TLO Chapter 13: CCC

CCC

Conjuration class begins at twelve noon. I enter the class—it is a small room with five chairs arranged around a desk. A normal-looking man with a beard turns to face me.

“You must be Markus,” he says. He extends his hand. “My name is Dr. Winding. I’m a professor of conjuration studies here at Ixtham. Please, take a seat.”

I sit down in the left-most chair.

Dr. Winding pulls out some papers. “I’ve told everyone else in this class that we won’t be having class today. I need to talk with you about some very sensitive things, and as such we can’t have company.” He pauses. “I assume Dr. Barrimore gave you the talk about artificial limitations?”

I nod. “Did he consult with you about this?” I ask.

Dr. Winding nods. “Yes. I was also one of the professors who analyzed your anima excretions.” He arranges the papers on his desk. “You can, as far as we can tell, create an infinite array of items. Dr. Barrimore has informed me that you limit is about two thousand calories in the period of an hour.”

“Calories?” I ask.

“Yes,” says Dr. Winding. “You’ll learn this in class, but the system of measurement used to describe the objects conjurers produce is the same as food calories. This is because conjuration spirits convert food energy directly into matter.”

I understand. It seems that Dr. Barrimore is hiding the fact that I can produce an almost infinite amount of material on command from even his trusted colleagues. “So, how much stuff is two thousand calories?” I ask.

Dr. Winding writes something down. “The best conjurers have creation limits in your range, between two thousand and three thousand possible calories per hour. Most of these, however, are not dual theme conjurers.” He writes more stuff down. “You have an infinite array of possible objects. This includes restricted materials. The full list is right here. I will explain the law behind restricted materials after you read this.” He hands me a paper.

United States List of Restricted Conjuration Themes

1)      Any metal whose value per troy ounce is greater than ten dollars

2)      Any mind or body-altering substance

3)      Any kind of assault weaponry

4)      Dangerous poisons

5)      Patent protected inventions

6)      Copyright protected material

7)      Antimatter

I finish reading the list. “So, what does this mean?” I ask.

Dr. Winding finishes writing things down. There is a large stack of papers in front of him now.

“Normally, one would have to do this at the Department of Spirit Services, but since you are a minor and your case is so special, I shall be filing as your proxy.” Dr. Winding shuffles through the papers. “As far as we have experienced, conjurers fall under one, at most two restricted themes. You fall under all seven. There are differing degrees of restrictions for each category. I assume it is obvious why these seven themes are restricted.”

“I guess the government doesn’t want me making meth or an AK-47,” I say.

“Precisely.”

“How will they enforce this?” I ask.

“Every conjurer has a signature that they cannot remove from their conjured objects,” says Dr. Winding. “It’s like a conjuration fingerprint. We already have yours—we took it during the test of your abilities. However, you still have to sign some forms to pledge that you won’t break these restrictions and that you know the rules.” He takes a few papers out. “I’ll read you the restrictions, down the list.” He shuffles the papers in his hand. “For any metal, alloy, or material worth over ten dollars per troy ounce, you will have a quota of two thousand dollars-worth per month. All created materials must be processed through the Spirit Association—you cannot sell your conjured precious materials on any public market. A violation of this rule will result in a fine ten times the amount of the metal sold off-market. Any metal, alloy, or material worth under ten dollars per troy ounce has a much higher limit of sale, capping at twenty thousand dollars per month. It is recommended that you sell non-restricted metals to the Spirit Association, though not required if you have a license. An exception to these rules will be made for strategically important materials, such as uranium, plutonium, and various rare-earth metals. Details about these exceptions can be found in …” Dr. Winding pauses. “Well, we can talk about that when we get there.” He switches papers.

“Any amount of a controlled mind-altering substance assigned to schedule one that is traced back to an individual conjurer will result in the same penalties as if said conjurer had sold them normally. Schedule two drugs may only be produced with explicit permission from the government, and are subject to many unique regulations. Let’s see, let’s see …” Dr. Winding pauses, switching papers. “Schedule three and four drugs still require permission from an entity, though for these it doesn’t have to be from the government. A corporate sponsor will suffice. Any other prescription drugs will fall under this category as well. Over-the-counter drugs can be sold to the Spirit Association at fair market price.”

Dr. Winding switches papers again. “Assault weapons, as categorized by law, will result in civil penalties if traced back to an individual conjurer.” Dr. Winding pauses. “Well, let’s just say that you’ll get in trouble if you make guns or any other sort of non-adventurer-approved weapons.” Dr. Winding shrugs. “Since very few people ever receive a spirit manifesting as a modern weapon, the rules are sparse and case-by-case.” Dr. Winding licks his finger and flips the page.

“On to dangerous poisons. If someone dies because of your poison—no matter how—and it is discovered, you will at the very least be responsible for manslaughter.” Dr. Winding puts down the papers and picks up another stack.

“Patent protected inventions and copyrighted material—of any kind—will be prosecuted like you had infringed on them normally.” Dr. Winding then picks up a single small sheet of paper.

“And, no antimatter. Ever. Don’t even think about it.” Dr. Winding pauses. “You know why, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Of course I do.” Half of Detroit no longer exists in this world. As well as the only antimatter spirit ever discovered, and two million people.

Dr. Winding puts down his papers. He then hands me a clipboard with at least a dozen pieces of paperwork clipped to it.

“Sign wherever it tells you. I’ve already filled out the requisite information.”

“Shouldn’t my parents give permission?” I ask.

“You are an honorary adventurer,” says Dr. Winding. “Thus, you have power of attorney over yourself, even if you are a minor.”

It takes me five minutes to sign everything.

Dr. Winding smiles, and takes the papers, filing them away in his desk. “Now let’s head to the conjuration practice room.” He gets out of his desk, waiting for me to stand up.

I get out of my chair and follow Dr. Winding to a small room on the same floor as the class. It resembles Dr. Barrimore’s new office in size and choice of equipment.

“I know Glen—Dr. Barrimore—will be doing a lot of research on you. I, though, want to satisfy my curiosity.”

“I have a question, first,” I say. “I sold two dozen arrows to one of my club members. I made five hundred dollars. Did I break the law?”

“Arrows?” asks Dr. Winding. “No, I don’t think it will be a problem if it’s just that incident. What were they made of?”

“Wood with a steel tip,” I respond.

“Well, that’s fine,” says Dr. Winding. “That doesn’t infringe on anything too bad and once we get you a conjurer’s sale license everything will be okay. The law gives a little bit of room for entrepreneurship when it comes to less valuable metals and objects.” Dr. Winding sits in a chair behind a row of computer monitors. A periodic table of elements appears on the wall, projected from the other side of the room.

“We’re going down the periodic table,” says Dr. Winding. “From hydrogen.” He points to a big counter in the center of the room, covered in hundreds of bottles, flasks, scales, and tubes. There are three labels: gas, liquid, and solid.

“Hydrogen is a gas,” says Dr. Winding, “So start with that. Please produce two moles of hydrogen.”

“Moles … Moles …” I say. “I don’t know what a mole feels like.”

Dr. Winding points to a metal cube on his desk. “That is a mole of iron.”

I pick up the object and hold it in my hand. “Okay,” I say. “I think I got this.” I take a mental image of the cube and place it back down. I then approach the table and hold my hand over the gas flask.

Red cracks run along the back of my hand. Anima goo seeps out of my palm and turns into wisps of smoke that disappear before they reach the bottom of the flask.

Dr. Winding whistles. “That’s pure hydrogen. One hundred percent.” He pauses. “Now, helium.”

After that we walk through the entire periodic table. For radioactive elements, there is a lead box that I drop my creations in. For radium, which manifests as a gas, there is a special apparatus that sucks it up and protects me from radiation.

“Be careful not to produce anything radioactive when you don’t have the right equipment,” Dr. Winding warns me. “You’re not immune to radiation.”

Next we move onto alloys. Dr. Winding gives me a breakdown on how metallurgy works, in terms that I can understand. From what I hear I figure working with metal is a lot more complicated than I think.

Dr. Winding has me create bronze, then brass, then steel—small amounts of each. Every time I create something, Dr. Winding clicks a small pitch counter.

At some point, after about twenty minutes, Dr. Winding puts the counter down. “Are you tired?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes,” I lie. I have been keeping track of how much “energy” I have been outputting. While I can’t match up my usage to an exact scale, I know when I’ve created enough stuff to where a normal conjurer would have to stop.

“Good, good,” says Dr. Winding. “I’m going to have to analyze everything you have created. In the meantime,” Dr. Winding pulls a textbook from his desk, “Read this. We’re on chapter four right now and I want you caught up by the end of the week.”

I sigh. It’s a pretty thick book. At least I don’t have to pay for it, I think, as I take the book from him and put it in my backpack—which is laying on the ground next to the door.

Dr. Winding nods. “And if you have any questions about conjuring, please ask me. My office is room three-two-oh-five. Office hours are from two to four every school day. I can make appointments outside office hours if you email me. My email is on the syllabus, which I’ve slipped into the textbook I gave you. Please go over that as well.”

I nod. This is going to be tough, but I’m no stranger to studying.

“Oh,” says Dr. Winding. “If you’re up for it, do you think you’d be able to enter the conjuration construction competition team?”

I pause. “What is that?”

“Basically, it’s like a bridge building team at a technical university. The CCC is where conjurers compete to build various structural and technical objects.”

“Tell me more,” I say. I am genuinely interested in this competition.

“Do you have time?” says Dr. Winding. He looks at his watch.

“I do,” I say. My next class is in an hour—and technically this class is still going.

“Sit,” says Dr. Winding, pointing to the chair I sat in to fill the paperwork.

I sit.

“The CCC is a competition where teams compete to build three different kinds of objects. One stress-tested structural mechanism, which usually takes the form of a bridge; one object to test engineering tolerances, such as a perfect gear; and one transmission box or other complicated moving-part mechanism. The materials used can be anything under the umbrella of conjuration. I’ve seen students build bridges out of rice, wool, and even flowers. It’s a test to see how well you can utilize your conjuration theme and make it match up to that of your team’s.”

“I’m in,” I say. “How often do we meet?”

“Great!” says Dr. Winding. “I know you’re in the shooting club, but we only meet once a week—our next meeting is tomorrow night, actually. We meet for two hours to discuss and then everyone has their own personal work to do.” Dr. Winding begins stuffing papers into a folder. “You can go now. Remember, tomorrow we are having class with everyone.”

I step out of the room and straight into the face of a reporter.

“Markus Red!” says the woman, who is about my height. “Reporter for ABC New York. Do you have anything to say about your heroic saving of New York City?”

Dr. Winding pushes past me. “I’m sorry, we don’t allow reporters in this building.”

The reporter holds up a media pass. “Dr. Irr has allowed me through.”

“I’ll have to talk to Tess about this,” says Dr. Winding. He sighs, and walks towards the elevator, past the reporter. He turns around and shrugs at me.

I shrug back.

The reporter pushes a microphone into my face. “Tell me what happened.”

“I, um, I pointed the laser pointer thingy and the missile came down. Then I fell and was carried to the ground floor by Esla’s wind.”

The reporter looks a little bit disheartened. “So, you don’t have any special powers?”

“I’m an anime spirit,” I say. “What kind of powers would I have?”

“I heard that you can now conjure several different themes. Is this true?”

“Yes, to a degree,” I say. “I can conjure iron, steel, wood, copper, water, and common grass.”

“That’s a lot!” says the reporter. “Anything else?”

I shake my head.

“Well, thank you!” says the reporter. She pulls a business card out of her pocket and hands it to me. “If you ever get more info, give it to us first!”

The card reads: Jennifer Rowley, assistant correspondent. Her number, email, and fax are on the card.

I place the card in my pocket. “Thanks,” I say. “I will.”

I then push past her and head down the hall. The reporter follows me, taking the same elevator as I am. I get off before ground level, heading to my next class. I’ll be early, but I have nothing else to do for half an hour.

The reporter nods at me as the elevator doors close.

Class is as usual. After I am done with school, I undergo a series of tests by Dr. Barrimore. When that is over, I head to the shooting range. I then go to sleep at the time I normally do.

The next day is more of the same. My fame caused by the incident has faded, though some people still try to ask me questions. I answer as succinctly as I can.

I am looking forward to the CCC meeting. I really want to know what I can do with my powers.

I head to Advanced Conjuration at the normal time.

Two girls are chatting in the room when I arrive. One of them waves at me. The other smiles.

The one on the right, a red-head with a pointed nose, approaches me. “So you’re Markus,” she says. “My name is Garnet. I have an electrum spirit. If you don’t know what that is, it’s a alloy of silver and gold with a little bit of copper.” In a flash, she forms a small coin made of the material. It looks a little bit like bronze. She flips it at me. I catch it—my new reflexes help.

“You can keep it,” she says.

I don’t tell her that I could probably make a dozen of them in less than a minute.

Well, not exactly. The coins I would make would be a lot cruder than the one she did. At least for a while. I examine the coin closely. It has a picture of Kermit on one end and the Cookie Monster on the other. I shrug and pocket the coin.

“Don’t sell it,” says Garnet, grinning lopsidedly. She sits back down next to the other girl. The other girl smiles.

“My name is May,” says the girl. “Nice to meet you.”

“Are either of you in CCC?” I ask.

Garnet points to May. “May is.” Garnet pauses. “My element wouldn’t work well as a construction component. May here, though, can make anything out of pine wood.”

May nods, seeming to think about whether to speak. “There are two more in CCC,” she finally says. “The other two members of this class.”

“Brandon, who uses bone,” says Garnet, “And Alexia, who uses antimony.”

“Antimony,” I say.

“It’s a metal,” says Garnet. “Used in a lot of alloys. Not worth much.”

“About fifty cents per ounce,” says a male voice, from behind me. I turn to face a very flamboyantly dressed guy with hair dyed half bright red and half deep blue. He is even wearing platform shoes. He extends his hand and I shake it.

“Alexia,” says the student. “You must be Markus.”

After the initial shock of his appearance I can tell he is a friendly guy, simply by his facial expression and tone of voice.

Another student, Alexia’s exact opposite, enters the room. He is wearing a black suit with a red tie and has close-cropped hair.

“Brandon!” says Garnet. “How it going?”

It is clear that Brandon and Garnet are friends. Brandon heads over and sits next to Garnet. Brandon then turns to me. “I heard you got up and close with a balrog,” he says. He seems disappointed. “I would have loved to see his bones.”

“You and your bone fetish,” says Garnet, elbowing him.

“What?” says Brandon. “My spirit is bone. Of course I like bones.”

“So,” I say. “Can you conjure any kind of bone you want? Or is it limited to a certain species?”

“The bone I create does not match the DNA of any known species,” says Brandon. “So I don’t know the answer to that. This is pretty common in the bone conjuring world.” He furrows his brow. “I heard you were a multi-theme. Can you create bone?”

“Stop it,” says Garnet, elbowing Brandon.

Alexia laughs and sits down in one of the two empty seats. I take my seat on the other end.

Just as I do, Dr. Winding steps into the class, holding a stack of papers. “Ah,” he says. “It seems we’re all here.” He sits at his desk. “Markus is exempt from this because he hasn’t had the time, but have you brought your finished assignment?”

The four students besides me nod in unison.

“Very well. Let’s start with Alexia.” Dr. Winding arranges the papers on his desk. “Let’s see. You were tasked with creating an axel assembly with a tolerance of less than half a millimeter.”

Alexia rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a small set of wheels attached to an axel, made out of antimony.

“Antimony is pretty hard to work with in its pure form on an industrial scale,” says Alexia, “But because I’m working with the conjurer’s boon I can create things like this.”

I have read enough of my textbook to know what that means. It means, simply, that objects that would take an inefficient amount of time to make through additive or subtractive processes are easy for conjurers because of how anima matter forms into material.

Dr. Winding takes the axel assembly and places it on the desk. “Next,” he says. “Garnet. You were tasked with creating a ten inch by eleven-inch bas-relief of whatever subject you wished.”

Garnet takes a heavy panel made of pure electrum and shows it to the class. The picture is, of course, of the Cookie Monster.

“Very good,” says Dr. Winding. “The detail work is precise, as per directions.”

I understand that the assignment given was supposed to develop accuracy in conjured objects.

“Next, Brandon,” says Dr. Winding. “You were tasked with replicating a human hip and femur interlock.”

Brandon goes to the back of the room and picks up several large bones that he had most likely placed there before class. It is, as far as I can tell, a perfect representation of a human femur. It is a little macabre and makes me feel uncomfortable.

“Good, good,” says Dr. Winding. He then turns to May. “You were tasked with making a series of interlocking wood pieces.”

May pulls out a rather small puzzle box and hands it to Dr. Winding. Dr. Winding examines it, and then places it on his desk.

“Good,” he says. “Now that we have turned in our assignments, let’s discuss high-accuracy conjuration techniques …”

After the day’s classes, I head to the room where the CCC team is located. The door, which is hidden away behind a maze of halls, is worn down and filled with pockmarks. I knock.

“Come in,” says Alexia, through the door.

I enter. The CCC room is tiny and cluttered. There is barely enough room for four people with all the equipment everywhere.

“Hey!” says Alexia, pointing at me with a wrench. “I knew you would come.”

Brandon gives me a small smile. “We’ve been working on what to do with your conjuration themes.”

May taps an unfinished construction that resembles a big toothpick bridge. It is made out of pine wood fastened with antimony bolts. At some structural points, the whiteness of bone shines in the room’s bright lighting.

“So, let’s get this straight,” says Alexia. “You can create iron, steel, wood, copper, grass, and water. Can you mix and match to create hybrid materials?”

“I think so,” I say.

Alexia brushes a bunch of tool off of a machine that resembles a drill but isn’t quite built like one. “This is the stress tester,” says Alexia. “We’re going to have to test all the materials you create so we can know exactly what to use your conjured matter for. Of course, Brandon and I will be doing the actual calculations. You’re just a high schooler, after all.”

Brandon kneels beside the bridge. “We’re mainly focusing on the bridge portion right now. I think, with an iron-steel conjurer, we’re going to be a lot more competitive.”

“So,” I say, “Do most schools have an iron-steel conjurer?”

“About half do,” says Brandon. “But that doesn’t matter in a contest. The bridges are tested according to what materials they are made from. Different sets of materials will receive different score modifiers. It’s just that there’s a lot more documented research on the structural properties of iron and steel.”

“Okay,” I say. “I think I can try making some alloys.”

“Right,” says Brandon. “We probably won’t be using your wood, grass, or water conjurations. However, we can probably form some pretty nice alloys out of iron, steel, and copper.” He pauses. “Should I give you a run-down of how this competition works?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Well, the main point of this competition is that we conjure all of our entries on-site, under a time limit. I think Dr. Winding has told you about the three categories. The basic principles they are testing are structural stability, precision, and complexity. Thus the three categories.” Brandon sits down on an upturned box. “Each team can have five conjurers that work on a project, but the competition is balanced so that smaller groups can also participate.” Brandon chews his lip. “You’re a special case. Usually the regulations require that a conjurer be at undergraduate level or higher. They make exceptions, but only on the recommendation of a professor.” He turns to Alexia. “Did I explain it right?”

“Yeah,” says Alexia. Alexia turns to me. “Now let’s start forming some alloys to test. First off, there aren’t very many good alloys of copper and iron or steel. But I know that you could probably make something special that no one has ever had the chance to make.”

I think for a moment. “Do you think I can create Rearden metal?”

“Er,” says Alexia. He turns to Brandon. Brandon shrugs.

“I take it neither of you have heard of Ayn Rand,” says May. “Rearden metal is a fictional alloy of iron and copper that is super strong.” She looks at me and shakes her head. “While we can call whatever powerful alloy you make with your powers “Rearden metal,” it won’t have those properties, as the metal is entirely fictional.

“Aw,” I say.

May lifts an eyebrow. “But I’m surprised that you’ve read Atlas Shrugged,” she says. “That’s a tough book for anyone to read, let alone a high schooler.”

I do my best to smile. “Thanks.” Then I turn to Alexia. “Can I try making a few bars of alloy?”

Alexia nods. He hands me a small metal rod. “Make it in this form. This is a rod specifically cut for stress testing.”

I make a flat surface on a oil-stained desk by clearing away junk. I then hold my hand over the desk. Red cracks flow along my hand.

Alexia whistles. “Wow. I’ve never seen Rawly Rivers so pronounced before.”

Looking at myself, I see something I hadn’t noticed before. A red ring, covered in arcane symbols, is floating around my waist. Since I am not using much power, it is just barely visible, but I know that it can get very, very big if I use enough.

Through my spirit, I have an innate understanding of the mechanical and chemical properties of what I summon. My mind, playing on autopilot, finds three different kinds of iron-copper alloy that would be better than straight steel. I don’t know if these alloys have been discovered; all three of them utilize very specific crystal structures that I believe would be extraordinarily hard to create through a normal forging process.

All three test cylinders plunk onto the desk. Alexia picks up the first one and holds it up to the light.

“Wow,” he says. “That’s a nice color.” He then sets it up in the testing machine. Two arms, one on top and one on the bottom, hold the bar in place.

Alexia turns the machine on, turning a dial slowly. At first, he seems calm. Then his brows furrow. Then he glances at me several times.

I can’t see the bar deforming or bending in any way. Is this normal? I don’t know.

Several minutes pass in silence.

Finally, the bar begins to get thinner in its center. The thin part stretches like playdough until it finally snaps with a loud pop.

Alexia turns to me. “That was amazing. Your alloy is stronger than anything I’ve ever seen or heard about.” He pauses. “How much of it can you make?”

“About two thousand calories worth,” I lie.

Alexia whistles. “With this, we can totally win.”

Brandon sighs. “If only there was no diversity rule.”

“Diversity rule?” I say.

Brandon shakes his head. “With the four of us, only twenty-five percent of all of our submissions can be made by one person.”

“This is to prevent the “ace in the hole” problem,” says May.

Alexia picks up the second bar. “Some conjurers are vastly better than others,” he says. “I think it’s a fair rule.” He grins, placing the second bar in the machine. “Are you ready to start building?”

I am. I am ready to win this competition—though I do feel a bit guilty about lying all the time.

Oh well, I think. I’ll get used to it.