by Paul Barrett
“So everywhere is just like Kel?” Trey asked with a voice full of despair.
“Not at all.” Gerard sat on the edge of the bed. “There are many beautiful places in the universe. Places where people co-exist peacefully and care for each other. Your life on Kel is behind you. If you stay with us, there will be times ahead that may be as unpleasant. Yesterday was one of those. It was a horrible day for all of us.”
“Then how come everyone is acting like it didn’t happen?”
“Because that’s how we cope,” Gerard said. “Trust me, the loss of Yonath and his family hurt us deeply, but we’ve lost so many good friends over the years that we’ve learned to keep going despite the grief. As Ashron said, sometimes the best way to honor the dead is to keep living.”
“The fight still goes on.”
Gerard didn’t understand Trey’s muttered comment, but he sensed the boy’s reluctant acceptance of his words.
Trey’s next question caught Gerard entirely by surprise.
“Why did you lie to me?” Trey’s hazel eyes fixed Gerard with a piercing gaze.
“I’ve never lied to you,” Gerard said, scrunching his white eyebrows in puzzlement. “What makes you think I have?”
“The dreams about ripspace aren’t dreams, are they? What I saw is real.” Trey’s eyes darted around the room as if he feared the visions might materialize there.
Gerard grasped the boy’s tortured logic. “I didn’t lie. I left facts unstated. Only until I could think of a way to tell you without frightening you. I should have known you would discover the facts on your own as soon as you could. I suspect you only know some of the story.”
“I know that anytime we’re in ripspace we’re surrounded by creatures that could tear Ship to pieces and try to do so the entire time we’re there. I don’t ever want to go into ripspace again.”
Gerard sighed. “As I thought, you know the truth, but not the entire truth. Where did you get your information?”
“There was a book on the net called―”
Gerard held up a hand. “Dangerous Journeys: The Fabrications Behind Ripspace.”
Trey started in surprise. “How did you know?”
“I’m familiar with the book and its ‘author,’” Gerard said, not bothering to hide his contempt. “It’s sensationalistic pap. The only two words with any meaning in that book are ‘ripspace’ and ‘fabrication.’ The rest is wasted bandwidth. Ship, why would you let him read that?”
“Because he asked,” Ship said.
And because I didn’t forbid it, Gerard thought. Didn’t I want him to find information? He wondered. Maybe, but I wish he would have found better information. He stood up and paced. Between the visions and the hyperbolic “facts” of a book that should never have been published, it was no wonder ripspace terrified Trey. “Do you trust me?”
“Should I?”
“A fair question. I had your best interests at heart in keeping quiet. Perhaps I misjudged. The book’s title is accurate, but not in the way the writer intended. Almost everything you read in that book is a lie or a gross distortion of the truth. In the two hundred and twenty years since the Berolians brought ripspace to humans, what are the odds of dying in a ripspace accident?”
“One in one point six million.”
Gerard shook his head. “One in twenty-nine point four million. Significantly lower than being struck by lightning.”
“Then why would the author write that?”
“Because his agenda demanded such an overblown statistic.”
Trey’s thin brows bunched in puzzlement. “Agenda?”
Gerard shook his head as he stood from the bed, pulled the rolling chair from Trey’s work desk, and sat down. “That’s off the point. What I want you to understand is that ripspace is exceptionally safe. Yes, the dimension we travel through is filled with creatures completely alien to us. Yes, they would like nothing better than to destroy the ships that enter; probably out of fear as much as anything, since we are alien to them. When a spacecraft rips into their dimension, it is visible to them for exactly three point five eight seconds. Then phasing kicks in and the ship becomes ethereal, unable to affect or be affected by anything.” That four-second span lasted far longer and held considerably more danger to the pilot of those chaotic currents, but that wouldn’t be a factor for Trey. Not yet.
“The same is true on exiting,” Gerard continued. “The reasons for death in ripspace are crew suicide, engine malfunction, or failure in collision detection, so that a ship phases back in for normal space entry at the precise place and time to intersect with a ripspace entity. Any of these circumstances are so unlikely that—”
“The odds are one in twenty-nine point four million,” Trey said. Gerard could almost see the relief spreading over the boy’s body.
“Exactly,” Gerard said as Trey sat back against his pillow and set the reader aside. “And when you have a pilot with my training, the odds are even less.”
“It’s still kind of scary, though, knowing those things are around you. What if they ever figured out how to see us?” Trey said.
“That is a frightening thought, but a wasted one. Nothing in ripspace has mechanical or scientific capabilities. They are animals, nothing more.”
Trey frowned. “If ships are present in ripspace for such a short time, why would we die if we didn’t sleep? The book said the creature’s mental em…ema-”
“Emanations,” Gerard said. “‘The psychic emanations of the denizens within ripspace would overwhelm our primitive brains and rip them asunder, causing instant death.’ I believe that’s the wording in the book.”
“Yes,” Trey said, his eyes going wide. “Is that true?”
Gerard feared this answer might drive Trey back into his shell of terror, but the boy deserved the entire truth. “Though the description is overly dramatic, the answer is yes. If the average person was awake in the interim transit time of phasing, the creatures’ mental transmissions would most likely kill them or drive them mad.”
To Gerard’s surprise, the boy seemed to take the answer in stride. “Then why are we kept asleep for hours.”
“There are other physical considerations. Anyone could wake immediately after the initial four seconds, but the effects would be unpleasant. Not fatal, just messy.”
Trey nodded. “What about you? You’re awake the entire time.”
“People of my Order are trained for such things.”
“Why?”
“That’s a story for another day.”
Trey nodded. “How come I could see them when others can’t?”
“That’s the other reason I came here. You can see them because you have potential.”
“Potential for what?”
“To be a trans-dimensional manipulator.”
Trey frowned. “What’s that?”
Gerard smiled and held up his cybernetic arm. “Most uninformed people call us Preternatural Scientists. Or magicians.”
“A spellburner? Me?”
“Yes. You see the creatures because your subconscious is revealing the aether, the ripspace dimension, to you. Your brain developed with the proper pattern and capacity to accept the aether. All you need is the training to unlock it.”
Trey picked at his green shirt with both hands. “You mean ripspace and magic are the same?”
“Sort of. We pull the energy we use to create so-called magical effects from ripspace. With mathematics, we use energy from the aetheric dimension to create changes in this dimension.”
Gerard appraised the boy for a few seconds. Trey had the intelligence and the proper physical and chemical structure. Gerard wondered if the boy had the temperament. “How do you feel about magic?” he asked. “And be honest.”
Trey straightened up in the bed and crossed his legs, his feet resting against his thighs. He pushed a button on the box sitting next to his bed. A circular panel slid aside, revealing a hole in the top. Out of the hole emerged an airsteel can of soda. “Would yo
u like one?” he asked, holding out the can to Gerard.
Gerard recognized the stalling tactic. “No, thank you.”
Trey popped the top, took a long drink, and let out a healthy belch. He paused, guzzled down the rest of the liquid, and sat the container on the nightstand. The airsteel, having no fluid content to help maintain cohesion, quickly dissolved, turning itself into oxygen. Trey stared down at his lap and said, in a soft voice, “Magic killed my parents.”
The confession surprised Gerard, Trey’s mention of his parents more startling than the manner of their death. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Even as he shook his head, Trey continued speaking in a flat voice, as if he didn’t dare show emotion. “The Tarchis Clan would use magic to take over the minds of men from other clans and make them fight. We called them enach-sai, demon soldiers. They always had solid black eyes. A big group of them raided our town and shot my parents with plasma rifles. They…” he stopped for a moment and swallowed. “They died after a long time.”
Gerard rolled the chair closer to the bed and leaned forward. “The power of manipulation is like any other. It can be used for good or ill. You have the ability, and I could train you, but it’s your choice. You don’t have to decide now.”
“I want to do it,” Trey locked gazes with Gerard, his earnest expression showing even through the hair hanging over his right eye.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes,” Trey said. “I want to show the people who use it for evil that they can’t do that.”
Gerard suppressed a smile. It was a simple motivation, stated with childish enthusiasm. But the well-placed sentiment gave Gerard a solid foundation for Trey’s training. “I’m pleased that you are willing.”
“When can we start?” Trey rocked on his bed.
This time Gerard did smile. The boy was a creature of severe emotional swings. Though not surprising, it might make training difficult at first. He could only hope time would temper such excesses. It was the conundrum faced by every mentor of trans-dimensional manipulation: potential adepts always revealed ability just before entering the physical and emotional maelstrom of puberty. Gerard suspected such dynamics had played out between journeymen and apprentices for thousands of years. His mentor Genray had alternately threatened to abandon or kill him on numerous occasions. “We can start right now if you want. I have to warn you it’s a long process. It will take at least five years for your apprenticeship, and many more years before you can even consider joining an order.”
“Five years?”
“Yes.”
Trey frowned and his hands continued picking at his shirt. Gerard could almost hear the boy’s thoughts. To a twelve-year-old, five years was close to forever.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Gerard reminded him. “The study of trans-dimensional manipulation is not entered into lightly, and we have time before we have to start in earnest.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“It can be,” Gerard answered. “Manipulation taps into an energy source that has the power to kill, like most forms of energy. By the time you are accessing that level of control, you’ll be well-trained and in no more danger than Wolf is when he works on Ship’s engine.
Trey didn’t speak for several seconds. “I’ll do it,” he said in an excited voice.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I owe it to all of you.”
“You don’t owe us anything.”
“Yes, I do.” Trey’s thin face grew somber. “If you hadn’t saved me, I’d be dead now. If you think I can be a magic-a manipulator, then that’s what I have to do. I want Laura to be proud of me.”
The boy’s maturity boded well for the training ahead. “Laura is proud of you.”
“Then I’ll make her prouder,” Trey pushed his hair back and offered Gerard a huge, two-eyed grin.
Gerard returned the expression. “Then we’ll start. There are two things you can practice. Hold up your hand.” Gerard held up his cybernetic hand; Trey followed suit. “Take your fingers, starting with your thumb, and touch them to your palm, one at a time.”
Gerard demonstrated, the whirr of the cybernetics faintly audible in the room. “Start out slow at first, because it stretches your tendons. Do it with your right hand until it becomes tired, then try with your left. As the week passes, your―”
“Week?”
“Don’t interrupt,” Gerard said softly. “A week is a good start. You’ll have to continue the exercise all through your apprenticeship, but a week should allow your fingers to become limber enough to start with the basics. When your fingers start getting loose, you can try moving a little faster,”
Gerard once again demonstrated. “The important thing is that each finger touches your palm, one at a time. Show me how you’re doing in a week, and we’ll go from there.”
Trey tried it, grimacing a little as the tendons of his fingers and hand stretched in unaccustomed directions. “Ouch.”
“It may hurt a little bit, and both your hands will probably be sore tomorrow. It will go away soon enough.”
“What’s the other thing?” Trey asked
“Remember when I talked about multiplication tables? That wasn’t just to occupy your mind and keep the ripspace visions away. How well do you know them?”
“Pretty well.”
“Pretty well won’t be good enough. You need to learn them so thoroughly that you can answer a simple equation before I even finish asking it.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Yes, it is,” Gerard assured him.
With a mischievous grin, Trey said, “Three times s-”
“Eighteen.
“Seven times ei-”
“Fifty-six.”
“Nine times se-”
“Sixty-three.”
Trey’s eyes widened. “How do you do that?”
“I’ll give you a hint. Think about the sounds of numbers. Take two days and let me know when you figure it out.”
“Okay,” Trey said. “Gerard, can I ask you something personal?”
“I may not answer it, but you can ask.”
“How did you lose your arm?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a cybernetic arm; so how did you lose the real one?”
“I deliberately had it taken off.”
“What?” Trey’s mouth gaped with astonishment.
“Keep practicing,” Gerard said. He glanced over at the clock on Trey’s nightstand. “It’s late. I’ll tell you the story some other time.”
“Please tell me now. I’ve got to sit up and practice anyway.” He held out his moving hand as evidence.
“You have to get some sleep. Ship will be expecting you for school tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he said triumphantly. His face suddenly took on a dark expression. “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to sleep real well tonight anyway.”
“Okay,” Gerard said somberly, “I’ll tell you.”
“Filamentous,” Trey said, excited again. “You sure you don’t want a soda?”
“Thank you, no.”
As Gerard began, Trey leaned back, resting himself against his headboard, fingers still moving.
“I started my apprenticeship at the age of twelve.”
“Just like―” At Gerard’s stern eyes, Trey halted his comment. “Sorry.”
“After three years of training, I was accepted by the Order of the Sterling Arch, one of the most renowned Trans-manipulator Colleges in the Universe. After fifteen years of service, the brothers Zargot and Zehesel—deans of the college—summoned me before the elder members of the Order.”
Gerard stood patiently, as his training had taught him, in the drafty meeting room as the seven Elders took their seats, dressed in their multihued ceremonial robes. During his years at the Order’s main school, Gerard had seen them all at one time or another, but only Zargot and Zehesel stayed at the school on a permanent basis. The others c
ame and went as it pleased them, pursuing their own goals. All seven gathered at one time was, according to rumor among the apprentices, a rare and ominous thing. Gerard tried to figure out what he might have done, good or bad, to warrant such a gathering.
When all seven had seated themselves, with Zargot and Zehesel in the center, a gong sounded from somewhere. The large doors—gray stone with the Order’s silver arch insignia chiseled upon them—closed, seemingly of their own accord.
“Apprentice Gerard,” Zargot said, his deep, gentle voice echoing in the chamber. “What is the prime goal of our Order?”
“To comprehend and harness the power of the aether to its deepest extent.”
“To what purpose?”
“To enrich the existence and knowledge of all sentient beings.”
The muscles in Gerard’s neck tightened. Had he done something that broke the Order’s tenets?
“Outstanding, Brother Gerard.”
Zargot spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that it took a few seconds to register on Gerard.
“Brother?”
“Brother,” Zargot confirmed. “You have fulfilled the requirements of your apprenticeship, and are therefore this day accepted as a full member in good standing in the Order of the Sterling Arch, with all the privileges and responsibilities that entails.”
Gerard’s heart soared. After six grueling years of training so intense only one in three completed it, and nine more years of study and practical application, he was finally a Trans-dimensional Manipulator, recognized and ordained as such by the premiere College in the Universe. He couldn’t wait to send a message to Genray.
“In addition,” Zargot continued, “you have performed above and beyond the call of your training. We seven have watched your progress, and by unanimous decision, we offer unto you the Kral-cy-bar, if you choose to accept it.”
Gerard was now convinced he was dreaming. Any moment now the morning gong would ring, and he would wake to another day of study and training. Who was he to think himself worthy of the Kral-cy-bar, even in his dreams?
A short time passed as Gerard waited to wake up, when Zargot said, “Are you ill, Brother? You look flush.”
