SCODE pilot. Chapter 1.

 A note from the author. I want to know how this form of writing goes down with the average reader. If it's too much technical stuff, tell me. 

Chapter 1

//Orders given to reduce containment bleed. -OP

Fanatic Colorburst Blaze(P){

      Define IND Sycamore;

      Onward.Lock(Sycamore);

      Bleed;

//He really needs to have some time to cool off. -Abigail

      Timer Set 100KB;

      Environment = REDUCEBY(90P);

//I hate to do this to him. -Zach

      Replacement.Ability = DERISION();

//We are going to need him again. -Zach

      Hide(ABIGAIL);

      Reduce.vibrations(P, Sycamore);

//But for now, he must wait. -Abigail

      Donate(ABIGAIL.);

      Do.Not.Reduce(INTELLIGENCE);

//We’ll leave him something to work with. -Zach.

      Hidefunction(SYCAMORE, 95);

      Knowledge.keep;

//He’ll know everything. -Abigail

      Stoneforge(SYCAMORE){

                  If(CODEBREAK) = true, abscond;

                  If(CODEBREAK) = mismatch, recover;

                  Deny.Port;

                  }

//He needs to keep it secret. -OP

      Condense(POWER100) into SPHERE1;

      //And he will return. -Abigail.

      }

End SCODE;

 

The world is a different one from any a person in the first half of the twenty-first century could have imagined. Magic is real, and it is controlled through the use of devices known as “magnetic aether accelerators.” However, even with these devices, most people can barely lift a rock above their heads. Those who can do more are considered national resources, to be taught, developed, and husbanded. Ever since the third world war tore through the globe and reduced human populations by two thirds, magic users have become each country’s insurance against defeat via enemy magicians. Nuclear bombs are pittance compared to the power of the select few: the Risen. There are only twenty-five known Risen, and each one has their own way of being as devastating as ten nuclear bombs. They are ranked by power and they are the only reason why the world has not yet descended back into chaos.

The world has recovered since the end of the war. Normal life resumes for the survivors, but low birth rates around the world have prevented a resurgence of the population. The Risen have disappeared somewhere, and the threat of annihilation seems to have been avoided. Now the everyday lives of normal people are separated from those who know how to use magic.

Magic users who have been identified go to special schools that the government funds in order to maintain the ranks of their combat magicians. These schools are segregated by power level into three ranks: Rose, Violet, and Dandelion. Each rank gains more privilege than the ones under it. Rose students gain access to the finest teachers, the finest facilities, and the best education that money can buy. Meanwhile, Dandelion students are third-stringers who are only given the bare minimum of education to retain their use to the government.

This is where I come in.

My name is Samuel Ryan. I am a Dandelion magician and it’s the day of the opening ceremony at my school in New York. I am a sophomore who has transferred in, so I am new to the school. This school is, by all means, the pinnacle of magic education in the United States. Only the best magicians get to come here. The rest of us are barely bystanders, recruited by the school to fulfill its quota of students from each ability level.

When I took my transfer test, I registered in the bottom fortieth percentile in terms of transfer energy and casting speed. My school issue MAX (magnetic aether Accelerator) did not perform to my standards, but that doesn’t change the fact that I scored near the bottom for acceptance rates, even for Dandelion students. My sister, on the other hand, tested in the top five people who have ever taken the exam. She’s in ninth grade, a year younger than I am. She’s going to be the freshman speaker during the opening ceremony this year. Her “operating system” is “fanatic reactive,” which means that she can cast multiple spells in parallel. Fanatic reactive is the perfect operating system for being at the top in terms of raw power and flexibility.

I walk onto the school grounds in the midst of a crowd. Each member of the three tiers wears a badge on their school uniform representing what striate they’re in. There are a lot of Roses at the moment, and I have a hard time maintaining eye contact with them. I know they’re looking down on me, a dandelion level. I can handle this level of classism, and I look onward with serenity in my expression. I am not going to be a target for their persecution.

When I reach the assembly hall, I enter into a large amphitheater akin to a college lecture hall, but bigger. At least two thousand students are already here, in their seats.

I take an empty seat next to a red-haired girl wearing a ribbon.

“Hello,” says the red-haired girl. “You’re a fellow dandelion. My name’s Chandra.”

“Nice to meet you, Chandra,” I say, shaking her hand.

“What’s your operating system?” says Chandra.

“Reclusive Ocular,” I say.

“Reclusive?” says Chandra. “I’ve never heard of that supertype before.”

“It’s a type that is defined by irregularity,” I say. “The type is only given when an OS doesn’t suit any of the other supertypes.”

“I myself am an Operatic Dismal,” says Chandra. “I’m mostly trained in Jaxism.”

“The Peruvian martial art?” I say.

“Yeah, you seem to know what it is,” says Chandra.

A rather nerdy looking girl with long black hair and large glasses sits down on the other side of me from Chandra.

“Hello,” she says. She is a dandelion rank just like us.

“Hi,” says Chandra. “What’s your name?”

“Cris,” says the girl.

“Okay, Cris,” says Chandra. “What’s your operating system?”

“Dynamic Chard,” says Cris. “I don’t have much control over my magic. It happens before I can tell it what to do.”

“I’ve known some high level Roses with the Dynamic Chard operating system,” says Chandra. “It’s not a bad operating system. Has a lot of compatibles.”

“They’re all expensive or require too much computational power,” says Cris. She turns to the stage. “I think they’re about to start.”

My sister, Emi, approaches the stage.

“Entering the forty-fifth class at Ixtham Academy for the Magic Sciences, leading speaker, Emi Lane.” The announcer’s voice is curt.

Emi climbs the steps to the stage and stands behind the podium.

“I greet this incoming class with the utmost concern for your well being,” she says. “I, myself, am no more than a commoner with the great blessing of coming to a school that is known across the nation and the world for its excellence, both in academics, and magic. I address this speech to those who would wish to build a better world for all. We have been brought here by fate, by circumstance, and by commonality. I wish to increase our awareness of the fact that we are all in this together, whether Rose, Violet, or Dandelion. I wish that we could overcome our differences.”

“I hope that, through working with you all, I will come to understand the true meaning of patriotism, courage, and truthfulness. There is no better possibility than the advancement of the human race, the elimination of poverty, war, and famine, and the creation of a generation of people who live to create a better world. I believe we are this generation, and we have the ability to create this reality. Thank you.” Emi steps down from the podium and is replaced by the principal.

“Thank our student leader, Emi Lane,” says the principal. “For her frank speech.” He seems to have swallowed something sour. I know exactly why. Our society isn’t really one where dandelions and roses can be considered as equal. If Emi wasn’t head and shoulders above everyone else in magic and academic ability, she would have never gotten away with that speech.

Chandra leans towards me and whispers. “What do you think her goal is?” she says.

“I know exactly what it is,” I say. “She wants equality.”

“How do you know that?” says Chandra.

“She’s my sister,” I say. “I know everything about her.”

“Oh, wow,” says Chandra. “But why are you a Dandelion while she’s a top level Rose?”

“Because we’re not fully biological,” I say. “She is my half sister. We have the same father.”

“Seriously?” says Chandra. “Genetics really do something, don’t they?”

Cris narrows her eyes behind her thick eyeglasses. “Ms. Lane’s spirit aura is very refined. I can feel it. It feels like a cold snap in the middle of January, colored pink with something I can’t understand.”

“You have spirit vision?” I say.

“I can’t turn it off,” says Cris. “My glasses keep it contained, but …”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I understand most of the theory behind spirit vision.”

The principal continues to drone on about achievement and prosperity. I turn to Chandra.

“Do you have any siblings who are here?” I ask.

“Yes,” says Chandra. “A brother. He’s a Violet in his junior year.”

“Hm,” I say. “Any familial resemblance?”

“He has bright red hair like I do,” says Chandra.

“My sister is a Rose in her senior year,” says Cris.

“So genetics isn’t everything,” says Chandra.

The principal chooses that moment to end his speech and dismiss everyone. I stand up.

“It’s time for secondary eval,” I say.

“I’m not excited,” says Chandra.

“I am,” says Cris. She smiles.

“Is it okay if we go with you?” says Chandra. “You appear to be a very reliable guy.”

“I’m not disinclined to have company,” I say.

The three of us walk towards the magic training grounds.

A group of people is gathering near a small outbuilding. I approach.

“Stay back if you know what’s good for you,” says a male student with a Rose badge. “We’ve got something to do.”

Two Dandelions and a Violet are backed against the outbuilding. They are clearly being vindicated against.

I approach.

“Stay back!” yells the Rose.

I hold up my hand. “No need to hurt anyone,” I say. “I’m sure we can deal with this situation peacefully.”

“Not if these stems know what’s good for them,” says the student.

“Stems?” I say.

“What, you’re a stem and you don’t know what you are?” says the student.

I hold up both hands. “I’m not looking for trouble. And neither are these three students.”

“Shut up,” says the Rose, holding out a ring-type MAX. “If you know what’s good for you.”

Three rings of differing color disperse around the MAX, filled with articulate characters.

This is what I read:

Exit Start: Seclusive Rampant;

This means that the caster can “inhabit” objects with SCODE. It’s a calling card that starts the program.

Choose Target = 3#B0K;

He’s aiming at something close to me that he can inhabit.

Inhabit(3#B0K){

      Fire.Element.PERSE;

      }

He’s giving it life as a fire elemental.

Energy.source(DEVIN_1);

He’s powering it up.

Package!;

He’s getting ready to cast the spell.

A beautiful girl wearing the uniform of a senior approaches, with a band on her arm representing the disciplinary committee.

I hold out my MAX—a small ring—and run the following program.

Exit Start: Ocular Inversion;

Break;

It’s two simple lines that cancel an opponent’s casting process.

“Hey!” yells the girl, just as the aggravating Rose’s spell fizzles. “You’re not supposed to use your MAXes against other students!”

The aggravating Rose backs towards his cronies. “I wasn’t doing anything!” he says.

I turn to the girl. She really is beautiful, with long flowing black hair and an elegance to her that is implacable. She frowns, as two other disciplinary committee members follow her.

“Gary Genius,” she says. “You’re under academic arrest for utilization of a MAX to incite violence against another student.”

I held up my hand. “He wasn’t using an attack pattern,” I say.

It’s a bold-faced lie, of course.

“And how do you know?” says the girl. Not angrily, more questioning.

“I can read SCODE as it’s being cast,” I say. “It’s part of my operating system.”

“You’re a Dandelion,” says the girl. “Well, I wouldn’t expect any less of a Dandelion who managed to get into Ixtham.” She extends her hand. “My name is Manilla. I hope I don’t have to talk to you in situations like this in the future.”

“Likewise,” I say, shaking her hand. “I’m on the same wavelength as you.”

“I like you,” says Manilla. “Come to the disciplinary council room after you get your secondary test. Until then, good day.” She turns around and walks away.

“Well,” I say. “That was frightening.” I just hope the rest of my day won't be so exciting.