The Lesser One

by Zeppy Cheng

  Ten kilos. Twenty kilos. Fifty kilos. Seventy-five kilos. A hundred kilos. Our bridge still stands. No creaks, either.

  Our bridge holds so much mass that the Judges run out of weights. The white-haired Judge extends his hand. “I can take care of this.” He holds out his hand and conjures several big pieces of metal. They are weighed on a portable scale and then added to our bridge.

  After an insane amount of weight, our bridge deforms enough at one of its joints to end the test. The whole room is silent. I look around; almost everyone is watching us.

  The Judge clears his throat. “Well, then. I’ve never seen a bridge like this before.” He points to one of the joints where my Rearden metal alloy forms an attachment. “What kind of metal is that?”

  “Rearden metal,” says May. “It’s one of our own proprietary alloys.”

  “Do you mind if I have a sample?” asks the Judge.

  May looks at me, then the Judge. “Is that allowed?”

  “Yes,” says the Judge. “It’s part of Judge’s discretion. You, of course, have the ability to refuse.”

  I shake my head. “I’d be happy to give you a sample.”

  “Very good. Come to the front desk after the contest is over and we shall do the transaction then.” The Judge bows. Turning around, he and his attendants leave for the Judges’ box.

  Several dozen black-shirted workers remove all our bridges from the testing room using carts, shovels, and forklifts. The conjured materials will be broken down and used for research.

  The next round, the perfect gear competition, starts in an hour. In the meantime, a large buffet is wheeled into the room — normal conjurers use a lot of energy to create their material, and so must eat more than your average human. I am not using my own energy to create objects, but I eat as much as I can stomach anyways to keep up the illusion.

  The perfect gear competition starts. Plastic tables are set up for each school. We have ten minutes to produce one perfect gear for each of our team members. This year’s “gear” is an impeller with four blades and a five-centimeter diameter. We, the contestants, did not know this beforehand.

  I form my impeller perfectly the first time — which is a fluke. I don’t think I can do any better than that, so I sit down in the provided chairs and watch my teammates work.

  Alexia is done right after me. His impeller shines with a strangely solid metallic color.

  Brandon and May finish at about the same time. May scratches her head. “Wood isn’t really built for precision.” She sighs, sitting down next to us.

  Brandon says nothing, his expression stuck at a half-smile.

  The time is up, and the Judges come by again, using laser measuring tools to size up the entries. Again the white-haired Judge stops at our booth for longer than usual. It’s my alloy again — the second type, the one I designed for manufacturing accuracy.

  The Judge’s lip turns down. “This is a different alloy. I’d like to study it as well.” His eyebrow raises. “I expect you’ll be using a third for the gearbox challenge?”

  I nod.

  After he leaves, I sigh. May pats me on the back. “I knew you were special,” she says.

  “Don’t forget he killed a balrog,” says Brandon.

  “I didn’t really…” I say.

  Brandon shrugs, smiling slightly. “Whatever the case, it was you who absorbed his Spirit Circle.”

  I smile as best I can, feeling a little bit weird.

  The usual buffet comes through, this time for half an hour. Everyone is eating like a horse. I try my best to blend in.

  Then comes the assembly test. We are handed a packet defining the working of the assembly — a reel for a fishing rod. We don’t really need it, though, as we could study for this one. Our team snaps into action, conjuring the parts needed for each step of the assembly process.

  I am tasked with the worm gear and several of the gears that will take the most stress. We are given an hour, and we are done in about fifty minutes. A good time, as we’ve been practicing and timing ourselves ever since the blueprints were released.

  The Judges come by for a third time and collect the reels. They will undergo usage testing, where a machine will cycle them until they break. This process usually takes a week — we won’t be getting those results until later. But the bridge and the perfect gear competitions are announced immediately.

  “In third place for the bridge portion of the CCC, we have Rendorian Academy from Chicago, in the United States. In second place, we have Ba-Kamut Academy from Patna, India. In first place, we have Ixtham Academy, from New York, in the United States.”

  Our team rises and cheers. Alexia is cheering the hardest, and I can barely match him even with all my energy.

  The prize for the bridge section is a trophy and a cash payout of twenty thousand dollars.

  We make seventh place on the perfect gear competition, which isn’t that disappointing considering that there are sixty competing schools.

  Remembering my promise to the white-haired Judge, I separate from my team before the award ceremony and head to the reception tables. He’s sitting at one table, writing in a notebook.

  “My name is Dr. Rihner.” He extends his hand.

  I shake his hand.

  “Your name is Markus, correct?”

  I nod.

  “You are registered as a multiple-theme conjurer?”

  I nod again. “Do you want me to list my materials?”

  He shakes his head. “I read your application file.” He pauses. “If I’m not mistaken, are you the same Markus Red who defeated the balrog in New York a couple of months ago?”

  “I did.”

  “Hm,” says Dr. Rihner. “And you absorbed its circle?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Rihner folds his hands. “This competition is not just for fun. We Judges are looking for innovative materials and methods that can be used in the real world. Conjuration as a science has advanced much since twelve-one. But there is still a lot more we don’t know.” He brings out an official-looking box. “Here. Conjure the alloys you used during the bridge and perfect gear portions of the competition.”

  I conjure about ten ounces of each material and place them in the box. Dr. Rihner nods, smiling. “I have a proposition for you. If I show this metal around to some investors, do you think you could create a steady supply of it?”

  “I think so.” I suddenly have an unsteady feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Um, what kind of investors are you talking about?”

  “It’s nothing special, but one of the companies I do research for has put out a request for strong conjured alloys.”

  I think about it for a minute. Since I’m classified as a full Adventurer, I have power of attorney over myself. But it’s still a big decision and I need to think about it. “You have my contact info, right?”

  “It’s in your paperwork,” says Dr. Rihner. “I will email you if I find anything out.”

  “Thanks.”

  When I return to the booth where my team is waiting, they all stand up and crowd around me.

  “Hey! It’s the man of the hour!” says Alexia.

  Brandon smiles as if he really means it.

  “It’s because of you we won the bridge portion,” says May. “And I have high hopes for the gearbox challenge.”

  I sit down in a plastic chair beside them. Taking out my phone, I check to see if I have bars. Good. I specifically paid for out-of-country service before embarking on the journey to London. I shoot Jirgrar a text. Are you or one of your devils here right now?

  Jirgrar: Yes, we have two devils watching you at all times.

  Me: Are you the one who got the company interested in my conjured alloys?

  Jirgrar: We have fingers in many things. Take this as proof that we really can change things in your favor. Use the opportunity as you wish.

  Me: Sure, thanks.

  Jirgrar: Is there anything else you wish to ask?

  Me: No. That’s it.

/>   Jirgrar: Very well. Contact me if you have any more questions regarding our work.

  I slip my phone back into my pocket.

  “Who’s that?” May sits next to me.

  I shrug. “A friend.”

  She seems satisfied, gives a thumbs-up, and turns around.

  We wait for the award ceremony in happy silence. It seems we’re fine just basking in the glory of our achievement.

  The head Judges climb up to a podium on a raised platform. “Prize winners! Come up to receive your trophies!”

  “I’ll go up,” I say.

  “It’s only right,” says May. “You were the one who got us the win.”

  After waiting in line for the second and third place winners to get their trophies, I receive ours. It is a model bridge with a plaque reading CCC 2020. London, England.

  I smile and pose for the camera before I head back to my team. We leave as a group and go out for dinner at a nice city restaurant. I pay, of course — though we will receive our prize money through the mail in about a week, so it really doesn’t matter. Plus, I have several million dollars in my bank account by now.

  Not my regular bank account, of course. Most of the money Jirgrar earns for me is either tied up in investments or hidden away in an overseas bank. I’m happy to leave it that way. Truthfully, I am surprised that nothing big has happened yet.

  In the hotel that night, I open my laptop and connect to the hotel internet. I see a new message in my inbox.

  Markus,

  This is Dr. Rihner from the CCC event. I’ve sent your samples in for analysis and they are unlike any I have ever seen. Would you be interested in forming a business partnership with Esmex International? If so, I would like to talk to you. My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX, country code XXX. Do feel free to discuss this opportunity with your parents and advisors first.

  I turn to Brandon, who is sharing a room with me. Alexia — being gay — is with May in another room. “I’ll be going out for some fresh air,” I say.

  Brandon nods, not even glancing up from his phone. He doesn’t talk much, anyways, so I wasn’t expecting more.

  I write down the phone number for Dr. Rihner and head out into the hallway, down the elevator to the lobby. “Hey,” I say. “Dr. Rihner, right?”

  “Yes,” says Dr. Rihner. “I have some good news for you.”

  Thus it begins.

  16 Network

  “So,” says Dr. Rihner through the phone I’m holding up to my ear. “The CEO of Esmex International would like to meet with you. Now.”

  “But—” I start to say.

  “Now,” says Dr. Rihner, as if I hadn’t spoken, “we have sent a car for you and it will be arriving shortly. Please be outside your hotel within five minutes. We will discuss more later.”

  The phone clicks. The sinking feeling in my stomach sinks further. This isn’t going to be something big, is it?

  I walk to the front doors of the hotel. Right when I get outside, a limousine pulls up to the doorway. The driver steps out — I instantly recognize him as one of my devils. Man, they are everywhere! Reassured by his presence, I get into the car and he closes the door. He returns to the driver’s seat and we roll along the London roads. On the left side, of course, which is a little disorienting.

  We arrive at a tall building in the City, also called the Square Mile, London’s central downtown area. This building is of the neo-relic architectural style, with lots of shining crystal glass and overhanging platforms. There is even a waterfall going down the building’s outer façade. It makes the building’s entrance seem like one of those secret waterfall treasure rooms in video games.

  The limo stops at the front entrance. The devil driving has said nothing to me during the entire trip. He gets out and opens the door for me.

  Two men in suits stand beside the door. Both nod at me and motion with their arms for me to enter. I go with them.

  “Markus!” says a man dressed in a tan pinstripe suit. I have never seen him before. He walks up and claps me on the shoulder. “Heya! I knew you would come!” He motions to the elevator. “Let’s take the express.” He looks really into his speech, and winks. “I know you’ll love it.” His accent is distinctively Londoner.

  We step into the express elevator. The back half of the shaft is bounded by glass. As it rises, I watch the London skyline sinking and spreading out beneath me. It’s as big as New York, maybe bigger, and seems to extend to a horizon that never ends.

  The man in the pinstripe suit rubs his hands together. “The name’s Crayton. I’m the CEO of Esmex International. We do lots of things, but one of the things we’re very proud of is our research into conjuration.”

  The elevator arrives at the building’s top floor. We step out onto a glass bridge through which the entirety of London is visible. At the end of the bridge is a door. The waterfall on the building’s outer wall flows beneath us.

  Two Men In Black step out of a door I hadn’t noticed and open the penthouse for us. It’s a beautiful panoramic living room with high-class modern-style furniture and, if I’m not mistaken, an actual Picasso hanging on the wall. Staring, I approach for a better look.

  “Don’t touch,” says Crayton. “That’s Picasso’s Little Flower.”

  “Um, how much is it worth?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Who counts these days anyways?” Crayton winks again. He sits down on the modern couch and pulls Champagne from an ice bucket. “Would you like a drink?”

  “I’m sixteen. There’s no way I would be allowed to drink that.”

  “No one will know.”

  I shake my head, not comfortable with his cynicism.

  He pours for himself then return the bottle to the bucket. “Then sit. We have many things to discuss.” He rubs his hands together. “Like this Rearden metal you happen to have.”

  I sit down. “Um, yeah. I developed it to help with the CCC.”

  “Well, you did the world a big favor, buddy, because your Rearden metal has a higher tolerance of stress and strain than any other known metal, while being about a third the weight of titanium. I don’t even know how you managed to create it out of pure copper and steel.”

  “Well, it’s all about the crystalline structure—” I say.

  “Yes, yes, I know, I studied mechanical engineering before I became a CEO. I just want to understand how you came up with such an alloy. It’s almost alien.” Crayton’s eyes gleam. “And I can see it being very valuable…” He sighs. “But, alas, you can only produce so much of the material.” He strolls to the window, swirling his Champagne in its fluted glass. “The good news is that I can obtain a number of copper-steel dual class conjurers. If you would be willing to train them to produce this metal, you would be very handsomely compensated.”

  “I already have a lot of money,” I say.

  “Yes, I know. I did my research. Somehow, a sixteen-year-old kid from New York happens to have several millions of dollars on the stock market as well as another cool ten million sitting in Swiss and Cayman bank accounts.” He sips from his glass. “I’m not talking about monetary compensation. I’m talking about power. Connections. The freedom to do things that one would normally not be able to do. I can grant your every wish.”

  I shake my head, thinking about Dr. Barrimore’s warnings. “I don’t even know what I would do with power.”

  Crayton puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me towards a door. The other side resembles the Batcave, but with Ferraris. Three supercars sit on rotating podiums. A car elevator is installed in one corner, presumably to get the cars from the penthouse to the street. Expensive trophies and signed home-run balls line the shelves.

  “This is wealth,” says Crayton. “But this, this decadence, is just a means to an end.” He meanders past the supercars and opens a small door hidden amongst expensive art prints.

  I follow him. The doors close, and the walls turn transparent. I feel myself rising. The city shines around us. A simple glass room, appearing to float in th
e sky, contains a single wooden table. Crayton sits. There are two chairs, facing each other across the surface. Crayton pats the wood. “Come, sit.”

  I pull my chair up. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

  Crayton shakes his head. “This room is just to build ambience. This is where I take my most valuable clients and those most beautiful of women.”

  “Oh, women.” I feel a little strange about that.

  Crayton nods with a little bit of a knowing grin. “Yes, but you probably don’t understand those subtleties yet. I’ve met presidents, prime ministers, and royalty here.” He waves his hand, pointing to the skyline around us. “And you, a little sixteen-year-old boy from the States, are one of the most special.” Crayton winks. “And I don’t tell that to everyone.”

  “Okay.” I finally decide to take charge of my destiny. My future is something I need to manage for myself, without leaning on my parents or Dr. Barrimore. “What do you want from me?”

  “Obviously money won’t motivate you. But I know you have some sort of network that is working for you. I haven’t been able to pin any of your agents down, and because of this I know they are all experts among experts.” His eyes darken into dangerous territory. “Who did you hire? The KGB? MI6? Mossad? The CIA? Well, not that one. No good spies work for the CIA.” He sighs, watching the City beneath and around him. “Whatever your connections, I know from your minions that you are an especially powerful person.” He pauses. Then he slams his fist against the table. “But why? You came with me like a rabbit after a carrot.” His eyes blaze. “You have no sense of danger. You do not know who you have caught the eyes of. Dangerous people are after you, your power and your ability. The only reason why you are not working as a slave to some mafia don is because of this infernal… network that you have working for you.”

  “Wait,” I say. “Did you say mafia?”

  Crayton appears irritated. “Yes! Of course! Your powers are no real secret! The mafia, the triad, the yakuza, the Russkies — they’re all after you! Well, the governments are too, but they don’t pose any real threat.” Crayton sighs, reaching for a Champagne bottle placed on a clear glass stand next to the table. He pours himself a glass. “I want to be the first to capture… No, obtain?… No, work with you to create a better world for everyone.” He sighs. “I’m bored. I haven’t had fun in ages. I want to do something spectacular, even if that means gaining the ire of the underworld.” Crayton turns to me. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”