by Macronomicon
Jeb raised a brow.
“This one doesn’t require a Deal, which is why you’ll hear so many stories about Merlin doing it, that git.”
“Well?”
“Alright, so you understand the concept of Impact, and how it’s the total potential change that a person could exert over the course of their lives?”
Jeb nodded. He’d had plenty of time to think about it the past month or so, after all.
“Well, a Role is a measure of how much aptitude and passion for a specific course they show. How set they are in their path. Normally you can’t alter aptitude, but you can alter passion for a profession, or shine a light on aptitude someone didn’t know they had.
“So when you have a person who hasn’t decided what they want to do with their lives, they have no Role, or it is very weak.”
Jeb raised a brow.
Smartass continued. “Let’s say you have a moody teenager who doesn’t have any particular desire to do anything. Then you wait until he and his younger sister are wandering through the woods, and you…maybe send a wolf after them. The moody teen fends off the wolf, and it becomes a life-defining moment. He goes on to become a knightly defender of the weak because of that one do-gooder experience.
“Now, a knight’s total Impact is more than a peasant’s; that’s a net positive… But! Locking in that Role, by definition, limits others. That knight will never be a farmer, nor a clerk, or clergyman. He will be a knight. A small amount of that lost potential will be visited back on the Guide.”
“So…helping people figure out what they want to do with the rest of their lives? That doesn’t seem bad at all. Why aren’t I doing that?”
“It’s very hit-or-miss. Life-defining moments that lead to a person choosing a Role are hard to reliably engineer, and there’s no one perfect Role for any person. That old bag found that out the hard way.” Smartass rubbed her hands together and chuckled evilly, before she caught Jeb staring at her.
The small fairy cleared her throat. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Have you gotten taller?” Jeb asked.
The fairy stood on his shoulder and measured her head to the top of Jeb’s head.
“Typical familiar growth, I suppose,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to get a little extra height above his head. The fairy was outgrowing her candy bar wrapper. It seemed like she’d have to hermit-crab into a baby sock or something soon.
If she’s growing, it must be a result of the power I’ve gained since the last time I checked.
Jeb blinked. He’d been too busy to check his growth since the trial. He took the Appraiser off his finger and blew a roiling cloud of grey and red in front of him. Jeb stepped into it, allowing the cloud to sink into his body. The red pulsed from inside Jeb’s bones, then withdrew, the Myst forming a status screen.
Jebediah Trapper
Mystic Trapsmith, Level 39
Accolades: Krusker’s Brawn, Siren’s Cunning, R-R-RubU’s Mysteries, Gresh’s Subtlety, Innovator, Lagross’s Power
Body 21 (11)
Myst 71 (26+3)
Nerve 26 (15)
Abilities: >>FATAL EXCEPTION. Ability missing or corrupted. Awaiting resolution by Administrator.<<<
Accolade Pending: Lagross’s Power suspended due to multiple instances. Awaiting resolution.
Ten points in Myst, five in Nerve and two in Body since I last checked, Jeb thought, tapping his fingers against the back of his hand. Smartass got...two and a half percent of seventeen? Little bit under half a point I gave her, heavier on Myst and Nerve.
Was Smartass’s growth caused by Myst, or Body? Jeb supposed he’d have to enter a Deal that was solely monetary in nature and see if that sparked any growth.
Judge Elkor’s stupid had been quite profitable, but the rewards had been primarily non-tangible in nature. Jeb was also still obligated to find and kill the kidnappers through his Deal with Vresh, which was still in effect.
Jeb liked to think of his Impact as a snowball. The bigger it was, the more it could pick up off the ground, leading to a higher profit from Deals. He’d received nearly twice the amount of Attribute points from this most recent deal.
I’m sure eventually it will reach some kind of law of diminishing returns, where the ‘snowball’ can’t hold itself together, but for right now, we’re on the rapid-expansion side of the bell curve.
Jeb’s Myst was already beyond the point where he should be able to fly again, which was nice. He just needed to take the time to draw in and metabolize Myst, expand his Core to match his new limits. That was going to take a while.
Jeb noticed Eddie heading out the bottom of the building, and he refocused on business. Jeb plucked the ring out of the air and slipped it on, resolving to finish the rest of his self check-up later.
You can’t have a lookout be busy gazing at their own navel.
Jeb settled down cross-legged and pulled out the Peeping Tom wand. What was the actual name, anyway? Jeb’s enhanced Nerve jumped in with the answer.
Wand of Translocated Vision
Right, that’s what it was. The wand itself was stained hardwood with a creepy eyeball carving on the side of it. Jeb held the wand vertical and closed his eyes.
For someone who grew up on video games, from ye olde Mario, up to and including the occasional VR at a wealthier friend’s house, Jeb felt he had a pretty decent idea of what to expect.
He allowed the wand’s siphon to connect to his Myst—similar to the Beautiful Revenge. The wand began draining a trickle of Myst, capturing a portion of the burning corona for itself.
Jeb’s stomach lurched when his point of view skipped forward about six inches, the field of view a full three hundred and sixty degrees in every direction.
Jeb’s feeble brain almost couldn’t keep up with the torrent of visual information. The human brain had no frame of reference for true three hundred and sixty vision.
I was wrong, Jeb thought, frowning as he fought back the nausea, staring at his own face, along with the sky, the ground, the building across from him, the guy sneaking up behind him...
Jeb had about a quarter second to study the strangely familiar keegan before the guy landed silently on the roof behind Jeb, blackened sword unsheathed.
Shitfuck!
Jeb ducked his head and yanked himself forward, causing the keegan’s first strike to miss Jeb’s face by a literal hair.
Jeb’s vision snapped back into his own eye sockets as he pinched off the flow of Myst, reaching his good hand down to his belt as he slid across the roof.
The assassin’s swift follow-up punctured a hole in the floor between Jeb’s legs.
Jeb fumbled for the defensive wand while reaching out toward the assassin with his Myst, aiming to knock the man up.
Sure, he had superhuman speed, but it didn’t matter how fast you were when you couldn’t get purchase on the ground.
Rule #1 when fighting a speedster: Get them off the ground.
The assassin threw himself to the side, evading Jeb’s thread of Myst. He used the edge of his palm to redirect his entire mass, pushing off the stucco surface in midair, leaving a cracked pattern in the wall behind him as he bounced toward Jeb like a superball.
Jeb didn’t have time to do anything more than jerk the wand in front of him and shove a panicked blast of Myst into it.
A wall of faintly mother-of-pearl gunk poured out in front of Jeb, hardening with the assassin halfway through it, catching the man midair.
“Hah!” Jeb said, scrambling backward. “Whaddya think about—crap.”
The nacre-like material was tough, and it only gave a little bit at a time, but it gave, releasing a soft shriek of tortured fiber as the assassin tugged himself free.
Goddamn bargain-bin defensive wand, Jeb thought, pushing himself up. Still, it bought him time.
Jeb created a spike of force and aimed for his enemy’s midsection, driving the assassin out the other side of the nacre wall. The assassin’s hidden armor dispersed most of the f
orce, and rather than being skewered, the keegan rolled away, eyes narrowed with pain.
Jeb reached out a string of Myst to pick the guy up off the ground, but he dodged it. Again.
Something’s telling me this guy can see my Myst, Jeb thought. Or maybe he just had a really good sense for fighting.
The assassin grabbed the side of the wall and tore a brick off, throwing it at Jeb.
The brick hissed through the air, and Jeb created another bubble of nacre to catch it and buy himself a little extra time to figure out his next move.
The brick was caught, stretching the nacre and turning it opaque. The assassin followed the brick with a sword swing, shattering the strained bubble and intruding on Jeb’s personal space in a fraction of a second.
This guy doesn’t look like a talker, but it couldn’t hurt, Jeb thought as he caught the keegan’s wrist with his Myst, the assassin’s other hand with both of Jeb’s arms.
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me who you’re working for? Is it Garland?” Jeb asked. “He has a bad habit of welching on his debts, you know.”
“I know,” the keegan said, leaning forward until he was an inch away from Jeb’s face. “I made him pay up front.”
Jeb blinked. “Good plan.”
The keegan’s knee snapped up and hit Jeb just under the solar plexus, driving all the wind out of his body.
“Ugh.” Jeb doubled over, unable to move or breathe, his mind running full-tilt.
Gotta move or he’ll kill me. Meat suit compromised, use Myst. Backwards untenable, out of roof, and might still fall inside his reach. Same problem moving to either side.
Jeb grabbed himself with telekinesis and shoved himself forward, still doubled over in pain. Given that keegan were about seven feet tall, this put his head in line with his enemy’s groin. Jeb figured he could use his skull as a battering ram.
Talk about low blows.
He felt a warm palm seize his head, halting him in place. The gambit failed.
Shit, Jeb thought, trying to erect a last-minute barrier between himself and the coup de grâce, but it wasn’t looking good. His heart was buzzing in his ears like a goddamn hummingbird.
Yep, this is what death-terror feels like, Jeb thought idly as he tried to force his limbs to move through the paralysis of bruised organs and a runaway amygdala. It wasn’t going to be enough, but you should always make the effort. On principle.
“Hi-ya!” A squeaky voice made a karate noise before the assassin jerked away from Jeb, releasing his head.
“Fuck!” the keegan said, clutching his eye and staggering backwards.
Jeb drew a breath and spotted Smartass making a vaguely martial-arts stance in midair, her hands and feet wrapped in speckled blue Myst, her wings a blur behind her.
“My fairy-fu is unbeatable,” she said, floating like a butterfly.
How is that not a lie!?
Jeb didn’t have time to follow up on that, though. He dropped to the ground the instant before a blind retaliation strike cleaved the air where his face used to be.
Jeb hit the roof and sent a ball of force shooting out and up, catching the assassin in the groin for real this time.
The keegan’s eyes bulged as he was kicked in the balls so hard it made him airborne, and Jeb took the opportunity to wrap bands of force around the guy’s chest, holding him up and away from any kind of leverage.
“Maybe now we can have some kind of dialogue,” Jeb said. “Who are you, why are you trying to kill me, and why shouldn’t I kill you?” Jeb asked.
“Actually, scratch that second question,” Jeb said. He’d already confirmed being hired by G.G.
“My name’s Kol, I’m a courier who moonlights as an assassin. You shouldn’t kill me because—”
The assassin’s fist whipped toward his own chest and smashed the telekinetic bands, breaking them with brute force and a sickly crack.
Jeb used the last of the band’s cohesiveness to push the assassin backward, erecting a series of force defenses between the two of them.
For his part, the assassin simply dropped to the ground, giving Jeb the hairy eyeball.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he muttered, reaching into the dark interior of his robe.
Jeb tensed, expecting a throwing knife, or a smoke bomb, or even a gun.
“Here, some mail from a fan. I wash my hands of this.”
Instead of a weapon, the keegan withdrew a letter with Jeb’s name on it and tossed it across the distance between them. The letter fluttered to a halt at Jeb’s feet as the assassin drew his hood up and jumped off the side of the building.
Jeb leaned down to pick up the letter when something tickled the back of his mind.
He eyed the folded paper on the ground, frowning. His name was written in English, which was making alarm bells go off in his head. Why would any alien send him a letter in English? They assumed The System would translate anything. The only reason to write it in English would be if they knew he couldn’t read—which they didn’t—or it was simply to make the letters more familiar to his eyes.
More comfortable.
“Ooh, a letter! I wonder who it’s from!” Smartass said, zipping down toward the letter.
“Hold up,” Jeb said, grabbing Smartass in midair with his Myst. “Did you forget it’s his job to kill us?”
“No?” Smartass said, her brow furrowing.
Jeb took three big steps back and reached out with his strings of Myst and opened the letter. The envelope exploded, flinging white powder in every direction. Jeb created a concave barrier of force and none of the white powder got on him or Legolas’s coms device.
In a few moments, the wind carried the plume of poison away from them, allowing Jeb to relax. I hope there’s nobody in that alley, Jeb thought, wincing.
Other than the trap, the envelope was empty.
“Wow. What a meanie.”
“You gotta admire the professionalism, at least,” Jeb said with a shrug. The guy probably wasn’t coming back right away. It looked like he’d broken some ribs cracking Jeb’s hold on him.
“Jeb, are you still there?” Eddie’s voice came from the old man’s contraption, drawing Jeb’s attention away.
“Watch my back,” Jeb said to Smartass as he walked up to the battery-powered dish and lifted the receiver. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”
“Well, I’m just sitting here, wondering why you didn’t feel like telling me about the six big fucking carriages surrounding the goddamn building!”
Jeb dropped the receiver and leaned over the side of the building, looking down at City Hall. From his vantage point, he could see two carriages, covered in shiny black lacquer with gold tracery.
Melas bodyguards were unloading from the carriages by the dozen, along with an example of a species that Jeb had never seen before. It was a slender, stooped over avian-looking creature with an incredibly smooth gait, dressed in its Sunday best: gold and vibrant silks, its slender neck lifting up an ornate headdress.
Even from this distance, Jeb could see the omnipresent grey Myst swirling around the creature as it moved, making Jeb’s hair stand on end.
Jeb rushed back to the comms unit.
“Eddie, these guys are probably out of our league, and that’s good. You haven’t actually committed a crime, so put the Book of Honor back and find a book about zoning or something. If anyone asks, tell them you’re there to do research for your owner. Keep your head down, mouth shut, and maybe kneel if you see any bird-looking people. Matter of fact, just get on your knees now. Don’t take any chances.”
“Got it,” Eddie said.
Jeb waited.
***Eddie Davis***
Shit, shit, shit, Eddie thought as he flipped to the back of the book and flipped through the last three pages of duels, using his Myst to duplicate the names onto the empty paper he’d gotten from the front desk.
Eddie’s magic was the best magic possible for a scientist: Refining, the Ability to isolate substan
ces from each other. The vast majority of materials science was isolating compounds from other compounds. It was slow and tedious, and sometimes required guesswork and supplies he couldn’t possibly acquire, and it would have made his little workshop nearly incapable of functioning.
Now whenever he needed to isolate lithium, he just grabbed a battery and separated it out magically. Same went for the components of a phone or anything else he might need. Good stuff. Eddie was looking forward to when he had enough control to separate out plutonium in quantity and he could make robots that could keep going for fifty years.
In this particular case, Eddie separated a bit of the less-permeable wood grains out of the paper, stamping out the list of names invisibly before hastily folding the paper and shoving it in his vest pocket.
Eddie shoved the Book of Honor back in its home and sprinted down the hall, grabbing a book of law much farther down the line, something that looked innocuous.
Water Rights and Responsibilities for Landowners.
Eddie shuddered, but knelt down and started speed-reading the dry book, cramming like he was twenty-four again, Legolas hovering outside the window.
Eddie glanced over and interfaced with the robot. It was hard to describe, as half of his thoughts turned to cold numbers. He’d been staring at screens half his life, but thinking in code was a new experience. It was a bit like lucid dreaming.
Eddie instructed the drone to back off and hide. It silently pulled away from the window and settled down behind some shrubs. The sky was too exposed at the moment, with the building nearly surrounded by watchful eyes.
A moment later, Eddie heard the sound of steel on stone as armored boots filled the halls.
Eddie backed into an out-of-the-way spot and put his forehead on the marble floor.
Refreshingly cold in this heat, actually.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted half a dozen melas with deep orange skin who filled the hall. They were wearing full plate armor, only identifiable through their stature and the horns they sported above their helmets.
They paid little attention to him, beyond a silent glance. One of the men even stood beside Eddie, less than a foot away, resting his palms on the hilt of a long blade attached to his waist.
