The Lesser One Chapter 15: The Contest

The Contest

One week later, I am in my bed studying when Jirgrar rises out of the floorboards and bows to me.

“As you asked,” he says, “I have come to report on what we have been doing to further your cause.”

I turn around in my chair, feeling a little bit strange that this is all happening. “Okay,” I say. “What have you done so far?”

“We have been working political and business connections to grow your finances. I assume you have received the transfers we have made to your account?”

I turn around and check my bank account status—I haven’t done that in a while because all my living expenses are paid for by my guild and the government.

100,000 dollars. My account has a fat 100k in it. I feel a little weak in the limbs.

“Um,” I say. “Where did this money come from?”

“Bounties,” says Jirgrar. “Of many kinds. As well as high speed trading on several world stock markets.” He bows again. “I have a humble request to ask of you. We need at least ten more operators to work our various … Activities.” Jirgrar pauses. “Which are not unethical in any manner.” He seems to be mentioning this to make a point.

I sigh. “Okay. You can have ten more.”

“Very good,” says Jirgrar.

Ten devils manifest in a ring around my bed. They bow as one.

This is making me feel very strange, almost afraid, but I don’t know how else to handle it.

And that fat 100k in my bank account does speak wonders about what they are doing. The devils leave in much the same way that the last batch did. I turn around and head back to studying, though it takes a while for me to stop wondering what, exactly, all those devils are getting up to. I just hope that it won’t get me in trouble.

The CCC approaches. I am having a hard time keeping up with everything, and so I ask Dr. Barrimore to let me work fewer hours. I’m not really doing actual work there anyways. I’m just standing around and being tested. Dr. Barrimore agrees, but only if I promise to keep to my artificial limitations and not release anything that has happened in the lab.

I haven’t been to the Half Moon in a while, and I probably won’t be going anytime soon. My schedule is just too full.

As the semester comes to a close, the CCC event is scheduled. It will take place, this year, in London. The scope of the event—it’s worldwide—hadn’t really sunken in until I signed for the plane ticket.

The number of “worker” devils that I let out into the world is slowly increasing. Every week I release another couple of them as per Jirgrar’s request. At the time of the CCC event there are about fifty devils wandering around the world, doing their thing.

Jirgrar tells me that there are other networks of portal beings that my devils, calling themselves Wagner’s Right of Way, are fighting and negotiating with. My bank account continues to grow. I purchase a nice car for my parents, and even offer to pay for a new house. They decline, saying that they can take care of themselves and that my money is precious.

Not that I did any hard work for it.

The day comes when I board a plane bound for London. I sleep through the flight and don’t wake up until we land.

London is beautiful, but also kind of dreary. With my CCC teammates, I spend a good portion of time being a tourist and taking photos. The competition starts the day after we arrive, in the auditorium of the London Adventurers’ Association building.

There are over sixty schools gathered here to practice their conjuration. Ten are from the US, and the rest are from all around the world. There is a Japanese team, five Chinese teams, and a team from the UAE.

The sound of chatter fills the auditorium. All sixty teams are standing in staggered rows, each team gathered around its dedicated construction spot.

The structural competition is first. We have forty-five minutes to conjure and assemble the bridge. My alloys are used strategically at strong points in order to avoid running afoul of the diversity protocol.

We begin with the legs of the bridge, formed to support the bridge’s main structure. There are seventeen strong points where my Rearden Metal alloy is used to maximize its effectiveness. Somehow, I manage to make all seventeen parts without screwing up. The rule on conjures screw-ups is “five strikes and you have to use it.” That means, we can only throw out five conjured parts.

The strategy, then, is to use the remaining “throwaways” that are left when construction is finished to replace parts that are good enough but not perfect. Kind of like a mulligan in a card game.

The Ixtham team manages to create the entire bridge with five throwaways left. All five of the throwaways are used by me, which was agreed-upon beforehand, in order to strengthen the fasteners and tension points.

We step back from our bridge five minutes before the end of the assembly period. The room grows silent.

Five teams of judges carrying wagons full of weights enter the auditorium through its garage doors. They approach from all sides, starting at the four corners and the center.

I watch the team from India, as their bridge looks like it’s the most exotic one being tested first. It seems to have been made out of grass, woven like a basket and glued with some sort of epoxy or resin. Whatever the case, it handles quite a lot of weight—which doesn’t directly translate into points, as material modifiers need to be calculated.

The rules are that the moment you lose isn’t when your bridge collapses; instead, it’s when the first point of failure occurs. A single mismatched interlock that slips early and your bridge is out of the game.

After all, that’s how real engineering works.

The judges go along the rows of bridges, testing each one with their bags of weights. The judges reach our station near last, as it is in the middle of the room.

One of the judges, a white-haired man with a long beard, places the harness on our bridge and begins loading it with weights.

Ten kilos. Twenty kilos. Fifty kilos. Seventy-five kilos. A hundred kilos. Our bridge still stands.

Our bridge holds so much mass that the judges run out of material. The white-haired judge extends his hand. “I can take care of this,” he says. He holds out his hand and conjures several big pieces of metal. They are weighed on a portable scale and then added to our bridge.

After an insane amount of weight, our bridge deforms enough at one of its joints to end the test. The whole room is almost silent. I look around; almost everyone is watching us.

The judge clears his throat. “Well then,” he says. “I’ve never seen a bridge like this before.” He points to one of the joints where my Rearden Metal alloy forms an attachment. “What kind of metal is that?”

“Rearden Metal,” says May. “It’s one of our own proprietary alloys.”

“Do you mind if I have a sample?” asks the judge.

May looks at me, then the judge. “Is that allowed?” she asks.

“Yes,” says the judge. “It’s part of judge’s discretion. You, of course, have the ability to refuse.”

I shake my head. “I’d be happy to give you a sample.”

“Very good,” says the judge. “Come to the front desk after the contest is over and we shall do the transaction then.” The judge bows. Turning around, him and his attendants leave for the judges’ box.

Several dozen black-shirted workers remove all our bridges from the testing room using carts and forklifts. The bridges will be broken down and used for research.

The next round, the perfect gear competition, starts in an hour. A large buffet is wheeled out into the room—normal conjurers use a lot of energy to create their material, and so must eat more than your average human. I am not using my own energy to create objects, but I eat as much as I can stomach anyways to keep the illusion up.

The perfect gear competition starts. Plastic tables are set up for each school. We have ten minutes to produce one perfect gear for each of our team members. This year’s “gear” is an impeller with four blades and a five-centimeter diameter. We, the contestants, did not know this beforehand.

I form my impeller perfectly the first time—which is a fluke. I don’t think I can do any better than that, so I sit down in the provided chairs and watch my teammates work.

Alexia is done right after me. His impeller shines with a strangely solid metallic color.

Brandon and May finish at about the same time. May scratches her head. “Wood isn’t really built for precision,” she says. She sighs, sitting down next to us.

Brandon says nothing, his expression stuck at a half-smile.

The timer is up, and the judges come by again, using laser measuring tools to size up the entries. Again, the white-haired judge stops at our booth for longer than usual. It’s my alloy again—the second type, the one I designed for manufacturing accuracy. I designed my alloy to fit each purpose, and the three are very different.

The judge’s lip turns down. “This is a different alloy,” he says. “I’d like to study it as well.” His eyebrow raises. “I expect you’ll be using a third for the gearbox challenge?”

I nod.

The judge nods his head and leaves.

I sigh.

May pats me on the back. “I knew you were special,” she says.

“Don’t forget he killed a balrog,” says Brandon.

“I didn’t really …” I say.

Brandon shrugs, smiling slightly. “Whatever the case, it was you who absorbed his spirit circle.”

I smile as best I can and nod, feeling a little bit weird.  

The usual buffet comes through, this time for half an hour. Everyone is eating like a horse. I try my best to blend in.

Then comes the assembly test. We are handed a packet defining the working of the assembly—a reel for a fishing rod. We don’t really need it, though, as we could study for this one. Our team snaps into action, conjuring the parts needed for each step of the assembly process.

I am tasked with the worm gear and several of the gears that will take the most stress. We are given an hour, and we are done in about fifty minutes. A good time, as we’ve been practicing and timing ourselves ever since the blueprints were released.

The judges come by for a third time and collect the reels. They will undergo usage testing, where a machine will cycle them until they break. This process usually takes a week—we won’t be getting those results until later.

But the bridge and the perfect gear competitions have results that can be announced immediately.

“In third place for the bridge portion of the CCC, we have Rendorian Academy from Chicago, in the United States. In second place, we have Ba-Kamut Academy from Patna, India. In first place, we have Ixtham Academy, from New York, in the United States.”

Our team rises and cheers. Alexia is cheering the hardest, and I can barely match him even with all my energy.

The prize for the bridge section is a trophy and a cash payout of twenty thousand dollars.

We make seventh place on the perfect gear competition, which isn’t that disappointing considering that there are sixty competing schools.

Remembering my promise with the judge, I separate from my team before the award ceremony to head to the reception tables.

The white-haired judge is sitting at the table, writing in a notebook. When I arrive he looks up.

“My name is Dr. Rihner,” he says. He extends his hand.

I shake his hand.

“Your name is Markus, correct?” he says.

I nod.

“You are registered as a multiple theme conjurer?” he asks.

I nod again. “Do you want me to list my materials?”

He shakes his head. “I read your application file.” He pauses. “If I’m not mistaken, are you the same Markus Red who defeated the balrog in New York a couple of months ago?”

“I did,” I say.

“Hm,” says Dr. Rihner. “And you absorbed its circle?”

“Yes,” I say.

Dr. Rihner folds his hands. “This competition is not just for fun. We judges are looking for innovative materials and methods that can be used in the real world. Conjuration as a science has advanced much since twelve-one. But there is still a lot more we don’t know.” He brings out an official-looking box. “Here. Conjure the alloys you used during the bridge and perfect gear portion of the competition.”

I conjure about ten ounces of each material and place them in the box. Dr. Rihner nods, smiling. “I have a proposition for you,” he says. “If I show this metal around to some investors, do you think you could create a steady supply of it?”

“I think so,” I say. I suddenly have a feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Um, what kind of investors are you talking about?”

“Hm,” says the judge. “It’s nothing special, but one of the companies I do research for has put out a request for strong conjured alloys.”

I think about it for a minute. Then I bow and stand up. “You have my contact info, right?”

“It’s in your paperwork,” says Dr. Rihner. “I will email you if I find anything out.”

“Thanks,” I say, as I turn around and leave. When I get to the booth where my team is sitting, they all stand up and congratulate me.

“Hey! It’s the man of the hour!” says Alexia.

Brandon has a pleased expression on his face.

“It’s because of you we were able to win the bridge portion,” says May. “And I have high hopes for the gearbox challenge.”

I sit down in a plastic chair beside them. Taking out my phone, I check to see if I have bars. Good. I specifically paid for out-of-country service before embarking on the journey to London.

I shoot Jirgrar a text.

Me: Are you or one of your devils here right now?

Jirgrar: Yes, we have two devils watching you at all times. What do you want to know?

Me: Are you the one who got the company interested in my conjured alloys?

Jirgrar: We have fingers in many things. Take this as proof that we really can change things in your favor. Use the opportunity how you wish.

Me: Sure, thanks.

Jirgrar: Is there anything else you wish to ask?

Me: No. That’s it.

Jirgrar: Very well. Contact me if you have any more questions regarding our work.

I slip my phone back into my pocket.

“Who are you texting?” says May, who is sitting next to me.

I shrug. “A friend of mine.”

May nods a couple of times, gives a thumbs-up, and turns around.

We wait for the award ceremony in happy silence. It seems that the group is fine just basking in the glory of our achievement.

The head judges climb up to a podium on a raised platform.

“Prize winners! Come up to receive your trophies!” The judges call through the speaker system.

“I’ll go up,” I say.

“It’s only right,” says May. “You were the one who allowed us to win.”

I stand up and head towards the prize podium. After waiting in line for the second and third place winners to get their trophies, I receive our trophy. It is a model bridge with a plaque reading CCC 2020. London, England.

I smile and pose for the camera before I head down back to where my team is waiting. We leave the room as a group and go out for dinner at a nice city restaurant. I pay, of course—though we will receive our prize money through the mail in about a week, so it really doesn’t matter.

Plus, I have several million dollars in my bank account by now.

Not my regular bank account, of course. Most of the money Jirgrar earns for me is either tied up in investments or hidden away in an overseas bank. I’m happy to leave it that way. Truthfully, I am surprised that nothing big has happened yet.

In the hotel that night, I open my laptop and connect to the hotel internet. I see a new message in my inbox.

Markus,

This is Dr. Rihner from the CCC event. I’ve sent your samples in for analysis and they are unlike any I have ever seen. Would you be interested in forming a business partnership with Esmex International? If so, I would like to talk to you. My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX, country code XXX.

I turn to Brandon, who is sharing a room with me. Alexia—being gay—is quartered with May in another room.

“I’ll be going out for some fresh air,” I say.

Brandon nods. He is reading something on his phone. He doesn’t talk much, anyways, so I wasn’t expecting more than that.

I write down the phone number for Dr. Rihner and head out into the hallway, down the elevator to the lobby.

I place the call. “Hey,” I say. “Dr. Rihner, right?”

“Yes,” says Dr. Rihner. “I have some good news for you.”

Thus, it begins.