The Lesser One: Chapter 7: School for Preps

School for Preps

I finish my first semester at Ixtham without incident. Every week or so I head off to the dungeons with my guild. I do research with Dr. Barrimore, who, despite several papers that should have revolutionized the field, is stuck publishing in a backwards, tiny journal that nobody reads. Somehow he manages to collect enough funding to continue at least his basic research. As I learn more about the field, I begin to understand how revolutionary his ideas are. They just go against the grain of accepted dogma.

It’s as if a scientist tried telling the world DNA is a triple-helix, not a double one. Without any clout to back him up, the only things people see when they read his papers are his mistakes. He doesn’t make many, but every single paper he writes has some sort of “flaw” that allows the mainstream to dismiss it. Even though the biggest one is no more than a nitpick, it has grounded Dr. Barrimore’s influence and career.

I also spend a lot of time at Half Moon, socializing. I’m half a decade away from drinking age, but the place just seems to calm me down.

As I work harder at my shooting skills, I begin to show results. Though I’m nowhere near the power level of Rey and Dres, I can at least land all my shots within the second ring of the target at standard shooting range.

After Fall break, I find myself in Practical Field Experience.

I stand in the middle of a group of about twenty students. Jane Bossman arrives five minutes before class starts. The “classroom” isn’t actually a room, but rather an entire floor of the basement levels dedicated entirely to what appears to be obstacle courses. In one corner is a simulated jungle. In another is a crumbling castle. There are also simulated oceans, an icy cavern, and a volcano surrounded by a lava moat. The whole room must be at least ten football fields of space. I’m surprised a room this size could exist in the city of New York.

Ms. Bossman surveys the twenty or so students before her with a grim expression on her face.

“I expect at least a quarter of you to drop out of this class,” she says, her voice iron hard. She takes her sword out and plants it in the gravel in front of her, movie-style. “I will not give quarter. If you fail, you will be kicked out of the academy. I have every discretion when it comes to deciding your fate. Thus, you must work. This class is designed to weed out the soft from the strong.” Her deep blue eyes drill into the class. “Your spirit will not protect you here. I don’t care if you are a dragon or a polar bear. You are going to have to go through the same thing everyone else does.”

The whole class seems stunned. I was warned about Ms. Bossman’s drill-sergeant teaching method, but seeing it up close is intimidating. I shrink back in myself and try not to be noticed.

Ms. Bossman lifts up her chin. “I will give you ten minutes to find a group of five. You will stay with this group for the rest of the semester.” She points to one of the testing areas. “These areas you see here are portals that lead to full-dive environments, some the size of an entire city. Your final exam will be surviving a week in one of them. Until then, I will drill as much survival and combat knowledge into your brain that you will be leaking hardtack out of your ears.” She crosses her arms. No one says anything.

I take this to mean that she wants us to gather into groups now. I spot Esla in the corner of the crowd and gravitate towards her.

“Hey,” I say, as I approach her. “You’re a junior, aren’t you?”

Esla nods, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yeah,” she says.

“Why are you here in a phase one class?”

Esla shrugs. “I just put this class off for a while. You know, since everyone said it would be so hard.” She claps her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not stupid or weak. I just happen to be somewhat of a … Careful person.”

I nod. Though Esla’s self-description is suspect, knowing what I know about her, I continue unfazed. “So, do you want to join my group?”

“Of course,” says Esla. “You an me together. No one can stop us.”

“My spirit is an anima,” I deadpan.

Esla shrugs. She doesn’t say anything.

A group of three students approach us. “You two know each other?” says the guy who appears to be the leader. He is tall, blonde, with a dark complexion—he might be Filipino. He extends his hand, a healthy smile on his face.

Esla shakes it without hesitation. “Hey!” she says. “I’m Esla. This here is Markus.” She slaps me on the back.

I bob my head, almost a bow but not quite. “Hello,” I say.

The tall blonde guy grins even bigger. “My name is Corbin.” He points to a red-haired girl who has a bit of stock to her. “This is Koen.” He points to a short, muscled student with a thick goatee. “This is Mattys.”

“Hiya, nice to meet you,” says Mattys, extending his rather meaty hand. I shake. His grip is iron.

“Now that you have all chosen your groups,” says Jane Bossman, her voice carrying over the collected students, “tell each other about your spirit. You have five minutes. After that you will face your first challenge.”

Corbin nods, taking charge of the mood for our group. “My spirit is steel. Specifically, martensite.” He holds up his hand and a steel rod appears in his palm. He wraps his fingers around it. “I can change this weapon to any form.” He flicks the rod and it turns into a scimitar, long and curved. “At the moment it takes a lot of effort to assume a new form, so I only have three that I cycle through.” He flips the sword around and it dissipates back into psion energy.

There is an uncomfortable silence.

Esla steps up. “My spirit is a typhoon,” she says. She claps her hands together and a wind picks up, tussling the clothes and hair of everyone in the class.

“I said talk about your powers,” says Ms. Bossman, her eyes filled with fire. “Not give us all wind chill.”

“Oops,” says Esla. She smiles sheepishly.

“Ha!” says Mattys. “That’s quite the power!” he slaps his hands together and bends over, planting his palms on the ground. A layer of ice shoots forward, creating a thin, slippery road. Mattys then stands up and surfs the road, moving much faster than any human is capable of running.

As he is skating across the room, throwing at least a foot of ice road ahead of him, he holds his fingers out in a “surfer dude” symbol. He rides the ice back towards us and stops in a puff of little white spots. “My spirit is ice. Specifically, ice-friction. It’s kind of complicated but I can move things fast by changing their coefficient of friction using my spirit.” He winks at Esla.

Esla mutters and rolls her eyes.

Koen, the red-haired girl, snaps her fingers. Within five seconds we are standing in a cage made of tall, green bamboo. It happened so fast I’m not even sure how it got there. She nods, appearing pleased, and then snaps her fingers again. The bamboo retracts into the ground, as if it had never been there. She grins.

“As you can see,” says Corbin, “Her spirit is bamboo.”

There is another awkward pause.

“What can you do?” says Corbin, to me.

I shrug. “My spirit is, well, blue anima.”

Corbin tilts his head. “And?” he says.

I point to where Jane Bossman is standing. “She’s going to itch her nose in about five seconds.”

Corbin stares at me, appearing perplexed. Then he looks over at Jane Bossman.

Ms. Bossman, at that moment, itches her nose.

“So you see the future,” says Corbin, taking it in stride.

“Not necessarily,” I say. “I’m just really sensitive to fluctuations in spacetime.”

“And that’s a fluctuation in spacetime,” says Corbin.

There’s a lot more to it than that—I learned a lot about my power from Dr. Barrimore’s research—but, like how they handled their technicalities, I refrain from discussing how consciousness and spacetime interact. I shrug.

“Well,” says Corbin. “I suppose we can use that.” He pauses. “Occasionally.”

“All right,” says Ms. Bossman. “Your time is up. For your first lesson, you’ll be learning how to navigate our first terrain type, a forest. This is basic stuff. About twenty-five percent of dungeons are some kind of forest-based environment.”

Ms. Bossman proceeds to give us instructions on how to navigate forest terrain. About an hour later, at the end of class, my head is stuffed full of information about forests. Foraging, bushwhacking, climbing trees. Tomorrow is our first field test.

After work, club, and visiting the Half Moon, I go to sleep at three in preparation for waking at seven.

After Portal Theory I, Monster Taxonomy, and Equipment Movement, it is finally time for my first field exam. I arrive about five minutes before Ms. Bossman.

The rest of my group, including Esla, all arrive just before class starts.

Esla holds up her hand. “High five?” she says.

I give her a high-five, reluctantly. I don’t understand what she is so fired-up about.

Esla tilts her head. “What’s wrong?” she says. “You don’t look too excited.”

Mattys puts his hands on his hips. “Yeah, man. Esla here is all ready to go and here you are, brining the mood down.” His eyes, though, are glimmering with cheer.

Corbin sighs. “We can’t have you brining us down. I know today is probably going to be easy, but if you’re not up for it you may as well drop out now.”

A clink of armor sounds behind me. I turn around, and see Jane Bossman standing with her arms crossed over her steel breastplate.

“Who said it was going to be easy?” said Ms. Bossman. She taps one finger on the arm of her other hand. “If that’s the attitude you have, you won’t be getting anywhere in this class.”

“Yes, ma’am,” says Corbin. He bows. “I apologize.” His attitude turns quick.

Ms. Bossman seems to be placated. The corners of her lips turn up. “Good,” she says. “Since you seem so eager to go, I’ll have you go first.” She raises her voice, facing the whole class. “Your first mission is to clear the simulated arboreal dungeon in under an hour. There will not be any monsters in this class, but neither will there be support if you get stuck or lost. The time limit is strict. Break it and you will get an F for this assignment.” She turns to my group. “Door three,” she says, pointing to a small patch of forest in the center of the gigantic field.

“We will be sending two teams per class period,” says Ms. Bossman. “One hour each.” She nods at my group, her lips tightly pursed.

“All right then,” says Corbin. “Should we get started?”

“Yeah!” says Esla, pumping her fist. “We can do this!”

Mattys nods, and then shrugs, an amused expression on his face.

Koen turns away and starts walking towards the patch of forest.

I follow, along with the rest of the group. The atmosphere among us is jovial, though I am at its edges. I keep getting the feeling like I’m not being accepted.

But that’s usual for me. I’m not going to cry about it.

Our group reaches the artificial portal in the center of the forest block. From what I have learned in Portal Theory so far, this portal is the man-made equivalent of an F-class portal. The yellow color and specific triangular markings give it away.

Corbin steps up to it. He pulls out his steel rod and forms it into a spear. “Let’s go,” he says, stepping forwards. The portal swallows him with a soap-bubble like effect. A ripple passes through it and disappears.

Esla shrugs, her eyes glittering. “Now or never,” she says, stepping through.

Mattys cracks his knuckles, smiling with a glint of hardness, and walks through.

Koen tilts her head, nods once, and enters.

I am alone in front of the shimmering gateway to the forest realm. I count my blessings, take a few deep breaths, and pass into the world of the green.