Intelligence Block

by Kit Falbo

  I run the situation in my head. I don’t like to brag. Well, I do, I just have no one to brag too. The tech I’ve co-opted makes many of my tricks on the high end of the S-ranks. It’s all because the impossible thing I accomplished, converting old military hardware into the tricks of a magicians trade. The Joontal suits are old infiltration power armors. Muninn’s core code is from a wetworks hacking UI. A large portion of my power and skill comes from the fact that with the help of Tess, my first UI, together we managed to do what most consider impossible, breaking the restrictions on surplus military hardware and merging it with the style of code used by most magicians. As impressive as A-class magic kits can be, my suit was made to take a hit or two from actual weapons of war. “As fishy as this match is, this doesn’t sound like anything we can’t handle with a little teamwork.”

  The response to that is the combined protests of the three UI, a combination of cawing, whistling, and Bookers stammering in the noise. It would be a lie to say I didn’t have some worries, but Joontal was not one to say no to a challenge. And one of the top rules is never to break character.

  They eventually settle down while I finish breakfast, once it becomes clear that I’m not going to budge on this. No matter how loosely I consider our relationships partnerships, I’m still technically and legally their owner and master in all the inhabited planets, except for Freedom Station.

  Chapter Four

  Millcross field is picturesque, more so if you didn’t know many of the grassy divots and dips in the landscape were caused by the destructive forces brought about by two magic users. A fair number of them are specifically from me. Even then I'm always trying to repair the damage I caused, hyper-fast growing grass seed and a few other tricks look amazingly like a renewal spell. Though some of the trees are artificial, technology can only do so much.

  My UIs were right; everything about this match smells like day old takeout. Sure, everyone in this profession has their peculiarities and ways of doing things. This Mr. Magintines has no camera’s set up, no airspace reserved for them, no streaming or any watch announcements of any kind. I take advantage of that by having cameras set up on his side for better angles, something that could be considered an insult. The association’s UI is off to the side watching the setup and will be on hand for ruling the victor. At B-rank I might actually get a human judge willing to come to one of the matches, sure a UI does all the work, but there is some prestige in having that happen.

  I take my staff and plant it in the ground. It slowly transforms, bulging and bubbling underneath the wood while growing in size until an outer shell is made and crumbles off leaving a grandfather clock as my ritual totem, meeting as close to the size requirements as the game allows. I’ll need both my hands for the match anyway, one to control the defensive disk and one to attack with. UIs can give suggestions, but I still need to do the actual work.

  Mr. Magintines is in a black suit with black shoes and black gloves. The only bit that is not black is a white Greek tragedy mask. It’s stylish enough, but it is also from a magic kit produced seventy-eight years ago. He pulls out a large box and slides it to where his designated spot is and pushes a button on it. Out pops a giant jack in the box, it’s several inches wider and a foot taller than the recommended ritual totem size. Muninn informs me that It’s a fifty-eight-year-old ritual in a box. I think I’ve seen footage of it in the past and know what will happen if it goes off. It’s like this guy acquired someones private collection and chose to go into the business.

  I get the first minute to do my introduction, speech or performance. After me, my opponent will get to do the same thing. Then the official game will begin. Almost all of my early matches were from practitioners who I had embarrassed during my interview with Lowman. Most were good sports about it, even if Wizard Joontal's default tactic is to mock them for their inadequacies.

  With nothing to go on with Mr. Magintines, it just has to be generic. “You think you have the skills to challenge me!” Two peels of thunder ring out and dark clouds swirl around me. “For a century I've mastered and controlled powers you can't even fathom.” I direct the clouds, and they seep into the clock totem. “Your time will soon run to an end!”

  I think I deliver the line well enough. I still can't help but wince internally at the cheesiness, even if it goes with the theme. The melodrama is a crutch. Here I have nothing else to fall back on.

  Me and my UI watch closely as my opponent's turn is about to begin. “I've finally found you!” Mr.Magantines voice is raw and unhinged. He's not even using tools to increase its volume so I can hear him across the distance. I have to use the enhanced senses of the infiltration suit to pick up his words. “Thirty years ago you killed my father, and my revenge is coming!”

  Manufacturing a past with your opponent is perfectly acceptable. Though it is generally polite to inform them first, Wizard Joontal has a nebulous history you could pull from. The strategy is more than I would expect from a Kit Magician. “Muninn, research thirty-year-old deaths involving magic users.” I subvocalize to my UI.

  “He's already on it.” Booker informs me. Always nice to have help that is smarter than I am.

  “I know there is no justice in these games you play. You change your name and move on. Not even an apology for the pain you have caused.”

  There is no show or special effects. Just the man yelling at me from across the field. “This guy for real?” I whisper.

  “Assuming this wasn't synthesized, vocal strain implies some degree of belief behind those words.” Booker states.

  “Put a flag on him and forward all data collected to Franklin at Lowman security just in case.”

  No more time to chat, as the Association referee signals it is go time. The basics of ritual totem defense are simple. Each player takes turns sending an attack at their opponent's totem, while they use a defensive disk to block the attacks. There are rules out the wazoo, regulating the size, speed, stored energy of the attacks. Tricks include deflecting attacks back, using your next attack to stop or modify an incoming attack, creating adjacent effects that can affect gameplay. This format is one of the few Magic Battle options where targeting me directly is forbidden, and I’m grateful for that, with how crazy this guy is talking.

  A streak of white fire zooms at my clock totem, might have been temporarily blinded if this suit didn’t adjust for the bright light. Fast too, I barely get my defensive disk in place. The force sends my invisible disk careening to the side. Made my fingers sting because I set the controller to have some haptic feedback.

  “Maxed out speed, brightness, kinetic energy. Basically a fastball.” Booker says confirming my thoughts. No UIs allowed in this fight, outside of advice.

  I take my shot; this one is slower and looks like a moving black cloud leaving black obscuring particles that will stay in the air. You can see the ball I’m sending towards his jack in the box, but you have to pay attention. Just as it leaves my hand, Mr. Magintines sends a second fastball my way, a repeat of the first shot. Not a weak tactic but not particularly novel, I’m ready and get my disk in the way in time.

  My first attack hasn’t hit yet, so there is an opportunity. I don’t need the UI’s prodding at the corner of my vision, even if they are anyway. I’m limited to human speeds and shoot off my version of a fastball as quick as I can select it. A small red bird shoots out of my hand making a show of weaving a little before it passes the invisible line where rules require it to be a straight shot. It creates a whistling shriek as it accelerates forward.

  My opponent's third fastball is on the way. I’d be dismissive if my disk wasn’t still recovering from that second strike. I use a lot of momentum to get it in place in time. The angular force causes a ricochet, the white blast moves downward, forcing it into the ground, creating a shower of dirt and dust to fly into the air as the result of the explosion.

  I don’t even need to look to know the result of my attacks. The timing of the impact between my first two attacks makes it im
possible for Mr. Magintines to block both. The association UI dings to inform me of my point. The bird crashes into the box causing it to dance with flame as it explodes on contact.

  I have time to reflect on the situation now. Well, two minutes from Mr. Magintines mosr recent attack. Almost an eternity. The camera’s I’d set up on his side might as well be cheating, because it lets me get a better view of what he sees from his perspective and exactly how the visual effects from my last two attacks linger affecting his sight. “Your attacks have no subtlety You claim to have thirty years since a death to plan for this, yet you lack any practiced sophistication of the arts!” I can’t let him control whatever, my dad died, narrative he wanted. My character has always been a bit of a magic snob, and three of the same attacks is a bit much.

  I fire my shot, I’ve planned for a flickering lance of energy taking advantage of the blind spot my last attacks created. Between my hand and his target, an arcing crackle of purple lightning erupts connecting them. “What the hell?" I whisper to my UI. That was not on the menu.

  Tess informs me it’s a holo-projection overlay using text in my display. “Speed of light action makes it look like you did it, almost identical to what you used on Percivious to make it look like all his attacks were bunnies and butterflies.” That had been pretty hilarious. I hear a ding. Despite the visual paint job, I still manage to get the point from that attack.

  Opponents talking, should listen. “You dare use the same attack you killed my father with! I was hoping maybe you would admit your shame, but this is just cruel.”

  More data for thirty-year-old battle deaths, I know I don’t even need to tell my partners. That play was smoother than the rest of this guy's shtick, and not something that came out of a magic kit. Tess and I had worked on it specifically for Percivious because he was an asshole. If this guy had reversed the technique from watching that match, I’m impressed.

  I’m in a little shock, and it is another blinding fastball. It’s well placed, and I’m a little slow, coming off an expectation of more or at least different. I bisect it, and my clock shakes with a partial hit.

  “I’m sorry I disappoint you. Your magic disappoints me.” I send off my finisher.

  The attack is remarkably like Mr.Maginitines strikes in that it at least starts bright to dazzle the opponent. It flashes three times then adapts a pale rainbow color, like the after images of looking at a bright light. That way the real attack hides in its bright afterimages.

  I hear the strike notification. With my third solid hit, I win. A hollow gong sound echos over the field, my clock begins its ritual. Hands start spinning faster. Soon it will release white smoke that will form into a skull, and the land and my opponent will look like they are wasting away. Not my best work, Booker tells me some research is done. “Twenty-five to thirty-five years ago approximately one hundred and twenty-eight deaths were caused by the use of Hand Arc-lightning. It either short-circuited cloud defenses or caused an explosive reaction to certain tech it interacted with. That specific attack was one of the first banned when the Association first formed. You’ve always been good at avoiding causing injury, using this match to associate you with a deadly attack is concerning.”

  I watch my pre-planned display finish. “Not my cup of tea, but it could have been an interesting bit of Lore to add to Wizard Joontal. The whole not contacting me and asking first, as well as this guy's reactions, make it feel odd.”

  The mist and decay clear, my staff slowly returns from being the doom clock. I search the field for Mr. Magintines. He is gone.

  Chapter Five

  I’m looking over my shoulder, and more importantly, my UIs are looking over my shoulder as I go about the rest of the day. That includes a restoration spell for Millcross field. I don’t want to lose the deposit on the reservation by letting someone else fix the mess. My UI also combs through my opponent's side of the field looking for any clues on who he is or his motivations. As easy as it is to remain anonymous, it is also easy to slip up and let everything out. “Nothing?” I ask Muninn.

  The UI twists it’s head ninety degrees and caws, a firm no in my experience. I get a message from Lowman that he has a dinner guest coming over tonight. Joe Stravell, owner of Corner Cakes and his Magician. Short notice, but I always make sure to have plenty of entertainment options, even if they are generic in case a need arises. The clock I had used for the magic duel had been modified from one. I might just be required to sit there and be grumpy while drinking my wine. Since Lily left for college, he’s been less and less insistent on me performing. There is the status of having me around, but I suspect he had hired me for her sake.

  I have a little fear he might let me go. Just having me be around is expensive, it’s like having a private spaceship with all the maintenance, docking fees, crew costs. I know I’m one of the cheaper Association long term contracts, but even the costs involved with that are boggling if I think about it. I wouldn’t have asked for that much if I wasn’t stuck with the Associations minimum salary for the type of job I have. I’m no longer even the lowest paid one because of the built-in raises in the contract. The moment I got this job I jumped up a long way from tinkering in the back of my uncles’ army surplus store.

  Tess, Muninn, and Booker would tell me my fears are silly, and that my five years of practical experience have now opened up many opportunities if I wanted them. It’s hard to divest yourself from the idea you are no longer that teenage nobody you used to be when in those following years you’ve been living as someone else. Lady Mallory’s push for me to finally take a vacation is also there. The weird threats, this weird match against Mr. Magintines. I think getting away might be what I need.

  I link in all my UI and subvocalize to them. “Hey guys, I think I’m going to ask Lowman for that vacation time. The B-ranks can wait for me.”

  Muninn does some soft caw’s, Tess is whistling happily. “We are all delighted that you’ve decided that. You work hard Talos and work us hard. Work we are made to do, so it’s not like we have a complaint.” Tess whistles. “Much.”

  “I have my visits to The House of Mind and Body.”

  “Required ones.” Booker reminds me. “I can also show you the stats on how much harder you work than other Association members. Most of which have their own cadre of Master of Artis, Gravity, and Intellect graduates either interning or working for them. You’ve proven yourself plenty over those traditionalists. Would you like us to draft a letter for Lowman now?”

  I shake my head. If anyone is watching the stream it will look like Wizard Joontal is profoundly disappointed in something. “I’ll let him know after dinner. I don’t want to distract him from his guests after being so good to me all these years. We should probably give Franklin in security a heads up though. I owe him as much, if not more after allowing me to set up my first interview the way it was.”

  I think back. Five years ago, I’d graduated from compulsory schooling, passing the required tests, still just a magic and tech head. I had the summer to decide what I was going to do with my life. Uncle Ubb wasn’t going to let me stay with him anymore. He was pushing for the military, and I’d gotten certifications and training on most of the gear he sold anyway, as well as fixing or taking apart the broken pieces for fun and extra money. MAGIC school for college was out of the question since I didn’t have the funds, and it’s risky enough that it’s nearly impossible to get a loan or scholarship for the place.

  Tess was my only UI, upgraded, patched up, programmed every which way possible. She still had bugs from my amateur work on her. I’d done non-Association jobs, small parties, free shows to get my points up from the time I was sixteen. I’d floated close to the points I needed for actual membership, minus the fee, even before I graduated. I fretted and fiddled and fought about my options those early months, then the miracle of Tess and me finding a way to bridge military tech and the programming tools commercial magicians use happened. I had my leg up. Just nothing else.

  Lowman and hi
s open call for a new magician was a godsend. I dumped all my funds to pay the fee to be an official lowest ranked member of the Association of Magic Users. Money that might have gone to a trade school or getting out of orbit by booking a ship and exploring my options elsewhere. Money spent. It was get this job or hit the recruiting office. Left uncle a note and took a transport halfway around the world.

  It probably seemed like I up and decided this with no planning. But even without being in the industry I knew it. I’d seen the movies, and read the books, and most of all had Tess to help me through. Muninn was kind of there in that he was still compiling and not fully formed or repaired. Magic is using the wonder and power of all the technology that exists to amaze and entertain, to do things most people don’t even think about. It requires the use of complex technologies that if handled wrong can be both deadly and destructive. It’s like juggling loaded guns but also still having to obey the rules of the range. Tess double checked my work and I always double checked hers.

  The moment the job was up, I contacted Franklin the head of security for Lowman. Our UIs worked out much of the details. That way I could ask about restrictions, what tricks and tools were acceptable. Get permission and let him know what I wanted to do. I told him about my plan. It was audacious and bold and was sure to piss off all the other applicants, whether it worked or didn’t work. He laughed when I shared the simulation of what I thought should happen. Even better, he agreed to the show I was about to put on.