by S. V. Brown
Not the girl.
The marines.
The three turned.
The girl said, “Oh, hi. I’m Emily by the way and this is Tracy, Mary and Jenny.”
“Oh, hi.”
The three muscular women eyed him off and then turned back to the girl. Paris sighed but then cheered up. He didn’t even consider female marines! He tried not to look too gleeful.
Spell Four – Transformation Act
Emily took out a blue folder and typed up his information. “Space Marine Application.”
“Don’t I need to be tested or something?”
She batted her eyelids. “Oh no. Everyone gets a few chances to get it right.”
“I don’t understand.”
She leaned forward conspiratorially. “The new commander likes to give everyone the best chance to succeed. She feels that it’s important that there’s no pressure to pass, that your desire to succeed comes from determination to keep trying.”
Paris screwed up his face. “This is the marines?”
She smiled prettily at him but he wasn’t fooled this time. He also noted she seemed to speed up her movements. “Yes, of course. There are many levels in the marines at the moment so while you don’t get graded you are matched with the right job that feels good for you.”
Paris’s hand paused over the tablet where he was supposed to put his thumbprint. “So, once I sign I can call myself a marine?”
“Of course not, silly!” She stared at his thumb.
Feeling rushed he pressed down, sealing his fate and used a stylus having to also put his scrawl on the document. Just as the information was scrolling down he thought he saw a word that concerned him. Something about paralysis.
“Just sign here.”
“Wait, I just need—”
“You’ve already signed that bit. Now this bit.”
He chided himself for being silly.
“And here.
“And here.
“Initial this.
“Sign here. And we’re done!”
Paris sat back feeling smug and mildly concerned at the same time. There was a little inner voice that was panicking but he quickly quashed it, convincing himself Career Worlds wouldn’t do anything illegal or put him in harm’s away. He had rights. The fact he’d lied about his previous profession was aside from Career Worlds own policies. Besides, he could just put a spell on them if it came down to it.
Emily printed the signed documents and placed them in a folder. “We always keep a hard copy so people can’t erase their files.”
Paris frowned. “Why would they want to do that?”
“Oh, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
She took out a large stamp, pressed it nicely onto a red stamp pad and then slammed it on the blue folder making Paris jump. He glanced at the big, red “Approved” on the folder.
“What? That’s it?”
Emily giggled and nodded. “Now you can call yourself a marine.”
The door opened and she called out in her chirpy voice, “Welcome to Career Worlds. I’ll be just a moment.” She stood and looked at Paris pointedly.
“Er, right. Thank you.”
She walked from behind her desk, not to see him out but to greet the next person.
“Ah, what do I do? Or where do I go?”
She turned somewhat impatiently now, her body stiff. “Can’t you see that I’m with a new client?”
“But you haven’t finished with me yet.” You didn’t get to his age to take lip from a little bitty thing.
“I said you GO DOWN TO SUPPLIES, marine!” she screamed at him.
Paris backed up and wiped his face free of spittle. “You didn’t tell me that.” Crazy whack job.
She blushed and smoothed down her blonde hair. “Oh, silly me.”
Paris saw the client stare opened mouthed at the girl who now was giggling and smiling. “May I help you?”
He got out of the office fast and headed down the street glancing behind him worried the little bitty thing would follow. He noticed her standing by the glass window staring at him. Creepy chick. But what did he do? He smiled and waved but walked faster.
Once in the supply warehouse a bored looking marine, dressed in green overalls, handed him a ticket. The beady, blue eyes blinked once. “Come back in two weeks and we’ll equip ya.”
“Two weeks?” What was he supposed to do in the two weeks? He placed his hands on the single, long counter and looked around. Behind the marine the warehouse disappeared into the distance with rows and rows of stuff. Mostly green stuff.
“The ranger doesn’t come back for a week and then it has to be checked and re-stocked.” The marine yawned and Paris could see the red-colored chewy in his mouth. The bulky marine had bad oral thrush too.
He shivered. “Right. Hang on. Restocked?”
“Yeah, before you go to war.” The bald marine resumed chewing his chewy.
“But … I have to be trained.”
“Trained! You’re a marine aint ya? Been approved?”
“Yes, but—”
The marine lost interest. “Come back in two weeks.”
Disgruntled, but with no other choice, Paris headed out and stood looking around the street. He could find a part-time job, or do some magic tricks and earn his bread and board. It wouldn’t hurt surely? Just a few little tricks shouldn’t draw attention to himself. He was a Spell Caster and his skills weak without O’rah, the Magnifier. But thinking about her made him reconsider. He could just go sleep in the forest for a couple of weeks. How bad could it get?
There was no way he was going back to the brunette.
Paris searched his bag for something he could sell. As it turned out he found a ring inside. That’s right, Gareth had bought O’rah a new ring but hid it in Paris’s bag knowing she would rather bathe in acid than touch anything that belonged to him. He stared at the gold ring with tiny stones of emerald, sapphire and diamond. It had cost Gareth a small fortune and now it was Paris’s fortune. Finders keepers? A tiny niggle of doubt crept into his head but his stomach rumbled alarmingly drawing glances from those walking by on some task.
He looked around and ducked back into supply. “Hey, is there a pawn shop around.”
“Porn or pawn?”
It took him a second to work out what the marine meant. He shook his head impatiently. “Buy and sell stuff … goodies … ah, not people.” Wait, that only excluded live people. “Not robots and plastic … ah, not my body either. Look, p.a.w.n. ….”
The bored looking marine suddenly stood to attention. “Whatcha got to sell?”
Paris almost scowled. Maybe he wanted to buy but the supercilious look on the marine’s face told him not to be stupid.
“Gold ring with stones.” He lay it on the long bench, and it made a satisfying thud being heavy, and waited. But seeing the sudden glee on the marine’s face made him less smug. Paris knew he was going to get ripped off but maybe he could stave off a little humiliation and make a good deal. On the other hand, he could just go down the pawn shop.
In a smooth movement the marine dipped his hand into a pocket pulling out a little device used by jewelers to detect impurities. Paris had only seen them because he was asked to enhance one with magic.
“You were a jeweler before becoming a marine?”
The marine studied the ring from many angles. “Yus, sir.”
Paris laughed. “I’m no ‘sir’.”
The marine pulled away a little from inspecting the ring. “The chick down at the careers center said you are.” He resumed studying the ring. “You didn’t piss her off did ya?”
“Ah, why?” He reasoned it was normal for the chick—careers people—to inform the organization of arrivals.
“Yeah, she’s a bit—” he made the crazy motion to his head.
“What did she do before the careers center?”
“Marine.”
“Ah, I see.”
; After a moment Paris saw the beady eyes turn from greed to craftiness.
“I’ll give ya supplies and pack to see ya through the next two weeks.” He tried to make it look enticing but could tell Paris was losing interest. “Hundred bucks cash as well.” A look of pity crossed the marine’s face as he said, “And a little help to get a better job in the marines.”
At the last offer Paris’s mouth dropped open.
“Well, aint got all day.”
Paris suspected he did have all day but agreed.
The marine yelled, “Sammy, get ya arse down here. I need a 2*B27, E892 pronto!”
A voice, barely discernable, affirmed that.
The marine pulled out a wad of cash and peeled off one hundred. He added an extra fifty. “Can’t help myself. The ring’s worth more than what I said. Here—” he ducked behind the counter and slid over a marine’s uniform. “Pop this on, it’ll impress the yokels.”
Impressed with his honesty Paris nodded, changed and tucked the cash away into his pant pocket. He was feeling more and more like a marine. As he waited the marine read a newspaper and Paris heard Sammy before he saw him. The squeak squeak of a trolley could be heard around the aisles. Sammy turned out to be a scrawny guy with a face full of acne. He barely even glanced at Paris before dumping a large pack on the bench and loaded up fourteen green containers. His rations for the two week’s he guessed. How was he going to carry all that shit? But the marine was opening the pack and Sammy was opening the canisters. As he dumped the contents onto the bench, the marine was fast and repacking them into his pack.
“You’ll learn how to pack once ya in the marines, on the job probably. Consider this a freebie.”
“Um, thanks.”
They finished within minutes and the marine shoved the pack towards Paris. It made a scratchy noise telling Paris the pack was heavy. He adjusted the straps and turned around, shoving his arms in the straps. After a little jiggling he grinned, feeling good about life again. The pack wasn’t as heavy as he thought.
“Thanks … errr … guys.”
“No problems.”
There was a low snicker from Sammy and a whoosh of air as the bald marine must have thumped him.
Paris walked away and almost fell back as the weight behind him pulled to the floor with gravity. The pack had been resting on the bench! He laughed to offset his humiliation as the two marines were laughing openly at him now. He headed to the door with legs already shaking with the effort. His knees cracked with each step. Opening the door he smelled it was almost lunch time, the bakeries made his mouth water. He worried he wouldn’t make it across the street though.
“Who was that?” Sammy was asking.
Paris paused, straining to hear the answer, before closing the door.
“Just saved that silly arse from being meat for the grinder. Let’s close up for a bit and celebrate. I just made a three hundred per cent profit.”
He was so confused over feeling both shocked and angry he stalked out with an adrenaline spike that didn’t last long enough to get him to the bakery and finally dragged his feet down the street. The pack was pulling on his shoulders making them burn, and dug into his back in three locations. He thought about what the marine had said about being saved from the meat grinder. What was that about? As he headed towards the nearest bakery he stood in line mulling over those words and then ordered several pastries and a large jug of hot chocolate.
“Eat here or takeaway?” The male stood there looking both bored and impatient. Paris thought it was an impressive combination.
“Takeaway.” Paris didn’t think he could get his pack off, or on again, without embarrassing himself. He was sure someone behind him was pulling down on his pack and every time he turned a wizened old man just gave him a toothy grin.
“Nancy, takeaway jug, large.”
“Sure, boss.”
Paris watched as “boss” took a cloth, thin paper material and placed several pastries on it. He wrapped it all just as Nancy came back with his large takeaway jug.
“Used one of these before, marine?”
He puffed his chest up but shook his head.
“It’ll degrade after a day, it’s ah, a new earthenware material.”
“Sure, and thanks.”
She smiled brightly. “You’re welcome, soldier.”
Paris handed over his money and headed out to the now bright day. He felt a little badly for the brunette who, upon raiding her cupboards during the night when he couldn’t sleep, found empty shelves. He stomped down the street in his new boots seeing the admiring looks of many people. A few even slapped him on the back almost causing him to fall over.
“Good for you, marine.”
“Do us proud.”
“Make it count,” another older male said.
That last comment gave Paris reason to pause and when added to the meat grinder comment he wondered at his chosen career. After a few moments he realized he was passing the careers center. Damn! He tried to walk quickly and pretended interest in the shops to his right. Safely past he headed for the gates and out into the hills. As he neared the edge of the forest he couldn’t stand anymore and, with some difficulty knelt, placed his food and drinks on a tall rock, and fell over.
He rolled onto his back. He lay like a banana on it trying to get out. No, more like an overturned turtle. He started laughing realizing what a sight he must have made. Eventually he got out and puffing slightly he gulped down some hot chocolate and ate his food. Wiping the last of the crumbs off his top and pants, and stuffing the cloth in one of the many pockets on the pack, he stood and finished drinking. Close to the end there was a funny taste so he poured the rest out on the ground and burped.
He was a marine!
And apparently an officer.
Spell Five – Disappearing Act
Paris felt there had to be a way to magnify his own spells. Why couldn’t he produce spells that had at least a little oomph in them? And why hadn’t he considered this earlier? Laziness, that’s why. He hated the Trinity pit but was apathetic while there. Now he was free … if he ignored the contract with Career Worlds… A strange feathery sensation nudged at his mind, and a creepy feeling frizzed up and down his spine. It soon became apparent that he was being watched. From high above the narrow canyon he’d been walking down he was sure he saw narrowed green eyes encased in a fur ball following him.
“Don’t be stupid. She isn’t anywhere near here.”
Still, he nervously picked up his pace but it slowed again with the weight of the pack. He finally exited the canyon glad not to be surrounded by rocks, which might be used as missiles. After a good half hour, he began to relax again and wandered aimlessly, shuffling down a wooded lane which ran parallel to the coastline.
He was lost in thoughts, shivering with the cool damp breeze when pain pierced his face, flashes of claws filled his vision as they raked him from his forehead to his chin. Losing balance, he fell back and screamed trying to get the fur ball off him. Hearing an all too familiar shriek Paris realized his cat had tracked him down. Path would be unbearable for days when in this mood. He hadn’t meant to leave her but the marines weren’t any place for cats. Wrestling with his wild cat proved futile. She seemed to have attached herself to his head. Giving up the struggle, and trailing blood, he tried to pet her panting body. She hissed. He managed to roll to the side, get out of the pack and pushed himself off the ground feeling Path shift on his head, neck and shoulders digging her claws in. He headed for a mossy log and sat, leaning forward slightly, waiting. Clouds swept across the skies.
“Path?”
Hiss.
Before too long Path disengaged from his head, her hind feet kicked him in the nose and eye before she landed gracefully on the log. He grimaced but stared at the ground hoping he looked remorseful enough. Hard to do when you were spitting out cat hair. Blood trickled down his face and he found the cloth from the bakery to stem the bleeding. When her tail stopped swishing he knew she eithe
r had decided to forgive him or she’d seen something more interesting. The cloth wasn’t working so he risked a spell and waved his hand across his face, the flowing blood disappeared, and cuts were sutured and minor claw marks healed. The cat was a menace but the day he bought her from an old witch who seemed, now that he thought about it, far too happy to be rid of the irksome feline, had marked a change in his life as a Spell Caster. Paris looked overhead, the light had dimmed and air became cooler. He always lost time when casting spells.
Ever since he was little he could perform spells. Early training by a local warlock had raised his family’s status. Was the training of an inferior mind the reason why Paris needed a Magnifier? Or was it some conspiracy by the Community and Assembly as to why power was distributed across three people? It was ironic how magic was censored but politics was not. Path twitched next to him. Her dark brown, fluffy fur shifted in the wind, changing the cream path that ran from the top of her tail, under her belly, and up again to her left ear. She glanced at him and then turned away. He could bind and change the very fabric of cambire atoms but he could not energize what he created. Only O’rah, the Magnifier, had the ability to do that. Beautiful, beautiful, O’rah. There she was, wasting away in the stupid Trinity pit under the sweaty, beefy body of the gargoyle, Gareth.
He sighed and created a shield to protect him and Path from the drizzle of rain that began to fall. With O’rah at his side he might have shielded the entire forest around him. So what that the rain was welcome by thirsty plants and animals! He was feeling melodramatic and because of this, practicalities were superfluous.
“Oh Paris, dear?” The silvery voice of O’rah intruded upon his thoughts as he and Path sat on the mossy log. His romantic ideas died in an instant at her sneaky tone. He had to admit, he was in love with the idea of O’rah, not of O’rah herself.
