Victoria Dallon, better known to Brockton Bay as New Wave's Glory Girl, flies over the city on her way home. She had just dropped her sister, the healer Panacea, off at Brockton Central Hospital for an evening shift and was now making her way back home.
She wasn't expecting trouble, but that is no reason not to be attentive, so she gives the streets below a cursory examination as she goes.
It's then that her eyes fall on what is unmistakably a person, sitting on the edge of a six-story building.
This wouldn't be the first jumper she's talked down, and they probably won't be the last either, so as she dives down to have a chat, she's confident.
As she closes, though, she realizes one important thing: it's not some jumper, it's the new cape, Ritter!
Who… can definitely fly, so she's not killing herself, she's just brooding. That's a relief.
Still, Victoria thinks, she hasn't had a chance to talk to the new cape, and now might be a good opportunity, so she continues her approach.
"Heya! Ritter, right?"
The other girl looks up, seemingly not surprised at Victoria's approach.
"Oh, Glory Girl. Hey." She replies in a dour tone.
Victoria winces, floating down to alight beside her. "Bad day?"
Ritter winces. "Something like that."
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Not really." She pauses, sighing. "But I probably should."
Victoria waits patiently for the other girl to continue.
"Listen," She continues. "You can't talk about, like, any of this, because it has to do with my civilian ID, okay?"
"Oh, so a bad day out of costume. Yeah, I know how that goes." Glory girl says, as reassuringly as she can manage.
"...I guess I should start at the beginning. Growing up, I used to have this friend, and we were really close. My mom would always say we were sisters…" She trails off wistfully. "Anyway, a couple of years back, she just… changed. She kicked me out of her house one day, she said she hates me now, and she, and all her new friends, seem to spend all their time coming up with new ways to ruin my life."
Victoria scooches closer to her, and wraps a hand around her shoulder. The other girl tries to edge away for a short while, before accepting the side-hug.
"But something else happened today, right?" Glory girl softly asks.
"Yeah. When I got to school today, fuckin' Barnes, she-"
Victoria's brain works a mile a minute; total bitch, named Emma Barnes, it can't be-
"Wait." She interrupts. "Emma Barnes; on the shorter side, straight red hair, is that her?"
Ritter recoils as if struck. "You know her?" She exclaims.
"Unfortunately, we've met, yeah. Her dad and my mom work at the same law firm, so I run into her at, like, company Christmas parties and stuff like that. You know how we met? She was booked after me at a photo studio, and when I came out, she was belittling the hell out of some little girl for being in a wheelchair. Un-fuckin-believeable."
The other girl lets out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, sounds like her, alright."
"Yeah, she's a piece of work, for sure." Victoria smiles, but it fades a bit as she presses on. "But what happened?"
"… I should start with what has been happening." Ritter begins after a pause. "Ever since I've been in High School, Emma and her friends, they'd give me trouble. A lot of trouble; I've been documenting it all, and I'm on notebook three."
"Fuck." Glory girl curses, but before she can elaborate more, Ritter pushes on.
"But ultimately, it's all been, like, kiddie stuff. Calling me names in the hallway, tripping me while I'm trying to walk to my seat, those sorts of things. The worst it got was getting messages on my school email telling me to kill myself, or Sophia, one of Emma's friends, pushed me down the stairs a couple of times. It's… not great, to be sure, but it's not terrible."
"I'll be honest, it sounds pretty friggin' terrible to me, but continue."
"...So, one of my powers is a Thinker one; extrasensory perception. I get to my locker, and it smells like something's died inside, and their posse is lying in wait around a corner. I want no part in whatever the fuck they've got planned, so I leave, and Sophia comes to beat me up and try to drag me back."
"Wait, she beat you?" Victoria asks, incredulous. "I saw that lightshow you put up the other day!"
She laughs sadly. "You thought I would gigalaser a high school bully during school hours? Nah, she was just better at hand-to-hand than I was, simple as that."
That statement gives Glory Girl pause. She saw the recordings of Ritter's fight against those cat monsters the other day, and even without that spear thing she uses, she is not slow. So, for someone to legitimately beat her, they need to be more than a run-of-the-mill street brawler.
It's then that a memory twigs her. About a week ago, Gallant had told her in passing that the new Ward, Shadow Stalker, had brought Emma Barnes as a +1 to the Protectorate New Year's party.
...Was there a cape fight in a high school today?
Burying her thoughts on the matter, she softly asks the one most important question. "Any idea what they were planning?"
"Yeah, Sophia started monologing at me like a friggin' cartoon villain. They'd somehow filled my locker with the bio-hazard bins in the women's restrooms, and left it to fester over break. Then, they planned on shoving me inside and locking the doors. She made it clear that she didn't intend me to come back out again."
What. Forget a cape fight, did a Ward just try to fucking murder someone in the middle of a school?
"Wow. That's fucked. Listen, I have some people I can talk to, I can-" Glory girl tries to rise, but she's cut off.
"Glory Girl, no!" Ritter shouts, so forcefully that it makes the other hero freeze.
"Ritter, they tried to murder you!" She shouts right back, "You can't just expect me to sit this out!"
Ritter rubs her forehead. "Glory Girl, you know my debut? In the Boat Graveyard? Do you know why that happened?"
"...No." Victoria replies, crossing her arms.
"The PRT saw me go in, but the Empire found out, responded first. And you know what I did? I humiliated them, GG. If you start telling people about how Ritter got assaulted in school today, my ID isn't surviving the hour, and if that happens? Best case, I get a pipe bomb through my window tonight."
"Yeah, but-"
Ritter cuts her off. "And worst case? My family's a lot less bulletproof than yours, Victoria."
Glory Girl recoils, her mind immediately snapping to the murder of her aunt, Fleur. Ritter immediately looks recalcitrant.
"Fuck... Listen, I forgot about your family's history in the moment, but the rest? I meant that shit, Glory Girl. I absolutely can't allow my ID to get out. Can you promise not to mention me?"
"I… yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I can call you later; do you have a Cape phone?"
Ritter visibly winces, and pauses for several seconds. Just as Victoria begins planning how to get back into contact with the other hero, she's surprised when an answer comes back in the affirmative.
"If you give me your number, I'll send you a text."
After rattling off her number from memory, she's very surprised when her phone buzzes, Ritter not having visually done anything. Is she a tinker?
Well, it's a subject for another day. Right now, Victoria Dallon has some pointed questions to ask of her not-currently-boyfriend.
"I'll text you once I find out something, alright?"
"Sure. We'll say you... met me walking in the park, alright?"
"Works for me." Glory girl replys, shooting the other hero a thumbs-up. Then, she departs into the sunset, bound for a high-stakes conversation.
God, she hopes she's wrong about all this.
---
You're sure you're okay acting as my cell phone?] I ask, wind tossing my hair as I head back for Lord's Park.
[As I've said before, my lady, I am a device of many talents. Besides, your privacy is a top-level priority. A commercial-grade burner phone is not fit for purpose. I'm happy to serve you in this way, too.]
[If you're sure, Glefe. Thank you.]
[No problem at all, my lady.]
[I really could have done without your prodding to open up to her, though.] I remark, scowling
[Would you have actually talked to her, had I not?] Glefe retorts.
[Would it have mattered?]
[My lady, as I mentioned before, you've undergone a Significant Emotional Event. It is imperative that you process it, lest it become emotional trauma. Since your world seems to have some sort of aversion to the field of psychology, and you've deemed informing your father of your mage status an unacceptable risk to your identity, the best other option is a similarly situated individual of around your age. Victoria "Glory Girl" Dallon's appearance was a stroke of luck not likely to repeat.]
[Ugh.] Realizing I won't be winning this argument, I simply grumble at my device as I land and begin the walk home.
Glefe doesn't respond to my grunts.
After we'd returned home from school, Dad and I had… a heated discussion. I'd suggested I take a quick walk to cool off, and Dad offered to make dinner while I was out. Of course, when I said 'walk' I really meant a quick flight, which normally never fails to cheer me up.
This time, though, I just had so much to go through, and I ended up landing on top of a building just to think for a while. That's when Glory Girl found me, and one thing led to another, and…
Okay, I'll admit it, I'm just putting off heading back inside.
I push open the door, only to see Dad, already sitting at the dining room table, a plate of pasta in front of him.
"Cooled off, kiddo?" He asks.
"Yeah, did me some good, I think." I reply truthfully.
We tuck into our respective meals, neither seeming to want to be the first to speak. After about ten minutes, though, with two clean plates, there's no getting around it.
"Taylor, all I want to know is this: why didn't you tell me?" He asks.
"What would you have done if I told you?" I answer his question with one of my own.
"Well, I would have talked to people, for a start."
Annoyed at his tone, I snap back at him. "What do you think I was doing, Dad? Every complaint I made got dropped for lack of evidence, and every one they made got accepted without evidence. There's something rotten at that school, and the only thing dragging you in would have accomplished would be to make your life worse."
"Taylor, I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around."
"The school just values their track star over me, and has chosen to make that incredibly obvious. That's not a personal failing, it's just how it is. If you want to help, at least don't waste your time screaming at secretaries."
"Like what, Taylor?" Dad demands.
"I don't know, Dad! I just don't know."
The conversation continued circularly for about another half hour, though most of it was, thankfully, much less heated.
Eventually, Dad exhales a great sigh before offering: "Taylor, you know I love you, right?"
"And you know I love you, too, right?"
"I… Yeah. I just, I wish there was something I could do for you."
"Just being there for me is fine, Dad, I promise."
"If you say so, Kiddo."
Eventually, with the hour drawing late, I turn in for the night.
Exhausted from the day's events, I quickly slip into a dreamless sleep.
---
When day finally breaks, I awaken feeling refreshed, and ready to face the day.
[Lady Taylor, it's time to get up!]
"Urgh!" I groan, falling out of bed in a heap.
Alright, that was a lie. Despite sleeping like the dead, it takes a massive force of will to remove me from my covers.
[My lady, you will be late for school if you continue to dally.]
Yeah, that's a thing. Apparently, the administration's official position is that a little attempted murder has never hurt anyone, so I should just suck it up and get my ass back into the seat.
Love that shit, really.
But frankly, my opinion on the subject doesn't matter, so after I get up, I take a quick shower, take another swing at the outfit I was wearing yesterday, and take one last look at myself in the mirror as I fix my hair.
...Was my right eye always a lighter shade of brown than my left? Huh, weird.
Anyway, I pack all my crap and head to the bus stop. One short ride later, and my brief respite from the evil forces of Big School is over. I still make an attempt at confidence as I walk through the front doors, though.
As I navigate through the hallways, however, it's as if a dense fog has been lifted, and I can see once more. Even with my map room active, a precaution that Glefe agreed to after yesterday, I don't think I've seen a single person whispering behind my back, or pointing, or anything like that.
Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I ever saw anything more than simple conversations yesterday, either. Do people just, like, not care about me when Emma isn't around?
Chewing on that observation, I open my locker, which now smells strongly of disinfectant, and place my bookbag within its now-bare interior. Not sure that cleaning up the evidence was legal, but whatever.
Once I get into homeroom, I make a big discovery: both Emma and Sophia are absent. Madison, whose seat is two rows ahead of mine, shoots a couple of glances at me over her shoulder, but doesn't otherwise interact with me.
Huh. Interesting. I can't say that this is an unwelcome development, but it's also confusing. Why are they gone? Did they get arrested? If the cops had evidence against them, why weren't they arrested yesterday?
For now, I just enjoy being able to go through my day without getting tripped, or juice spilled on me, or anything else, really. Just being able to pay attention to the damn lesson is reward enough.
Plus, whenever I'm not moving through the hallways, I can dedicate my partition to image training, where I'm making great progress on the project of freecasting Gewehrkugel, successfully doing it for the first time just before lunch. I still can't do it reliably, and I'm limited to a single target, but knowing I can still defend myself should something happen to Glefe has done wonders for my mood. That and the whole no-spitballs thing. That's not hurting either.
With Fourth Period came Ms. Knott's computer class. While I'm not necessarily riding high, I'm doing uncharacteristically decently. With my work done, and half an hour still left in the period, I decide to log onto PHO, the use of the school's computers a luxury, compared to what I have access to at home. After all, it's important to keep abreast of cape happenings now that I am one.
Definitely has nothing at all to do with ego-searching, no sir.
A few quick keystrokes bring up the page, and...
...Wow. They're really interested in me lasering those cat monsters, huh? There's a thread for the lasering itself, there's a thread for the monsters themselves, there's a thread for the actual fight, there's a thread about my debut that they're talking in, and then there's my personal thread, all of which have between one and three hundred pages at this point.
[What can I say, my lady, you have a knack for making entrances.]
[Can it, you overgrown calculator.] I snipe back, as I continue to scroll.
Is that… someone advertising bootleg Ritter merch?
...Okay, the one that says "From the soil, to the stars, I'll kick your Nazi arse!" and has a drawing of me decking Krieg is kinda funny. Where are they selling?
Oh, the Lord Street Market! You know, I've been meaning to head over there; I still need to buy more clothes. Maybe I'll drop by after school, pick something up, and see what the vendors are selling.
After all, what cape in their right mind would wear their own bootleg merch? As a disguise, it's unbeatable.
My last two classes of the day, Chemistry and English, passed by with little in the way of further interruptions. It turns out that combat drills really make the time fly; who knew? After gathering back up all my things, I board the 10 bus, and am perfectly happy to watch the city go by through the windows.
That is, until I'm interrupted. [My lady, my sensors are picking up some strange readings.]
[Hm?] I ask, my attention snapping back to reality.
[It's a faint magical signal, located somewhere close. I'm trying to triangulate it, but it's slow going.]
Immediately, I pull the stop request cord. [Can you tell me anything about it?]
[...The signature matches that of the monsters you killed a few days ago.]
"Fuck." I curse under my breath. [Do I need to transform?]
[Its relative velocity with us is the same as the rest of the ground, so I can infer it isn't moving. Once you exit, walk around the block. I'll be able to monitor its signal strength and get a better idea of the location.]
[Got it.] I reply, coming to my feet as the bus slows, and using the momentum and upright handholds to fling myself to the bus's rear door, which swings open at my push.
After about five minutes of brisk walking, we manage to narrow the signal down to a single block about half a mile from home. It's on a block with five-story brick row-house apartments, with a few restaurants of varying success occupying the ground floors.
[Lady Taylor, might I suggest checking the alley?] Glefe observes after my first circumnavigation of the block.
[That was my next stop. Make some noise if you notice anything off.] The alley appears empty, but there's no such thing as too much caution.
[Jawohl.] Glefe agrees.
Deliberately, I begin walking into the alley. There are a few old-style metal garbage cans on one side, the ones without the rollers. A cursory examination of them reveals nothing out of the ordinary.
Overhead, the metal fire escapes creak in the light wind as I continue further in. There's a copse of dumpsters that my eye gravitates towards.
[That area's my best guess, my lady.] Glefe observes.
I nod in acknowledgment as I step forward, my shoes splashing in a shallow puddle as I go. Just before I reach the dumpsters, a flash of red attracts my attention to the shadow of a wooden pallet, leaning between them. Grasping the rough wood, I tip it out of the way to reveal a small, thumbnail-sized, red, pentagonally-cut gem, almost evocative of Glefe's untransformed state.
[Is this it?] I ask, simply.
[...Tentatively, yes, my lady.]
[Any idea what it is?]
[Unknown. It contains a very powerful magical generator, and its readings are drowning out the rest of my sensors.]
Glefe's word choice doesn't exactly fill me with confidence. [Is it safe to pick up? I don't want to leave it just, lying here.]
[Without a way to more thoroughly scan it, it's impossible to say. Calculating… I will take the object in for study via direct dimensional transfer. If it is unstable, this course is the least likely to trigger something.]
[Take it into yourself?] I mull over the possibilities. [Wouldn't it be dangerous if this thing, like, explodes, or something?]
[I'd prefer to have it be somewhere that I can at least point sensors at it, and as you observed, simply leaving it in a damp alley is a poor idea. If the worst happens… We'd have to be on a different continent before the standoff meaningfully affects our chances of surviving a Dimensional Quake.]
My eyes widen. Glefe has mentioned dimensional quakes only a handful of times, usually in reference to the one that killed her previous master and rendered their entire planet uninhabitable. [This thing has that much power?]
[Maybe, which is why it's important we get this thing somewhere safer. Coordinates are locked in. Feed me some mana, and cover your eyes; this will probably be bright.]
I do so, and with a flash, the small gemstone is entirely gone. It's anticlimactic, really. I just hope that Glefe can get something out of what's sounding more and more like a magical nuke.
And I hope I don't need to worry about said nuke going off.
---
After one final walk around the block, mostly to make sure that no more of those monsters are hiding in the bushes, or something, I begin heading for home. It's a short walk, only about another half mile or so. All the while, Glefe remains silent, presumably concentrating on… whatever it is she's doing.
Wait, she's a space AI or something, does she even need to concentrate in that way?
Whatever; it doesn't matter. I quickly head up to my room, grab a couple $100s, re-hide my briefcase, and start making my way to the open market.
After a few more minutes of walking, Glefe breaks the silence. [Lady Taylor, I have good news and bad news.]
[Oh, already? What do you have for me?]
[Starting off with some neutral findings, the apparatus appears to be Al-Hazardi in creation. My records of the Al-Hazard language are fragmentary, but I've been able to locate the informational equation section. What I've been able to decypher contains repeated mentions of a "Project Lode Pearl". I have no way of knowing if that name refers to this, or something entirely unrelated, but 'Lode Pearl' is as good a name as any.]
[Alright.] I reply, pausing as I mentally go over the information. [So, what can you tell me about these 'Lode Pearls'?]
[I'll start with the good news: as long as you don't handle them carelessly, you will neither die nor kill anyone with the things.]
[...That's the good news? You… worded that rather particularly.]
[I did.] Glefe agrees readily. [And that's where the good news ends, I'm afraid. For one, the capacity of the mana generators in these things is massive; far greater than anything my people could create.]
[Um, can you define 'massive' for me?]
[As in, 'If this thing ever degrades explosively, you're going to need to shop for a new planet' massive.]
[Shit.]
[That case, at least, seems to be unlikely. The actual bad news begins when you consider the control array to which the generator is hooked up. It actively interfaces with the user's linker core. That's not a problem for you, or, indeed, any Mage of even meager skill; just don't put mana into the thing. The problem comes when you consider this is a magic-less world, and basically all living beings possess atrophied linker cores.]
So just don't fuck with the magic nuke. Got it. [Go on.]
[There's a property of atrophied cores; in Belka, we call it the Wittman effect. Unlike in Mages, where the linker core is controlled consciously, atrophied cores are regulated by the individual's subconscious. Put simply, if anyone touches that while thinking too hard, there's a risk of activation.]
My face pales. [...And what happens if it activates?]
[That, unfortunately, I haven't been able to ascertain. While some aspects of our magic systems have similarities, Al-Hazardi mana control arrays are almost entirely alien to me. Whatever it does, though, it uses an absurd amount of mana.]
[For reference, what would that kind of thing do?] I ask, scared of the answer.
[There's really no way to be sure, but if you'll allow me to speculate?]
[Of course, Glefe, that's why I asked you.]
[You'll recall how, when I first detected this Lode Pearl, I said it had the same mana signature as the cat monsters you fought? My suspicion is that the monsters were feline in appearance because they were literal cats that either activated, or were nearby when the Lode Pearl activated.]
[That's… really fucking bad.] I observe.
[Not yet, it isn't, that comes with the next tidbit. There's a section in the code that seems to facilitate communication between this, and other Lode Pearls. The device IDs are hardcoded in a table, which has 24 entries.]
[You're telling me there might be more of these just lying around?]
[I'm telling you that there likely are at least five more in the immediate area, in a stand-by configuration, as that is how many communications links are active. It's hard to say how many more might be in hibernation or a powered-down state.]
[...So, this is, like, an emergency, right? We have to tell someone about this.] I observe, panic growing in my chest.
[For us, I'm afraid there isn't much we can do prior to a Lode Pearl activating. Before that time, there simply isn't enough of a signature for me to detect, unless we almost literally trip over the thing. After an activation event, though… there's a spell, Breite Bereichsuche, that should allow us to more easily triangulate its position. I'll add it to your training regime.]
[And the PRT?] I press.
[I'm drafting a letter from an 'Anonymous Tinker' that will contain as many of my findings as I can manage, but I'm afraid 'Alien space rocks that turn people into monsters' might be a bit far-fetched, even for an organization that concerns itself with these 'parahumans'.]
[Are you sure we can't, I don't know, talk to them?]
[The PRT has set its sights on you, I'm afraid. By hook or by crook, they want you, badly. I've already had to thwart one attempt to illegally attain your identity by them. So, no, interacting with the PRT remains a poor idea.]
[So, we just, what, wait?] I ask, frustration growing.
[I understand the desire to want to do something, but going off half-cocked is a one-way ticket to failure. Whether waiting for an opponent to overextend in a duel, or waiting for a scouting party to report in on a battlefield, the simple act of waiting is often the most important thing one does.] She lectures, in that familiar 'teaching' tone she uses when saying something she wants me to remember.
[So, what, I'm just supposed to worry about bumbling into a magical nuke at any point in time?]
[You're supposed to train hard, so that when the time comes, you can rise to whatever challenge faces you. Until that time comes, though, you don't worry about things you have no control over.]
[Yeah, like that's so simple.] I mutter, mostly to myself.
---
Trying to put the implications of… all that out of my mind, I walk into Lord's Street Market.
It's a large expanse of asphalt, a disused parking lot. If my dad is to be believed, it was originally intended for a development project called "Lord's Street Wharf", supposedly a Brocktonian answer to Chicago's Navy Pier. After the riots, though, the project stalled, leaving the city with only a big, depressing, featureless asphalt expanse on the doorstep of the tourist-facing Boardwalk.
The solution to this?
Well, it's simple: set up a few stalls, charge a modest rental fee, and any entrepreneurial soul in the city can scratch out a living by selling whatever, the city gets to turn a tidy profit, and most importantly of all, a monument to one of the city's greatest failures is instead replaced with a vibrant, if perhaps legally grey, community of vendors.
As I cast my eyes over the various stalls, I find a nearly innumerable quantity of chaff. Keychains, baubles, and other tchotchke sellers make up the lion's share of the floorspace, no doubt trying to remove the occasional tourist and their money.
The Brocktonian eye, though, is nothing if not discerning. Mine twigs at the spread at an electronics recycler; a cheap burner phone probably isn't a bad idea.
After all, most people can't send texts with their brains.
But that's not what I'm after, no, I'm after the bootleg cape merch corner. I mean, I'm after clothes more generally, but that's what brought me here, after all.
The last time I was here, about two months ago, the entire corner was dominated by New Wave. The Protectorate is litigious enough that most don't risk ripping them off, and the other players are either too small or too villainous to have mass market appeal.
But today? I'm seeing Ritter merch. It's not a majority, not even close. But eyeballing it? I think I have more merch than any other single hero on display, and that fact ignites a flame of pride in my chest.
As the shopkeep finishes restocking a stack of "He did nazi that coming" shirts, I wave her over, gesturing to my selections, draped over an arm.
As she's ringing me up, the silence stretches, and so I decide to make some small talk.
"You're doing a brisk business, looks like." I observe.
"Ehh, it's alright." She replies, shrugging. "I'm making half what I did in the run-up to Christmas, though. This is practically a vacation by comparison."
I snort. "I guess I see that. Say, out of curiosity, you ever get concerned about capes getting pissed at you?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Not really. I make a point not to compete with any official merch."
"Really? New Wave has merch." I ask, though my tone brooks no judgment.
"New Wave has team merch. You want a Panacea shirt? Sorry, bud, but you're out of luck." She nods to the shirts in my hand as she takes my money. "Ritter, though? She's new enough, maybe she's planning on getting into the game. Until that happens, I'll be here. One thing I do know, though, is that she ever tells me to quit? I'll quit, no questions asked. She gave us one big-ass reason not to piss her off."
I snort. "Yeah, that she did. Is that me set?" I nod towards her cash box.
"Yeah, you are." She says, handing me my change. "Unless you want anything else, have a nice afternoon."
"Thanks, and have a good one." I reply, turning to move to the next booth.
There's something to be said for this whole 'Retail Therapy' business.
---
The days pass me by, at once both agonizingly slowly and blazingly fast.
Despite Glefe's assurances, apparently Breite Bereichsuche requires quite a lot of logistical support. For one, Glefe had me running an additional two entire partitions.
It's not as much of a power-up as it might seem at first blush. At the end of the day, all this stuff is still running on my brain, so running combat drills in two partitions isn't really going to make me learn any faster. Best case, I can run a magic training partition, a classroom learning partition, and my maproom, all simultaneously. In that case, though, all of them would be running at reduced efficiency, and I've been doing just fine getting my classroom time in when I'm alone in real life.
Glefe seemed intent on my getting comfortable using more partitions, though, even if all I was doing in the other two was browsing PHO.
As fun as having a wifi-enabled brain was, it all seemed a bit useless to me. That is, until midday on Friday came, and in image training, Glefe finally introduced me to Breite Bereichsuche properly.
[Today, you'll be learning an entirely new class of spell: a sensor. Much like the other classes, there are innumerable ways to creatively utilize them. Still, their primary purpose is to locate enemy mages from beyond the range of our primary sensory systems. Breite Bereichsuche, in particular, can be characterized as a flight spell with an attached sensory array. It possesses two modes; in manual mode, it is controlled just like any flight spell or guided projectile, and sends its perspective back to the user in full. Alternatively, in automatic mode, a set of waypoints can be assigned, which the spell will follow. In this mode, rather than its full perspective, it will send back more generalized locational data regarding what is detected, which you will be able to synthesize into a map in your situational awareness partition. Any questions so far?]
[So, with enough mana, I could just constantly watch the entire city?]
[No, for a couple of reasons. For one, while the individual sensors do not possess a maximum range, their internal mana stores only have enough capacity for about five kilometers of flight before depletion. Note that this is a straight-line range, so operationally, you should expect closer to four and a half klicks of range. Also, since we are looking for mana signatures, you should know that magic-only sensors are notoriously unreliable. It's difficult to glean location data from a contact beyond signal strength and relative velocity, making continued surveillance difficult. Additionally, no matter your reserves, you are limited by your ability to actually process the incoming information. For most mages, a single partition is capable of using a single Breite Bereichsuche sensor in manual mode, or between four and six in automatic.]
[...And that's why you had me practicing with the new partitions.] I observe, realization blooming in my mind.
[Indeed. The true power of partitions is in enabling true multitasking, not in allowing duplication of effort, as you have been doing.]
[Okay…] I take in the information. [I assume you have a task for me?]
[Indeed.] Glefe affirms, and a large, matte grey plate appears before me, perhaps ten feet tall, and twenty wide. [This is Resisteel, an alloy of steel, copper, nickel, and tantalum that possesses anti-magic properties. Because of this, magic-based sensors have difficulty penetrating it, and for this reason, it's commonly found in the construction of Belkan governmental structures. I'd like you to, without moving your actual body, locate the target drones on the other side using Breite Bereichsuche.]
[I'll try.] I report, taking in the equations as I go. The 'interface', for the lack of a better word to describe the series of variables highlighted in the equations, is pretty simple. There's a field for the number of sensors described; a welcome addition, given my issues casting precise numbers of Gewehrkugel projectiles. A boolean for choosing the mode, and a field to pass through the returning sensor data to the ID of a specific partition, round out the 'basic controls', as the equations call them.
"Breite Bereichsuche." I intone, and a single, rainbow-colored icosohedron appears next to me in a flash. As it does, one of my internet-browsing partitions melts away, instead gazing back at myself from the outside.
Wow, that's a lot more trippy than I expected. A few experimental maneuvers prove the sensor to be much more responsive than my Fligerflosse-assisted flight. This truth is not helped by the fact that my partition doesn't receive any of the tactile feedback I'd come to rely on; the pressure of wind against my skin, the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I accelerate, it's all gone.
Thusly, my attempts to hold the sensor in a specific place are probably best described as "Wild flailing", so I do feel that I'm slowly getting the hang of things.
It takes about a minute before I'm piloting it stably before I feel confident continuing. After getting a general handle on the spell, I command it to fly out and past the large metal plate, quickly locating a trio of target drones on the other side.
[Wonderful.] Glefe reports, a smile evident in her synthesized voice. [Something to note about Resisteel is that while it is effective against remote scanning, it doesn't actually possess much protective ability beyond a similar thickness of structural steel. Your next task will be to use Gottlichhowbitze and, from this position fire through the Resisteel plate, destroying all target drones, using only data from your sensor drone. Are you ready?]
"Shooting mode." I give my reply, eyes narrowing as my maproom partition begins taking ranging data in from the sensor, plotting it in 3d space relative to my 'real' body, and passing that data back in visual form.
A trio of red squares spins into existence in my vision. I level Glefe at the first, and at extremely low power, fire Gottlichhowbitze.
The beam lances out, striking the metal plate nearly instantly. With barely a hiccup, it blasts through, striking the target drone on the opposite side squarely, which explodes.
I cut mana to the spell, and the beam peters out, leaving only a fist-sized hole in the plate, circumscribed by a ring of orange-glowing, melted metal.
Heh. 'Divine Howitzer', indeed.
[Good shot. Again.]
I repeat the process, leveling Glefe at the square, and opening fire. This time, though, I can see through my sensor as the shot flies to the right of my target. Gottlichhowbitze is difficult, but not impossible to re-target mid shot, so with great effort, I wrench Glefe's haft over.
...Only to discover I'd been aiming high, too. The beam sputters and dies, having cut an oblong shape in the plate, which barely reveals the unscathed top of the target drone against the water below.
[Miss.] Glefe impassively reports. With a flash, the plate is repaired, and my sensor blinks out of existence. [Again.]
I scowl and recast another sensor drone, which flies up to find another three drones, now in different locations.
"Gottlichhowbitze!" I cry for a third time, lining up my shot through the wall at the next hapless drone.
---
Meanwhile, in Chemistry class, the anticipation of the upcoming weekend is starting to get to the assembled students, as the clock's minute hand counts down the time until the dismissal bell rings.
Emma had returned to school yesterday, but Sophia was nowhere to be found. Either caught off-balance without her enforcer, or scared by the investigation, she hasn't made any moves against me, save for a few glares in the hallways.
It's… strange. Not unwelcome, but strange.
The bell rings, and most of the class rises to rush for the door. Emma doesn't, though, instead sticking a leg out as I pass.
Seeing it coming a mile away, I easily step over it; Sophia would have raised it to still trip me up, but Emma isn't nearly as proficient at these physical things.
"Watch your feet, Emma, you might trip someone." I offer over my shoulder as I leave, to an actual, real chuckle from one of my classmates.
Yes! I've been practicing my banter, that's important for capes, right?
As I enter the hallway, though, a report from Glefe pops my good mood like a balloon.
[My Lady, new Short Message Service communique from Victoria "Glory Girl" Dallon. Message reads: "R, it's G. R U free after school? We need to talk." Message end.]
Huh. I wonder what Glory Girl wants?
[Glefe, can you send a reply?]
[Of course, Lady Taylor. Contents?]
[Um, how about: Sure, where should we meet?]
[Message sent.]
Well, I guess I'll see what this is about soon enough.