by Peter John
“I chose the Prodigy Class,” I stated calmly. Not sure what the response would be.
“At last!” interrupted Hugo from across the fire pit, “That’s good news, Mr. Petros Sir, we have never had a Prodigy in our team. Although when I started on this journey there was a Prodigy in charge of the team that introduced me to my role. He was an arsehole though. I hope you won’t be like that.” His face had turned into a frown and I decided to deflect his thoughts.
“How long have you been part of this Hugo?”
“That is a good question,” he said in a thoughtful voice “Let me think… they took me in 1999, at that time I was 35 years old, a Rittmester, um, that’s a Captain rank. I am a former member of FSK or Forsvarets Spesialkommando. It’s a not so well known Special Forces unit for anti-terrorism in Norway. I was badly injured in an anti-terrorist operation, I lost a leg and was crippled and they retired me with distinction.”
“The uselessness I felt during all those months in hospital, the empty platitudes from everyone, and the pity in their eyes, it was very… how to say nedslående… um, disheartening. Now in this place, I have everything I lost grown back and a lot more. It is all I live for. I am a WARRIOR!.” He looked up at me, with determination in his expression. The cascade of information about his personal life was a revelation for me and judging by the surprised expressions of his teammates it was for them too. Choosing not to notice our reactions, a silence fell and Hugo became lost in his memories while staring into the fire, then he looked up as if dismissing the past from his pondering thoughts and the big man smiled.
“What year is it for you now?”
“It’s 2025, that means you are 60 years old. Although you definitely don’t look like it.”
“Ah,… Time here is difficult to measure. Sixty you say? Well, if this is a retirement plan, it’s definitely better than the alternative. What say you Petros Armpit? Are you a believer yet?”
“Just call me Colonel, Armpit or Petros, please. We are all friends here.” I said expansively. My hands and arms open in a gesture to incorporate those around the fire. Everyone turned to me, their eyes masked, guarded as they looked at me, waiting for my reply to Hugo’s deeper question. I realized this was the crux of the whole meeting. These 'Operatives’ probably all had some equally stunning revelations about their previous lives, but those lives didn’t matter anymore. They had embraced the cause of our slave masters. Stockholm syndrome? Perhaps, but even more compelling for them was the training, the order, the system. It made them feel useful. In Hugo’s case, he had been superfluous and redundant. A pity case, with no hope of ever regaining his former glory. With the abduction, it had all changed. He was an ideal candidate for such a system.
Inwardly I sighed. They wanted me to commit. They wanted to see if I would join the cause. I had no way to know what would happen if I disagreed with this process, except that perhaps that was why they were here. To judge my usefulness to the cause, and perhaps to execute me if I didn’t meet the requirements?
Keeping my calm demeanor, I nodded. “I believe in being useful, I have been rejuvenated and revitalized. For this alone, I am indebted. I will try my best to embrace this new way of life, Hugo, but I can’t commit fully without understanding more. For example, who are the enemies of the Absinth, are those enemies really Humankind’s enemies or are we just being forced into some war we should have no part of? So to answer your question, yes, I am a believer for now.”
Everyone visibly relaxed, and I felt like I had just passed a test. So, I was right in assuming they were here as a control of some kind.
Relieved to have spoken my mind without repercussions, I turned to Stone with a receptive expression.
He took the cue and continued. “You have to learn how to access your skill log, which differs from your Character log. Now for me, as a Ranger Class, I was given very few skills to develop initially, and they were all skills I had already gained in the Regiment. I was just able to improve on them until new skills and sub-skills developed. They also gave me the opportunity to learn other skills from experience.So if you try something new, it registers and scores them. When I reached level 25, I was able to select the Mage class as a sub-class because my core Abilities met the new criteria.”
“They will give you points to rank up skills after each level is complete. Know this though, that each Sim will grant overall level points or experience points, but may or may not cause you to level up. It all depends on the results. Only when you level up and you meet the beacon at the end of a Sim will your points be assigned to your skills.”
“Much like the process you went through when you bonded with the beacon.”
“Okay, so how do I do it? I see all these boxes pop up in my vision when I give damage to creatures. How can I get rid of those? They really distract me.” I replied.
“The boxes are the first way we interface with the AI controller. It’s a simple way to relate to you, showing you what you are probably familiar with. There is a much more efficient way, but you have to will it to happen. Once you do that, it forms a Combat log, which you can reference during downtime. It also stops showing up while you are in combat, besides a blinking light, which you can arrange to any position that is comfortable for you. Now back to your Character sheet. To access it, you must close your eyes and visualize your Avatar. When you do that, the Character interface will show up.”
I closed my eyes and did as Stone asked. Sure enough, in my vision was a familiar character sheet I recognized. Continuing, Stone instructed,
“Now look at the Character Attributes and make a mental command 'Skills’” As I did so, the attributes blurred and a new list of skills appeared in their place. The list was long and extensive. “Before you get into those,” said Stone, “Go back to attributes in the same way. Then visualize Magic.”
I did as he asked and my avatar disappeared, only to be replaced by a pentagon type shape, within the pentagon was a spinning Yin-Yang sign. The pentagon had five edges of color, and as I focused on them individually, they each highlighted and a description box appeared with a short description embedded.
Fire
Fire is the essence of combustion. Consumption magic will spring from this font.
Nature
Nature is the essence of growth. Druid magic will spring from this font.
Air
Air is the essence of gases and weather and their manipulation. Air magic will spring from this font.
Water
Water is the essence of life. Aqua magic will spring from this font.
Metal
Metal is the essence of resilience. Power Magic will spring from this font.
Combinations of the above five elements will create unique results and subsequent sub-skills of magic.
I saw that the word ‘Font’ was highlighted in each notification. I activated the highlight.
Font
A font is a pool of Mana unique to each individual and is the measure of magic you can perform. Each incantation has a cost that will be deducted from your Mana pool until it is empty, at which point you can no longer access magical abilities. This pool of resources is available once activated during the class selection process. It will be adjusted based on usage, ability, intelligence, and wisdom. You can see your Mana pool bar below your health bar in your HUD (Head’s up display).
I opened my eyes and asked Stone how to activate my HUD.
“Just will it in your view while your eyes are closed and it will always be available to see. It has several crucial notification options you can arrange as you like. Almost everything you can do is activated by thought alone. If you find you can’t do something, ask your alien, and he will instruct you. If it has never been done before, he will endeavor to make it available.”
“And there you have it, Colonel. Everything you need to know to succeed in your next l
evel. We have already given Lieutenant Wilson instructions so all that’s left is to hear a little more about you, and we can all fade back out to our handlers.”
“Lieutenant Wilson?” I asked puzzled.
“He means me, Petros, I am Lieutenant Wilson,” said Sarah.
CHAPTER 8
Reflection
“Ah right,” I replied, remembering she had told me before. “Well, my story is a little convoluted. But under the circumstances, I might as well share. Not that you giving me much choice in the matter.”
I eyed them all accusatorially, but not a one looked down. This was part of the initiation so I accepted it with resignation. “Basically, I was enlisted for National Service in the South African Defence Force (SADF) during the apartheid regime. I excelled at soldiering and after a short stint in the Parachute regiment, they selected me to do the Recce or Reconnaissance Commando course. If you don’t know about them, it’s not surprising. We were a highly specialized Spec-Ops unit. Based on the Grey Scouts and Selous Scouts of the Rhodesian war, but modernised. After completion, I sub-specialized in Small Team Insertion. When I left the SADF in 1994, it was due in part to a regime change and the subsequent questions that arose around what our teams actually did prior to the political shift.”
“I then signed up with the UK equivalent. Yes, Major Stone, I was part of the Regiment for six years. And yes, I had to qualify all over again. Fortunately, I was young enough to succeed and become a blade in the SAS Regiment after Sandhurst. I kept my rank of full Lieutenant but was given a new name because of the questions the previous government was asking. The witch-hunt was completely uncalled for. We just followed orders like everyone else. I was later knocked up to Captain for my exemplary service in the Regiment. My specialization was Pathfinder, tracking, desert warfare, and bushcraft. I later became heavily involved in training and was seconded to our American friends across the pond to assist with their DELTA and SEAL Training. My focus still being desert warfare as a component of their Land Warfare Phase 3 qualification.”
“After two years of this, I made the move permanent and became a part time swabby. I enrolled for BUD/S under their foreign services enrollment option. ‘Why?' you might ask. Well if for nothing else, then to shut up the crowing from the SEAL trainees. I also wanted to see if I could do it. Many of those SEALs felt Hellweek was something every Spec-Ops should experience before they could be respected as an equal. I think I am still cleaning sand from my buttcrack.”
I looked over at Raúl, who had a wry smile on his face. “I knew there was something I liked about you, Colonel,” he stated.
Nodding at him, I continued, “Later I specialized in Counter-Intelligence, Anti-terrorism, and demolitions, including underwater demolitions which comes with the territory as a SEAL. I saw active service at first as a Major and then Lieutenant Colonel. The active duties included intelligence gathering, intelligence networking, and stuff I will not go into detail about. Working with the CIA, well… you get the picture. Most places I’ve been I have forgotten the name of. When I retired five years ago, they gave me the rank of a full bird to help with the retirement package benefits, and they made me sign under the secrets act that I would never divulge anything classified as 'Secret' from my active service.”
“I have to say this though. I retired early because they wanted to pull me from the field and put me behind a desk. It wasn’t for me. You miss the intrigue and being part of something bigger than yourself. Admittedly, when you get deep into your 40’s, everything slows down, but you still miss being part of the active solution.”
I crinkled my brow in amusement, “Although, the way I feel now, I could double-time my way through the Fan Dance in my sleep. A bracing day out in the Becon Beacons.”
This time it was Major Stone who smiled at me knowingly. The Becon Beacon Mountains and, in particular, Pen y Fan, is the highest of the Becon Beacon mountains in Wales, and is a substantial part of the grueling 24km SAS selection test. The memories of pain and endurance had tested me in ways I could never fully explain. Every SAS soldier considers that route a self-defining challenge, one of many, but definitely legendary.
“While I am one of only 118 men to complete both BUD/S and the SAS selection process, I am to date, the only one qualified for three different Special Forces, and now it appears I can add a fourth.”
“Well, damn!” stated Sarah. “Was that so hard? I mean, why all the secrecy and hints at government secrets? I thought you must be like a mad nuclear scientist or Assassin or something.”
I smiled ruefully at her “A lifetime of secrets, Black OPs, working with the CIA, JSOC, MI5 and probably any other acronym you can think of has left me reluctant to share any real details, Sarah. This synopsis is just that. You can make of it what you wish.”
I turned to look at Stone. “Is that enough for you Major?”
“For now, yes,” he replied. “And that is that. Our job here is done. I will keep my eye out for you, Colonel Armpit. By the way, why are you called Armpit?” I rolled my eyes and looked at Sarah. With much glee, she told them and the uproar of laughter brought Charlie back to the fire from his watch post.
“What’s with all the laughing?” he queried, “I’m supposed to be the joker in the pack. What am I missing?”
This time Sarah asked him to say “Oom Piet”. His resultant Texan crucifixion of the Afrikaans language brought out howls of laughter.
Suddenly the team quieted and Major Stone had a blank gaze on his face. He then came back to himself and called his team. “We must get going, Colonel. You can stay here until nightfall until then you are free to roam the island. Try not to get killed if you stay here though. It will count badly towards your next level. When you are ready to leave, just touch the beacon and you will go back to your body. Good luck!”
With that the whole team made for the beacon rock, each touching it in turn and disappearing.
Left sitting with Sarah, I looked at her inquiringly. “Shall we head back? I’m eager to have some words with Grant.”
She agreed, and I let her go first. As she disappeared, I stepped back and surveyed the surrounding area. It was peaceful now, and I was finally alone with my thoughts. I had not lied when I said I wanted to speak to Grant, but I figured some time to myself would be good.
I walked a short distance until I was out of the foliage and could see the shore of the lake that circumvented the island. This line of sight also gave me a clear view of the sky and the sun. It warmed my face with its golden rays, and I had a hard time imagining this was just a simulation. The sun was fairly low on the horizon, so I probably had about two hours before dark. I could see some shapes moving in the water, most likely alligators, but they hadn’t seen me and everything was as it should be. A sense of peace pervaded me. I found a broken tree to sit on and just relaxed.
The past few days and hours had been hectic. Everything I knew and loved was gone. At least everything materially. There would be no-one looking for me either. It made me realize how secluded I had become since leaving the military.
Meeting this group had brought back so many memories. I couldn’t deny that I missed it. In my early days in Africa, I had spent long hours alone in the bush, just existing and learning to become one with it. Sure, it had been the sandy scrublands of the Kalahari desert or the sweeping grasslands of the Highveld, but I found I could feel at peace in any wilderness environment.
Once I found my heart at peace, feeling at one with the environment, secure in the knowledge I would detect any dissonance, I began to truly relax. It was time I faced myself with some pertinent questions. This whole situation was quite an upheaval. Do I just give up my independence and embrace a new cause? I had been embracing causes for the greater good my whole life. Everything used to be about the mission, about the result, no matter what the consequences were. Was it still like th
at? Did I have any patriotic bones left in my body that weren’t broken or more appropriately shattered into disillusioned dust?
My life in South Africa during apartheid had been turbulent, bloody, and ruthless. Racial hatred had been the worst of the worst in that war. I had known back in the late ’80s that a biological weapon was being designed based on race. At the time, as a young impressionable recruit, I had embraced the war, knowing only terrorists or ‘Commies’ as my enemy. Many of the unit were not racist in the least and not in this war against “blacks” but were instead, seeing this war as a fight against the communists, against Russian and Chinese indoctrination and influence of those times.
As the war in Southern Africa progressed, I saw many forms of evil of the worst kind. Inserted deep behind enemy lines, our small four man team operatives had found both kindness and cruelty, and many eye-opening revelations that weren’t available for the average soldier. Witnessing the enemy torturing each other using force when persuasion wouldn’t work.
Killing collaborators using petrol and a car tire around their necks. The resulting carnage as the person clawed and screamed and eventually died was a powerful tool used by the terrorists to enlist more recruits and force compliance, it even got the famous name of ‘necklacing’ and struck terror into the hearts of the civilian populace.
