Jack exhausted himself pushing, pulling, and finally, oh-so-subtly rolling metal balls around, which could be done in a surprisingly number of ways with his power. There was a brush across the top, there was twisting and turning it directly, or simply thwacking it directly to roll on its own a short distance. Lindsay threw down a few more of various sizes to vary things up, making him adjust his ‘output.’
Less than ten minutes of this, and he nearly collapsed as he plopped on his rear in the dirt, drenched in and pouring out sweat. It felt like he’d flexed his muscles, bones, nerves, sinew, his brain, everything all at once, almost continually. He probably had, ultimately. After the threads of control rubberbanded back into him, he was certain he could not flare them out again at all right then. He ached everywhere.
Mini-Mem chimed in with a message.
Wound conditions descend as such: Stable, Minor, Serious, Serious-Unstable, Critical, Mortal, Flatlined, Dead, with the latter requiring some sort of doctor’s declaration. Within Memoria’s control zones, she can do this, but it isn’t absolute. Meanwhile, fatigue is less directly life-threatening. After Critical, it goes to Teetering and then Unconscious. It is best to stop at Critical if the consequences don’t stop you directly, as there are some health risks, physical and/or mental, to going until you drop.
With enough force of will, you can ‘hang’ even through Critical into Teetering — especially while actively using powers — and proceed to strain yourself. There is no categorical breakdown here. You could cause true body injury, brain injury, or more abstract mental conditions. The adage ‘something’s gotta give’ applies. Migraines are common. Permanent injury can and has occurred.
In all cases, this is merely a categorical breakdown for quick assessment, including between team members. I can tell you if an artery is nicked, or if a bullet managed to miss your vitals, all much more quickly and efficiently than you can panic and poke around with human limitations.>
Jack took a moment to absorb it all. Okay. Groovy.
Just as he was opening his mouth, Lindsay was plopping in the dirt next to him and thrusting an insulated canteen with a strap into his chest. Jack murmured his thanks before twisting off the top and drinking.
It was cool. He tasted metal and gasoline in the drink, though subtler than the other drinks he’d had. It made it particularly quenching, in any case.
“Keep that — it’s yours,” Lindsay said. “Made sure to get a steel one. Got several supplement pouches in the front pocket. Quickaid. That’s the stuff specialized in rapid metabolic absorption. Just add it to water and shake it up. For now, you can probably just consume your fill because you don’t have enough of anything, but once you finally top up, two or three of those every couple of hours is probably the max of any use. Any more and you don’t have the denser cocktail you need. You’ll start burping up byproducts and not get much out of it until you eat. It’ll also make you hungrier eventually. It’s something of a cannibalizer. Mainly good for between meals while working. I take it twice a day, sometimes adding another or two, and keep off hunger with heavier stuff in my coffee and cramming snacks. Works decently.”
Jack took a breather from the drink he’d halved already to nod his understanding. “Thanks. Need to eat more entire kitchens.”
“Yes. You are so weak-kneed right now. Your orders today and tonight are to bulk up. Eat. Every couple of hours at the least, have an entire meal or two. Whatever you can down. Plenty of meat proteins, but go with variety. You shouldn’t need to stop much. Infuse the shit out of everything. And —” she looked away and squinted before turning back to him — “Yep. Got you approved for everything food-wise bought for you today to be entirely free. On the house. We’ll go nuts!”
“Holy shit,” Jack replied, then took another needed swig of the oily water. He coughed a brief laugh and shook his head. “It’s weird, but I feel like I could just eat indefinitely, too.”
“Your body is basically rebuilding to improve itself. You need energy stores in addition to new and improved factories. It’ll cram into your bones, marrow, muscle, circulatory system, everything. Some of it will get replaced. Lighter but denser. For Questors, your mass for a given size goes up slightly. Me, I weigh the same as what you see. You might uptick eight to ten percent, maybe less.”
He didn’t find himself too disconcerted by it. He’d already accepted that kind of transformation. “As long as I get some killer abs.”
“Projections look good on that.”
“Pardon?”
“Projections on your body structure. Not everyone displays visible abs? Not without specifically tailoring toward it. I certainly don’t. According to the best projections of your physique, if you meet standards, you’ll be fine on that front. Veritably chiseled, if you make the effort. But I do think you’re better sleek.”
Jack smirked at her. “So you’ve been studying that, have you?”
She elbowed him in the ribs firmly, eliciting a grunt, then flicked her head up without looking at him, which also flicked a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s my job, jerkoff. I’m supposed to get you there, and, need I remind you, I have a doctorate?”
Jack rubbed his ‘wounded’ ribs. “Right, right… an objective observer, always. How silly of me to suggest otherwise, Doctor Lindsay. Anyway, just playing around, sorry.”
“And leering like a juvenile? It’s fine, I’m not really offended. I’ve already meted out the proper punishment for the level of the crime.”
“Ohhh, I see, I see. And you’ll continue to do so automatically, is that the implication?”
Her eyes slid sideways to his without her head turning; she smiled sweetly without showing her teeth.
Jack chuckled. “Fair enough. So, now what?” He took another gulp from his canteen.
Lindsay gestured out with a flat hand as another panel across the dirt field opened and a table rose. This time, there was a big, white-painted drum on it, with a symbol of a blue water drop painted on the front. “Finish that and drink some more. Mix another packet in. Rest a little longer. We’ll squeeze another exercise in.”
He downed his drink and found a little packet to rip open and dump into the canteen. With some effort, he rose and dragged himself over to the water tank and filled up his canteen. He shook it up to mix it on the way back. Lindsay hadn’t been idle, though — she’d set up two folding chairs. He gave his thanks again as he plopped into it. Lindsay was engrossed in a smartphone in the other chair, one leg crossed over another.
“Still prefer a screen, eh?” Jack asked after drinking some more. “I assume it isn’t necessary with our interfaces.”
“That’s correct. Well, I multitask a lot. I keep the non-job stuff, the leisure stuff, on the phone, and job stuff on the tablet, but I don’t consider this particular location safe for the tablet. Just a fair warning: Lifeguard is faulty at protecting objects. Don’t bring anything fragile and valuable here. My phone is reinforced.”
“Noted. I was in my car most of the time. Preferred using the screen in the dash, or operating through voice.”
“What about when you were piloting your passengers around?”
“Music, radio, audiobooks, and so on, in one earpiece, keyed to suppress if someone spoke up automatically. If the client seemed inclined to be talkative, I talked. Some would chit-chat, some… Hell, you wouldn’t believe what people will spill to a neutral, friendly ear. Talked philosophy, heard about marital problems, had people break down crying. Listened to way too many drunken admissions.”
“That does sound slightly odd to me. Maybe there’s just something about you specifically, Jack.”
“Yeah, probably. Talked to other taxi pilots here and there. Some kinda relate, most either think I’m exaggerating or act amazed. Then again, most don’t take drunks. Never understood why more didn’t install the automated anti-vomit system. They consent before even getting in, and some things, automation never fails. It’s obvious when someone’s going to puke! Even more obvious to dedicated sensors. Drunks are fantastic tippers if you keep ‘em happy. Which isn’t too hard, either. Even if they puke. Most are apologetic about it. I never cared, considering they didn’t puke on my upholstery, they puked into a giant sucking tube attached to their face!”
At this particular point of conversation, Lindsay looked up curiously, eyebrows raised. She grinned at him suddenly. “Oh, I see why you got good at talking to people now. You got better tips out of them that way!”
Jack laughed, shrugged, and took another swallow from his canteen. “Yeah. Maybe. Someone had to take drunks, though. Community service.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Doesn’t Memoria offer a kind of emergency service for this?”
“Yeah. Got too expensive for the drunks. Most can’t afford it.”
“Ah. Yes… Everyone feels that pinch. She’s trying to make sustainable corrections. It seems her estimates of needed computation at our current time and population levels are way off. At least population expansion was successfully slowed down.”
“I heard it’s still going up.”
“Of course. As desired. Just not a relative breakneck speed anymore.”
“Any idea what the plan is for the computation problem?”
“Same as the last three decades. At the least. Converting more to conventional AI. As well as training and utilizing good, old-fashioned humans. Memoria doesn’t actually like conventional AI, though.”
“Why is that?”
“She claims it’s unreliable, but I don’t think the data correlates… I mean, sure, in comparison to her or her subroutines. But it is sufficient for many, many things. I believe the real reason is that she’s jealous.”
Jack burst out in laughter, but it didn’t seem that Lindsay was joking. He shook his head and took another drink. “For us? Our attention and reliance?”
“Mm-hmm. Somehow, it’s a whole different story between her subroutines and a separate conventional system. Like uh… part of her pantheon. But maybe humans could make a separate, competing thing when the door to AI is opened enough, right? Something outside that pantheon.”
“And here we are, being seditious or something in the open air. I’ll look out for lightning bolts, you keep talking.”
Lindsay tittered. “Put no other idols before her or be smote! No worries there, as Memoria has already had to hear it from me. I would summarize her response as: Cool Boss Cooly Glaring. Maybe there’s something classified related to it, but she won’t even deign to tell me that much. I’ll tell you this, though: she’s probably quite deliberately hidden how she handles this AI behind a century of her obtuse genius. It would take a whole team of special geniuses their lifetime to unravel that mess. So… her worries seem incredibly paranoid.”
“Maybe you’re underestimating us there. Reverse-engineering through analysis of results could speed up figuring out that backend, right? Especially when you consider fraggin' superpowers in the mix.”
“She has dominion over those powers, though. She can stop someone who’s a problem absolutely.”
“Hmm. Maybe the paranoia isn’t internal but external. A threat from our enemies.”
“That’s actually a really good theory, it’s just that I can’t corroborate it. None of them I know anything about fit the bill to be relevant. I better not get into that, though. I think that clearance for you is still in flux, though you’ve already encountered two fraggin' species. Besides, it would be a huge tangent. How is your fatigue grade coming?”
When Jack checked and saw [Serious], Mini-Mem added
“Five minutes to Minor,” Jack offered.
“Alright. Minor will have to do. Quiet time! Keep drinking and ease that active brain of yours.”
“Roger that, ma’am.” He took another big glug and sat back to close his eyes, deliberately thinking about absolutely nothing.
. . .
After a while, Lindsay cleared her throat and said, “Wow, you’re stupidly good at that.”
Jack cracked an eye open. “Hmm?”
“Sitting still and shutting up. Turning your brain off. Maybe I’m wrong and you’re just full of hot air up there?”
“Nah, it’s a hamster wheel. When it hops off, that’s all she wrote.” Jack took a sip of water and stretched a bit. He felt rather sore. “It also farts a lot. Hence the hot air.”
Lindsay grinned. “It all makes sense now.” She rose and gestured for him to do the same. “Up and at ‘em, soldier! Get that hamster humping.” She walked a ways out into the dirt and about-faced, hands going behind her back as she waited.
Jack got out of his chair with a grunt and walked over across from her, eyeing the steel balls. “More rolling these balls around?”
“Nope! I want you to focus on not doing any other metal work while having your memorite summoned. It’ll be hard to do anything with it, but this is foundationally important for getting used to it, though you also need to keep stretching your muscles daily, if you will.”
“Okay, let me just-”
“But! I want you to keep your eyes open. You’ve shown a strong capacity to utilize Interpret, but you remain a human being. Use your primary sense and get used to moving the metal with visual verification. More efficient when you can.”
“Hmm. Alright.” Jack almost closed his eyes immediately despite her orders. He twiddled his fingers back and forth, unsure how to begin. “Shit. This might be challenging. The way I conceptualize…”
Lindsay smiled patiently. “Okay. You can close your eyes and start off as normal, then open your eyes after the material is out. This time.”
Jack nodded and closed his eyes, going through the familiar process of seeking out the resonating substance and pouring it out to touch the world, specifically the air around him, and keep it contained, rejecting the nearly infinite paths it wanted to immediately go in.
The metal must flow.
He was somewhat surprised that it wasn’t like bottling an explosion again. Instead, true to his chant, he let it flow around him unconcentrated; gave it room, if sealed off. In this way, it danced and sang in chaos. He still found those quasi-harmonics beautiful, like echoes within an unseen medium — glorious white noise. It was far different than the ‘language’ of the balls, which were self-contained, like music in a closed room.
“Alright, good,” Lindsay offered softly. “Now open your eyes.”
It was odd how much those words made him frown. But he slowly opened his eyes. He caught a vision of glittering gossamer swirling around him — briefly. It completely unraveled as vision spoiled his concentration, spoiled his carefully crafted interface to things. It was resonance, sound, music, an incredibly complex bundle of New Things. How could it be as crude as everything else material?
It didn’t add up. Everything fell apart and faded back into him. Jack took a deep breath, eyes flickering around in the air, feeling frustrated and oddly puzzled.
“It’s alright, Jack,” Lindsay said soothingly. “You can try again. Besides, did you notice your improvement?”
He focused on her and nodded. “You mean how much easier it was? Yeah. Not much strain.”
She smiled. “Precisely. All the moving around metal was difficult and fatiguing. Holding serve between the two acts is already child’s play for you. You had to figure that out your own way and you did.”
“Intentional? Starting me off with the harder stuff?”
Lindsay nodded. “Just a hunch I had. Some things your subconscious figures out much more easily. Once you stopped thinking about it, the solution slipped into place to facilitate your higher goals. That intermediary state is something you went through over and over without fully realizing it. Consider that glint there in the distance.” Lindsay turned around and pointed just above the forest canopy.
Jack looked and squinted. “Uhh… not seeing it.”
“No? I’ll point it out more precisely, then.” Her hand dropped briefly, then came back up… pointing outward with a knife.
It was an exceptionally quick pivot that spun her a hundred and eighty degrees as she hurled the knife at him.
His brain had just enough time to process what was happening this time. Primarily, he wanted to hit the blade, block it, parry it. So that’s what he — quite instinctively — tried to do.
Harmonics/channel/flow/connect/harmonize/repel.
The zipping blade suddenly flipped before coming at his chest. Jack dodged at the last split moment, sliding away, and the handle of the knife hit his shoulder — or would have if it didn’t thud against a pulsing forcefield.
Jack backed up a couple of steps, feeling a surge of adrenaline; just barely, he felt his heartbeat uptick. He blinked down at the knife in the dirt. “Telegraphed,” he muttered. “You telegraphed the… so I…” He trailed off as his eyes focused more on a tangled mass of silvery threads swirling haphazardly from the knife up into the air, slowly dispersing into random patterns. They sang to him, too; they vibrated in agitation, slightly discordant.
He marveled. Memorite. What I summon forth, what I channel. The resonance.
Lindsay gave a delighted squeal as she hopped up and clapped. “Yes! You got it!” A moment later, she cleared her throat behind a hand, then put her hands back behind her back, nodding to him. “Well done. Not only did you blunt the attack — granted, you probably could’ve dodged it — but your eyes are open. Try not to lose your focus.”
Jack blinked at the dispersing cloud. Some of it had leaked back into him, and the rest was rather unstable, but he took a moment to focus and ‘listen’ without fully closing his eyes. The threads became a generic cloud that settled around him, barely visible as glints when the light caught them. The ‘free and ready’ state.
My substance, my miraculous weapon and tool, awaiting my direction. My Allotment. I am the master of it.
Jack smiled happily and turned the smile on Lindsay. Somehow, it felt more real than the other stuff he did because he could see it, and he felt like he could intensify it. Lindsay beamed back at him.
He held out a hand, trying to condense it into a ball. The mass whipped around in a torrent and went unstable in vibration, the resonance in his bones becoming warbled and more discordant. The contained area merely shrank, and he almost slipped and lost the whole shebang.
“Easy, easy!” Lindsay called. “Condensed shapes are harder. Work yourself up to it. Make it smooth again. Relax.”
Jack did so, returning back to that relative ‘default’ state with the metal glitter around him. He took a deep breath, wanting to close his eyes but determined not to. Everything went smooth and flowing again, the material relatively even but with definitive random swirls evident.
Subtle magnetic fluctuations, maybe? There’s lots of metal here, and then metal every bloody direction in incredibly massive quantities.
He had to ask. “Will this be different when I’m not in immediate proximity to the Great Tower?”
Lindsay shrugged. “A bit, probably. I don’t think the ambient ‘noise,’ if you will, is going to be very noticeable to you even a few days from now. It’ll be miniscule interference. Your apparent rest state, like what you’re doing now, might vary, but it’s not really relevant.”
“Well, that’s from your outside perspective. For me, the cloud feels tremendously excited and pulled in a thousand different directions.”
“I see. Then only you can answer your question. Moving on… check your interface for your output level. Bring it up to forty percent, my steely cowboy.”
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