Read Harmonics: Rise of the Magician Page 22

  *****

  Somewhere far beyond the reach of the FLIR cameras and German shepherds, a man dressed all in black runs through the forest at a breakneck speed.

  The Project

  Time: Five years, 14 days after the desert facility was destroyed

  Scene: Boardroom of MESA labs

  "In our top story tonight, a ranking member of the UON Science and Technology Advancement committee was brutally murdered at his secure apartment home. While authorities are being tight-lipped about the murder, anonymous inside sources spoke with us about the event. Mark Brown has more."

  "A gruesome scene unfolded last night in the apartment home of Dr. Yuon Shu, a member of the United Organization of Nations Science and Technology Advancement committee. Dr. Shu was best known as a leader in cutting edge research on computer-human interfaces over the last 10 years. At his new post in the UON, he was in charge of approving funding for various companies around the Collective that sought to improve the standard of living by introducing much needed advancements in healthcare, agriculture, and education. All that work ended here in a bloodbath late last night. Sources inside the UON investigation confirmed that Dr. Shu was at his apartment under guard due to recent death threats made against him. Before we were escorted off premises, we were able to obtain this still of Dr. Shu's apartment."

  The image moved alongside the reporter as other footage of the scene played in the corner.

  "As you can see, the doorframe was split in two by what looks like an earthquake of some sort. But my source tells me investigators found no evidence of any other part of the building being affected, nor were there any geological events last night. Further, rumors indicate that Dr. Shu's personal guard was found just inside the door.

  "Initial reports show that the guard appeared to be killed as a result of head trauma caused by the shifting floor. Any additional details about Dr. Shu's death are sketchy at best. It seems there are a number of unanswered questions, the most pressing being how an assassin gained entry into this high security residence, took out a personal guard, and accessed the secured apartment without the use of explosives, rigging, or heavy equipment."

  The vids of the scene minimized off screen as the vid of the reporter filled the space.

  "Now, my source tells me that investigators have not ruled out some sort of portable mechanical device to jack the underlying floor, but upon inspection of the floor below, no evidence has been found. The UON is holding a press conference later today and we will bring you any further details."

  "Thanks Mark. With so many unknown questions surrounding this high profile death, do the authorities have any leads on the assailant?"

  "Tina, from what I can gather, investigators are searching for details that will help them find the person or persons responsible. But I will say that as we have been reporting from this location, we have heard a number of whispered conversations among investigators and other news feeders about another possible strike by the famed Magician. However, we have not heard anything official confirming that."

  "Well, thanks again Mark. Keep it tuned to this feed. We will bring you updates as this story progresses. Now a look at the markets. In heavy trading this morning..."

  "Turn it off. I think we have heard enough," said the old man at the head of the dark cherrywood boardroom table. The holographic image of the newsfeed faded out, leaving a company logo spinning slowly above the projector. Men in dark suits lined one side of the table and sat opposite a line of lab techs, all in white coats. Monitors with floating heads hung just behind the seated men, and more came on line as others joined the meeting from remote locations.

  "This recording of the incident two weeks ago marks the latest use of the lost project," the old man said in a low voice. "The media can speculate all they want. Our plants inside the UON have confirmed the modification of the floor of the apartment. No explosives, no mechanical devices. Preliminary vids taken right after the incident show that the floor was simply mod'd to jut up three feet in that isolated location. Warrick, load the feed."

  A younger man tapped some commands on an interface and the spinning logo faded to a display of charts and graphs. Warrick cleared his throat.

  "As you can see, the spectral analysis of the floor shows a slight increase in residual energy. I believe that – "

  "Slight is the key word here," interrupted a white coat at the other end of the table. "Your residual energy blip is less than the fluctuation in the calibration sequence. Before you go sending us on another covert op to chase down yet another dead end, don't you think we should have some more proof that this is a result of the missing project?"

  Warrick looked unfazed. "Doctor, I appreciate your healthy skepticism regarding the retrieval of an asset your department lost. I'm sure we all understand how your past attempts to recover the long lost project have jaded you and perhaps dampened your hopes in recovering it. But please, and I mean this in the kindest of ways, shut up."

  "I will not shut up, you sniveling little punk. I was splitting atoms when you were still setting fire to your hair with your home chemistry set. As I have voiced many times before, I know my project. I know what it was capable of. I have the test results just prior to ...well, the most recent data we have. There is just no way it is capable of this type of complex modification."

  "Doctor, your test results are five years old. As we have discussed previously, we are in the dark as to what its capabilities would be if left unmonitored or worse, found and further developed. Warrick enlarged the graph to show the small blip in the otherwise flat line. "This spectral evidence confirms that molecular modification has occurred."

  "Do you even understand what you are talking about?" the doctor blurted out. "Who would even have the resources to further develop the project? In the past, we have seen copious amounts of residual energy being left at the scenes of these so-called assassinations. First responders have even filed reports of the trees and earth around the modifications being warm when the ambient temperature is quite cool. What you are inferring, Warrick, is that whoever is using the prototype has somehow learned from our attempts to track its use and has started to police its brass, so to speak, by cleverly dissipating the residual energy that ensues after structure modification. Do you have any idea how asinine a theory that is? We are talking about a technology that, when we last saw it used, was barely able to bend a toothpick. And that feat was accomplished after months of intense work!"

  "And yet its use has graduated from bending toothpicks to high-tech assassinations. Oh, and let us not forget these images from the night when you lost the project." The charts faded into holographic images of skewered guards and charred hallways of what looked like a research facility. This seemed to put a damper on the doctor's protest. Warrick continued.

  "Besides, our recovery team was first on scene and confirmed the use of the prototype. Our local agents have made the needed arrangements with the UON investigation and with the local LEO's. Standing gag orders have also been issued to those who have advanced knowledge of this situation."

  The old man stood from his chair and walked to the full-length tinted window of the conference room. He stood staring out for a few minutes before he spoke. "Gentlemen, while we will pursue this new development in recovering our property, we must press forward with our efforts. Kingston has a report on the good professor that I believe all of you should hear."

  Warrick passed the tablet to a man in an expensive looking black suit. He tapped out a few commands and the face of a middle-aged man began to rotate at the center of the table.

  "As most of you know, Dr. Eli Thurman has been a part of our efforts here for quite some time now, although the good doctor doesn't really know that. It was Thurman's early work into M-theory and resonant frequencies that led us to borrow his research, which eventually led to the interface lab. We have been keeping tabs on Thurman and his work for a number of years, but the rebuilt interface lab has recently indicated that it may be time to ac
quire Thurman as an official asset to MESA. Developments in user acceptance testing have suggested that success may be just around the corner."

  Kingston changed the holographic image to a vid of Dr. Thurman in a lecture hall.

  "Currently, Thurman heads a university research lab that has limited resources. We at the company have obviously progressed far beyond their work; however, the interface lab has yet to produce a working model as advanced as the project is. Seeing the rising cost associated with the increased quantity of coding needed, it has been suggested that we start our efforts to bring the doctor on board."

  "I understand that most of you share my concern about the doctor finding out how we used his research for the advancement of our goals," said the old man still staring out the window. "Kingston and the head of the interface lab have begun to develop a plan that will give us access to Thurman and keep him at a safe distance from the more sensitive efforts that are currently being undertaken."

  "Yes," confirmed Kingston. "The head of the interface lab has been working on this acquisition for a number of years now. It is his opinion that when Thurman comes on board, we could be looking at building another prototype on par with the perceived current specs of the lost project," Kingston glanced at the white coat at the end of the table, "in a minimum of 12 months."

  "And what developments has the lab made and why do we even need Thurman if we've progressed so far beyond his current research?" asked a nameless man in the middle of the line of suits.

  "Well, short of giving you the entire briefing," replied Kingston with a smirk, "the head of the interface lab has reported that they have run into a challenge with current prototypes accepting the coding. However, this latest iteration has shown slightly less adverse declines in performance after the coding trials, but is still hampered by its side effects. While the lab has mitigated these with the advanced U/I that they have developed, this is only a temporary solution. The head of the lab believes that Thurman will be able to fill in the gaps to make the interface seamless."

  "Do you really think Thurman has the ability to advance us further than what we've been able to accomplish?" asked the nameless man.

  The old man turned from the window. "Eli Thurman is the reason this company has been so successful in our interface pursuits. Eli Thurman combined the needed theories to produce the science that allowed us to build the prototype. Eli Thurman is unmatched in his understanding of quantum dynamics and Tesla's works. Aside from his moral objections to some of the things we do around here, Eli Thurman could advance this company into the next century with the knowledge he possesses." The old man walked over and sat in his chair. "With the combined talents of the head of the interface lab and Thurman on board, we would finally be able to change the recovery of the project into the termination of the project and eliminate those who perpetrated its theft. We would be able to produce what we have been trying to craft for almost the last decade. So in answer to your question, yes, we believe that Thurman has that ability. Gentlemen, I believe that will be all for today. Please file your reports with your respective division heads."

  The floating heads faded into spinning logos as the men around the table stood and started to exit the room. Kingston docked the tablet, listened as the old man whispered something to him, and left the room as well. A trip down the elevator, four biometrically sealed doors, and three guard posts later, Kingston stepped into the office of the head of the interface lab.

  "The old man wants to come down and see the new prototype," said Kingston softly.

  The man behind the desk raised his head slowly to look at Kingston.

  "Is it...online?" asked Kingston.

  Without replying, the man stood from his desk, walked past Kingston, and continued down a separate hallway. The two walked in silence as they passed entry after entry. At the end of the hall, they came to another biometrically sealed door. The man stooped to scan his eye and then waved his hand across the screen. A moment later, the viewing port slid to one side. The man indicated for Kingston to look for himself. Kingston stepped up to the small window and peered into an almost pitch-black room. As his eyes strained to see the contents of the room, a dark outline anchored to a table slowly came into focus.

  Lady in the Lake

  Time: Seven years after the desert facility was destroyed, early morning

  Scene: Academy City 676

  Ok, ok...you need to focus. I know you don't want to, but you just need to do it if you want to pass.

  Sam took a breath and started to read, but almost tripped as she did. She hated walking to school. It wasn't that she didn't like school. School was just fine. It wasn't that she disliked walking either. In fact, she rather enjoyed walking. What she didn't like was walking to school while attempting to finish an essay for her stupid critical writing class. That was really annoying. And of course the dumb essay was due on the very day she was going to meet Richard to –

  Focus, Samantha!!

  Sam refocused, her attention locking on to the holographic screen projection a half-meter in front of her, trying to find the place where she had left off.

  Decades after the recession of the early 21st century, the difference between the exceedingly poor and ridiculously rich was so great the world entered a Post Industrialization Feudal Age. Now the rich are disgustingly rich and the poor have become the exclusive and sole responsibility of the government.

  Sam stopped, making a mental note. She needed less personality in the essay, less of the incendiary adjectives. She could almost smell the attitude. Sam continued to read.

  The transformation of the world economy occurred after World War III broke out. The war started when extremists in the Central Eastern countries, or modern day New Nicrawmini, attacked their longtime Zionist rivals or modern day Esai. The war lasted ten years, eventually engulfing all the major world players, and exacted a cost of over three billion lives and forty percent of the livable land in the world.

  The end of the war brought the rise of two new super powers. The United Western Collective, or the super-government made up of the old United States of America, Canada, Mexico, and South and Central America, and the Jade Empire, made up of the old European Union states and many Asian countries. The next 50 years produced a cold war like the people of Earth had never seen, creating a landscape where the rich got richer and the poor were taken care of by the newly established conglomerate governments. Now there are very few in-betweeners, or people of the middle class. Not to say they are totally gone. The rich would never let that happen, as there has to be someone that buffers the poor from the rich in the world. In my town, that is where Partial Palace comes in. Partial Palace is where I live, and I believe it should be dismantled as a matter of public policy.

  Sam shook her head; she had slipped into the first person again. She hated when she did that.

  Thousands of other communities like Partial Palace can be found in every town in the United Western Collective. My community is located in the middle of T. Tracks in Academy City 676, in the State of Bush.

  Sam stared at the passage. There was more to this place, a more expressive description, a deeper and livelier introduction, but really it was more or less the same as most other UWC towns. Further description probably wasn't needed; it would just create unnecessary clutter.

  Sam took her finger and with a few quick strikes she erased the last sentence. Ms. Diablo wasn't going to like that description; it was just too boring. Sam would have to change that later.

  The T. Tracks aren't really tracks as their name suggests. There might have been real tracks on this particular stretch of land at some point, but ever since the advent of cellular bio-fuel and cold-fusion transport, the bullet trains of the 22nd century were bound to fail. Now, where 150 years ago a train might have once traveled, there is a park that would embarrass the old United States National Park, Yellowstone. The park is complete with a lake as deep and blue as a ship-sinking glacier and hybrid trees tens of years old
that shadow the vast expanse of lush grass, flowers, and other vegetation.

  Beauty came at a price, however. In truth, this park that the townsfolk call T. Tracks has a single purpose: It divides the high part of town from the low part, High Tracks and Low Tracks, or the really rich and the quite poor. In all actuality, T. Tracks acts like a barrier to any who might venture out of their station. The park thus becomes a scene of serenity but also a symbol of division.

  Sam highlighted this sentence. She liked that one; it had some great imagery.

  The T. Tracks and other landmarks like it are not out of the ordinary in government cities like this one. In fact it is not that much different from every other Academy City in the Collective. This similarity comes from their purpose of policing mandatory education from 6 to 18 years of age throughout the Western Collective.

  Sam made another note; she needed to add United before Western Collective.

  This Academy city, which like most Academy cities is about 85% students, holds one major difference. The preconceived roles of the rich class and the poor class are less embraced among the student body. In a sharp contrast, other Academy Cities across the Great Collective have socio-economic strife, or fighting within their student population. But here in Academy City 676, it isn't all that bad being poor. The government pays for just about everything from healthcare, school, food, and housing, to entertainment. Practically name it and the government takes care of it. While everything isn't roses and butterflies, for the most part the residents of Academy City 676 have their needs met. This, in my opinion, is probably the reason that people here are a bit more accepting of the Post War Feudal System. The aftermath of the war created needs, not wants. People needed for so long they forgot how to want. Now that it's been years since the end of the war, the residents of the world, excluding a select few, still haven't remembered how to want, and in my opinion that is where the problem is found.

  In Academy City 676, a person's social position or socioeconomic status, whether you are from High Tracks or Low Tracks, determines everything about them. What classes they take, who they sit with at the lunch table, the people who they talk to, everything. It is for this reason that living in Partial Palace leaves uncertainty where conformity should have resided. And as anyone from Partial knows all too well, there are few things worse than uncertainty. Being from Partial makes me very uncertain, as I have no real place where I belong. I'm not accepted by either the High or Low tracks crowds. There is just me.

  Sam reread the paper, fixing the punctuation as she did. She would probably have to change that last portion. It sounded sort of whiny.

  She took a deep cleansing breath as she walked artfully through rays of early morning light. Sam could already see the revisions she would make later. She was never very good at these writing assignments. That was why she had to –

  Her concentration broke as a buzzing scream rent the peace of the morning, splintering the calm in a stab of noise. The abrupt change stopped Sam dead in her tracks, her adrenaline heightening her senses. She spun around, searching for the source of the noise, the scream fading in and out, going quiet and loud, quiet and loud, over and over again until any semblance of rational thought felt like a distant memory. The sound burned with fire, skimming the surface of her brain and scorching her calm. Sam tuned into the burn as words, some jumbled and confused, others twisting in somewhat coherent patterns, jumped to the forefront of her thoughts while strange companion emotions pushed at her own emotional core. Sam's eyes went blurry as a tingling sensation took over. Her vision grew dark.

  Then blackness closed in...closed in until...until...the nip of the breeze startled her. Her eyelids fluttered and she scanned her surroundings, taking in the light of the yawning sun and the shadows of the springtime trees. Nothing seemed out of place, not a single indication of what had just happened or why.

  Sam paused in her contemplation and whispered to herself just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. "What on earth was that? What just happened?"

  Sam tried to collect her thoughts, but the questions kept running laps around the track of her mind. It was all so fuzzy. She grasped at a thing, something. She wasn't even sure what it was. For some odd reason, she couldn't seem to remember.

  "HEY SAM, SNAP OUT OF IT!"

  Sam whipped around, going for the gas-blaster in her bag.

  "Whoa!" said a cute Latina girl with crunchy brown hair. "I am so going to sue you if you gas-blast me."

  Sam's finger relaxed off the button as she slackened her grip. "Oh Cammie, it's only you." She gave Cammie a small shove. "Why were you yelling like that? You scared the church out of me."

  "'The church out of you?'" Cammie grinned thoughtfully. "Maybe I should scare you more often. I could use more church in my life."

  "You mean more morality."

  Cammie shrugged. "Don't get so like, wrapped up in the details, Sam. Besides, you are in no place to talk about morals. Hello! You totally almost gas-blasted me. Me! Your best friend! Do you have any idea how bad that stuff is for your skin?"

  Sam put her fingers to the bridge of her nose, squeezing the pressure point there. "So let me get this straight. I almost gas-blast you and you're worried about whether it negatively affects your skin?"

  Cammie nodded vigorously. "Love is a battlefield, Sam. Don't ever forget it."

  Sam paused. "Uh...what are you talking about? Wait--never mind. I don't really want to know. Back to the gas blast – how would you know what it's like to be gas blasted? This doesn't have something to do with your restraining order, does it?"

  Cammie scowled. "You set one tree on fire because a boy breaks up with you and you're branded for life."

  Sam laughed. "You're lucky your dad was able to pull some strings and get you probation."

  Cammie sighed dramatically. "Ahh, no one understands me."

  Sam placed her hand on Cammie's shoulder. "It's rough being you, isn't it?"

  "Of course, being a diva is tough stuff. Ok, sidebar conversation."

  Sam rolled her eyes. She hated it when Cammie called a sidebar conversation; it usually meant that she was about to go off.

  "Samantha OMGWB, what are you wearing? I thought we talked about this. No more frumpy jeans and formless shirts. What happen to the Liquid Light sundress I gave you?"

  At this Cammie rolled the hem of her own strategically placed skirt. Cammie wasn't the cutest girl on the planet but she made up for it with sense and style. She could dress for her body type like no other person Sam knew.

  "Cammie, I've explained this ten times to you already. Samantha," Sam pointed at herself, "isn't like that. Those sort of threads don't look good on me. They--they just aren't me."

  "Um, the two boys staring at you with 'stalker eyes' on Friday seemed to indicate otherwise. Besides, that red high-cut Jadian quju was a hot little number. Even the store manager was gawking, and I'm pretty sure he's gay!"

  Sam rolled her eyes. "He's not gay Cammie, just really happy."

  "Uh, I wasn't aware there was a difference." Cammie dipped her head, leveling her gaze at Sam's chest. "Sam, you're trying to be more feminine, remember? Well, at least you're wearing a bra today."

  Cammie reached out and gave Sam a squeeze before she could react. Sam squealed in surprise, slapping Cammie's hand as her face blushed scarlet. She glared with her arms crossed over her chest. "Pervert."

  Cammie grinned. "Well, if the shoe fits--"

  "Then buy the whole store."

  "You sure are pissy today. Is it that time of the month?"

  "Yes, the time of the month when I need a new best girl friend."

  Cammie looked at her, scandalized. "I thought I was your best friend. Oh don't tell me that Dick beat me out."

  "Don't call him Dick, and yes he did beat you out because he doesn't fashion grope me on a regular basis."

  Cammie's expression soured. "Only because he doesn't have the guts to."

  "Cammie, you're impossible
."

  A squelching noise, like the sound a cat might make if it was drowning, reoriented Sam's thoughts. That weird noise that had assaulted her... She had been trying to figure out where it had come from.

  She leveled her gaze at Cammie, who was busy entering her Vii Space page. Sam spoke quickly, knowing that the social site would completely destroy any chance she might have to talk to her friend. Well, face-to-face at least.

  "Moving on from Richard, why haven't you said anything about that screeching noise a few minutes ago? It's not like you to just ignore an unexplained phenomenon. It might have been aliens you know."

  "Ha-ha-ha Sam, everyone knows that aliens only attack at night and they don't scream. Nice try. If you are going to make fun of me at least make it a bit more--Ashley, OMGWB I can't be-li-eve he asked you..."

  Sam stopped listening. Cammie was in Vii Space now; she was gone for the time being, causing their walk to come to a dead stop.

  Stupid social cloud. What a waste of time, thought Sam as she looked out over the water, watching the waves ripple. She sighed heavily. "Richard, where are you when I need you?"

  A glare from the water caught her attention. An unnatural shine seemed to move with her. The light, which was of a curiously soft nature, deteriorated immediately, leaving only a glowing trail. Sam stepped away from Cammie, venturing towards the edge of the lake. A few feet from the bank, settled low in the clear water, sat a shimmering metal box. Sam studied the box from the shore.

  "Now what on earth are you?" she said, squinting in an attempt to make out the box. A few minutes passed in idle contemplation until Sam made a decision.

  "All righty then," she said, speaking aloud. "Into the water we go."

  Sam removed her shoes and socks, pulled her pant cuffs up as high as they would bunch, then moved cautiously into the water. She neared her target, the water coming up much higher than she had originally anticipated. The box was right in front of her, but she didn't know if she wanted to spend the rest of the day drenched. A brief spell of calm water momentarily gave Sam an unimpeded view of the box. She again considered her options.

  You're already here, she thought. Might as well...

  Sam leaned over into the water and barely made contact when--"Sam! What on earth are you doing?"

  The call startled her, and without further preamble Sam slipped and – splash!

  Sam, now completely wet, came up out of the water holding the box in her hand.

  "Sam, are you ok?" Cammie came rushing to her side barely able to control her laughter as Sam stomped onto the marshy grass. "Why on earth did you go in the lake?"

  Sam shook her mane of matted hair and held up the box. "Wanted to see what this was."

  Cammie laughed again. "Nice Sam, a tin box. How dumb can you be?"

  "Thanks a lot Cammie, that was really sweet."

  Cammie's eyes went wide and innocent. " Uh, I'm pretty sure it's not my fault you decided to go for a mid-morning swim." Cammie looked Sam up and down, lingering on her soppy clothes and water logged hair. "Though I have to admit, Sammie, I think it's an improvement."

  Sam scowled and pushed past Cammie, who scrambled after her.

  "Hey come on Sam, it was just a joke," said Cammie, attempting to sound contrite. "Sorta."

  Sam had already had enough of this day and the stupid thing had barely started. Falling on her butt in the lake was a bad omen. She was going home to shower and hide under the covers. A whispered conversation directly behind her told Sam that even as Cammie was following her, she was back on Vii Space. Oh how Sam hated that –

  "Samantha!" called Cammie, sounding more than a little excited. "Weren't you supposed to meet Dick this morning?"

  Sam came to an abrupt halt, cursing her luck. "Yeah, I'm supposed to be feeding the ducks with Richard. Crap! He's going to be so mad at me. I've got to get home and change."

  "I don't think he's thinking about that right now sweetie." Cammie slid her fingers across her screen. The display reacted, enlarging and reversing a vid for Sam to see.

  Sam put a weary hand to her forehead. "Oh no, not again." She turned on her heel. "Come on, Cammie. We have to stop this before someone gets hurt!"

  Cammie rolled her eyes. "What? Sam, do we really have to do this? Again? It's just a couple of pics and some vids, no big deal."

  "If they get carried away, he could die, Cammie!" screamed Sam as she turned and started to run in her sopping clothes.

  "You're overreacting as usual, Sam. He'll be just fine. He always is." Cammie walked reluctantly after her, mumbling in a low voice, "And even if he did die at least he wouldn't make you late all the time."

  "I heard that Cammie!"

  Cammie cracked a smile. "Why can you always hear me, Sam?" She shrugged to herself, hurrying to catch up to Samantha.

  The Lion and the Lamb

  Time: Current day, early morning

  Scene: T. Tracks Park

  "Come on Dick, you're going to have to do better than that if you don't want me to flatten your fat face!"

  Sam could hear the taunting before she could see what was happening. She had run all the way to the T. Track's Hamster Wheel, which was really just a cute way of saying playground equipment. A huge multi-story castle of a jungle gym, which included towers, walkways, and battlements, was only one part of the Hamster Wheel's amenities. The park, affectionately called Camelot, was a place that many of the older Academy City 676 residents liked to gather in those rare moments of free time. This tendency to congregate almost guaranteed that if there was something interesting happening, they could get the deets at the base of Camelot.

  This morning wasn't any different; there was already an expanding crowd of students whooping at the current proceedings. Sam and Cammie pushed their way through the crowd. Sam groaned in unison with the spectators as the people around her flinched back at the sound of a sharp smack cracking against exposed skin.

  Sam took a deep breath. "Why? Why do you have to deal with this..." Her voice drifted off as the scene continued to unfold.

  Two boys were circling each other. The first, a boy with tight spiral locks of hair, had his hands up, mimicking the old 20th century boxing pros while he danced around the second. Curly-q's shirt was off, his body glistening with just the right amount of sweat to accent an almost perfect physique. The second boy, a chubby kid with massive girth, was sweating gallons as he tried to fend off Curly-q. Fatty's defense was desperate, his footwork slow, and his punches pitiful. This fight was the equivalent of an old fat lamb trying to take on a young over-zealous lion while the rest of the jungle watched the disembowelment.

  The crowd "ooed" and "ahhed" as Curly-q connected a punch to the side of Fatty's face. Fatty crumpled to the ground, spitting blood. Curly-q threw his hands up as the crowd cheered.

  "Don't even think about it, Sam," whispered Cammie in a not so quiet voice. "You'll only embarrass him."

  Sam turned to face Cammie. "But come on Cammie, you saw that punch. He's really going to hurt him this time!"

  "You say that every time Sam, and it never happens. I'm starting to think this is more for show than anything else."

  Just then, Curly-q landed another shot, this time to the body. Fatty went down again. A round of high fives from some of his goony friends ensued as Curly-q danced to the enthusiastic cheers of adoration from the onlookers. Fatty was spitting blood again and was nursing a fat lip. Curly-q knelt down in front of him.

  "Dick, I thought you were taking a mixed martial arts class. Weren't you supposed to be getting better at this? It's getting really old just beating your blubber all the time."

  "We cannot all be as physically gifted as you, Dyson. Though it does make me speculate how your performance may suffer when you have opponents that will actually fight back."

  The crowd started to laugh, but it almost instantly sputtered and coughed into a hushed mumble. Dice Danni Dyson XIII was a high roller, even in the High Tracks crowd. But at just over one and a h
alf meters tall and only 59 kilos, it was hard to be intimidated by him personally. His Ganga bodyguards, on the other hand, were rumored to be byproducts of failed attempts at crossing humans with polar bears.

  The Ganga population became completely loyal to Dyson's father after the business mogul donated crates of the legendary cleaning configurations to the fragmented government of the Burning Plains. Nestled in the heart of the unlivable lands of the South, the Burning Plains were some of the most inhospitable land on good old mother Earth, and the Ganga called it their home. Because of Dice Danni Dyson XII's act of kindness, or perhaps his ploy to cement the Ganga into forced indentured servitude, the Ganga were tied to the Dyson family and probably would be for the foreseeable future.

  Then there was Sam's best friend, Richard. Sweet, good-hearted Richard, who just happened to be the smartest student to ever attend Academy City 676. This was Richard's blessing and curse. While he was one of the smartest people in all of Academy City 676, he wasn't a fighter despite his hulking 2-meter and almost145-kilo frame. No, Richard wasn't a fighter; an eater yes, but not a fighter.

  The Ganga's threatening glares stifled the giggles that snapped and popped behind cupped mouths, but not before Dyson heard them. He gave Richard a swift kick to the gut. Richard groaned in pain.

  "Stop laughing immediately!" Dyson called out to the crowd, his voice going shrill. "Or you will suffer. I will make you all suffer. I'll show you! I'll show all of you!"

  Dyson snapped his fingers. The Ganga snapped to attention. "Get him up. We're done playing around."

  The Ganga followed orders, grabbing ahold of Richard and hoisting him up. Now on his feet, the Ganga threw Richard against one of Camelot's support beams. The gathered crowd started to mutter amongst themselves. Richard closed his eyes as his leg started to shake violently, a habit that Sam knew all too well. Richard was scared. Dyson walked around as if he were about to start a school lecture.

  Sam felt a tingle as Dyson continued to jeer at Richard. A strange sensation traveled up her spine and nuzzled into her brain. "Don't even think about it, Dyson," she blurted out.

  Too late. Dyson's punch was already speeding for the center of Richard's head. Sam took three big steps, her body acting on its own, fully knowing that she wasn't going to make it in time. She could already see the bloody mouth, broken teeth, and broken nose. But would he stop there? No, he wouldn't. Dyson would feel the strength of the position and strike again and again, until...until... Involuntarily she closed her eyes at the last second; she did not want to see it.

  A thud and yelp of pain was followed by a chorus of laughter. Confused, Sam opened her eyes to see what had happened. Over the din, Sam heard Cammie shout.

  "Dyson, you're such a goof. How did you miss? He was a half-meter in front of you!"

  More laughter sounded, including the Ganga, though they at least attempted to hide it. Dyson was enraged. He held his hand gingerly; it looked broken. He yelled at the Ganga to get Richard, who was already scrambling and tripping over his own feet in desperate flight. Sam looked at Richard's chubby face. The idiot had his eyes closed.

  "Richard you fool, open your eyes!"

  Richard's eyes popped open, his expression wild as he continued to scramble away from the Ganga. He scrambled along the border of the fence, trying to find an opening he could get through. No such luck. He turned and again ran back down the incline to Camelot's base. He hadn't run more than a few meters when--

  Smack!

  Richard hit something hard, something that had not been there earlier. Everyone was holding their hands to their eyes, the glare of sunlight making it difficult to see into the early morning sun. The Ganga's chase had stopped all while Dyson was whimpering and swearing, but in a subdued tone. He was even cowering a bit. What Sam could make out through the glare took her a second to understand.

  "Whoa there, buddy," said a playful voice. "You'd better watch where you're going, or a face plant into a wooden beam could be in your near future."

  Sam shifted her position until she could finally see a tall boy steadying Richard. With shaggy blond hair, clear blue eyes, and perfect bone structure, he stood in front of one of Camelot's structural supports and spoke to Richard in a low voice. Sam whispered his name without realizing it.

  "Coda."

  Cammie, on the other hand, was less than subtle. "Oh Kra-ckle! Coda made an appearance. One more and I'll win Beautiful Boy Bingo. You hear that, Ashley? Put that in your old school bong and smoke it. Boo-ya!!"

  Cammie's comment let the cork out of the rest of the spectators. They started to laugh. Coda was laughing right along with them as he walked towards the gathered crowd.

  "Camille," Coda nodded towards Cammie, "you're always such a treat."

  Cammie shot him a mischievous smile and mouthed, "Call me!" Coda laughed again, but Dyson wasn't going to let it go.

  "This is a private matter, Coda." Apparently Dyson had found his courage, because he was now walking slowly up to the boy. Dyson's play, however, was less than intimidating since Coda towered above him.

  "If it's a private matter, Dice, I suggest you leave the Ganga out of it. I know that I haven't been here long, but I've noticed they have a funny habit of showing up in your 'private' matters. Maybe you should give them a day off and then pick a fight with Richard."

  "Are you saying I can't win against Fatty?" bellowed Dyson, looking around the crowd, his face going a shade of red. "You think that Dick over there could beat me? I've trained since I was five, Coda. I'm the youngest Master in Boran history."

  Coda smiled. "I think that Richard can hold his own. I don't care what sort of rank you have. I know all about you, Dyson. You've never fought anyone who could or would fight back. You have an awfully high opinion of yourself, and from what I know of Richard here, he isn't one to call you on it. But if you would like to find out, I would be happy to give you a real opponent."

  What Coda said next was too low to hear, but it was short, perhaps a single word. Whatever it was, it shocked Dyson. He took a step back, watching with a calculating look. Then Dyson pulled up his interface and began tapping the screen like mad. After a few seconds, he tore his gaze away from the screen, but this time his expression was very different. His eyes went wide as if he had just witnessed something he didn't like. He seemed almost scared.

  "I suggest you run along, Dyson, before something bad happens." Coda nodded towards one of the Ganga. "Besides, you wouldn't want me to bloody your nose. I know how your mother hates that."

  Sam whistled and shook her head. Coda had just pushed Dyson's biggest button. Anyone that was even remotely wired in Academy City 676 knew that Dice Dyson was the world's biggest momma's boy. It was common knowledge; common knowledge that threw Dyson into a rage whenever someone mentioned it. Coda had obviously known this and was either trying to pick a fight or was dumber than a fence post.

  Dyson's already red face lit up like a carnival balloon and beads of angry sweat began forming on his brow. Sam watched him until she became a bit dizzy, then realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled and turned her attention back to Richard. She found him, and as expected he had his eyes closed. Sam looked back at Coda. He motioned towards the buzzing comm in one of the Ganga's hands.

  "You'd better take that, Dyson," Coda said. "Gives you the opportunity to walk away."

  Dyson hesitated a moment longer, then ripped the comm out of the Ganga's hand.

  "I'll take care of you later, Coda," spat Dyson, touching the side of his ear. He started in the opposite direction. "I'll see you. Though probably sooner than you think."

  Coda smiled. "I look forward to it."

  Dyson retreated and the group dispersed. Sam launched forward, trying to get to Richard. By the time she pushed through, Coda was already there helping him.

  "Richard!" Sam rushed to his side and hugged him.

  "Samantha, delightful to see you," he said, apparently unfazed. "I am sorry that I missed our
date this morning."

  Cammie made a rude sound, something that was somewhere between a fart and sarcastic laugh.

  "Yes Camille? Is there something that I can help you with?" asked Richard in a calm, inquisitive voice.

  Cammie glared at him. She hated it when people called her by her real name, Coda, of course, being the exception. He could call her whatever he wanted.

  "I was just taking the time to correct you, Dick. You said date. I just wanted to let you know, only people who are, like, together, go on dates."

  Richard shook his head wearily. "Camille, are you really suggesting that I take vocabulary advice from someone who not only wrote the essay "Why I Love Shopping", but actually spelled "shopping" incorrectly in the process?"

  Laughter erupted from Sam and Coda, the latter actually holding his gut while he chuckled. Cammie glared, which was less than serious; she was trying not to break out in a smile.

  Coda's guffaw subsided just enough to be understood. "Richard, I swear man, you need to become a comedian. Your dry wit is almost too much."

  With giggles barely in the background, Coda, Richard, Cammie and Sam gathered their stuff to leave. They still had a fair distance to walk and class would be starting soon. It wasn't more than a few steps before Richard's burning gaze narrowed in on Sam. A look Sam knew all too well. Richard had questions for her.

  She thought through their homework from the previous night. The chem lab they were supposed to be preparing for, their physics class, and the dramatic monologue for their drama course. Sam filed through each of the subjects one after another, ready for any questions Richard could throw at her. Cammie's inquiry beat him to the punch.

  "It was really lucky that you were passing by, Coda, but how did you know that Dick was in trouble? I thought you weren't connected to the Inter-cloud."

  Coda gave Cammie a jovial smile. "Actually it's funny you ask; it's quite the story. See, I was walking to class this morning –"

  "Samantha?" said Richard, asking the question as if Cammie and Coda weren't there. Sam noted a touch of concern in his voice. "This may not be any of my business, and you know better than anyone that I'm open to all types of styles, but do you really think it wise to attend a learning institution sopping wet?"

  Sam's face flared red as she realized she was still soaking wet in her white shirt! She had been so worried about Richard that she had forgotten her earlier mishap. She cringed in embarrassment. Most of her Section had been at that fight and she had just been standing there letting the group see her practically in her underwear. Richard, seeing her anxiety, removed his jacket and handed it to Sam. Sam smiled warmly at Richard and put it on.

  "And that's when he told me about Richard and Dyson at the base of Camelot, so I rushed over there as fast as I could," Coda finished with another suave smile. Cammie giggled, a reaction that Coda followed. Both were in their own world, oblivious to Sam's problem.

  "I can't believe he actually spoke to you," fawned Cammie. "He's been here for three months and I've only heard him talk once."

  Sam's ears perked up. "Are you two talking about Adam? Was he the one that told you to come and help Richard, Coda?"

  Coda flashed Sam a wicked smile. "Why are you asking Sam? You haven't been taken in by Adam too, have you? Man, I've never seen someone get so many chicks before in my life. Cammie I understand, but you? Cheating on Richard, is that what a good wife would do?"

  "Ha ha ha, Coda. I was just curious."

  "Sam, did you realize that you're totally wet?" Coda searched Sam up and down. "And wearing a lacy cream colored bra that is completely visible to Richard and myself?" Coda's eyes went a little wide. "Wow, Sam, have you offered thanks to the gods recently, because they've certainly blessed you. Man what a rack!"

  Sam spun on her heel, punching Coda on the arm as she continued to walk backwards. She adjusted Richard's jacket to properly cover herself. "Stop looking at my 'rack' Coda. Listen guys, I've got to go back home and change. I'm totally wet and --"

  Sam stopped mid-sentence as she backed into something hard.

  "Whoa there," came a voice that was soft and warm. "Careful now."

  Sam's face lost all its color and her voice seized up. "Ah-a-a-a...hi-hi, Adam."

  Houdini's Failed Escape

  Time: Current Day, lunchtime

  Scene: School lunchroom

  "Mackie, your explanation of the attack patterns and weaponry clearly doesn't match the types of wounds inflicted or the residual chemicals and fragments found in the wounds. Not to mention the mapping of the bodies is all wrong."

  What happened to this morning? thought Sam as she weaved through a group of classmates filling the tables in one of the school's many lunchrooms. Was I sleeping through my morning schedule or what?

  It was just that type of morning. After the excitement of Richard's fight, she had run into Adam, made a complete fool of herself babbling like an idiot all while being completely soaked, and since then was having a hard time focusing or thinking straight. It had been like this through History, English, Physics, and now lunch. Well at least she was dry now.

  Sam's thoughts were jumbled as she walked directly into the back of a boy's chair. He ignored her, continuing to tinker with a holographic projection that took up the length of the table.

  "You have the mental capacity of a drug addled Ganga. This is a precise and detailed execution of his attack map and his most likely weapon use. Watch again, but closer this time."

  The boy tapped on the projected keyboard as the group refocused its attention upon the board. The animation was the kind that Graphic Show directors used to model scenes for Vii-movie experiences. What seemed to be the head boy at the table spoke at length about various things, tapping different buttons on the touch board. Periodic tables, diagrams of different weapons, and long names like Aikido and Ninjutsu rolodexed their way across the length of the board, ending with a smiling face on a black screen. The boy who had been tapping spoke with a conspiratorial tone as the other boys and Sam leaned in.

  "It's him. Watch the reenactment; there's no one else it could be."

  Sam watched, fascinated as the lead boy tapped a large projected red button on his screen. The holo-board sprang to life as a strange, highly detailed fight sequence began to play out with five-inch holographic representations. Quite unique, the scene reminded Sam of the old classic Kung fu movies that were filmed before the rise of the Jade Empire. Sam watched as the main combatant did some impossible acrobatics including flips, kicks, walking on walls, and jumps of incredible height. Ordinary physics, including gravity, didn't seem to be an issue for the little avatar. But these impossible feats paled in comparison to his odd ability to seemingly pull weaponry out of nowhere. Blade weapons thrown with deadly accuracy, hand-held explosives, and strange concussive shockwaves ravaged groups of energy-blaster wielding guards.

  The man's actions made Sam's mouth go dry. She refocused, zeroing in on the depiction. He was taller than the other little holo men and appeared to be very strong, as evidenced by the way he was cutting, shooting, and burning up assailants left and right with little or no hesitation. Something about him seemed surreal, like he was a work of fiction or part of some sci-fi adventure. His single-minded action was captivating.

  The man's battle culminated in a fevered chase where the hero tracked down a second holo-man. Sam struggled to make out this part of the action. The holographic scale really didn't include infrastructure, making it hard to understand the venue and environment. It didn't matter though; the more she stared at the figures and the boys watching them, the more she could not help herself. She wanted to know what was going to happen. The culmination of the scene came abruptly with the brutal destruction of the main character's target. While this made her cringe, it made the boys at the table cheer.

  Sam shook her head, partly because of the violence and partly because she couldn't shake the feeling that she knew that man. She looked back at the table a
s again the main character stood triumphantly in the middle of the board. Sam decided then and there that she would take the old school 2D players any day of the week. This was too real for her.

  A second clumsy bump into another chair and a sharp pain in her leg brought Sam back to reality. She hadn't even realized she had been walking. She really was a klutz.

  "Sorry about that," said Sam in an embarrassed voice. "I didn't mean to, well, you know."

  The boy in the chair turned to address her, both anger and milk dripping down his face. He was going to yell at her, she could tell; he was going to verbally assault her in the middle of the cafeteria. His mouth opened and she waited for the fireworks to come, but then nothing. It didn't happen. He didn't yell at her but instead opened and shut his mouth like a mute attempting to kick the silence habit. After a bit of a struggle, he found his voice and was able to mumble, "Uh...it's ok."

  He turned back to his friends, who were all staring at Sam. She scratched at her head, confused. An awkward silence followed, during which the group of boys watched her with bug-eyed disbelief, an expression that baffled Sam. With nothing else to say, she slowly turned and walked towards a far table. The boys stared on, the seconds seemingly snowballing into minutes as Sam continued her sluggish pace. Behind her the boys appeared to get over whatever was ailing them and their conversation resumed.

  "Charles, I'm telling you, this is the most likely hypothesis for the types of wounds inflicted, the compounds found, and the evidenced fighting style."

  "You're explanation has about as much potential validity as your thesis on android women. There is absolutely no conceivable paradigm in which this representation is accurate."

  The boys' conversation dwindled as she walked farther from them. Not that she really understood what they were talking about anyway. Richard would probably know. Maybe she would ask later if she remembered. The boys at the table weren't the only ones staring at her, however. Now that she thought about it, lately she seemed to be getting a lot of attention wherever she went. Just like when she and Cammie had gone shopping the week before for dresses. Now that had been a trippy experience. Cammie had been right, those guys had been looking at her. The changes over the last few weeks had been subtle. She had hardly noticed, but something was different. She was different. She felt it now, standing in this lunchroom with all these people. The knowledge that something was different made her feel very alone.

  But it wasn't just her; others seemed to notice a change as well. People that she had never talked to or even seen before were starting conversations with her for no apparent reason. It was totally bizarre, and not in a good way.

  "Hey Samantha."

  The voice startled her, notwithstanding the incessant amount of noise in the room. Sam turned to face a burly boy with long black hair. Moses Rair stood smiling not a half-meter in front of her. She didn't know what to say. What was the most popular guy in school doing talking to her?

  He spoke again, his voice deep and accented. "Samantha, how do you do?"

  "Umm...hi, Moses. Umm...I...I do fine, and how do you do?"

  Moses beamed. "You know my name, I'm flattered."

  Sam's eyebrows compressed. 'You know my name, I'm flattered'?, Sam thought. Moses Rair is saying this to me?

  "Oh my yuck, Moses," came another voice from just behind him. "What are you doing talking to someone from Partial Palace?"

  A girl stepped out from behind Moses and struck a pose as if she expected the lights to dim and spotlights to shine. Another person Sam knew of, but until now had not really seen in person. High Tracks debutante Sariah Grey switched between incensed anger and demure pouts as she looked back and forth the between Sam and Moses. "Come on Moses, they have the fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free chocolate pudding today. I want some."

  Sariah pulled on Moses, who followed, though quite reluctantly. He watched Sam as he walked away.

  The two left, leaving Sam speechless. First the super-hot transfer student Adam talked to her and now Moses Rair stopped her in the lunchroom. Why was this happening? A thought struck her.

  "The box!" she said aloud. "Could this have anything to do with that weird noise?"

  That couldn't be right. She had just found that box this morning, and though it was weird, it couldn't account for the changes she felt. Still, the box pulled at her mind in a strange way, and she didn't have any idea why.

  Sam shook her head. Of course this didn't have anything to do with that silly box or that--that scary noise. Sam pushed it out of her mind.

  She found Richard sitting at a table, eating an array of particularly unappealing food. A range of uncooked vegetables, artificial soy protein, and supplements went one after another into Richard's mouth. He chewed unenthusiastically as he read a book.

  "Hey Richy." Sam sat down next to Richard. "I can't believe you're still reading those things. You know you can get just about any book you want on Vii Space, right?"

  Richard didn't say anything, causing Sam to sigh a little louder than was necessary.

  "Still not talking to me, huh?"

  Richard looked up from this book and swallowed. "Actually, I wasn't talking at all. This tendency towards silence has a proclivity of transpiring when someone, i.e. myself, has half-masticated artificially enhanced protein in their mouth. However, if you are asking whether I am willing to engage in average everyday small talk with you, the answer is still an unequivocal no."

  "Come on Richard, I don't even know what I did."

  "You not knowing something is shocking, I assure you."

  Sam ruffled his hair. "Don't try that crap on me Rich, it's not going to work. Now tell me what is bothering you."

  "Ignore him Sam, he's just pissy."

  Cammie and Coda, coming from different directions, plopped down next to Sam, which instantly made the situation comical as Cammie shot daggers at Richard and hearts at Coda. "Dick over here is just pissed at how you got all goofy with Adam earlier."

  Cammie angled her body, giving Richard a view of her profile; the move highlighted a severely snotty look. "I thought you said that jealously is an ill-redacted instinct, Dick."

  Richard put a hand to his forehead, rubbing the length of it. "Ill-adapted, Camille. Once again your burning intellect leaves us all in admiration. And for your information, I didn't get jealous. I do not get jealous. I was just surprised that Samantha's instinctual biological predisposition to 'hot guys' was as devolved as the rest of yours. I could scarcely conceal my absolute and utter disappointment that she was not using higher cognizant functions in developing her surreptitious romantic infatuation."

  Richard paused, leaning forward so he and Cammie's faces were uncomfortably close. He studied her vacant expression. "Surreptitious means secret, Camille."

  "Ahhh, I see. Continue, but hurry and get to the 'however'."

  "However," cut in Richard again sounding annoyed, "it is neither my function nor desire to orate on the discombobulated capitulations of female/male mating instincts. Suffice it to say that while I hold certain informational privileges as Samantha's best friend-" Richard paused and then nodded towards Cammie. "Yes, Samantha told me you were demoted."

  Cammie swore. "Oh my George W. Bush, Sam!! You actually told him he was the best friend?"

  Richard continued his discourse, ignoring the comment. "While I have those certain informational privileges, it would be arrogant for me to comment on the adequacy or inadequacy of any particular suitor Samantha may or may not be interested in. I do not have to comprehend nor approve her decision. I accept it regardless of whether it offends my gag reflex or not."

  Sam's face blazed scarlet, a repeat of her encounter this morning. They all knew he was talking about Adam, and doing it like she wasn't even there.

  "You know, now that you're freely discussing this Rich," said Coda, who was playfully poking and watching the resulting jiggle of a sizable tower of Jell-o, "what I don't understand is why you dislike Adam. On
the last competence testing he took like second in the school, right after you. He was behind you by like 10 points or something, if I remember correctly."

  "14.134 points actually," snapped Richard. "And only because of the influenza virus I caught."

  "Not the point, Rich!" exclaimed Coda. "What I am getting at is Adam is smart, handsome, and kind – yes kind, Rich. Bet you didn't know that he was the one that told me to save your chubby butt this morning, huh? Speaking of which, how was it that Dyson didn't knock your head off? It was like he just missed. Who seriously just misses? Anyway, to my point, which is Adam is a nice, smart guy, and Sam likes him. Why don't you like him, besides the fact that he almost beat you on a test?"

  Richard pulled out his tablet. He centered it in front of him and cracked his knuckles.

  "Oh no, I know that look," whispered Sam. "Remember what you promised? No hacking into government mainframes."

  "That was an unfair promise. 90% of nets are government. I didn't know what I was agreeing to."

  "Are you kidding me?" spouted Coda and Cammie at the same time. "Sam got a concession from the mighty genius?"

  Richard sneered. "She made a 1950's Chicago-style deep dish pizza and then made me promise not to hack any government systems before she would serve me any. Thick crust, real mozzarella cheese, fresh tomato sauce just tantalizing me. I would have agreed to Lamarckian evolution as a viable scientific theory at that point. But we digress in the conversation, which lacks relevance to the actual topic at hand. What I was preparing to do, Samantha, was show you something on the school's network."

  After a few lazy taps on his interface, Richard brought up the school's vid-net. Various live feeds displayed in neat little boxes stacked across the screen. The others moved in around Richard, once again amazed at his resourcefulness. Richard was talented, and they all had grown accustomed to his unique brand of ingenuity, but even with this conditioned behavior they could not help once in a while feeling astonishment at Richard's innate ability to pretty much do whatever he wanted when it came to technology.

  "Rich," asked Coda, sounding awestruck but eager, "is there any way that you can set me up one of these feeds?"

  Cammie scratched at her head. "Why would you want one of these feeds, Coda?"

  "I would have thought the answer to that question would have been exceedingly obvious." Richard tapped on one of the windows marked Changing Room.

  The image blew up and a feed loaded the live image of a girl about to change into a school issued swimsuit.

  Cammie gave Coda an extremely dirty look.

  "What?" he said innocently. "It's for research, for a book I'm writing."

  "What's the title?" asked Sam with a slight giggle. "Pervert 101: How to Get Caught in Voyeurism?"

  Richard tapped the tablet again and the feed diminished and darkened.

  "Richard," said Sam sternly. "I don't want to think that you are spying on girls while they're changing."

  "Come on Sam, we've already had this conversation!" cut in Cammie. "Richard doesn't li--"

  "I'm going to cut you off right there, Camille," interrupted Richard, talking over her. "I appreciate your feeble attempts at humor as much as the next imbecile, and I understand you have the attention span of a precocious two-year-old, but let's return to the task at hand."

  They all closed in around the screen.

  A second feed blew up to show the very lunchroom in which they were sitting. The view of the camera was scanning the many doors that led into and out of the lunchroom, panning on a prescheduled routine. Richard tapped out a few more commands and the camera stopped on a single person.

  Sam spoke with more than a bit of breathiness. "Richard, I know that you are trying to show us why you dislike Adam, but wouldn't it be easier to just tell us? Do you really need to highjack the vid and watch him?"

  "Hush, Samantha," replied Richard. "Hush and watch."

  Adam Smith's presence was captivating. Strikingly handsome, his sandy colored hair and fiery eyes gave off a feeling of warmth that was almost feminine. Not that Adam was feminine by any stretch of the imagination. He was actually quite athletic and excelled in all the physical education classes and defense training. His stoic attitude, refined beauty, and quiet nature were almost magical and made him extremely popular with all the girls. He was in fact so popular that a few of the younger girls had started an Adam Fan Club.

  Surprisingly enough, at this particular moment his massive group of followers had yet to notice his presence. He stood just inside the door, looking slowly from his left to his right and back again. His normally casual attitude seemed absent as he surveyed the room with what felt like practiced motions. He did this twice more before he walked fully into the room and was instantly mobbed. Richard then closed the feed, looking satisfied.

  "There," he said smugly. "Now you know why I cannot trust him."

  "You can't trust him because he's more popular than you?" asked Cammie. "If that's the case, all I can say is well, duh."

  "Cammie, if only abortion hadn't been outlawed decades ago. Your parents would have greatly benefited from the institution."

  He looked to Coda and Sam. "Did you catch it?"

  Coda answered thoughtfully. "That he's popular? Yeah totally, but we already knew that. Well, I didn't know he was that popular. Umm...you don't think he's more popular than me do you?" Coda leaned back slightly, interlocking his fingers behind his head. "If so, I can see why you don't trust him, Richard. Anybody who's more popular than me can't be trustworthy. I mean, who transfers schools in their last year of generals? Really, who does that, and how could they not be suspicious? "

  Sam rolled her eyes. "Coda, didn't you transfer schools in your last year of generals?"

  "Technicalities, my dear."

  A ringing sound silenced any further conversation, and a loud voice echoed around the lunchroom. "All students please report to your pod. This is a code three. Please report to your pod."

  The atmosphere instantly changed. Men wearing dark uniforms walked in and started to escort the students to reinforced lockable classrooms that were more akin to bomb shelters than places of learning. The conversation about Adam was instantly forgotten.

  "Rich, what's going on?" asked Sam as they were pushed with the flow of students. "Why are we going to the pods, and what's a code three?"

  "A code three means that there is some kind of danger that could be threatening the school. Security is to heighten their alert level, though even this seems excessive."

  Sam wasn't given the opportunity to ask more questions as suddenly she and Richard were surrounded by the very group of boys that had been watching the holo-board earlier. "Richard! Sir, Richard please. We need you. Will you help us? It's about him, we need him, we need you, we--need --answers--"

  "Mackie, handle yourself more appropriately. What is it? You are rambling incoherently."

  "We need you to hack the school's cloud-net. It might be the only way for us to find out. It's probably misinformation again but we have to know."

  "What is it that you are attempting to ascertain that would require me to commit such a blatant violation of Academy Code SP-171?"

  Another much younger boy, probably only a fourth year, pushed his tablet up towards Richard's face.

  "Um... this is why, Mr. Richard, sir."

  The headline on the tablet read, "BREAKING NEWS: Headline – 16 dead, 57 injured, top secret military technology missing. Police have man in custody they believe to be the legendary assassin known only as the Magician. Again, the Magician has been apprehended."

  Everyone in the Pool

  Time: Current Day, late afternoon

  Scene: School Pool

  Sam and Richard were sitting on the benches at the school pool, the lockdown lasting less than a half hour. During the short-lived event, they watched as armed guards ran up and down the hallway shouting incoherently and generally causing chaos. Now they were already back to their regularly sch
eduled programming. At the moment they sat huddled together, watching the Western Media breaking news report.

  "The scene was horrendous here at the Obama Center for Hope Ever After when assailants from the terrorist organization, The Republicans, assaulted the research facility. From what witnesses can tell us, the battle lasted well over two hours. The total death count is into the twenties with another fifty or sixty wounded. General Sheen had this to say."

  The screen flipped to an aged gentleman wearing a red military uniform.

  "Being a medical research facility, it is unclear what these terrorists were after or how they were able to procure such advanced weaponry. Fortunately, the facility's security forces were able to repel the invaders before they were able to obtain their objective, whatever that might have been."

  The reporter's voice came from off screen. "General, is there any truth to the reports that this attack was carried out by a single assailant?"

  The General answered, his voice becoming irritated. "No, absolutely not. This facility has some of the most advanced security in the Clinton Providence. It is ridiculous to think that a single individual could attack and live to tell about it."

  "So the rumors that the Magician assaulted the facility are false?"

  "Of course they are. A single individual attacking an advanced medical facility without the aid of intelligence or even modern weapons, relying on some obscure magic tricks and martial arts? Preposterous! This was a team of highly trained individuals who probably had weeks of recon and cold runs. This so called 'Magician' is no more real than Santa Clause."

  "So it wasn't a false alarm?" asked Sam, sounding scared. "Should we really be out of the lockdown rooms?"

  "Let your mind be at peace, Samantha. A threat to the school is essentially a threat to the entire city. The Republicans are an anti-government force; they aren't going to attack an Academy City. The lockdown is just operating procedure from the Great War."

  "I don't know, Richard," said Sam, a little unsure of herself. "I think that General guy is lying. They aren't telling us the whole story."

  Richard gazed at her, a little surprised. It was an unflattering expression for Richard, perhaps because she wasn't used to it. "What makes you think he was lying, Samantha?"

  Sam shook her head. "I don't know; just a feeling I guess. I can't really explain why."

  "You're just being paranoid, Samantha. It's just like that time you made me watch all those classic horror movies with you. Your imagination is running away with you."

  Sam shook her head a second time. "No, really Richard. I'm serious. There is something about this whole thing that stinks . . ." Sam's voice trailed off. "Wait a second, wait just one bricking second." Sam put out her hand, requesting the tablet. "May I?"

  Richard handed it over. She had a hard time with the upgraded interface. She was never very good with technology. After a bit of a struggle, she started to replay the video that she and Richard had just finished.

  She smiled triumphantly as the recording finished. "I knew something weird was going on."

  Richard sighed deeply. "You mind sharing your findings with those of us who are less savvy with conspiracy theory as an emotional paradigm?"

  Sam ignored Richard's sarcasm and launched right into her explanation. "He said that the Obama Center for Hope Ever After was just a medical research facility. But if it's just a medical facility, why would they have such tight security?"

  Sam smiled smugly. Richard didn't say anything, but continued to stare at her.

  "He's totally hiding something, Rich, can't you see that? Why would an anti-government organization attack some medical center?"

  Richard was unconvinced. "Samantha, it's a government facility. Of course it has high security. Chancellor Himms is one of the most paranoid people on the planet. There is a reason that the Continental Security Force has the biggest budget of all the agencies."

  "But Rich, come on, you can see it on his fat little face. He's totally lying."

  "You can believe whatever you want Samantha, but don't be disappointed if the official report undermines your theory."

  Distraction came as more students, boys and girls, exited their respective dressing rooms all wearing the required school bathing suit. Over the din of nervous laughter, Sam could clearly hear Cammie complaining.

  "Who picked these crappy new suits? OMGWB, they are, like, totally formless. I can't even show off my cleavage! I should write the city council. This is ridiculous!"

  Richard turned to Sam. "The fact that she hasn't been cited for some form of sexual harassment remains a mathematical quandary to me. Probability alone says she should have been incarcerated by now."

  "That's Cammie for you." Sam zeroed in Richard's face. "Rich, can I ask you another question?"

  "It's not about your ridiculous conspiracy theory is it?"

  "No..."

  "Then feel free."

  "Who exactly is the Magician?"

  Richard laughed, something else that was a little out of ordinary for him. Laughing was probably an overstatement; he gave an ironic sort of chuckle then took back his tablet just as he was about to answer.

  "'Who exactly is the Magician?' You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

  At that moment, the group of boys from the lunch table with the holopad, the same group who had petitioned Richard to hack the school server, trotted right up to Sam and Richard, forming a half circle.

  "Easy Mackie," Richard said calmly to their leader. "I realize that you have been eavesdropping on Samantha, but alas, she remains a youth in the proverbial world of the nets and doesn't have time to stalk fictional characters like your comrades and yourself."

  Sam started to ask what Richard was talking about, the words right at the tip of her tongue when she paused, swearing she had heard wrong. Did Richard just say that they stalked a fictional character?

  Mackie ignored Richard's slight and addressed Sam directly. "And here I thought everyone knew of him. You have been ill-educated my lady. Allow me to school you in the ways of the Magician."

  Mackie posed dramatically, apparently looking for some sort of encouragement. When none came, he continued in a slightly put-out but informational voice, very reminiscent of the anchor from the news report. Mackie pointed at Richard's tablet.

  "First I must address the propaganda you've been forced to endure. I can see that you've been watching Western Media. You do realize that Western Media has strong ties to the State, right? I mean, the sell-out journalists bring up the Magician just so the State rep can deny his existence and then pontificate about how absurd the whole thing is. And let me guess, their version of the story said that the deaths at the Obama Center for Hope Ever After were related to terrorist violence. They probably claimed that a radical group, nicknamed the Republicans, attacked a government research facility about 35 kilometers north of Academy City 676, taking many lives and injuring many others in their assault.

  "No doubt they assert that it was unclear as to what the Republicans were after, but their weaponry was highly advanced and their attack was greatly organized, and that while it is still unknown what their goal is, the invaders were beaten off before they could obtain any significant foothold on the grounds of the facility. Subsequent official reports by the Continental Security Agency will obviously verify this 'official' description, and then everyone will move on with their lives, not the least bit concerned about the happenings at the Obama Center for Hope Ever After, not knowing that the real story, the truth, starts more than a week ago."

  Sam cut in. "I'm sorry. Mackie, was it? What are you talking about, 'a week ago'? The assault on the center was a few hours ago. You know, when they supposedly caught the Magician and reported the 'breaking story'. Though apparently they really didn't catch him, it was just Vii Space's misinformation as usual."

  Mackie laughed, then looked to the other boys as if to invite them to join in on the joke. "Of course they did, sweetheart." He pi
cked up his monologue again. "Now, as you so kindly pointed out, Samantha, Vii Space is way ahead of the government in matters of information collection and distribution, which brings me to this."

  Mackie pulled out his tablet, tapped the screen, and launched an encrypted file. He spoke as the file loaded. "This is the 'medical facility' mentioned in the report. These pictures are from a hacker code-named John Adams. Notice, if you will, the heavily armed guards, the Extra Sensory perimeter fence, and mounted plasma sentry guns. Do you all see how nice and pretty that base looks?"

  They all nodded, including Sam.

  "So, now that you've seen it in its wonderful glory," Mackie tapped the tablet again, "you'll be pleased to see it after the so-called foiled attack, which actually happened one week ago. And I think you all need a copy of this to really get a feel for it." Mackie gave his buddies a wink. "I've been saving this for just such a moment."

  Mackie recommenced his vigorous tapping, finishing with a flourish. The other boys who had tablets with them, including Richard, pulled the picture up as they received it. Their expressions instantly turned to awe.

  Chaotic destruction was the only description for the scene captured on the still frame of Richard's JX23 Interface screen. Bodies were butchered and strewn across charred grass, the fence had been ripped clean in two, and the mounted sentry turrets appeared to spark in complete disrepair. Buildings were in ruins, vehicles were burning, and massive craters punctured the ground randomly across the landscape. So widespread was the devastation that the pictured venue was hardly recognizable. Sam's eyes rose slowly from the illustrated pandemonium.

  "You know," she said in a whisper, "the government's story is sounding more and more plausible."

  "The small army story?" Mackie sneered disdainfully. "Ugh, they seriously need to come up with a new headline." He pulled up another encrypted photo and sent it on to the others. "The Republicans attacking that facility is bull honky cloned donkey. This is who attacked the facility."

  The picture loaded on to Richard's tablet, but seemed to take a lot longer than it should. Sam held her breath with anxiety. She exhaled abruptly, the air making her lips flap. "Mackie, you've got to be kidding me."

  The picture showed the gate of the base from a higher angle, but still low enough to get the breaking light of the setting sun in the picture. A single unarmed individual stood silhouetted against the glare. No details could be made out, but whoever this was seemed just average: average height, average build, just plain average. Or maybe it was just the angle, Sam wasn't sure. Regardless, the scene seemed fairly unremarkable, but then something about it made her pause ever so briefly. Again it was that feeling in the pit of her stomach. She put her hand on Richard's shoulder and leaned in.

  "What's wrong, Samantha?"

  Sam shook her head. "I don't know. I feel like.... I feel strange. Like something about this scene feels familiar."

  Mackie started up again. This time his voice was low. "This picture confirms his existence; it's one of my greatest treasures."

  "Ok class, we will be starting warm-ups in 10 minutes, so disrobe and start your stretching!"

  Mackie looked slightly irritated at being cut off, but his eyes brightened at once when Ms. Swan said the word "disrobe." All the boys, excluding Richard, stared at Sam in slobbering anticipation. It wasn't hard to guess what they were waiting for.

  Sam's face turned an extreme shade of red, despite feeling rather flattered at their interest. Still, she didn't dare remove the robe she was wearing.

  "Ok you animals," said Cammie, moving in right behind Sam and the group of mega-nerds. "Don't devour our dear Samantha quite yet. Give the girl some time to adjust to this newfound position of power."

  The boys turned to look at Cammie but didn't move otherwise. Cammie rolled her eyes. "Get a move on, you miscreants!"

  Cammie gave Mackie and few others a good kick to the rear, which finally stirred them from their stupor. They slowly stood to leave. Once she was sure they were gone, or at least a good distance away, Cammie turned back and inspected Richard and Sam.

  "So we know that you totally pass, Sam. Your body is slammin'."

  "Thanks," said Sam, again embarrassed. "I think."

  "As for you, Dick, you really should go on a diet. No one is going to want to get with those jellyrolls. You know that there are supplements for unwanted fat, right? And they only cause mild amounts of erectile dysfunction. Not that you'll ever need little Richard anyway."

  "You know Camille," replied Richard, completely unshaken, "If you're having a hard time understanding why the men in your life suddenly disappear, I could formulate a couple of highly probable theories for you, most of which have to do with the phenomena of you irritating them until they develop suicidal tendencies. I would venture to say that you have a zero percent probability of even finding a male that could possibly withstand your annoying nature, let alone actually snagging him as a potential mate. I would say you should explore the option of some sort of same sex relationship, but in all actuality you'd probably just irritate any female partner to death as well. That being said, I will now offer you several moments of uninterrupted silence while you attempt to work out what I just said."

  "Yeah, yeah, Dick. I know I'm dumb and you're super smart. At least I'm not going to die of a heart attack. Why aren't you in your swim trunks?"

  Richard lifted up his tablet. "I have a note. Can't swim. Asthma."

  Cammie let out a little puff of air, a gesture that always accompanied her annoyance at any given situation. "You do know, Dick, they cured asthma like a billion years ago, right? Pssh, whatever. If you want to get fatter and never find a woman that's fine by me."

  For once, Richard kept his mouth shut.

  Cammie turned her attention to Sam. "And you! You're almost as bad as Dick over here. What in the name of Michael Jackson the Third are you still doin' in your robe?"

  Sam scowled. "Don't judge me, Cammie. Not all of us are as bold as you."

  "Samantha, you get your cute butt out of that robe right this instant," stomped Cammie with an air of authority. "I heard that Moses talked to you during lunch. How could you ignore such a development? You need to strike while the iron is hot!" Cammie ran to Sam's side and started tugging on her robe. Sam gripped it like it was a life preserver.

  "'Strike while the iron is hot'? I don't even know what that means."

  "Samantha, look who's watching you right this very second!" Cammie attempted, unsuccessfully, to point inconspicuously.

  Sam's curiosity was piqued. She struggled to look without appearing too obvious. Contact came in the form of two pairs of eyes. One was searching while the other was waiting to be found. What Sam found made her heart skip a beat.

  Adam...

  Deep blue eyes, like the sky after a rainy day, were fixed directly and unmistakably upon her. He was looking at her and doing so with a strange amount of warmth. Her blood was rushing, her face was going red. She could feel the pounding of her own heart as it tapped rapidly upon her eardrums. Twice. Twice in one day. TWICE in ONE day! He had taken notice of her. Today was the best day ever.

  Embarrassment and fear caused her to break the contact, and it was then she noticed. Adam wasn't the only one looking.

  Every boy in the 5th slot physical education class had their eyes locked directly on her. Oh the feeling. The feeling of having hundreds of eyes glued to your form. It was a feeling of power mixed with overwhelming vulnerability.

  A cold chill surged up Sam's back followed by unreal clarity.

  No. It wasn't vulnerability she was feeling. She did not feel vulnerable. She felt...she felt...protected, powerful. Such a unique and exquisite feeling; one that made her realize, made her understand. She wasn't afraid because the eyes weren't staring at her in judgment, but rather in anticipation.

  Sam, without realizing it, let her robe drop to the floor, and with it the anticipation turned into satisfaction.

 
; Boom Goes the Methanol

  Time: Current day, early afternoon

  Scene: Chemistry class

  "Richard, I told you it's not my fault. It was the biggest suit they had and I haven't been able to get a new one."

  Sam removed her school interface from its protective case and placed it in front of her, taking a long moment to pair her touch screen with the project holoboard in front of their desk. Richard turned from Sam and gazed soberly out the window.

  Sam sighed. "I don't even know why you are so mad; the suit wasn't that revealing. I was mostly covered up."

  Richard's eyebrows scrunched, a clear sign that he was annoyed. "Samantha, if your swimming attire can double as floss, it's too revealing."

  The comment would have been funny in any other circumstance. She thought back to the week before.

  "You have the chance of a lifetime Sam," Cammie had said eyes glowing with anticipation mixed with jealousy. "You've got the goods and now you can show them off; all the other girls have to wear the new models. You're the only one that gets to wear a cute suit. You're a swan in a lake full of cows."

  Sam remembered shaking her head. "First of all, lake full of cows? That doesn't make any sense. Second, no way Cammie. I wear something like that and it's bordering on public indecency. I will just have to skip that--"

  "Sam! You don't have time to be shy. You've got to be bold. Adam is going to be there. He won't be able to resist you. Show a little skin and gain a lot of ground. That's what my mom always used to say."

  Sam's eyebrows creased. "I have a hard time believing your mother used to say that."

  Despite her argument with Cammie, Sam took the swimsuit and afterwards didn't look for another. Two days before her "unveiling" she had tried on the swimsuit and looked at her figure in a full-length mirror. If she was being truthful, she felt embarrassed; incredibly embarrassed. But aside from that she liked it--she liked what she saw in the mirror.

  Later that night embarrassment beat out her potential ego boost. She sat in bed telling herself it was just a school swimsuit. Not that big a deal. It wasn't that revealing. Her head knew better of course. She had been trying to convince herself otherwise ever since, but now thinking of Richard's remark (who didn't pull any punches when it came to the truth), she had always known.

  She really wasn't sure her actually wearing the suit was the problem for Richard. The suit just represented something deeper, like his inability to articulate what was really bothering him. She protected herself by falling back onto her excuse. Adam was there and she didn't get many chances to impress him. Plus, she reasoned, it wasn't really her fault that the school suits were on backorder! What else could she have done?

  Sam sighed. She could have done any number of things really. She knew it. Richard knew it. Ultimately she didn't know why she chose to wear it. Sam figured it had something to do with her trying to change her own perception of herself as much it was trying to get the guy of her dreams to notice her.

  Still, she couldn't place her finger on the source of her recent behavior. She simply did not know.

  Nevertheless, there was no way that she was going to let Richard know that. She would never hear the end of it.

  Sam tried to keep her face from lighting up and glared at Richard. "This makes no sense. You've never commented on what I wear before, good or bad, sexy or unisex. I wasn't even aware that you actually saw me as a girl."

  "If you want to objectify yourself as some sort of item rather than a person in an attempt to invoke coitus or a coitus-bearing relationship then it's none of my business, but," Richard turned and steadied his gaze on her, "But, I am well aware of your feminine charm, Samantha. Trust me, I'm well aware."

  An awkward silence passed in which Richard tapped half-heartedly upon his screen, deep in thought. Sam was at a loss for words.

  He's aware of my feminine charm? she thought. What in the name of the Old Catholic Church did that mean? Did that mean he saw her as a girl? Like someone to like, like? And why was he saying this now? He never talked like this. She didn't know what to do, and definitely was not sure how to react to this new Richard. He rarely showed this much of himself, even to her. As a matter of fact, he only became this open when--

  Then Sam understood. She understood why he was acting so funny.

  "You're going into the health center again aren't you?"

  Richard glanced at her, obviously taken aback. "N-no. No, of course not. I would have told you if--"

  "You're lying, Richard. I can always tell when you're lying."

  "Samantha, don't be silly. Of course I'm not going into--"

  "Stop lying Richard!" Sam's voice carried, causing the other students to look her way. She fumed, breathing heavily. "What is it this time?" she said more quietly.

  Richard studied her briefly. She could tell he was debating whether to tell her or not. "My heart."

  "Again?"

  "Yeah, it seems my body might be rejecting the modified one."

  Sam slumped down in her chair. Unbidden thoughts traveled back to the previous year. Richard had been in the hospital for his heart then as well. And now he was going to relive it. He was going to do it again; she knew it. There was a problem. There had to be. Richard had played it off the first time around too. A tune up, he had called it. Nothing serious. The really stupid thing was she had believed him.

  The first time around she had to pry the whole heart condition/medical leave thing out of him. That's when he told her that when he was a child, he had received a genetically modified heart...and that his body was rejecting it. The defect was rare due to modern technology, but not unheard of and one that Richard's siblings had fought and lost. Richard didn't talk about it much.

  The battle between Richard's heart and body raged on and was the source of his continued weight gain despite his ridiculously healthy habits. One never would have guessed how klutzy Richard the super genius was.

  This wasn't all though; Richard had strange pains if he sat too long, couldn't breath most of the time without wheezing and probably the weirdest of all, his skin was always cold; always. It could be 37 degrees outside and Richard's skin was cool. It was eerie. The few times that Sam recalled brushing up against it really drove it home. Richard was really, really sick.

  The hardest part of the whole circumstance was Sam couldn't tell anyone. Richard valued his privacy. No one else knew about his condition except maybe the school admins, and they didn't ask a lot of questions for fear that Richard would transfer. Richard was the type of student that could put Academy City 676 on the academic map, and they didn't want to jeopardize that. As far as she knew, Richard had ever only allowed one visitor to ever see him in the hospital. It was an experience she would remember for the rest of her life.

  Witnessing Richard strapped to state-of-the-art monitors, punctured and tubed like a long forgotten science experiment, was another image that had hit home. She didn't know why, but it scared her more than she would have ever admitted to anyone, including Richard. She thought he might know, though. The one time she came to see him she had left the building crying, sobbing uncontrollably. And to this day, Richard had never mentioned her visit.

  "When do you go?" Sam asked in a quiet but toneless voice.

  Richard spied their surroundings, attempting to find eavesdroppers. "I'm going to be gone the whole break; maybe longer if something happens."

  Richard averted his eyes.

  Sam slouched in her chair. Her little triumphs, those little moments she had gained that day, felt so unimportant now. Richard was going back into the hospital for yet another surgery. Last time...last time he had almost died. Ugh...today really sucked.

  Her head reeled as she attempted to find something, anything else they could talk about. She needed to show him she wasn't worried about it, that she knew he was going to be ok. The silver box nestled at the bottom of her bag popped into her mind. She mentally examined it briefly. That strange little box sat stra
ngely present, ever nagging in the back of her head as if she was magnetically drawn to it. But then again, something pushed upon her consciousness, telling her that it wasn't the time for that. Richard needed something else, something more.

  She touched her screen, pulling up her cloud Spyder. She typed "OGGOLE" and the engine loaded. Next she typed "the magician" into the search bar and started the engine.

  The page loaded with 256,834,576,212 hits!

  "Whoa," said Sam as she adjusted her holoscreen to increase the size of her viewing partition. She picked the first link in the line of results and watched the cloud load. A VIIS fanpage exploded onto the screen, starting with a graphic movie that showed a rather cheesy depiction of a single individual posed in a variety positions.

  He was visible from his neck down to his waist and wearing a tuxedo of the finest quality. The head and face remained partially hidden under a corny black top hat that only revealed a nose and mouth. A smirk of a smile suggested an ironic knowledge which the rest of the world was not privileged enough to possess. The smile intrigued Sam, but not as much as what objects framed the face. The man with the knowing smile and black hat had crossed his arms atop his chest, each holding a handgun; big ones, the kind of guns that used the old metal projectiles for ammunition. The picture came as a surprise and Sam wasn't sure how to react.

  Richard glanced at the screen, sighing heavily. "You've done it now, Samantha." Chat bubbles started popping out over the projected screen.

  "Hi."

  "How are you?"

  "A/S/L Please?"

  "Are you a girl????"

  Richard reached over and quickly killed the link. "The fanboys tend to come out in droves when they think a female is a fan of the Magician. Especially one they haven't pounced on yet. It's better for you to not visit that page. If they get their hooks in you they'll never leave you alone."

  "All that just because I visited a fanpage on VIIS?"

  "Oh that was nothing. Like I said, you need to stay away from that page. Those guys are disturbed even by 'disturbed' standards."

  "Well then, are you going to--"

  "He's an urban legend, Samantha. Well, I suppose "he" could really be a "she" but leaving the formalities of politically correct verbiage aside, he is someone that doesn't exist."

  Richard shifted his body, clearly indicating his intention to end the conversation. Sam diverted before Richard could fall back into study mode.

  "When did you become such a sucky teacher? I don't understand at all, Super Genius Richard, but if you find it difficult to tutor me then I would be happy to find someone who can."

  Richard glared at her. "The Magician, Samantha, depending on who you are, is either the world's greatest freedom fighter or the most notorious assassin in the last 300 years."

  Sam paused, waiting for the punch line, the next step, but Richard offered nothing, much to her disappointment.

  "So he's an assassin?"

  "Or freedom fighter, yes."

  "Ok...so then why do they call him the Magician?"

  Richard shrugged. "Because teenagers have too much time on their hands, for one. The other reason, while not as obvious as the first, is far more obnoxious. The Magician supposedly only kills using magic."

  Sam burst into laughter. He had sounded so serious she couldn't help it. Richard didn't join in; rather he looked at her impassively. Sam's chuckles died out and she realized--

  "Oh my George W. Bush, you're serious?"

  Richard shrugged again. "Is it that hard to believe? He is called the Magician after all. Irrelevant however, as he's completely fictional."

  "So if he's fictional, why does he have such a huge following?"

  Richard gave her one of his rare smiles. "Because the youth of this generation, like every generation preceding it, want something bigger than themselves to believe in. Times are dreary nowadays, Samantha. A cold war already in its 50th year; nuclear and nutronic fall out resulting in many of the lands on the earth becoming unlivable except for the most formidable of persons; a line of demarcation separates the Collective and the Jade Empire, making air travel close to impossible; and of course let's not forget the economic state of the world markets. Now, consider for a moment that a single man or woman could change that with a thought. That one person had the supernatural ability to fix it. It'd be better, right?"

  Sam thought about it. "Yeah, I think it would."

  "And so you finally know the legend that is the Magician. Now do me a favor."

  "What's that, Ritchey?"

  "Please stop talking about it."

  "Ok, ok settle down," Mr. Thomas told the class as he walked into the room holding his satchel. "Mr. Jackson and Mr. Phillips, I hope you are not online playing what I think you are playing on those school interfaces."

  The two boys sheepishly tapped on their screens and set them down on the desk. "All right class, we are continuing our exploration of combustible gases and liquids that we started earlier in our fossil fuels section. We have covered ethanol and propane; today we will be discussing methanol. Please continue to take notes as this will be covered on the exam, and I don't want to hear anything about studying outdated fuels. It's in the curriculum, so you'll be tested on it."

  Students began to shuffle things around, pulling out tablets to begin taking notes. It appeared that some were resuming previously banned activities as evidenced by their constant furtive looks to see if they had been discovered.

  "Now, methanol has a composition similar to methane except that a hydrogen atom has been replaced with a hydroxide. So while methane is CH4, methanol is CH3OH."

  Students continued their note taking, or for some of them, lack thereof.

  "Now we also know that through combustion, the methanol will react with the oxygen naturally occurring in the air. This reaction will produce carbon dioxide and water. Today we will be doing some small practical examples of this reaction."

  A small snickering caught Mr. Thomas' attention, but when he turned from the holoboard, everyone seemed to be paying attention or recording their notes. He turned back to the board.

  "Each set of partners will need a 100cc beaker of methanol, a plastic jug and cap, and a long match. Of course, safety equipment including goggles, fire shields, etc. is also required. Any questions? And Richard--"

  Richard, who had been staring out the window deep in thought, faced Mr. Thomas. "Yes sir?"

  "I know that you've probably already finished the equation, but at least pretend to pay attention, ok?"

  Richard returned to staring out the window without answering. Mr. Thomas scanned the rest of the students and caught a glimpse of a smirk from Jackson and Phillips in the back. Sam could tell that he had had it with those two.

  "And since Mr. Jackson and Mr. Phillips have been such exemplary students recently, why don't you two come up and begin your experiment so the whole class can learn from you."

  Jackson and Phillips begrudgingly started towards the front of the class.

  "Uh, gentleman, you'll need to gather your supplies from the equipment closet before proceeding. Safety gear too, if you don't mind."

  The two turned and headed for the closet to retrieve the list of items. As they were collecting them, a plump old woman entered the room. "Mr. Thomas, Dean Sanchez sent me to ask you something. Do you have a moment?"

  "Yes, of course. Jackson and Phillips, don't do anything until I get back." Mr. Thomas followed the woman out of the classroom and closed the door behind him.

  Jackson and Phillips finished gathering their items and started setting them up at the front of the classroom.

  "Stupid Thomas. Why do we have to do this?" asked Jackson.

  Sam spoke up. "Maybe it's because you're both cretins. Or maybe because he knows what you two do all period long in his class."

  Phillips sneered at the remark. "Not like anyone could get a passing grade in this class without copying all their homework from a science geek like fatty over th
ere. We all know that's the only reason a hot little piece like you sits with him." Jackson pulled the large glass jug towards him and grabbed the methanol bottle.

  "What are you doing, idiots?" Sam said, obviously angry. "Mr. Thomas said to wait."

  "Oh shut your trap. This isn't astrophysics." Jackson started to carefully pour the contents of the methanol bottle into the glass jug.

  Sam was on her feet now, which caught Richard's attention. "Morons, you're only supposed to use a quarter of that."

  "Shut up, Palace. We're just going to make it a little more interesting." Phillips grabbed the bottle and emptied the contents into the glass jug, sloshing the liquid inside as he did so. He took up the jug and shook it acting like a bartender blending a martini, all to laughs from some of the class. He motioned for Jackson to grab the long match.

  "You're gonna blow us all up!" yelled Sam.

  "I told you to shut up. Just watch, this will be cool." Jackson lit the match then hesitated. He took a few steps back, and then threw it towards the jug.

  Sam could see it happening but she was too slow; too slow to do anything about it. The match sailed slowly across the mouth of the jug.

  Boom!

  A shockwave rippled through the room, sending debris and destruction with it. The buzz of a fire alarm blared in the background as smoke filled the air. Sam felt her body pinned to the floor, different types of pain shooting up and down her frame. Images of contusions and burns danced in her mind as the various points of pain registered. The heaviest pain of all was the unidentified weight on her chest and lower body. She couldn't see because she couldn't seem to get her eyes open. She tried to move but couldn't feel her legs. Fear started to overwhelm her. How hurt was she? And if she was hurt this badly, then how badly was Richard hurt?

  Fear forced Sam's eyes to pop open. What she saw made her even more confused.

  "Richard, get off me."

  The class was in total disarray. The teacher's desk, main holoprojection board, and terminal crackled with sparking wires. The rest of the room looked like it been through a riot with chunks of equipment, glass, and desks scattered about. Sam felt her face going red for about the twentieth time that day. She was really glad that no one could see her right now.

  Richard held her wrapped in a fat-insulated bear hug. His face was screwed up in fear, his eyes and mouth squeezed shut. He was breathing heavily.

  "You idiot," she whispered. "What are you doing jumping in front of me like that?"

  Richard didn't answer. People were at their side lifting Richard up, and Richard was pushing them away. Some of her classmates pulled her to her feet and caught her as her knees went weak. She must have hit her head harder than she thought.

  Teachers, security, and the medical staff showed up next. Most of them rushed to Richard first. After enduring a few moments of mothering, he started yelling, "I'm completely fine. Check Samantha, you idiots. Make sure Samantha is all right."

  Jackson and Phillips were beside themselves. Jackson's face was totally pale and Phillips had several large cuts.

  "Sam, we are so sorry, are you ok? You're not hurt are you?"

  The ringing in Sam's ears actually did hurt a lot.

  "I'm fine," lied Sam. "You two are both fools. You could have gotten us killed."

  Jackson and Phillips laughed uneasily. Jackson made a little cough as Phillips commented:

  "Yeah, you got lucky. Dick's fat blocked the blast. We're really sorry about that."

  Sam closed her eyes trying to shake the ringing in her head. "What do you mean, Richard's fat blocked the blast?"

  The two morons, trying to distance themselves from their stupid act, started to laugh again. "Come on Sam, it's just a joke. We didn't mean anything..."

  Sam stopped listening and instead glanced back to where she and Richard had been sitting. The spaced looked different. Something about it was...off.

  Then Sam realized.

  Their desk, no, not just the desk but a space about two meters wide, was almost completely free of debris of any sort. No glass. No chunks of metal or pieces of equipment. Sam continued to look around.

  "No way," she said aloud. There weren't any scorch marks. How was that possible?

  A familiar light glared in her eyes, increasing her headache tenfold. She moved her head and refocused. Sitting directly under her seat, faintly glowing with eerie light, sat her school bag partially open. In it Sam could see the silver box she had found in the lake. The light from the box died out as darkness overwhelmed her and she hit the floor for the second time.

  The last thing she heard was a frantic cry of an unfamiliar voice.

  Pomp and Circumstance

  Time: Start of the new semester

  Scene: Lecture hall at an old university

  "Now, we see that despite the mental instability stigmas attached to Nikola Tesla in his later years, he was the inventor of a great many things that are the precursors of creature comforts we depend on today, mainly anything that uses electricity. Without his development of the induction motor using alternating current, cities would have been confined to a very small space. But you are not in this class to study history; rather, science.

  "Tesla was an ingenious inventor. Many of his inventions were way beyond his time, and still today are only represented by his theories. We will be discussing one of those theories that he put to some practical tests, but never had the ability to take to larger applications. We will look at how the engineering genius of Tesla combined with recent achievements in quantum dynamics have combined to create the world's greatest advancement of the human race."

  The lecture hall was filled to the brim with preppy-looking students of all races. While each of them typed away on their various screens and holo-boards, others sat as their recording apps converted the professor's remarks into notes as he spoke. Only two of the attendees in the room seemed not to belong at the university.

  "First we'll start with mechanical resonance. Mechanical resonance is the tendency of a mechanical system to absorb more energy when the frequency of its oscillations matches the system's natural frequency of vibration, what we call its resonant frequency, than it does at other frequencies. In other words, everything that is around us has the ability to move when subjected to waves. Even the Earth itself has a resonant frequency. Most of the time these waves do not match the resonant frequency of the matter in question and thus the vibrations are imperceptible to the human eye. Yet once in a great while we observe in nature when that special sweet spot is hit with just the right wave; it's almost magic. A common example of this phenomenon is pushing a child higher and higher on a swing or better yet, watching the plump opera star sing at a crystal glass. As soon as the frequency of her voice matches the resonant frequency of the crystal, it begins to vibrate. Amplify the wave oscillations enough and..."

  "The glass shatters," interjected a cute student sitting on the second row.

  "Precisely," replied the professor. "The waves seem to crash into the crystal at just the right speed to amplify the vibration each time it rebounds. This is mechanical resonance. We have known about this for centuries now. Engineers use the mathematics of mechanical resonance to design buildings that sway and bridges that move, but not to the extent of our poor shattered crystal. They employ the use of dampeners to prevent resonance disasters. But alas, this is not Engineering 101, and Professor Talmut wouldn't like me very much should I choose to teach his material in my class." The students all gave a courteous chuckle.

  "So, keeping this concept of mechanical resonance in mind, we look to some more modern work. Late in the 21st century, M-Theory was an attempt to describe the theory of everything. Almost two centuries earlier, Einstein, after his breakthroughs in relativity and light, had focused what some call wasted efforts on a theory of everything. He believed that everything should be able to be explained, measured, and observed. Heisenberg showed that we could either know where a particle is or how fast it is moving
, but not both at the same time. Einstein just could not accept this and worked on a counter theory until the day he died.

  "Today, we have never been closer to completing the theory of everything. But more importantly, it has led us to the concept of the string. The basis of this theory is that everything is made up of smaller and smaller things. Grains of sand become molecules, which become atoms, which become protons, neutrons, and electrons, which in turn become quarks, leptons, and so forth, which eventually become strings. Now, strings are thought to only exist in one dimension, meaning they have length, but not height nor width. In my own theorizing, I proposed that they have no 4th dimension, or spacetime, as well, because strings make up spacetime itself. My theory of everything is just that, a theory of every single thing in our universe: empty space, dark matter, anti-matter, electricity, the entire electromagnetic spectrum, all matter and energy is made of the same thing. I also believe that this principle applies at both the macro and micro levels of matter and energy. Further, it is how these strings vibrate that determines what it is that it is."

  Confused looks crossed everyone's face, except for the two men sitting quietly at the back. "Sorry professor, what was that again?" asked a student off to the side.

  "The vibration of these strings determines what it is that it is. Meaning, if it vibrates a certain way then it is dark matter. At another frequency of oscillation, it is sodium. Yet another it is UV radiation. If the oscillations of these strings were to change, so does what it is...uh, change."

  "What was it that led you to develop your theory in that direction, professor?" asked another student.

  "What a beautiful segue into what we will be studying this semester. My theory developed through my work with the metal known as harmonicum. Now, if there are any budding astrophysicists in the room, they could tell you that harmonicum is a rare element thought to be transplanted here on earth from comets and asteroids long ago. The total quantity of the element is extremely small and we have yet to synthetically produce it in a lab."

  The students in the room looked on with interest. One raised his hand. "So what work could you have done with an element that is so rare? I mean, how do you even find the stuff?"

  "Most excellent question. In fact, most harmonicum comes from a single source. It is found in a crater recently discovered in the Northwestern wilderness in the middle of the providence of Palin. This particular crater is millions of years old and was so overgrown with trees and vegetation that it blended in with every hill and valley surrounding it, until recently. It was in this crater that harmonicum was discovered." The professor paused for effect.

  "Now you may ask yourself, what does this rare metal do that justifies it being the focus of a theoretical physics course? Oh, my young eager minds, I answer that harmonicum does everything. As its naming convention suggests, harmonicum has a peculiar tendency to harmonize with other elements that are in proximity to it. We first thought that this metal merely had radioactive properties similar to uranium or plutonium. As a result of its radioactivity, we saw how it would break down nearby elements and change their molecular makeup in the process. It wasn't until we looked closer at this process that we saw something extraordinary."

  The professor clicked a few buttons on his remote and the lights dimmed. A projector created a central video image above him.

  "As you can see, we conducted experiments with harmonicum by placing different elements in close proximity to it. In incredibly short amounts of time, the new element would begin to change. We were dealing with very minute sample sizes, so the changes were subtle but noticeable. It wasn't until we were able to use more advanced measuring equipment that we found our theory of harmonicum's behavior to be completely wrong. We discovered that in fact, the harmonicum was assimilating the elemental properties of the nearby element. It seemed to be a mimic, taking on the structural and physical qualities of what was around it."

  "You mean the metal changed to whatever it was placed next to?" asked a woman at the back.

  "That would be a simple way to state it, but more accurately the metal seemed to be able to synchronize itself with the properties of the other element. It was still harmonicum, but with a shade of the other element as well. Later we realized that this happened only when energy was introduced. The lights and electricity of the measuring equipment increased this behavior. So we tried to see what else we could do by introducing stronger fields."

  "So what, you shocked the metal with jumper cables or something?" interrupted a young man at from the side. The students laughed at his question.

  "Not quite that raw, but you're on the right track. Here, let me show you." The professor tapped the remote again and the vid changed. A large clear container filled with water sat atop a small metallic disc. Wires ran all over the remainder of the screen.

  "This is an early experiment with harmonicum. We attempted transversing states of matter to have the metal assimilate a gas, specifically hydrogen. We altered the frequency of electromagnetic energy fed to the disc to see if that would change anything. As a result we stumbled upon something extraordinary."

  The students looked on as the clear container sat on the screen not doing much. Then the water line clearly started to fall. The water was disappearing somewhere.

  "Professor, I don't underst – " started a student.

  "Just watch, it will be over shortly."

  The students continued to watch the screen as the water line faded to the bottom of the container. As soon as the water was gone, a probe with what looked like a spark plug at the end entered the container near the top. The spark flashed and a millisecond later a fireball erupted out of the container. The collective gasp from the students was followed by comments of excitement and surprise.

  "Professor, what happened?" she asked.

  "The harmonicum was able to separate hydrogen from oxygen and convert water into two gases, as evidenced by the explosion. This was just a demonstration we produced for the media, since just watching sensor read-outs doesn't produce the same 'oomph'. We conducted many experiments with the harmonicum, each showing the same result. Harmonicum can adhere to the resonant frequency of every element we have tested it with. In other words, harmonicum is the physical incarnation of the theory of everything. These early experiments were crude in their design as we had yet to apply what we knew from the principles of string theory and from Tesla. In later experiments we were able to map two or three more elements and their harmonic frequency."

  "Harmonic frequency? What's that?" asked a student.

  "Oh, that's just something we coined in the lab. It combines the idea of Tesla's mechanical resonance with the theory that everything is vibrating at a different frequency."

  "So harmonicum affects the other elements on an atomic level," replied the same student.

  "No, the atomic level is too macro. My theory states that harmonicum taps into the ultra-quantum level – the vibrating strings themselves."

  "But there is no way to prove that, right professor?" he inquired.

  "Some may think that applying normal everyday physics to quantum mechanics is a little insane, but as Tesla himself said, 'The scientists of today think deeply instead of clearly. One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane.'"

  The student shifted uncomfortably in his seat, obviously not sure how to respond to this last statement.

  "You see, there is no other element in the known universe like harmonicum," the Professor continued. "Its atomic structure is like nothing we have ever seen. Thus our knowledge of how the element works is limited by our understanding. It's thought that it can be molded and shaped, but even at high levels of radiation and energy exposure, the atomic structure seems to remain intact. No other element possesses that conservation ability."

  The two suits in the back of the hall seemed to perk up at this reply.

  "So how did you learn to control the frequencies?" came the question from the other side of the hall. "
I mean, was it all just guesswork?"

  "At first yes, it was. But I believe as we continue to document our findings, we will be able to map the frequencies of the universe. Think of it as universal DNA coding. To know what everything is made of is to know how to make anything. In the far distant future I can see the use of an interface that would be able to use a harmonicum synthetic to give people back their sight, their hearing, bring motion back to the paralyzed. Forget all the problems and setbacks of stem cell research. Or we could use it to change harmful elements such as radioactive waste into more productive things. We could live the dream of the Alchemists of old and change one thing into another. Think of it. What if we could change sand into wheat to feed the hungry, dirt into clean water for the thirsty? The possibilities would be endless."

  "But these are decades away, right?" asked another student.

  "Oh no, not decades. Centuries. Anything approaching a simple practical use, even on an extremely simplistic scale, would be at least sixty or seventy years out. We would need to come a long way after that before we could tackle these global issues. For now, we'll build the foundation of the future one experiment at a time. Plus, who knows what our space program in the future will yield. Perhaps Mercury is riddled with harmonicum from its many impact craters. Only time will tell."

  Unnoticed by the students or the professor, the suits looked at each other and nodded something in agreement.

  "So what is our semester going to look like, professor? I mean, I thought this was a theoretical physics class."

  "Yes, but what is a theory that can't be proven? We will delve deep into the possibilities of harmonic frequencies this semester. This class is theoretical in basis, but you will also be required to log lab time to earn a full grade. After all, what would a university be without the ability to harvest so much free labor? We wouldn't want your thousands of credits going to waste, would we?"

  This last statement was met with mixed emotions from the students. The bell rang and the students started to log off the classroom net. The professor killed the vid as the lights came back on in the lecture hall. Students chatted with each other as they collected their things. They all seemed to completely ignore the two people in the back row who had not moved during the entire presentation. As the students filed out of the room, these two stone-like men sat, apparently waiting for something. As the last student left the room, the two stood and strode down the steps towards the professor. The professor seemed oblivious to them as he collected his papers and remote, putting them into his faded leather bag. As the last paper was shoved in, he looked up, grabbed his chest, and stepped back.

  "Sorry, professor. Didn't mean to sneak up on you like that," the first man lied.

  "Oh, goodness. Well you did give me a scare, that's for sure."

  "My name is Kingston, and this is my associate, Mr. Creed." The man motioned to the taller man standing next to him.

  "Well, Mr. Kingston, Mr. Creed, it's nice to meet you. What can I do for you?"

  "We enjoyed your lecture very much, Professor. You seem to have some bright students this year," remarked Kingston.

  "Yes, well the semester is still young, and usually the increase in the frequency of party attendance has a negative correlation to one's achievements in my classes, so we'll see how they shake out. Are you two fellow physicists? I think I recognize you from somewhere."

  "No. I could barely understand what you reviewed here today, professor," said Kingston. "My colleague Mr. Creed, however, is a whole lot smarter than me, and he thoroughly enjoyed himself." Creed smiled and nodded at the professor.

  "Yes...well, I am glad. Now if you'll excuse me, I have office hours." The professor made his way between the men and started to walk up the stairs.

  "My friend had one question about your lecture, professor," said Kingston offhandedly. "That last part about the timeline. You really believe that it will take centuries to be able to use harmonicum practically?"

  The professor continued walking as he replied over his shoulder. "Yes, I do. Hopefully we can trim a few decades off with the work I am doing now, but I feel it is an accurate estimate."

  "Huh, well then I guess I lost my bet," replied Kingston.

  The professor stopped at the top of the stairs. "And what bet would that be, Mr. Kingston?"

  "Oh, it's just Kingston, and Mr. Creed and I bet that we were within a year or two of using harmonicum in practical applications. He said that without you it'd be at least five or six decades out. There goes my hundred credits."

  "Please forgive me for my confusion, Mr. Creed, but what do you mean 'without me'?"

  Creed spoke up. "Oh, simply that without your contribution to our research that we would be hard pressed to finish our practical application trials."

  The Professor stared at them, confused. "Practical application trials? What trials? What research are you referring to? I don't mean to boast, but I am considered the world's authority on harmonicum, and practical application trials are a pipe dream."

  "We know you are the expert, professor," replied Creed, "But academia has its limitations. Namely resources, and more specifically, credits. How would you like to advance your research at a greater pace?"

  "You must be joking," laughed the Professor. "Where are you two from? Did Parker put you two up to this? He is quite the practical joker."

  The two men's faces clearly showed that this was no joke.

  "Professor, I work for a corporation called MESA." Kingston watched to see if there was any recognition on the Professor's face. "What if I told you that if we worked together, we could shave a century or two off your timetable instead of merely a few decades?"

  Black Magic

  Time: Current day, dusk

  Scene: Desert village on the edge of the Jade Empire

  A man dressed in beggar's rags slumps against a sandstone building in the fading moments of desert twilight. His alms plate holds a meager collection of coins and bits of food. He chants in a low voice as others shuffle past him on the dusty street adjacent to the now closed open-air market. Unnoticed by the passing citizenry, no one thinks anything of him. He appears just as any number of other beggars throughout the village.

  His soft chanting prayer continues uninterrupted as a merchant slowly wheels his cart full of wares past his spot of rest. The merchant scoffs at the beggar's ragged appearance.

  "When will they take care of trash like you?"

  The beggar says nothing, but continues his chant. His head moves to the left and then to the right in a slow, deliberate fashion.

  The merchant leaves his cart and reaches down to grab the man, but then their eyes meet. Deep beneath the rags that cover his head, the orbs of this beggar bore into the merchant. The merchant takes a step back, almost as if the man in rags had shocked him.

  The merchant regains his composure. "Bah, you're not worth the time," he says, trying not to betray the fear in his voice as he hurries off.

  For the past two weeks this beggar has sat in places around the market, seemingly collecting food and money to support his scant existence. The people of this area, like the merchant who just ran from him, noticed him at first, but as time went on the beggar has become just another part of the village.

  The beggar continues to stare across the almost vacant alley. Despite moving the location of his solicitations over the past few days, he has always faced the guarded door across the alley. The beggar sweeps his eyes from one side of the market to the other, taking in each person still lingering in the area. He mentally reviews the information that he has gleaned during his observations. He recalls the early part of his recon, as he shuffled around the village listening to the merchants and townsfolk. The information he desired was easy to find. The target's location was within the confines of the very building he is now watching. He has sat observing the guarded door over the days that followed.

  The beggar continues his chanting, bowing slightly as a passing woman leaves two coins on his plate.
He counts down the seconds in his mind. He knows that soon the guard will call to his companion to cover for him as he goes to visit the harlots on the outskirts of the village. The beggar has witnessed this each night the guard has been on duty, tracking the time down to the very second.

  His count reaches zero. Without fail, the fat guard picks up his timepiece and looks at it. He calls to his younger companion to cover for him. The stout man sheepishly looks around before proceeding to the end of the street. He turns a corner and is swallowed by the darkness. The beggar counts the seconds.

  One...

  Two...

  Three...

  Then very slowly and with wobbly legs, he rises to his feet with his alms plate. Just as he has done the previous three nights, he staggers across the alleyway towards the remaining guard. The beggar hunches over more and puts a deeper tremor in his gait, almost falling into a wall at one point.

  He moves his head side to side in a drunken fashion as he clandestinely confirms that no other person is on the street. As the beggar approaches the guard, he sees the expression of recognition dawn on the young man's face. The beggar bows his head low as he comes closer. The guard holds out his hand shamefaced and speaks in a foreign language, insisting that he has nothing for the beggar that night. The beggar holds out his plate anyway, mumbling something in the same foreign language. The guard again repeats his protest and walks to the beggar to stop him from coming closer.

  Just as the guard nears, the beggar stumbles hard, spilling his plate of coins onto the dirt. The beggar begins to wail and stoops down to retrieve his fallen donations. The guard, exasperated, squats down to help. As he picks up the coins, he stops, hand out stretched. He notices that the beggar's wails have ceased and that his posture is no longer unsure or unsteady. Slowly, the guard glances upward to look at the beggar. Only then does he see the dark, cold eyes that do not belong to a downtrodden vagabond, but rather to a trained killer.

  The beggar's hand glints in the faint light of the crescent moon as it flashes forward. The young guard's eyes close, never to open again.