have a set library of creatable objects and elements. Thus, you will be marginally better than a dual conjuration spirit wielder.”

  I nod. “I think that will work. I created iron and wood and steel.”

  “Let’s keep it to that. Here, why d
on’t you also create some copper, some water, and some common grass. I’ll show these to the review board and say that it was all you could create. I’ll revise the paper I mentioned and make it official that Anima spirit users will only receive at most a dozen different conjuration themes.” Dr. Barrimore makes eye contact with me. “The government cannot learn of your true power. Even though you are perfect proof of the fact that Anima spirit users, among others, are valuable in the Adventuring field, I doubt that people will see things that way once everything calms down. I’ll do everything I can to soften the impact you will have on the world. I don’t want the economy to be broken by a fountain of precious metals and objects.” He stares me in the eyes. “You must promise that, if you use your power for your own gain, you do it secretly, humbly, and without doing anything illegal.”

  “I do. I won’t do anything that will attract attention.” I pause. “But I will be taking a class on conjuration with Dr. Winding. Should I show him everything?”

  “I’ll talk to Dr. Winding later today and figure out where he stands on this matter,” says Dr. Barrimore. “We’re going to have to be careful. I’ll tell you what I think you should do tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Dr. Barrimore smiles — a little painfully — and nods once. “Go to your club practice.” He pauses. “But first, make me a copper bar, fill this beaker with water, and grow some grass.”

  I do all three in less than a minute.

  Dr. Barrimore’s lips curl up. He seems to be deep in thought. “Now get out there and head to your club.”

  Down in the basement, Dres and Rey are standing beside the range entrance, doing what they usually do before practice.

  Dres’s face lights up. “Hey! It’s the man of the hour, the savior of New York!” He holds up his fist. “Fist bump!”

  I fist bump him.

  Rey, leaning against a wall, shakes her head a little. “I underestimated you, Markus.”

  “I think everyone did,” says Dres. “I wouldn’t have been able to do what Markus did. Getting up close to the balrog and all that.”