Ambassador tya-4

by P. S. Power

  It didn't take him long to find her at all, about ten seconds, because the dark and pretty girl was standing in the hallway, not ten feet from his door, nodding seriously at someone. A much smaller, incredible good looking looking dark haired man was saying something to her. It took a second for Tor to get who it was, as he was dressed in a plain brown and green canvas outfit and black boots, instead of the servants uniform or nice black or green jacket he'd seen him in most of the time before. His grandfather, Burks Lairdgren. A sitting Count of all things.

  “Petra! Are you all right, is everyone well?” His voice sounded scared and a little girlish, but they were all friends. They wouldn't mock him for it. Not too much at least.

  “Tor love! You're up. Good. Bonita said you'd eaten and talked to her earlier, but she's not too sure if you're in your right mind yet. Everyone is fine, a few burns, a couple even major ones, but the healing devices did the trick, and everyone is fixed already. Most of the wall around the King’s palace is gone, but we have crews rebuilding right now. The shield seems fine. It held perfectly of course. Do you need anything?” Her voice was kind and warm, Burks smiled.

  The older man, who looked maybe thirty, if that, and was actually over three thousand, or so Tor had been told by the King, and no one had denied that it was simple truth, walked to him directly. The hand that came out wasn't there to shake, it touched his head in an annoying and invasive fashion, resting over his eyes, fingers wrapping the top of his head. Eyes closed, Burks looked at Petra and nodded. Or he would have been looking, it was a weird way to do things, but what could they say? When a person got to be an elder, over eighty in most places, they were to be revered, even if they were doing bothersome or annoying things.

  Burks Lairdgren, his grandfather, had lapped eighty so many times it probably seemed like a joke to him if he bothered to think about it at all.

  “His field pattern is badly degraded. Too much building with too little rest for far too long, I'd guess, then he ripped his field nearly into pieces using direct effect to create a blast that should have taken days to build for even the best, months more likely. He needs to rest and recover. I'm not really sure why he isn't dead to tell the truth.” The old man looked at him and nodded.

  “Not trying to talk past you Tor, but Miss Ward here needs to know what to do with you. Right now that pretty much means anything but building or magic of any other sort. You know what it means to degrade your field! You should have been checking for it. Did you really think you could shape the world using your own information and never pay the price? The way you've been doing it?”

  The man continued on for a long while, as Tor and Petra stood there. The meaning was clear, if Tor had to do something like that again soon, build a super-weapon out of thin air, it would kill him.

  “Which would be annoying, and make your mother cry, so, how about you skip that one? Rest for a while and don't do anything too big.”

  Looking at him Tor tilted his head.

  “Um, how long?” He asked, wondering if he'd be able to get back to work in the next few weeks, when vacation was over.

  “About twenty or thirty years.” The Ancient said firmly.

  Chapter four

  That hit hard.

  Well, what could he do? Die or switch careers? The answer he wanted to give was simple, the most likely one a lot harder. If he switched jobs, the sensible course, he'd eventually get caught in a situation like the day before and end up killing himself, wouldn't he? Maybe it would be better to just save up now and go out doing something that might actually help people? He nodded gently his eyes going a bit dim. It was what he'd made his life, it was why people even thought he was a person really, instead of just a stereotype backwoods bumpkin.

  “So no building at all then? For the rest of my life?” The words came out sounding sad and weak. A little helpless. Lost. So, the way he felt really.

  That worked for him then.

  Burks looked at him strangely, his body being held oddly still, “you can build. But no direct effect work for at least three months, and absolutely no massive things like you did today, for at least several decades. Impressive, but also unneeded and ultimately foolish. There were a hundred other ways for you to handle the situation, more than that probably. There always are. Magic is just one tool Tor. You have a good brain and aren't any more responsible for the world than the next man your age. No less either, but don't take on too much for yourself. It can lead to bad things and an early grave.”

  Tor wanted to go all “young buck” on the man and shout at him about how he didn't know what Tor felt or thought, or understand what it meant to be young anymore, but just couldn't come up with the will for it. After all “don't use yourself to death” sounded pretty reasonable to him really. The only problem was that Tor really did feel like he was responsible. For almost everyone and everything. That he had to help, no matter what. Didn't everyone?

  Burks guided him back to his bedroom and shut the door on Petra, who'd been trying to follow them in, being part of the original conversation and all. It was a little rude, but what could he do about it? The man was old.

  Sizing up the room, the vast window, the bed that would comfortably fit a dozen people and the writing desk in mahogany in the corner with matching chair Burks sighed. Grabbing the seat and settling in he waited. No gesture saying Tor should sit or indication he should do anything. Tor got on the bed and sat with his legs crossed. It was the position he took when he worked and one of the most comfortable for him, even if it generally wasn't considered polite in company.

  Finally the man spoke, his voice bland and almost flat.

  “I should have come and spoken with you openly about what's going on. It wasn't an attempt to hide information from you, just collect the needed data and analyze your genetic structure first, to see what would be needed. My people grabbed a sample after you were poisoned, I think your mother mentioned that to you? What we found was… given everything, about what I expected. One small surprise, but for the most part you're genetically me.” Burks gave him a wry grin.

  “I know, how freaky is that?”

  Tor raised his eyebrows at him and gave him a wry look back. If he was supposed to get the joke, then he'd missed something. Rather than ask a bunch of questions Tor nodded and just let words flow out, not knowing where they came from. That deep part of him that had been doing most of his work lately? Could be. All he knew was that he sounded far smarter than he felt at the moment.

  “That makes sense. The field pattern that created the ancients has to be strong, doesn't it? It doesn't breed too often, almost never, but when it does it probably dominates, as far as traits go. It would have to in order to work at all, wouldn't it?” It did kind of make sense once he said it.

  Burks smiled, a small thing that looked pleased rather than skeptical.

  “Right! Genes, genetics, all that, it's a complete science, a field of study, but that is, essentially, what happens. A beings field pattern is what makes DNA, which if you ever get bored you should take a few years to learn about. I know you feel busy and rushed right now, but in fifty, maybe a hundred years you're going to start searching for things to keep you busy. Here's a hint right off the top that I had to spend centuries learning. Do stuff. Focus on the details and investigate to the very bottom of things. Then find the next thing to do. Strive to go beyond “good enough”, or you'll get so bored you'll probably kill yourself. I've seen it happen with some of the others, even though genetically it's almost impossible for one of us to suicide. Not out of grief or despair at least. Not the ones that have lasted this long. But it's happened anyway.”

  Do things? It… made sense. Isn't that what he tried to do already? Keep busy, help people…

  Burks shook his head, even though Tor hadn't said anything.

  “Tor… as I said, in most ways we're essentially the same person. I know what you're probably thinking, and you're wrong. It's… part of you… of me, on the most fundamental level to try an
d help people, an essential part of our being if you will, designed to get us to serve and protect others. To feel unease when people waste things, and to forgive even the most egregious of wounds and attacks. That’s fine for the most part. You want to watch out for those situations where, even though it makes you feel horrible, you can't forgive people that will come after you over and over again, or those so truly insane they can't help themselves. That last is the biggest problem you know. People that don't know they're insane… It's not their fault, so how can you punish them by taking their life? But it will happen that you have to, even though it aches inside. You can't kill without a cost. Others can, but not you.”

  Ah. It made sense then. So the magic of the Ancients was what punished him for killing?

  “Like that smell of death? After I killed those Austran fast craft drivers… I keep smelling rot and decay all the time. I don't even get used to it!” Tor shuddered. It was gross, and in his nose even as he spoke of it.

  Burks nodded and told him that it was just like that. He'd also have horrible nightmares, sometimes see visions of the dead coming back and more.

  “Don't let it get to you that much though. Sometimes you have to be willing to pay the cost in order to protect others. However I think I can help you with your current problem more than a bit. Those craft weren't piloted by people at all. Driven as you said. No one living was on board, so you didn't kill anyone. They're devices… very complicated ones called “computers”, we don't use them here, it’s part of the original charter… Well, I'll go over all that with you when the war is over. The thing is huge after all. Basically, for now, it comes down to you needing to stick to magic and not wasting resources… Like this palace of yours! It makes my skin crawl just to be in it. Do you know how many families you could have fed with the gold you used to build it?”

  Tor laughed.

  “About none?” He patted the bed forcefully. “All magic. Not even made on copper, just focus stone. That's really just compacted dirt, it makes a kind of rock. Fairly pretty, I'll show you some later. Even the energy cost is all in potential. It isn't really here at all, it just seems like it. It works though, so why not?”

  That led to a discussion about what else he'd been making, Burks eyes getting wider the whole time finally he shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

  “Well, that explains part of the problem then. Most likely.” He heaved a sigh that felt familiar to Tor. He did that too didn't he? Did he really look like his grandfather? Probably not, since the Count was really good looking and he barely made average at best. This didn't get said because the elder was talking. When old people talked you listened, it was a rule.

  Probably one made up by the man in front of him, a long time ago, but it still counted, didn't it?

  “Denno Brown never did get the concepts of magic at all. Good guy really, since he's basically us, he'd have to be, doesn't look much like you or I though. More like your friend Petra or her brothers. In looks closer to the old Indus cultures. Good looking people, don't you think? Anyway, inside he's like we are in some ways, the aging thing particularly. But his focus on science kind of narrows his world view a lot. Denno was created that way, a generation after mine. That’s… I mean to say my, our template, was used to create his, about six years after I was born. He can't get that you're doing things like this without use of massive energy I bet. Probably thinks you're the great Unknown Factor come to destroy everything. I'd probably best send a letter explaining. You should too, if you don't want Larval assassins showing up every twenty years for the rest of your life. He's your brother after all, so don't feel too nervous about getting in touch with him.”

  The things Burks said were fascinating, riveting. Little bits and pieces of things about himself kept coming out at he spoke. Tor asked questions and made what he hoped were solid and insightful remarks. Most of them making his grandfather laugh after a while.

  “Right. You're always at the bottom of every social endeavor. Everyone's life, honor and wealth is as important as yours or more so. You go to a state dinner and get sat at the Queen’s hand and wonder why you aren't in servants green, and wouldn't blink to do it if they asked you to fill in? People call you Master Tor and you demure, because you know you haven't mastered anything yet? Women and men compliment your looks, and you just think they’re being kind or even lying to make you feel better about yourself?” This time there were smiles, but no outward chuckles. He held out his right hand and nodded.

  “OK. You won't believe this, but it's the simple truth and you need to know it in order to understand why other people respond to you like they do. Your genetic structure, your field, it's built so that you'll do all that, think of yourself last in any given situation. Which is good for the most part, meaning you won't get a swelled head or think that anyone owes you anything you haven't earned through hard work. But, and I know this will be impossible for you to believe right now, maybe ever, so just try to remember it academically for now, your looks are designed to put you in the top three percent of human attractiveness. Given the current world, that's closer to the top one percent really. Before the changes people held to a very high standard of beauty and there were a lot more people over all, so the pool was bigger. That doesn't matter to the percentages directly of course. Perfect skin, hair, teeth and build. A bit thin right now, so eat, but you can't get fat biologically speaking. Not that you'd even be able to try, your nature won't let you waste that much food.

  “You can't think you're all that bright either. I still don't think I am and I was raised with testing and daily evidence that proved otherwise. The fact is though, your nearly twice as intelligent as an average person, slightly more so. Your physical endurance is naturally about four times what a good athlete might have, though you need to stay active for that to really show as special. I recommend running about twenty miles four or five times a week, then triple that once or twice a month. Most couldn't handle that. You can. Your also going to work yourself to death eventually if you don't at least diversify your interests. Life is more than building. What are you good at? What do you like doing? Other than building.”

  Tor focused inside himself. It was a harder question than it sounded like on the surface. He could barely define fun and now someone wanted him to list what he liked? Simple, no doubt. Still, there had to be something.

  “I like baking… I probably would have done that for a living if I didn't have so many brothers and sisters…”

  Burks grimaced, “Right. You mother isn't exactly being… economical in the amount of children, is she? That's genetic for her too, I'm afraid. I'll talk about that whole thing later, nearly as interesting as our own situation I think. Probably more so given your sister… Go on.”

  What did he like? Building, Baking… nothing else came to mind, except sex. Tor blushed and looked down. Well, who didn't like that? He said it out loud, and got a single nod and a gesture that said to keep going on. Running? Well, he didn't like it, but he could see the use. Fighting? He wasn't good at it, but it wasn't boring. Painful most the time when he practiced, but never as bland as just running was.

  “So, places to start, I recommend breaking your day up evenly among those for a while, look for other things to occupy your time too. I always found music diverting myself. It pays to keep up with what other people are doing as well. Trends and fashions, what people are concerned about. It may feel useless at first, or like a waste of time, but these factors shape societies. Also… and this will be hard for you, I know, but I can't stress it enough… Learn to let people do things for themselves. Don't give them bread or even create jobs for them. Let them do their own work and just help make it possible. You have to help. Yes. But you help people more by letting them be self sufficient in the long run. Letting someone become dependent on you is making them into a slave in a very real way, even if there are no chains.”

  The rest of what they talked about was interesting, but didn't shake his world nearly as much, he realized
when it was all over. That he was designed to help protect the world was less mentally taxing than some of the other things that were said. He was smart? He got that he did all right with building, but actually intelligent in all areas? It seemed unlikely, but Burks assured him that all he had to do was apply himself and his mind wouldn't fail him.

  In regards to appearance he had to shake his head and, rude or not he called Burks, his Ancient grandfather, a liar. Right to his face. He expected a beating for it, but that didn't come. Instead he was sat in front of a mirror and they talked about what made a person good looking. It was all there, but he didn't see it. He couldn't. It was just him.

  Sighing the old man sat and… got young.

  His face melted into a younger one over the course of minutes, until he finally looked about fourteen or so. Then he gestured up at the face.

  “Good enough looking? Don't be polite about it, I can take your honest appraisal. I've looked like this for longer than Noram has been around, by nearly a thousand years. Go ahead, really look. Rip me apart, I won't be mad.”

  The face was bare and clean shaven, attractive, nearly too pretty really, kind of girlish. It was the kind of face that all the girls at school talked about wanting in a man and gushed over, when they weren't discussing how much they loved all the massive and brutish combat giants. The skin was still pale, like his, but that just made him look better somehow, exotic. Almost everyone had darker skin than this. He didn't, but even his brothers and sisters did. His Mother didn't. Tiera his thirteen year old sister didn't, maybe a little, but those were the only ones he could think of, except his uncle Dan, who was like they were. So an Ancient trait?

  The look wasn't like Count Ward, who was about the best looking man Tor had ever seen, but it was darn close in level, if totally different. Maybe even better looking? He spelled all this out to Lairdgren, hoping thousands of years really would give him some perspective.