《Manifold》


 The Library at the Edge

    The sky was thundering heavily when he arrived. LSV-016, upon which hull was painted a crimson triangle tipped with a golden finial¡ªthe ancient symbol of the Edomite Bishopric¡ªtouched down on the landing pad with a dull thump.


    Betelgeuse was already standing to attention when the clasps hissed sharp release. They were two lines, the Edomites. Standard operational procedures dictated his position at fourth from the front.


    The hull juddered open slowly on pneumatic hinges. During that interim he snuck a rightmost glance at the woman from Edom-Prime but was unable to detect any hint of emotion, for her face was set into a rigid mask. He could only hope he displayed the same equanimity. A pit of anxiety was growing within his gut and it was becoming more difficult to conceal it.


    "It''s time."


    He heard the whispered words caressing the nape of his neck. She was behind him, Chrysilla, the only other one to have come from Edom-Zeta. This was the tenth year of their acquaintanceship, he reckoned. In a village as small as E-Zeta, it was difficult not to fraternize with the other children.


    He didn''t have to turn around to know that her golden brows were furrowed and twitching. Wiggling toes, wiggling fingers. Her hands would be itching to fiddle with her hair. Her blonde locks flowed too long and perhaps a stray strand would breeze across her nostrils, forcing her to scrunch her button nose to hold in a sneeze.


    The hull doors slammed dully onto tarmac. Somewhere underneath his feet, metal plates shifted. Wan light streamed in to reveal particles shifting lazily across air.


    "Out, all of you, on the double!" barked the foreman.


    Moving two at once, the Light Strike Vehicle''s cargo disembarked. Air, cool but bloated with moisture and ozone, washed over Betelgeuse'' face; the firmament was grey and dark above him and the pregnant clouds looked full enough to overspill.


    He could see all the way to the horizon, where a sliver of orange met billowing hillocks of cloud.


    ''A once-in-a-lifetime sight,'' he thought, as the formation half-marched over a bridge of glass and the scraping sounds of boots over tarmac were substituted for dull whumping.


    He turned his attention downwards. The glass was clear and he could see below his feet; from his vantage point he espied, far below the bridge of tempered glass, the flat tops of skyscrapers and pyramidal structures adorned in millenia-old neon-bright styles; it was a strange feeling, to have these perennial overlords of the sky beneath one''s feet.


    To his chagrin a feeling of vertigo assailed him through his intestines, but he snapped his head upward and held his expression straight, willing himself to keep marching, one foot in front of the other.


    He had seen the city''s veins thriving with activity. So far and so close. How long would he take to reach it, if he jumped?


    Betelgeuse willed himself free of these thoughts. He glanced surreptitiously to his right, taking care to keep his feet moving in step; she was staring straight ahead, the E-Prime woman, with nary an emotion gracing those aquiline features.


    ''These guys are just sticklers, aren''t they?'' he couldn''t help thinking.


    "Hey, who''s she?" more whispering from behind. "Why do you keep looking at her?"


    Chrys, again. Betelgeuse rolled his eyes and ignored her.


    They were coming to grand double-doors, three-men tall. They opened slowly and mechanically in response to our increasing proximity. Above the widening fissure, through which filtered rays of warm and mellow light, towered the golden spires of this, their destination, like fountains of molten rock. The highest spire was a skyscraper to Betelgeuse, the skyscraper of skyscrapers, and it glimmered with a curious attraction.


    Beteulgeuse took the opportunity to admire the sharp double-tip of the spire-minaret. It shimmered even under the threat of the deluge and pierced the graying firmament with impunity.


    The Library at the Edge symbolized many things. It was symbol of humankind''s interstellar power, symbol of the Founding Families'' hegemony over the Democracy and symbol of the Hierarch''s commitment to extending humanity''s ultimate dominion over all land, for all time. It was all these and more.


    One thousand years ago, the then-Hierarch of the Democracy had promulgated a set of laws known as the Requisition Orders pursuant to which all children of the Democracy took their pilgrimage here at least once in their lifetime. They would do this in their eighteenth year to participate in the rite of passage known as the Analysis.


    It was only through the Analysis that the children of the Democracy obtained esoteric reality-altering artifacts known a Destiny Incunabula; by so doing they started their journey into legal adulthood and became empowered to contribute back to society.


    As humanity expanded beyond Earth, different libraries were built on other planets to service resident populations¡ªbut this, the Library at the Edge, had remained the grandest of all.


    For the better part of the last millennia, Destiny Incunabula have been the subject of inexhaustible academic discussion, from the ''essential increment'' that formed the backbone of each Incunabulum, to the rules governing their ''reality-altering'' characteristic.


    As was commonly known, each Incunabulum holds an ''essential increment'' which first manifests, at the time of the Analysis, as a participant is chosen by an Incunabulum. In short, the Increment was the first line of script to appear on the first page of an Incunabulum.


    This Increment held the special characteristic of being immutable, and in substance was no more than a description of a power or characteristic and its psychological origin. Such Increment would be approximately written in the script and arranged according to the language or dialect most familiar to the incunabulum holder.


    For example, holders of Primary Incunabulum might have as their ''essential increment'' the power to control fire. The Increment would look something like this: "Owing to an affinity for the warmth and glow of the village hearth, [so-and-so] controls steady fire."


    On the other hand, holders of White Incunabulum might have the power to fly, with the Increment looking something like this: "As [so-and-so] feels free-est in the company of birds, [she/he/they] obtains the power of avian flight."


    As for ''reality-altering'', the gist was that Incunabula possessed the ability to cause changes, to varying degrees of suddenness, in the physical (i.e. bodily makeup) and mental state of the holder, or in extreme cases even the basic fabric of reality (for example, gravity or light) within a certain distance centered at the ''brain meridian'', an organ located just posterior to the thalamus. Not all of these ''reality-altering'' changes were pretty to watch.


    Suffice to say the literature on these artifacts was immense, as Betelgeuse knew well. All children of the Democracy has had, at one point or other, had the pleasure (or displeasure) of flipping through a volume of Cox''s Important Bibliographies. From the vast corpus of work and centuries of practical experience had emerged seven (non-exhaustive) divisions of Incunabula.


    The weakest and lowest grade of Incunabula were termed Ash Incunabula. These typically manifested as mud-brown or ashen-colored books with corroded and faded covers. The typical Increment associated with the Ash Incunabula were mere descriptions of personalities. For example, "Because of [so-and-so]''s strong desire for romantic love, [so-and-so] easily experiences impassioned limerence.", or "[so-and-so] is hateful." Ash Incunabula are the only grade of Incunabula which might lack the explanatory clauses common to the superior grades, thus reducing the flexibility with which one might interpret the Increment (with attendant constraints on the subsequent ''writings'' (also termed Etchings) and ''rewritings'' of the particular Incunabulum).


    The next grade were Hollow Incunabula. These were sometimes but not often considered equal to White Incunabula, on account of the drawbacks of the latter. The Hollow Incunabula often appeared translucent and plastic-like and typically blessed its holders with improved dexterity. For example, "As [so-and-so] harbors deep affinity for string instruments, [so-and-so]''s fingers move as fast as thought can keep up with music." or, "Owing to a preference for silent twilights, [so-and-so]''s footsteps are light." It is important to note that explanatory clauses need not bear any more than a minor link to the power conferred.


    White Incunabula tend to appear bone-white and are associated with causing rapid mutations in holders. Such changes range widely in extent, with the most extreme metamorphoses being the stuff of horror. Indeed, some of the greatest literary tragedies to have emerged in the last century have centered around one or other White Incunabulum transformations. When an Increment reads "As [so-and-so] feels free-est in the company of birds, [she/he/they] obtains the power of avian flight.", in the context of the White Incunabula it may mean growing feathered wings and immense chest muscles to support avian flight.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    According to studies, the greatest and most gruesome changes stem from body obsessions, as in "Because of intense dissatisfaction with the height of [so-and-so]''s nose-bridge, [so-and-so]''s nose-bridge lengthens to three times its size." or "As [so-and-so] desires colossal biceps, the volume of [so-and-so]''s biceps multiply by three times." Should one suffer such mutations, the least invasive way to reverse such changes would be to undergo intense psychological conditioning in an attempt to influence subsequent ''writings''/''rewritings'' in a remedial direction (reason being that ''writings'' and ''rewritings'' are affected by the desires and/or beliefs of holders). It will be interesting to note that the man with the colossal biceps, for example, had succeeded in influencing a future Etching to read "From strength-obsession to balance, the volume of [so-and-so]''s biceps must be divided by three to achieve at-oneness with the proportions of the body."


    Next were the Primary Incunabula, the covers of which could be cerulean or crimson. Primary Incunabula related to chemical manipulations and corresponding physical changes within a holder''s body, as in "Due to a fascination with floods and flood-based catastrophes, [so-and-so] may transmute the surroundings into water."


    The first of the ''Metal Incunabula'', Bronze Incunabula (or sometimes, ''Copper Incunabula''), their covers gleaming copper-like, tended to bless its holders with ''mental'' changes (which, it has been proven, follow on physical changes to the brain; as such, some have argued that Bronze Incunabula should merely be considered a better grade of Hollow Incunabula). For example, "Because [so-and-so] harbors intense fascination for analog machinery, [so-and-so] obtains the power to visualize the schematic of objects in the vicinity." and "As [so-and-so] is obsessed with philosophy, [so-and-so] may trace every link in the particular recursion leading to a conversation partner''s assertion."


    The next Metal Incunabula was the Silver Incunabula (or, in certain other circles, ''Steel Incunabula''), powerful Incunabula the color of blue-tinted steel. The Silver Incunabula''s status as "second-best" is controversial because many considered Bronze Incunabula equal to, and in certain rare cases superior to, Silver Incunabula. The Silver grade conferred powers relating to ''coordination'', ''intelligence'' and/or ''management''; but really the debate is confused, given that the relevant Increments have been noted to be rather vague. "[so-and-so] may intuit webs of relationships, on account of [so-and-so]''s profound reflections." is an example of one which has proven particularly hard to parse.


    At the top reigned the Golden Incunabula, gold, like their designation. Blessed are those chosen by the Golden Incunabula, for they alone can manipulate time and space. The network that tied together the star systems within the Democracy''s dominion at the dawn of the Interstellar Age, for instance, was built and maintained by holders of the Golden Incunabula. To a certain extent, fundamental facets of the many-sided die we call reality can be transmogrified¡ªwilled into or out of existence¡ªby these divine powers.


    Every child in the dominion has pretensions to the Golden grade, and Betelgeuse was no exception. He knew, of course, that this was no more than a puerile fantasy).


    Needless to say, holders of Golden Incunabula were a rare breed, each planet in the Democracy producing perhaps one a decade Owing to the galactic importance of such Incunabula, Increments of the Golden grade were subject to the most extreme levels of secrecy. Only a single public record of a Golden Incunabulum''s Increment existed, that of the founding Hierarch Tozen:


    <blockquote>


    From the deepest point of his consciousness Tozen desires to invert the space between stars, so he may will it.


    </blockquote>


    Then again, complete and verified records of Increments were rare even in respect of Silver and Bronze Incunabula.


    Betelgeuse''s mind reached through his knowledge and retread the familiar ground quickly. It helped him to deal with the anxiety.


    The grand doors had closed behind them, after the final Edomite crossed the threshold. The inside of the Library at the Edge was a gargantuan hall hung with cerise-colored pennants and ostentatious silks of gold. At the far end was a raised platform like a chancel upon which stood sentinel an altar clothed in white.


    The hall was brimming with so many other young faces from myriad faraway lands and villages, all congregated, arranged in neat lines, across gray-spotted marble tessellated black and white. Betelgeuse estimated there must have been hundreds of them. Under a ceiling which felt higher than the sky, he was buffeted by the soft susurrations of adolescent whispers, thick with expectation and anxiety, their anxiety melding with his.


    He chose a face and stared at it¡ªa fresh-faced girl on the cusp of womanhood, her hair silken locks of red flame, her eyes twinkling beautifully, whispering secret things to her friends and acquaintances. Her beautiful features quietened his heart.


    Then another¡ªcallow features made mannish by the scar down the side of his carven chin, tan-black, dusky, indulging in extroverted conversation.


    These weren''t very like the Edomites, he felt, glancing again at E-Prime to his right. Nope, still quiet and severe as a cliff-face. And yet, was it wrong if he felt a connection with them, the ''non-Edomites'', because they were freer and less restrained? Maybe they had had different disciplines, growing up.


    Ah, tension in the air.


    The anxiety returned quickly, and Chrys'' shuffling behind him only serve to heighten it. His only recourse was to review, once, twice, three times, what he already knew of what was to come. He would acquire a Bronze Incunabula, nothing to it, and Chrys would obtain a Primary.


    Everybody knew one''s worthiness was genetic¡ªboth his parents being holders of Bronze Incunabula, the chances of him failing to acquire an Incunabulum of the same grade was inconceivable.


    And yet, what if he failed? What if even the Primary Incunabula avoided him? What if¡­ what if he were to fall afoul of the White or even Hollow grades? His parents, he could see their kind faces now¡ªwhat would they say, what would they feel, if not disappointment? The elders had never failed to teach the children the harsh truth of the universe, repeated ad nauseam, that the sins of parents will be revealed in them: Betelgeuse''s failure would reveal the sins of his blood memory.


    Enough.


    Nothing could change what has already been set. It was a question merely of genetics, and whatever men said about sins and divine retribution could bring him no peace. Superfluous things had to be discarded.


    Such anxiety did not become him¡ªwith the force of his will he banished all evil thoughts to the farthest reaches of his consciousness.


    If anybody had anything to worry about, it would be Chrysilla. Whilst her mother was a Primary, she had never known her father. Her mother who did bear her out of wedlock never could discover the provenance of her lover.


    Sure enough, Betelgeuse turned back to find her picking at her cuticles and mumbling some childhood mantra. She had always resorted to her cuticles when anxious. He put his hand on hers, whispering, "calm down."


    "Stop it. Hate it when you say that," she returned; but he could see her eyes twinkle and lighten.


    "It''s bad for your fingers."


    "Mmmokay dear," she drawled. She did no swat Betelgeuse''s hands away as she usually did.


    ''Her palms are soft and warm and nice,'' he thought.


    "Yerp, fuk'' wit'' tat'' la''er," he said the usual saying.


    "Yerp derp, la''er," she replied the usual reply.


    He removed his hand and she allowed hers to fall to her sides. She had the merest hint of a smile. She wore her tight-fitting leather-nylon cadet-suit quite well, he noted.


    Deciding that they had already embarrassed themselves enough in front of the other Edomites, he turned his attention back to the front.


    Just in time to witness the entrance of a man stalking heavy bootsteps from a small arched entrance behind the altar. Like the altar, the man was clothed in flowing white vestments. Around his waist was bound a parti-colored belt.


    It was so colorful, the belt, and Betelgeuse wondered about the effort it must have taken to create it.


    The man genuflected and mouthed silent prayers. It was Betelgeuse'' first time coming into contact with formalDemocratic rituals, and he stared raptly; reading about it and seeing it in person were two very different things. But then he realized the curiosity was affecting the serenity of his heart, so he willed it away into another far corner.


    The murmurs quietened. The hell fell silent. The man''s bootsteps echoed up to the faraway ceiling and back, as he placed a tall holder at the center of the altar, then a silver helmet into the holder, then a gleaming golden scepter flat beside the holder. The scepter was studded with rocks¡ªno, gems¡ªspilling reds, purples and blues into the air.


    His task done, the man stepped to the side and clasped his hands together behind his back.


    Moments later, another man, this one older and sporting a white mane very like how the stories describe the saints, entered through the arched entrance. His garb was thick with purple, and veins of color striped in spiral fashion from collar to waist.


    This must be the Docent in charge of the Analysis.


    "Another batch is coming soon, so I apologize if we have to rush this," he began, his voice filtering through hidden speakers and filling the large space with a booming baritone.


    "But a quick word before we commence¡ªI cannot truly express how glad I am to see you all gathered here today; you, the new generation. From the ice-marshes of New Hope to the lava pits of Agni to the reclaimed crags off Pradesh, we are, all of us, participants in the great story of the Democracy.


    "The young have always been cursed to carry the torch from the old; under these circumstances you must remember¡ªwhen times are tough, remember¡ªthat you will one day steer the Democracy to new heights and frontiers.


    "No matter how far-flung your home may be, Democracy has seeded civilization and goodness, has guided and sharpened you as it had guided and sharpened your forebears against the elements and the enemies of humankind.


    "In time to come, you will face challenges. But you are not alone¡ªremember that you stand on the backs of giants.


    "Let us begin. Come up when your name is called and Sexton Quine here," the Docent pointed toward the adjacent man, "will outfit you. Then, the Incunabula will choose."


    Author''s Note: Thank you for reading through the first chapter! It is my hope that you will have as much fun reading this story as I had writing it. The tentative plan is to update this at least once every week (with more frequent updates depending on my schedule), so stay tuned!

 Heart of Man

    The first name was called. Echoes of shuffling feet upon marble, as the slightest crack appeared in the sea of humanity. Betelgeuse saw her as she ascended the platform, a girl who took womanhood seriously and filled it in with glowing black hair, squirrelly features and the lightest touch of freckles. Her mouth was set into a resolute line, like those who have before her.


    Solemnity was in Sexton Quine''s fingers when he placed the helmet upon her head. He took the scepter, raised it high, and surrendered it to her grasp. Upon the coronation the inlaid gems flashed and dazzled¡ªreds, purples and blues¡ªthen died.


    Curious sounds echoed throughout the space. Somewhere secret, ancient mechanisms cranked sullen vibrations. And there it was¡ªfrom on high, from an exit Betelgeuse could not see, an object descended. It was bright and gleaming¡­


    Bronze Incunabulum!


    Betelgeuse recognized it at once, having admired over countless hours his mother''s copper-skinned grimoire.


    His eyes widened. The hope he had kindled, the anticipation had cultivated¡ªeverything centered on obtaining the Bronze Incunabulum.


    He recoiled. These feelings had grown big and strong over the course of years. He scoured his heart, groping across the contours of anticipation and hope, then suppressed them with as much will as he could muster. These feelings were superfluous. The heart had its ebb and flow, but serenity must be preserved.


    The tome fell half-open, pages flapping wildly, into her outstretched arms. She looked and gaped and mouthed and wept. Sexton Quine, who had retrieved the scepter, deftly removed the helmet.


    Her face flitted across a million emotions. Betelgeuse saw this and empathized, because he could imagine how it must have felt, and because he too wished for the same satisfaction.


    It was the fulfillment of her deepest desires. It was the fulfillment of years of yearning and years of being weaned on the old myths.


    Crucially, acquiring a Bronze Incunabulum had conferred upon her the title of "worthy". Whilst only those blessed by a Silver Incunabulum could truly consider their trajectory boundless, Bronze grades were all but guaranteed a good future. Bronze Incunabula formed the material and productive backbone of the Democracy, its holders going on to become technicians, engineers, lawyers, craftsmen, doctors and more. Such holders were accordingly conferred status and financial stability.


    Practically speaking, she could now avail herself of the opportunity to pursue further development in any of Earth''s Polytekniks. From there, one could usually find well-remunerated positions in government or any of the Big Six¡ªi.e., Lebensraum, Romulus Systems, PiLiPaLa, Ayam Corp, Caturdhara Industries and taotie.com, the supermassive corporations run by certain of the Founding Families, namely the Mentzers, Baathors, Chens, Abelards, Choudurys and Lee-Pohs respectively.


    And from there¡­ who could say if she would not rise to hold a position of real power? From whence did power come, except through constant and unceasing application? Hard work paid off sometimes.


    The redhead closed the copper-colored tome reverently, then left the platform. As for the Increment that had been revealed to her, that was her secret to keep and share as she liked. The immutable first line in an Incunabulum, the so-called Increment, formed the basis of a holder''s power, and as such was kept under careful guard. In general, a holder only revealed his Increment to his family or spouse.


    In fact, information regarding the Increment of members of large families could fetch a hefty price on the black market.


    Betelgeuse recalled the Lee Incident of yesteryear, when a piecemeal snippet of research pertaining to the Increment of the Lee Family''s scion Sarah Fu found its way onto Pecorino, the Intraweb''s infamous black market. He remembered the price at which it had been sold. 800,000,000 credits. That was eight hundred million credits, an inconceivable amount of money. By way of comparison, his father earned a monthly salary of 5,000 credits working as the only family lawyer in Edom-Zeta.


    At the time he had been trying his hand at arbitraging ''information asymmetries'' on Pecorino, making one or two or at best multiple tens of credits buying and selling snippets of Increment research (and by so doing, technically flouting the government''s prohibition on the transferal of Increment research). The pieces of research Betelgeuse had had the opportunity to browse ran up to 50 credits at the most.


    50 versus 800,000,000. It was a difference that boggled his mind.


    Betelgeuse attempted heroically to empty his head of distractions. Everything hinged on maintaining his heart''s serenity unto the crucial moment. It was well known that the outcome of the Analysis could be affected by the slightest wisp of incoherence.


    The next name was owned by a well-built masculine figure. That the youth had trained his muscular body with specific intent was clear for all to see. Clean-shaven, sharp-jawed and barrel-chested, he approached the altar and closed his eyes. The helmet came on; he grasped the scepter, biceps, brachialis and triceps straining against nothing in particular.


    A single tome the color of bleached bone fell into his hand. Betelgeuse narrowed his eyes. Sexton Quine hurriedly retrieved the helmet and scepter.


    The man opened his lids as the White Incunabula fell into his grasp. A curious sheen of white arced from its billowing pages and fell upon his forehead, the power coalescing into a sort of glutinous and translucent membrane which sheathed his skin. Almost at once, he jerked his head upward, his dark pupils melting away into pure white.


    The audience stared raptly, their visages locked into expressions of horrified fascination. Cracking sounds started to emit from his body. Then he started screaming, sublimating pain into one long, ear-splitting screech that dragged out long seconds beneath its tines. The cracking sounds got louder; his tall frame lengthened, his arms warped then straightened, his fingers clawed spiderlike and inverted painfully. Every lilt in the scream was followed by further sounds of cracking bone, every sound of cracking bone presaging the engorgement, tearing and enlargement of flesh. No more a mere human, he was the loom upon which the beneficence of the White Incunabulum worked. Warp and weft, weft and warp.


    Then he stood, a giant of a creature, every feature¡ªpectorals, deltoids, obliques¡ªcarved to perfection. He was the perfection of the male musculature multiplied twice over.


    Betelgeuse permitted himself a breath. He had heard the stories regarding the worst White Incunabula transformations, which had naturally engendered some trepidation. It appeared, however, that the man had disciplined his mind to such an extent as to prevent the exaggerations caused by dysmorphia.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The giant raised himself to his full height, rolling his wrist clockwise and then anticlockwise, his cadet-suit clearly stretching to its limit but somehow maintaining its integrity. His austere visage was devoid of emotion, but Betelgeuse looked closer and found within the man''s eyes a hint of grave disappointment.


    After all, this was a White Incunabula, placing him squarely on the lower rung of society. The man maintained an admirable equanimity as he stepped down from the platform. Now standing two heads taller than the average participant, he stood out even as he plunged immiscibly into the sea of humanity.


    The next few participants came and went. Hollow, Hollow, another White (this time with no discernible physical change). Then a crimson Primary¡ªanother "worthy" had been minted, thought Betelgeuse. Primary holders were just as important as the Bronzes to the functioning of the Democracy; their future, while not so much as guaranteed, was considered bright.


    The Docent continued down the manifest, reaching, finally, the Edomites. First to be called upon was the girl at the back of Betelgeuse'' line, six places down from him. An "Edith".


    Under the glare of a sourceless saffron light her hair cast a shadow over her face. Her expression betrayed a sense of heavy uncertainty.


    Betelgeuse muttered a brief prayer under this breath. No matter which village they hailed from, they were all Edomites in the end.


    As she reached the platform, she stumbled, then caught herself. Betelgeuse furrowed his brows, imagining the wince on Chrys'' face. No one blinked.


    Red, purple, blue. This time, the hum was muted.


    High up and located near to the ceiling were a row of stained glass windows sporting striking shades of yellows, oranges and blues. Translucent whites glowed softly where the colors did not touch. A curious shade spidered over the glass, making difficult to discern the image which had been so carefully curated.


    The light outside was dimming, Betelgeuse realized; then, a soft rattle tickled his eardrums, the kind of rattle coalesced from the drubbing a torrential downpour makes from the perspective of one ensconced within a large and padded room.


    The cover of the Incunabula was gray, mottled and ashen. Her eyes enlarged wide as dinner plates. He heard, behind him, Chrys'' sharp intake of breath.


    The Ash Incunabulum, and with it, pariah status. Consignment to the lowest rung of society. The Ash grades were a hidden people. They were ignored because it was embarrassing to talk about them. And yet they were so common, engaged in ''dirty'' work like soldiering, sanitation, and certain aspects of raw materials extraction. Many Ash grade women eventually found themselves in the ''entertainment'' industry once they got on in years. Common, but not commonly seen.


    Sexton Quine was efficient as ever, removing the helmet and scepter quickly. The Ash Incunabula fell into her grasp and she scurried away quickly. No one wanted to dwell on it, least of all her.


    Silence from the masses. These things were ignored.


    Betelgeuse followed her messy and tangled black hair as it bobbed down to ground level before disappearing. He began another prayer, muttering, then stopped himself halfway, willing all of it away, forcing all of it out of his mind.


    And yet, he could not really help stealing a glance backward. He wanted to see the emotions on Edith''s face. He wondered what was going through her mind. He hoped she was doing okay.


    Instead, Chrysilla''s rather vague and spiritless expression filled his vision. He would have to lean further out to see Edith. He didn''t want to risk it.


    ''Stop it,'' he scolded himself. It was becoming harder to convince himself of the serenity of his heart.


    Another Edomite, then another. Hollow Incunabula. In both cases, disappointment reflected from downcast eyes.


    Next was E-Prime¨Cthe girl who had been quietly standing beside him.


    "A Tabitha!" Betelgeuse whispered to Chrys, poking her in the rib. She had been looking dazed, perhaps a little frightened by the outcome of their fellow Edomites'' Analyses; her spirit flared back to life at the stimulation and she flashed him a wan smile.


    "Ah, Tabitha¡­" she sighed, remembering their warm yet soulful friend. Their Tabitha, blessed with gregarious personality and three years older than them, was the holder of a Hollow Incunabula.


    Although she had never revealed her Increment to him, it was obvious to Betelgeuse that it related to music, she being a rather accomplished fiddler.


    "Yes, I wonder how she''s doing," he whispered to himself. Tender memories, tender imaginations, secret even from Chrys, were resurfacing. His will-to-serenity was flagging.


    But he was not going down without a fight. If serenity did not work, then he would force a peace. Redoubling his efforts, he purged his internal internal space of all distraction. Let it all go. Nothing mattered so much as the Analysis.


    The mysterious hum recommenced somewhere beneath his feet, tickling his soles through the boot. The familiar sparkle and shine of the scepter.


    And then a shimmering object, resplendent, harboring a mythical quality much like how the stories had described the mithril of old.


    An audible gasp echoed through the hall.


    The fabled Silver Incunabulum!


    Boundless development, limitless potential!


    Tabitha''s features betrayed momentary shock, before melting away into its a rigid template. The corners of the Sexton''s mouth curled upward, hinting at a smile. The Docent congratulated her, but otherwise retained his austere demeanor.


    She scanned the open page quickly and left the platform.


    Chrysilla Nightingale had already begun making her way up to the chancel, even as Tabitha disappeared between the rows of participants.


    The time was nigh.


    Betelgeuse prayed for her, as he had prayed for Edith and the other Edomites.


    Democracy watch over her.


    It was so difficult, he realized, to keep his heart empty. He offered an apology to his father from the deep corners of his heart, for the chaos of his emotions. It was his father who had cautioned him to slow the beating of heart, to only permit entry to the great serenity. He was guilty; acknowledging it only increased his feeling of guilt, and he proceeded to apologize to his mother, then Tabitha (the Tabitha back home, for having thought of her like that), then Elder Bennett¡ª


    The rain had let up, he suddenly registered. Ratchets and gears clanked noisy peals. Tendrils of eldritch power choked the air. Through the tinted glass on high streamed rays of golden sunlight.


    Betelgeuse could finally discern the image on the tinted glass: yonder was Hierarch Tozen¡ªyellow, orange and golden like the solar rays¡ªstabbing a horse-faced stare down upon his children, his expression severe; around him were small figures, in blues, purples and reds, his officers, the Magis, the Archimandrites, the Cardinals; to his left was Bishop Abelard plowing the ground into raised furrows, to his right was Bishop Mentzer, seeding the ground with grains.


    Betelgeuse'' raised his eyebrows.


    The object was a bright yellow-gold. It left a trail of glitterdust in its wake.


    Under the illuminating rays of the sun the shifting air swirled golden particles around in Brownian Motion. Random. Chaotic.


    Chrys caught the book with her left hand, her right still grasping the scepter. Pages flipped violently. Chrys looked to the Sexton, confusion apparent on her face.


    As if suddenly jolted out of his paralysis, Sexton Quine scrambled forward, retrieving the helmet and scepter.


    "Incredible¡­" the Docent whispered.


    Whisper though it may have been, the speakers transmitted it through the hall, circulating it beneath the buttressed ceiling. The word echoed between Doric columns and penetrated the skulls of the audience.


    "Incredible," breathed Betelgeuse.


    "Ms. Nightingale. This is a rare occurrence."


    Momentary awkwardness gave way to professionalism. The old faces before the altar conferred with looks and nods pregnant with implication.


    Then, the Docent turned back to Chrys, mouthing over a deactivated microphone.


    Chrys moved slowly forward, toward the place that the Sexton and Docent had come from, her gait uneven and unsure.


    ''Hold on, where is she going?''


    Betelgeuse calmed himself. Of course they would take her aside. She was meant for great things¡ªno, she was already great! She was the holder of a Golden Incunabulum; wouldn''t it be stranger if they did not speak with her separately?


    She had reached the threshold. Why had the Docent not moved on to the next name? She turned her head. The Docent stood close behind, his face kindly and avuncular.


    Turning back, she scanned the audience. Everybody''s eyes were so wide.


    She was searching, searching¡­


    Their eyes locked.


    He knew that she was afraid. She knew that he was anxious.


    Will I see you again? She seemed to ask, sapphire eyes brimming with ambivalence.


    No doubt. Betelgeuse nodded.


    And she was gone.

 Ash Incunabula

    "¡­ a rare sight indeed, and one that will have widespread impact ¡­" the Docent commented, addressing the congregation of bewildered adolescents.


    "But in any case, your good fortune to witness something so compelling. A once-in-a-lifetime experience, to be sure!


    "It behooves me, however, to remind you that no matter the outcome today, all of you regardless of distinction have the latent ability to contribute something to the Democracy. Every life is precious, every ability is treasured.


    "But my words are grown stale; it is enough for you to see it and decide for yourselves what your contribution will be. We must continue.


    "Betelgeuse Sakar."


    He began moving before the Docent finished pronouncing his name. After Chrysilla''s showing, and the shock, elation and envy it had engendered, he had no more room in his heart for anxiety.


    Bronze¡­ no, Silver¡­


    For the final time, enough.


    The cut and thrust of the day had left him feeling drained, poking holes in his defenses through which all sorts of wild thoughts percolated. As his father had taught him, human beings had limited bandwidth. This was why it was so important to maintain a serene heart; it was a strategy to conserve bandwidth, so that one''s mental energy might be better spent on the people and things that were most important.


    If he underwent the Analysis now¡­


    There was no choice and no prospect for delay. With a final burst of mental energy, he mustered all of his fortitude and emptied his mind of all things.


    Who cared if it was Golden or Silver or Bronze, who cared if it was anything?


    Even Ash¡­


    His train of thought screeched to a halt. His body threatened to freeze mid-step.


    No stopping now.


    Even if he was an Ash grade, even then, he could handle it. Come what may.


    Serenity did not come to him naturally. It never had. But his affinity for it had been decided long before his birth. He was both Edomite and his father''s son. What else could a son want more than live up to the prideful picture his parents had painted of him?


    Rethink that. That seemed flawed. What will pride count for, at the end of all things?


    The pain of the heart was its curse to be free and unbound by God''s strictures. If unbound by God, from whence could Man hope to bridle it? Now without mooring it seeks past an infinity of images for one true thing, and yet will not be convinced by anything it calls true. Over the millennia had things come and gone enough times to learn that the imperative for existence was its disappearance.


    By the time the helmet kissed his forehead, he had pushed away all immediate attachments.


    By the time the scepter graced his palm, he had girded his mind with a will to banish all thought and destroy all distraction¡ª


    The sun had faded. The air choked on its own radiance. He knew what was coming because he felt it in his heart, and long before he saw it, he was free.


    He hadn''t realized that his hands were free.


    The Incunabulum fell into his palms. It was lighter than expected, the spine fitting snugly between thumb and forefinger. It pulsated with a curious power and billowed vehemently under the stagnant gaze of the ancient Hierarch.


    There it was, the first page, and his Increment, which read:


    Will-to-Power.


    His first reaction was one of curiosity.


    And then, the dawning realization that what he held in his hand was an Ash Incunabulum, mud-brown in color and scaly to the touch.


    He widened his eyes.


    <hr>


    When he was twelve, Tabitha had told him that he was a very introverted boy. That must have been when he started becoming louder and more boisterous. The pointless fulminations would ''prove his extroversion'' to all; but really it was more important to prove it to her.


    Which was why he did that stupid thing, what with trying to find the Red Ginseng.


    He''d first read about it at the Edom-Zeta library fourteen hours thereabouts from the start of the rain. Two hours of holding the bear stance under cloud and mizzle and Elder Bennett''s lazy eye and he had had enough. He had gone to the Horn then come from the Horn, with poached rice and sourmilk sitting in his stomach. He was full and sleepy and flipping through Sinic books because he had not outgrown the belief that he had Sinic in his blood.


    That was before he could read the language; but somewhere on that shelf, third from the left and fourth from the top, was a Sinic-to-Common dictionary. And there was the other book it helped him read; on page four-hundred-and-fifty-one, he found the entry for Red Ginseng. It was a symbol of virility, longevity, prosperity and love. It was an old tuber, and it grew on mountains.


    In Sinic, Red equaled love and prosperity and many things besides. The things that had been lost in translation were buried in the same state of fitful creativity from which was birthed the Quest; the Red Ginseng, for Tabitha, and Tabitha herself would be just reward to compensate him for his labors.


    And when he left the rain had just stopped.


    He remembered that the road was arduous and long. He had cut his foot and gored his calf on a stump. He kept going, past the Park Territory and into the wild forest at the foot of the mountain they called Edom. Then it was up the crags, down the ravines, up the ridgelines and all around the circuitous undulations in the trail. Blood clotted, flesh stinging.


    Insects with painted eyebrows appeared in the night. He slept in stutters, under the cover of stars and blinking satellites. In his dreams they would be talking pompously, he and Tabitha; now came the cold with bitter afterthoughts breaking his sleep into furry, peristaltic things traversing the dyke his body made athwart the dirt. There was an earthy embrace he''d mistaken for hers, but in his consciousness he thought the yearning a strange tang.


    It was two days before he dared to imagine he had come very far. The road had plateaued, the wet had gone; the sun beat its cruel drum to the tune of the cicadas.


    He saw the great granite jut browning under the sun. Behind stretched the gay lushness of the wild forest and the symmetrical tessellations of the Park Territory. Beyond that was Edom-Zeta, stuck in the middle by the meaty protuberance of a stone pavilion.


    He could, from this vantage, see the main road running through Edom-Zeta and stretching all the way into the dark and sintered heart of the mines. At that hour, the roads were clogged and atherosclerotic, as brimming trucks rumbled coal onto the interstate.


    And that was his house, beside the electricity pylon. The eaves were curved like shucks and reflected the sunlight at an odd angle.


    There was the stem and leaves which looked very like the Sinic-captioned image, sticking out from a patch of soil at the end of the outcropping and wilting under the power of the sun.


    When he had reached the edge, he started climbing. Palm, foot, palm, foot.


    He was near to the top. The wind was running though his hair. He had laughed and made the mistake of looking down. Vertigo pierced his asshole and ran up through his colon. Needles pricked his soles. His grip tightened onto the ebon granite.


    He stayed there for a long time, daring neither to ascend or descend. He was trapped. The coal trucks left their shadows behind them as the noontide approached.


    It must have been hours until the clouds turned dark. When the splotches of gray turned black he felt it a certainty that it was going to rain¡ªand then the rock was going to become slippery, and he would fall to his death.


    The promise of rain went unanswered.


    A sound like an earthquake split the heavens, and he remembered the underbelly of a vast armored Leviathan revealing itself. It was a machine wider than Edom-Zeta, broader than the Park Territory, larger perhaps than the coal mines which sustained all of the surrounding villages. The rocky outcropping juddered, as if Edom itself were shaking in fear.


    The Leviathan''s shadow yawned through the land. It passed over his head; and suddenly, in the middle of the afternoon, it was night. The dark clarified to his vision the orange under-bellied smog spiraling helix-like from yonder. The forge-fires the children called Earthy-Twinkle, now bright now dim, like fireflies breathing at twilight.


    All things come and go. The darkness passed away into a cloudless cerulean firmament.


    His quest felt very small indeed, in the face of such a thing. With a heart plunged into silence he climbed up to the peak and dug the Red Ginseng from its patch of soil, silken strands and all.


    It was funny, the feeling. Nothing of triumph or elation. Nothing at all.


    And then he began the long trek home, prize in hand, sullenness in his chest; unto the gloaming, unto the night, unto the swollen buzzing of chitinous insects, unto the purple dewy dawn, he walked without stopping, brooding about nothing.


    He had come to the boundary line between wild forest and manicured purlieu when he saw her.


    Chrysilla''s face was dirty and swollen. She was hobbling pitifully along because she had twisted her foot. She hollered at me. She cursed. Something about parents and irresponsibility.


    Why did you come here and how did you know, he had asked.


    Everybody knows. The rangers are combing every inch of this place, right from the entrance. But maybe I''m the only one who knows you''re crazy enough to go to the forest, she had huffed.


    Here, take this, he said, stuffing into her hand the thing he had worked so hard to find.


    It means love or something like that.


    And she blushed the brightest shade of pink.


    But inside, he felt confused, as if he had fallen into a bottomless well of pitch that doused everything in streaks of gray.


    The Red Ginseng and Tabitha¡ªat that point, could he say without dissimulation that either of them really mattered?


    <hr>


    He couldn''t remember much of the rest of the Analysis. Everything after the Ash Incunabulum was mashed together into one indistinct lump.


    There were feelings and then there were feelings.


    The hall was emptying itself when Betelgeuse'' spirit returned to him. Edith, with the messy hair, was poking him in the shoulder.


    "What?" he snapped.


    She yelped and stepped back, clutching to her chest the ashen-colored tome.


    "T-the others are leaving. They told us to go outside," she managed.


    He turned around. Indeed, the last of the participants were sauntering through the grand double-doors. The Docent and the Sexton were nowhere to be seen.


    "They told us to gather outside, I mean, us Ash grades. The rest are going home."


    Us Ash grades.


    "What about us?" He asked listlessly, raising his Incunabulum to his face absentmindedly. He inspected it''s surface closely, running his eyes over the scaly texture. Bumps and micro-hillocks ran its length and breadth. Its color was a muted muddy brown.


    This was an Ash Incunabulum.


    Betelgeuse thought that he would have felt worse about it.


    "The D-Docent said we aren''t permitted to go home yet."


    Well.


    It was likely that Chrys was also going to stay for the foreseeable future, what with being the holder of a Golden Incunabulum.


    Wonder if she would be disappointed to know I''m an Ash grade. Not that it can be helped.


    "Okay, then lead the way!" Betelgeuse burst into a wide grin.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "O-okay¡­ I mean, it''s just outside¡­"


    "Lead the way anyhoo."


    They exited into a lukewarm afternoon, the air a moist membrane which caressed Betelgeuse'' cheeks. A lazy drift of white cloud covered the sky as far as the eye could see.


    Betelgeuse could see streaks of water running slowly down the sides of the tempered glass bridge, draining straight onto the concrete platform before the Library. Darkened patches pooled outward from the interface between tempered glass and concrete, as the liquid absorbed into the porous surface.


    The first of the LSVs were leaving, Betelgeuse noted. This one had a lion emblazoned across its side. That one, an ourobouros curled around a saber. And another, an open book inscribed with the words: "AUTEM SUPER OMNIA".


    There, the symbol of Edom, the red triangle tipped with the golden finial. The Hereford symbol, Elder Bennett had called it. The Edomite symbol for eternal endurance.


    "It''s leaving," Edith said, and Betelgeuse detected sadness in her tone.


    "So it is," he replied, for no other reason than to say something.


    One by one, they lifted into the sky, their hums crescendoing; then they exploded with speed, piercing through the Troposphere into the Stratosphere, then through the Mesosphere and Thermosphere and into the Exosphere¡ªand then, nothingness.


    Betelgeuse turned his gaze to the despondent crowd, observing them yearn after their kinsmen. He estimated that there were about a hundred of them, all told.


    ''The Ash Incunabula are legion,'' he thought, chuckling to himself.


    Minutes passed.


    A severe man, tall and bunched with muscle, stalked into the midst of the Ash grades. He was dressed in black, his garb military, and a plated vest was strapped across his chest; he appeared suddenly, like a ghost, materializing out of an entrance that had surreptitiously appeared athwart a pillar.


    "Up, all of you!" he barked, the force of his aggression showering spittle in every direction. His tone was harsh and brooked no defiance.


    The Ash grades jostled to their feet, roused from their emotional stupor by the sudden surge of energy.


    "I," he intoned, "am Instructor Zephyr. Remember that name well¡ªcarve it into your chest, if you have to. It is my pleasure to serve as your superior for the short time we will know each other. Now, cadets! Attention! Three lines, at the double!"


    Three line formed quickly under the draconian gaze of the Instructor. Betelgeuse himself waited until the lines were mostly formed before sauntering forward to join in with the others. Edith followed closely behind, stuck to his back like a piece of gum.


    "There!" the Instructor barked, pointing to the entrance of the pillar not more than 100 paces away from the front man. "Incs in your left! March! In time!"


    One step. Two step.


    Plucked as they were from so many different locales, Betelgeuse thought it no surprise that their arm swings and footsteps tangled confusedly together. Edith smashed into his back, pushing Betelgeuse up and into the heel of the masculine figure before him, causing the latter to stumble and drop his Incunabulum. Somewhere down the line, someone fell, and the formation came apart.


    "Humiliating! Up, Ash-fucks! Get back there and go it again!" Instructor Zephyr roared.


    Everything became confused as the cadets stumbled over themselves to try to get back to their original position. Betelgeuse now found himself somewhere in the middle of the formation, with Edith right behind him.


    ''She really is sticking to me,'' he thought.


    "Move! Move! Hurry up! Quickly!"


    It took perhaps three more tries before they managed to reach the pillar (the first and second try mixing together so thoroughly with Instructor Zephyr''s concentrated apoplexy that no one could say when the first ended and the second began). By now everyone, including Betelgeuse, was breathing heavily. Their cadet-suits were beginning to soak with sweat.


    The entrance at the side of the pillar opened into a large metal elevator. Instructor Zephyr shouted the Ash grades in, all one hundred-odd of them, and they squeezed against each other until all of them were packed in like sardines.


    Betelgeuse was scrunched up against Edith, who appeared to be sobbing softly. All around them were bodies, sweaty and pressed against them. It was difficult to breath.


    He took Edith''s incunabulum and put it up against his own.


    "More comfortable," Betelgeuse whispered to Edith, who didn''t seem composed enough to reply.


    The edge of someone''s Incunabulum was digging uncomfortably into his back. Someone pushed on the left and the edge dug in deeper. More people were stuffed into the lift and it looked to Betelgeuse as if the Instructor was pushing them in with the sole of his boots.


    By this point, Betelgeuse and Edith were all but crushed into each other.


    Several aggressive kicks and pained yelps later, the pushing stopped.


    "We will meet downstairs! Remember¡ªthree lines! Anyone caught clowning around will be punished!" Instructor Zephyr barked.


    Then the lift-door closed. Silence, finally, and then the humming of a great machine.


    "I was wondering when he would shut up," a male voice offered. Chuckles all around.


    "He speaks only in capitals," agreed a squeaky female voice. A chorus of hear-hears.


    "Ye gods is it dank in here," the youth behind Betelgeuse grouched boyishly. Betelgeuse fought the urge to tell him to shift his goddamn Inc.


    "No gods, only Democracy!" returned someone at the far end of the lift.


    "Ooga-booga! Stop clowning around, Ash-fucks!" someone else aped.


    The banter died down, leaving the Ash grades alone with the odor of unwashed bodies.


    Betelgeuse felt his stomach turn, as if the lift were changing directions. The gravity was all off, he decided.


    "We''re not going straight down," he said out loud. Edith clutched at him.


    "Maybe¡­ maybe it''s dinner?" came a peculiarly mannish female voice.


    ''Unlikely,'' everyone thought.


    Then, silence again, as the heat and humidity climbed to fever pitch.


    It felt like hours before the steel cage ground to a halt. Or maybe minutes. It was impossible to tell¡ªthey had been stripped of their timepieces by the personnel stationed in the LSVs.


    The steel floor vibrated through Betelgeuse'' leg, causing it to shudder uncontrollably.


    Finally, the doors rumbled open. Cool air rushed into the space. All around him, people were raising their faces and gulping air greedily.


    "Ah¡­ thank God!"


    "No God, only Democracy!"


    Betelgeuse rolled his eyes.


    Slowly, steadily, the pressure lessened as the Ash grades stumbled outward, until he felt like he was in control of his own body once more. Steadying himself, Betelgeuse straightened his body and glanced downward at Edith. She looked ready to faint.


    "Quickly, let''s get out of here," Betelgeuse whispered, taking her wrist and almost dragging her out. Why did he even care? It was difficult to imagine that she was going to survive whatever else Instructor Zephyr had in mind for them.


    Maybe it was because she was a fellow Edomite.


    Betelgeuse stepped outward into a blanket of sourceless white light and let go of Edith''s wrist, letting her stumble onto the frigid, white floor. The climate-controlled air was cold and refreshing, washing some of the stink from his nostrils.


    "Hurry up! Get out!" someone yelled from deep inside the lift. Everywhere, Ash grades were hyperventilating, stretching or whispering amongst themselves.


    Betelgeuse held himself upright, unwilling to succumb to his exhaustion. He took pains to purge his expression of all weakness. He glanced around, taking stock of their new environment.


    It was a large space, this, perhaps half the size of the hall of the Library. The place was spartan, cold and empty (save for the Ash grades). In the middle of the space was a rectangle outlined with broad, red tape. Some portals lay closed at the far end.


    Betelgeuse looked closer and realized that the ground within the rectangular outline was heavily scarred, as though gouged by some sort of sharp instrument.


    An entrance seemed to materialize at the far end of the space. Knowing what was about to come to pass, Betelgeuse turned and walked back to Edith, taking her wrist and raising her up to stand in front of him.


    "He''s here," Betelgeuse whispered, "look sharp."


    "Is this indiscipline I see, Ash-fucks? Mother of God, I''ve seen smarter earthworms than you lot! Three lines, I said, three lines! Where are my lines?!"


    Instructor Zephyr made his entrance in much the way Betelgeuse expected, his voice booming through the space like peals of thunder.


    "You!" Instructor Zephyr, suddenly beside Betelgeuse.


    Betelgeuse started. Edith let out a muffled scream.


    What? How did he get here so fast? He was more than a hundred paces awa¨C


    "All lined up, while you fellow Ash-fuck-friends are struggling? Are you a suck-up? Do you suck dick?"


    "I was merely following instructions," Betelgeuse managed, his nerves settling into calmness even before he could think to enforce his serenity.


    "You are, are you? Well color my shit-laced ass-crack brown, we have a real soldier here! Answer my question, soldier, do you suck dick?"


    "No," he replied simply.


    "Exquisite! Now put your tongue on the floor until the rest of these dumb-fucks get in line!"


    "I¡ª"


    "I said DOWN BOY!"


    "Sir, I¡ª"


    The next moment Betelgeuse'' world exploded into oranges and reds, as he doubled over coughing. He gripped his Incunabulum tightly. It was like he had been kicked in the gut. He glanced up, saliva threading from his lip¡ªInstructor Zephyr returned a cold stare.


    Like compound eyes.


    Betelgeuse realized that he hadn''t seen Zephyr move, not even a hair''s-breadth worth of movement. The Instructor carried with him an aura of supreme violence, making the outcome of further insubordination clear.


    Hate it though he may, now was not the time for pride. He was weak, and the weak deserved only to obey.


    He placed his Incunabulum beside him and lay himself down prone, opening his mouth wide and touching as much of the surface of his tongue to the ground as he could.


    Obedience for now. Zephyr obviously has some kind of physical-enhancement-type Inc, maybe a White. It is also possible he has a Hollow. I must observe him closely.


    Instructor Zephyr had already found some other poor sod to pick on.


    "Why are you breathing so hard, cunt? Did you seriously get tired from a single fucking lift ride? Well fuck me stupid, you are one fat fuck!"


    From the periphery of his vision, Betelgeuse could just make out a masculine form lying supine four or five paces away.


    "Sorry¡­ wheeze¡­ just-need-a-moment¡­¡ª"


    "Well here I was thinking you''d gone and decided all by yourself not to join my beautiful lines! What is your name, son?"


    "I¡­ wheeze¡­ it''s Gombrovich¡­"


    "Well let me tell you something interesting, son¡ªdid you know that pigs eat shit? Since you''re so fucking fat you could pass for a goddamn swine I''m guessing you eat shit too! Goddammit Shit-Eater. Get your ass in line, Shit-Eater!"


    "... wheeze¡­ yes!"


    "That''s yes sir to you, Shit-Eater! Am I clear?!"


    "Yes sir!" Gombrovich wheezed, struggling to his feet and stumbling out of the edge of Betelgeuse'' vision.


    The others hurried to their positions, intimidated by Instructor Zephyr''s unlimited capacity for abuse, perhaps also enthused by the example he had made of Betelgeuse.


    The ground was cold and bore the slightest hint of saltiness.


    Shuffling sounds. Betelgeuse could hear a tell-tale sniffle come from somewhere above him.


    Seconds later, all movement ceased.


    "Back on your feet, dog!" the Instructor barked.


    Thinking that there was no one else he could be referring to, Betelgeuse retrieved his Incunabulum with his left hand and raised himself upright, his movements deliberate and mechanical. He was weighing the likelihood that the Instructor was a Hollow against the possibility that he was a White.


    Zephyr was beside him again.


    ''Again with that blasted suddenness,'' he thought. This time however, the slightest rush of air caressed the top of his skin.


    He moves fast. The hit earlier was more movement and less physical strength. I''d guess he was a dexterity-type.


    Eyes unblinking and insectoid inspected him closely, running over his pores, groping for chinks in his armor, searching for any traces of insubordination. Betelgeuse thought that he could feel the Instructor''s turbid breath down the nape of his neck. A wispy strand of anxiety wormed its way into the interstice between his thoughts; pincering it with his mind, Betelgeuse purged it with extreme prejudice.


    "You have some balls on you, Dog Balls!"


    The pressure lifted. The Instructor turned his attention elsewhere. Betelgeuse permitted himself a swallow, saltiness and all.


    "Incs in both hands!"


    Betelgeuse raised his tome. It was difficult not to feel a little attached to it, for no other reason than that it was his.


    "Insert into front pouch!"


    All cadet-suits came equipped with a front-facing multi-purpose square pouch secured with velcro and typically used to hold a cadet''s Incunabulum. The cadets exploded into activity, fumbling and shuffling, stuffing their Incunabulum into the pouch sideways, rightway-up or upside-down.


    The fitful movement died down as fast as it had arisen.


    "Listen up! Because of the glut of clowns within your batch, we are running on badly."


    The Instructor walked down the row, eyeing the cadets closely.


    "Look there¡ª" the Instructor pointed to the rectangular area "¡ªthat is my arena. You are to read and absorb your Increment thoroughly, following which you will catwalk to my arena and show me what you''ve got."


    "And seeing as you little shits have no idea what you''re in for, let me do you one good and apprise you of the circumstances.


    "Take care that you place the first rule of loyalty within its proper context. Everything civilized and good in Man¨C"


    ''¨Chas come from a soil seeded by the Democracy,'' Betelgeuse finished silently, the morning mantra fresh as the day he first recited it a decade ago.


    "¨Cand the time has come, in this hour of your adulthood, to contribute what little you can to Man''s eternal expedition. It is right that you, having been given life by your forebears, should also lay down your life for all who will come after you. The Democracy gives, the Democracy taketh away. Your life was a privilege; this is your duty.


    "There is no injustice in having been chosen by the Ash Incunabula. It is now you, and you are now it. As Ash, you must protect this your greatest weapon against Man''s enemies. If it is damaged, then you will be crippled. If it is destroyed, so will you be destroyed with it.


    "The Democracy has found it imperative to familiarize you to the exigencies of combat, to increase your ability to function and survive on the battlefield. The objective of the arena is twofold: firstly, to teach battlesense, and secondly, to facilitate further Etchings."


    Reaching back into his memory, Betelgeuse consolidated all he knew about Etchings: colloquially termed ''writings'', it was common knowledge that Etchings could manifest in either one of two ways. Firstly, by process of spontaneous enlightenment, and secondly, in situations of heavy stress. Etchings were ancillary to the immutable Increment, and usually extended the power of an Incunabula holder (in rare instances, Etchings could manifest downgrades). The quality of an Etching depended on the immediate circumstances causing its manifestation: the stress experienced by a holder, her subconscious inclinations and/or the resolutions and intentions within her heart.


    "As cadets, you will have no sleep. You will fight and you will eat and then you will fight again. It is your good luck that, owing to certain circumstances, our little retreat has been shortened from three months to three days.


    "At the end of these three days your batch, designation 247-B, will be transported approximately 400 light years to star system P-Delta-Sigma-70 and stationed on carbon exoplanet 541-B, designation Desert, for the foreseeable future.


    It suddenly dawned on Betelgeuse that he wasn''t going home anytime soon.


    "There will be no questions. Your training starts now!"

 Boot Camp Blues I

    There were a hundred and fourteen of them. Each of them, Instructor Zephyr commanded brusquely, would square up with a colleague of the same sex. Then they would beat each other into submission with their bare hands.


    Blunt weapons would be introduced in later sessions.


    The authority to end a match resided only in the person of the Instructor. Bar his speaking the magic word to "HALT!", a match would go on, no matter if either or both fighters were maimed or killed.


    Rewards were clear-cut. Winners would receive more food. Losers would either receive less or go hungry, depending on the Instructor''s mood (read: his assessment of the relevant match).


    ''Dog Balls'' Betelgeuse stood at the edge of the rectangular demarcation, his arms folded across his front pouch, his attention fully absorbed into the match.


    ''Shit-Eater'' Gombrovich faced ''Sino-Simian'' Guo Xun. Instructor Zephyr, having completed his latest round of browbeating (and appellation-giving pursuant to that peculiar nomenclature), stood several paces adjacent to the combatants.


    Gombrovich may have been thick, but it was unlikely that a neutral observer would consider him weak. The man was built like a bear, noted Betelgeuse. He adopted the standard neutral wrestling stance of the Agni-chordate school, spine and knees bent, shoulders down, head up, eyes peeled.


    His opponent in contrast was compact and lean. Impressive cliffs of muscle rippled down Guo Xun''s bare forearms, and Betelgeuse thought he could see bunched serrations pop out of the man''s deltoids. Guo Xun remained upright, adopting a vaguely Sinic stance which Betelgeuse could not place.


    The command was given and the two circled each other once, then twice.


    Instructor Zephyr remained still, his entire attention absorbed by the movements of his charges, his eyeballs gliding to-and-fro within their sockets.


    The first exchange of blows occurred without telegraph. Guo Xun initiated the attack, whipping his right fist out at Gombrovich''s head, only to be sidestepped. The latter grabbed at the forearm of the offending fist, barely managing to grip the retreating wrist.


    Guo Xun brought his left fist to bear, smashing it into the side of Gombrovich''s chest and earning for his efforts a muffled groan. Gombrovich released his grip, and the two parted.


    ''He hit it too hard. Looks like Guo Xun might have winged the front pouch and hit Gombrovich''s Incunabulum instead. He may have hurt himself,'' thought Betelgeuse.


    Betelgeuse heard something like a retch come from his side. Edith again. He turned to regard her, only to see that she had turned away to the far side, as if attempting to shield her eyes.


    "Don''t be too obvious about it. The instruction was to observe," Betelgeuse whispered.


    It took Edith several seconds to regain her bearings.


    Seconds turned to minutes. The second and third exchanges of blows came and went in much the same fashion, with Guo Xun initiating and Gombrovich attempting and failing a counterattack.


    The fourth exchange came snapping on the heels of the third; seeing that Gombrovich''s guard had fallen, Guo Xun whipped out his left fist, aiming at his opponent''s jaw; with admirable reflexes Gombrovich snapped his head around and brought his forehead down on the fist, smashing it in. Guo Xun barely showed any pain. Undeterred, he brought his left shin whipping around, scoring a vicious blow on Gombrovich''s left thigh, then smashing his damaged left fist into the side of Gombrovich''s elbow joint. A sickening crack resounded and Gombrovich yelled in pain, retreating backward. Guo Xun pressed the attack, his face scrunched up in a rictus of fury as he let fly a flurry of strikes.


    He''s focusing on building up damage to Gombrovich''s left side.


    Gombrovich gritted his teeth and retreated. Betelgeuse could sense fear in his movement. At the crucial moment, Guo Xun released a wicked roundhouse from his right, smashing it into Gombrovich''s swelling elbow, earning another scream. Gombrovich tumbled over backward.


    Guo Xun grunted in rage, bearing down on Gombrovich and raising his left fist, intent on hammering it into Gombrovich''s mangled elbow.


    It happened suddenly. At the last moment, as Guo Xun was advancing, the Shit-Eater whipped his foot up and smashed him in the chin with such force that he was sent nigh on flying.


    Bits of discolored enamel littered the floor, a gift from Guo Xun''s ailing teeth. Audible gasps were extracted from the audience.


    But Guo Xun was not done. Snarling through bloody gums, he regained his footing and set upon Gombrovich like a wild animal.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ''The man''s bent on destroying his own hand,'' Betelgeuse chortled inwardly.


    Clearly, Guo Xun''s Increment had something to do with anger or aggression. Either the man was using this to his advantage, or he couldn''t control it.


    To Betelgeuse'' knowledge, personality changes were the norm in respect of Ash grades, and though wide-ranging physical mutations were the province of the White Incunabula, it was both plausible and highly likely that Ash Incunabula manifested physically.


    From another point of view (i.e., those who rejected mind-body duality), all personality changes were really physical changes, since the relevant alteration would have to occur within the brain and/or neural pathways to manifest as a personality change in the first place.


    In this case, it was plausible that Guo Xun''s bloodlust was related to such a personality change.


    If I were to guess, his Increment''s power clause should read something like "... his actions become violent/belligerent]".


    This was his conclusion based on a passing familiarity with the (possibly obsolete) information he had gleaned from the E-Zeta library, buttressed by his experience arbitraging Ash grade research information on the black market. After all, the quality of the research information he had trafficked in was a crucial factor in determining the ultimate price-range he had to work within. To this end, he had spent many late nights poring through interminable academic and technical discussions on related subjects.


    But the fact was that his conclusion was nothing more than educated guesswork. There were glaring holes in his knowledge¡ªfor example, he did not know of any instances of single-word Increments. That is, except for his own.


    Will-to-Power.


    Betelgeuse was jolted from his thoughts by the pitiful sound of begging. He focused his attention back on the match and saw that Gombrovich was on his knees, left arm hanging uselessly, right arm covering a bloody nose.


    "P-please¡­ I give up¡­ I give up!"


    Instructor Zephyr gave no indication that he was going to end the match. He watched on coldly, as if observing the outcome of an experiment.


    Guo Xun, gums bleeding through pursed lips, right fist raised, struggled internally with his own bloodlust. He looked askance at the Instructor, as if fishing for justification.


    "Please, I am done, I can''t take any¡ª" Gombrovich whimpered.


    "Continue," Instructor Zephyr interpolated.


    With a furious yell, Guo Xun charged Gombrovich, his expression one of wanton abandon. Betelgeuse snuck a surreptitious glance at Edith¡ªnow crouched in a fetal position, she had jammed her fingers in her ears and blood was streaming down her pale and slender forearms.


    Betelgeuse almost missed the crucial moment. Gombrovich had suddenly snapped his knees straight, aiming a powerful kick at Guo Xun''s ankle that swept his feet out from under him. Guo Xun, yelling incoherently and completely given in to the anger, was not in the state of mind to react.


    They were on the ground now and squirming violently. With incredible athleticism, Gombrovich sidled snake-like into position, using his damaged arm as leverage to whip himself around and with his other arm catching Guo Xun in a shoulder lock.


    The pain must be incredible.


    Then, he pressed with his right shoulder, and with a sickening pop wrenched Guo Xun''s right arm straight out of its socket. Guo Xun yelled in pain and struggled harder, but found that the principle of leverage was not so easily repudiated.


    ''Curious,'' thought Betelgeuse. ''I was sure Guo Xun had this. The value of a clear head cannot be gainsaid. ¡­ I can''t say for sure what kind of Increment Gombrovich was gifted¡ªanalytical enhancements, perhaps? No, that would border on Bronze grade. Calmness is more likely.''


    "HALT!" Instructor Zephyr barked.


    "He''s¡­ still struggling sir," Gombrovich returned meekly.


    With a swiftness that belied his size, Zephyr leaned down and pinched Guo Xun''s neck, the latter settling into quietude almost immediately.


    Betelgeuse blinked. It looked like Guo Xun had lost consciousness. ''Hollow is more like it! Zephyr pinched a vein, probably, with incredible speed. ''


    As Gombrovich rolled away and picked himself up, Betelgeuse thought he detected in that expression a touch of mirth. Nothing of the previous trepidation or pusillanimity had remained.


    "Come in, Medicae. Support for two personnel. Time allocation¡ªone hour," Zephyr spoke into his wrist transceiver, a watch-like object colored so dark it blended in with his garb.


    A fresh portal materialized at the far end of the space. Two lab-coated teams, each of them bearing a stretcher, rushed out into the ''arena'' to courier the combatants away.


    The teams had just loaded Guo Xun''s unconscious body onto a stretcher and indicated the other to Gombrovich, when the latter held his right hand out and smiled, telling them there was no need and that he preferred to walk.


    Betelgeuse looked at the scene thoughtfully. The injuries the combatants had suffered were far from minor. Even with advanced medical technology, it would take a whole day for ruptured flesh and damaged ligaments to heal. As for broken bones, that could take anywhere between three days to a month, depending on severity. That they were only allocated one hour meant that any injuries sustained during combat would become a severe hindrance as the days wore on.


    It was crucial to minimize, as far as possible, the injuries sustained during this first exercise.


    "Sir!" a female voice deep with urgency interrupted his train of thought.


    "Identify yourself!" Instructor Zephyr whipped his body around. His face tended to stay strangely still, Betelgeuse had noticed, notwithstanding his rather belligerent manner. Like a mask.


    "Frederica Jaine, sir! I need to piss, sir!"


    "My god, a god damn dyke if I ever saw one! The ladies'' is behind the pillar¡ªdo not, for the love of god, tell me you piss out a dick!"


    "No sir!"


    But the Instructor had already turned away.