Chapter 14: Pick One of Three Jacks

  Jack nodded slowly to Boss Lady’s spiel, then silently did as instructed.

  As soon as he thought about it, he located a little ‘itch’ in his head, and it expanded quickly into three glowing boxes lodged in his field of view in a row, burning themselves into his mind as something far more than mere text in English.

  Even with dozens of questions in his head, Jack ate up all the information hungrily, his heart beating fast with excitement for his prospects.

  Powers! Holy shitballs, I’m going to be a kickass metal guy! One way or another. Damn. This isn’t going to be an easy choice for me, either.

  Something about it all did make him feel a bit put out, though. He glanced at Boss Lady ‘through’ the floating virtual readout, which made it fade. She had a mild smirk on her face. Jack made his voice deliberately mild as he commented, “I won’t ever be ‘the best’ at doing metal stuff no matter what. No one can beat Chromey at what he did, and then beyond that, Memoria herself is completely dominant. Right?”

  Boss Lady appeared to ignore him as she fished out another cigarette to light up. Jack fought off a desire to ask for one. Barely.

  She blew smoke into his face, clearly teasing him again. As he frowned at her incredulously, she finally replied, “You don’t know frag about shit, Jack. But this has become a test of your decision-making capabilities. Don’t ask me for advice. You can clarify some things yourself.”

  Jack nodded slowly. “No advice, then. But can I ask questions? Totally neutral, fact-based questions.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you answer, though?”

  She just made a subtle kind of ‘Will I?’ expression, eyebrows raising slightly.

  So sassy. Or like a tiger playing with its food?

  After consideration, he decided he wouldn’t bother her with things he could first just look up. Firstly, those ‘Gradings.’

  Alright, so… I have the Guardian at a higher starting combat impact and lower utility. I have the Controller at lower combat impact, higher utility, and overall higher — if unlikely — potential. And the Scout for basically just staying out of combat as some kind of super cargo hauler. Immediate high value.

  He could make a case for the latter being what they were trying to force him into. Maybe Memoria needed someone to take a bit of the load off of her. He knew that demand for pilots wasn’t at all declining from his days. If anything, it was ballooning.

  It was interesting how the powersets each seemed to represent some different aspect or history of him. The Scout was so much the career he had chosen, like a Super Pilot. He could do what he always did, just better!

  The Guardian was deeply embedded in the dreams of his youth. There was every boy’s one-time idol, The Chrome Giant. He was hardly an exception, and the class was exactly what a boy would imagine themselves doing as a hero: punching and smashing the hell out of things while being incredibly tough and strong. Though his specific class was probably more like a poor man’s version of Chromey.

  And the Controller… He was having a hard time conceptualizing what of him it was into more than some indescribable feeling.

  The… Adult In the Room? Bah! No. That’s horrible. It’s not like it's boring. Hm.

  “Is this Guardian class anything like Chromey?” Jack found himself asking suddenly. “I feel like it's probably some poor man’s version.”

  Boss Lady seemed to consider the question as she puffed, eyes squinting. “I suppose Chromey’s class details are as non-classified as technically classified information gets. The Chrome Giant was a Bruiser. A survivable melee damage dealer, but his primary mutation gave him added toughness, making him an all-around powerhouse right off the bat. Add in an iconic time of capturable leveling potential lying around in every cardinal direction, which unlocked mobility and ranged potential — not to mention raw class levels — and you have the stacked-up ingredients of a legend.”

  Jack nodded along and absorbed all this gladly. A tiny nugget, yet it means a lot. This isn’t a poor man’s Chromey. It’s more defensive. Probably gets mutations that keep layering it. But it is hard-pressed on offense and utility. Wall-of-Ooze is probably an example of a Guardian with great utility. Probably sucks at raw force, but can be very disruptive when his ooze grabs you.

  Boss Lady eyed him and said, “It’s almost as if being led and advised helps with this sort of thing. Coaching.”

  “Eh, where’s the fun in that?” Jack replied flippantly. “Besides, this is basically a free shot. Can’t go wrong when the boss is hovering over your shoulder, right?”

  “It’s a test now, Jack. Better for you to pass it.”

  He sighed and turned his attention back to the ‘test.’ There was no small impulse in him to deliberately choose the ‘wrong’ one out of petty spite, but he dismissed it. His own pride prevented that. At least for that reason. He wanted to objectively decide what he wanted most, what was best for him. Then the Mems could yea or nay. At least he’d know and understand whether they were at odds.

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  Being my life, honesty is what is most important here. Not picking their right answer. Not at all. For that alignment, I have to hope.

  Ultimately, he crossed out the obvious ‘wrong answer’ for the Mems and the wrong answer for him: Guardian.

  I don’t want to be some meathead brick, fun as it might be. I’m sure there are enough of them out there. I’m never going back to Kid Jack. I can open an old art notebook and smile at my childhood doodles, but to put a pencil to it and dream those dreams the same way again is forever gone. The same to live them. It won’t satisfy me. It can’t. And there’s zero chance the Mems think this average-looking entry is ‘critical.’ Not that it would stop me if it seemed right.

  As he dismissed it, the bubble of text faded away from his vision. Bye-bye, Jack’s Childhood. You were a high-energy showing fit for nostalgia, but let’s leave it enshrined in memory where it belongs.

  The two other classes remained. One was a greater perfecting of who he’d chosen to be the greater entirety of his adult life. A transporter, a medium between points on the grid. The other was a bit of a mystery he needed to puzzle out. He didn’t think he could be certain which one out of them was what his superiors wanted, so he allowed himself to punt that consideration into oblivion. He’d ride or die on what he wanted to be, and the consequences could follow.

  Contemplating the Controller, Jack felt like he was looking at a generalist. A strategist of raw material. He was somewhat familiar with the class/role because his military time sprinkled a bit of knowledge. The famous Controller of note was Stitcher, who had some sort of organic manipulation. She could dismantle, rebuild, and enhance — that much was clear.

  In perusing, he realized he could draw up brief class summaries in his head. So he took a look at the ones he’d been offered. A prominent glaring note popped up to the side as he did so.

  Warning! All classes are subject to modification by mutations, particularly primaries. Always rely on novel instructions from superiors about your unique role in a team or operation. These informal summaries serve simply as a default assumption for quick, ballpark identification.

  Now you know! And knowing is half the battle, soldier.

  Right. So, nothing too crazy, but Controller has a ton of versatility. If they shift to offense, they give up defense, and vice versa, and probably never to an equivalent experience specialist — or equivalent ‘level,’ I guess I need to start thinking. My option for Controller has a high grade on the ‘future potential’ front, so perhaps it isn’t out of hope for shoring up weaknesses more in due time.

  Out of curiosity, he drew up the explanation for ‘BC.’

  Damn, but did he like the sound of that.

  Meanwhile, Scout was also a big packet of assorted goodies, albeit designed to stay out of combat entirely for the most part. Which made perfect sense with the name of the class, of course. Ordinarily, it would not be a ‘safe’ choice at all, if it was expected to sneak and scout beyond even the frontiers of humanity. If anything, that sounded among the most dangerous of roles.

  His version of it was likely safer, though, with its payload-hauling specialties. If that was valuable, he’d be highly protected and not risked wantonly for typical scouting scenarios. Ironically, as far as self-preservation went, the class with zero defense might’ve been the best bet.

  Jack deliberated. Self-preservation was important to consider. A lot of people had advised him to consider that throughout his career. His entire life, even.

  He lifted his eyes to Boss Lady, who had an expression that looked as if she was holding in a ‘Can you hurry it the frag up, jackass?’ Well, she could wait a few clicks longer. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Just as a shot in the dark hypothetical, how likely is it for Controller and Scout to shore up their weaknesses at later levels? I’m particularly curious about vulnerability.”

  She took a deep, deep drag of her cigarette and began blowing it out slowly. He was left to wonder if she’d bother answering. But finally, she said, “There are always tricks that suit the class. Eventually. Like the biological definition of mutation, there is inherent randomness — contoured and shaped by experience, yet falling short of entirely predictable outcomes. Your true role, the role of every servant, is to adapt and grow.”

  Her eyes got wider and more intense as she leaned forward. Sheer eerieness with an undercurrent of passion. “Crack the egg, spill out wet and weak, breathe in the volatile reactive medium of the bold, new world. Let that fire burn your lungs, Jack. Let it suffuse and infuse you, and you’ll survive. Crawl through the muck, squinting through the glare of light, and when you finally see? You’ll realize you’re at an apex.”

  Jack stared back, caught spellbound by her intensity. He was left both intrigued and uncomfortable.

  She’s a… fascinating woman. That’s for sure.

  Jack took a breath and rubbed the stubble at his chin. Suddenly, he leaned back and chuckled. “I just realized: I think that was a pep talk. I thought you wouldn’t advise or coach me? Shame, shame.”

  Boss Lady reacted no further than to give him a narrow-eyed glare without any hint or tell of playfulness — yet somehow, as dangerous as she no doubt was, he knew it wasn’t serious.

  Hmm.

  Very satisfied with himself for ‘getting her,’ Jack nonetheless took what she said as serious encouragement. Adapt and grow. Feel the burn. Yeah. I guess I know where the full potential lies, where the greater purpose is, what it is I want to ‘mutate’ to the top of. To strive for excellence throughout a new journey.

  He took a last look at what he’d leave behind. More than a class — a whole, brief traipse through a journey of reasonable, minimal effort. It was plenty good enough for some to be that cog in the wheel, and a million of them were needed. More every day. A lot of them were brothers and sisters he loved.

  But he wasn’t made to be one of those cogs. He hated it and it made him miserable — when he was honest with himself. Even as a cargo pilot, he always had an itch to do more. That he wasn’t doing enough. After what happened, and he left the service to get a Normal People job… it was like… dissolving into nothing, comparatively. Emptiness. A wasteland for a wolf without a pack to walk.

  No more Taximan Jack. The sequel to Jack’s Childhood… man, it was mediocre. An even worse Part 3 isn’t advisable. To the new production, we go! I sure hope we can keep the same actor.

  He made the selection… and then made the confirmation through the glaring ‘Are you sure you want this class?’ pop-up. Material Controller (Metal). Yes.

  Crack the egg.

  Instantly, there was another explosive sensation within him, as he’d felt with Quallakuloth’s surgery. That higher-dimensional prosthetic construct of twists and angles shifted from a looser, fluid state into a greater, interlocked form with new and stronger branches into his brain and body. It was raw, cosmic cement poured into the molds of a more tangible temple. Him.

  He was suffused with an electric-like, surging energy touching every fiber and nerve — a pain and pleasure mix that was far too much in one instant. With the tip of a cry cut off, he passed out.

  It wasn’t long. He came to with his body tensed, twitching, and sweating, his head and hands on the table and holding on, perhaps instinctually. Something somehow thicker had followed the energy into him, or the energy became it. Vibrating branches that attached to him, making raw new hybrid nerves to feel through.

  Curiously, he was separated from the pain enough to experience it. It was numbed, coated in some dulling medium that intercepted those needless signals. The transformation reached through it, and it was bent and thinned, but if it was ever pierced, it was only at the exact precision points necessary.

  Quallakuloth. The seal. Thank you.

  His senses only gradually became anything more than totally haywire. He felt that ‘solidity’ grow in his bones, and it was connected to something infinitesimally close and foreign. A substance. Through the bridge of him, it called out and itched for more substance around him. Something under the table — the frame — and around him… through the walls…

  All vibrations on the same frequency. It was like beautiful music to him. It rang in his soul; a crystalline purity. He liked the idea of making it louder and fuller. He tried to do so… Some ghost or echo of vibration occurred in him and the room, but it was like trying to beat a drum by flailing one’s hands at it across a hall.

  “Awp, awp!” came a voice in admonishing warning. “Bad things can happen without training, Jack.” Boss Lady. It was Boss Lady across the table. Blink, blink. “Amazing that you’re even conscious. Simmer down! You’ll be cartwheeling with your new buddy all too soon, son. So to speak. Or perhaps I should say ‘jamming out?’ Regardless: knock it off.”

  Jack, still a bit out of it, complied without thinking and dropped the effort. He felt himself sucking in breath and panting. He was so raw and exhausted. Numb. A part of him wanted to flop on the floor and lie around for a few hours. There was ‘stuff’ in his head — System stuff, he understood — but he couldn’t even focus on it.

  Another command came. “Drink, Jack.”

  His eyes focused on the now condensation-wet can that had been set in front of him earlier. Suddenly, he felt like a man dying of thirst in the desert, and heaven had dropped salvation down into the sand where he'd dropped down to die. He twisted to grab the can in two hands. He didn’t even need to open it — it just popped open on its own! It might’ve been weird. He didn’t care right then, though.

  Awkwardly, unable to fully upright himself, he twisted sideways to face up slightly and guzzle the drink — choke it down — spilling a bunch of it in the process. Cold, refreshing, sweet, gasoliney. There was never anything so good in the history of existence as that drink. It was so incredibly good that his eyes fogged over and teared up. His body screamed for more; he was a synthetic vampire aching for machine blood. He barely paused to chug the whole thing as quickly as he could. He was surprised and deeply disappointed when it was gone.

  Hands slapped the table loudly, startling him. “Ha ha!” Finally Jack managed to turn himself and see Boss Lady with her hands pressed to the table, an impish grin and general intense expression on her face as she eyed him. “The baby bird gets his first morsel! Finally. Holy shit in a wine glass, Jack, it’s over!”

  She pointed a finger at him in what seemed like… victorious celebratory glee, her eyes wide. “You’re mine, motherfragger! You’re mine. What a tense negotiation! But instructive. It’s always important to learn more from novel experiences, Jack. Even for me.”

  Jack just stared in disbelief. More of his faculties returning to him, he managed hoarsely, “Who the frag are you?”

  She smirked, took a last drag of her ciggy, then spun it around and very gently stuck it in his mouth. She rose, her chair sliding loudly out. “Introduction is in order, isn’t it? As requested, as promised.” The lighting of the room flickered and then seemed to draw in toward her. It was like she was striking a heroic pose highlighted for cameras. She thrust her hand out emphatically, as if for a shake, and grinned as wide as the room. “Memoria, son. Boss Bitch and Archon of Humanity. Welcome aboard!”

  ::: :::

  Oh snap!

  Also, maybe not such a surprise on the selection considering the title name, right? ??

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