Gifted (Chapters 0-3)

Prologue: Soldier

Down in the valley, a battle was going on. It wasn't even a particularly large battle, because both sides had opted to pretend there was nothing very special about this point. But a pretense was all it was; the place was important, crucially so. Which was why he was here.

The youth was, despite himself, nervous. It wasn't his first battle, and with any luck it wouldn't be his last, but this time was different. This time, he – the sole surviving member of SAU#94 – would have a counterpart, someone with his skills on the other side of the battle. And before the day was out, one of them would have to die.

He ducked low, looked around, and found a boulder, thrown up from the valley below during the spring floods. He crawled over and inspected it; no good. He advanced slowly along the edge until he found one that suited him, curled up behind it to hide himself from view—

And he was outside himself, a sprite, a soul, flying high over the valley, watching dispassionately as blood spilled into the dry riverbed. He moved himself over to the other side of the valley, and saw there, hiding behind behind a boulder in an almost identical position to himself, a figure.

He slammed back into his body just as the boulder he had been hiding behind shuddered slightly. He rolled out of the way before it crushed him, but he had chosen well; the rock was half-buried in the ground and would not move. Lying flat on his stomach, he crawled back into its shadow.

Once again he lifted outside himself, and noted that the other figure had been less meticulous about their choice of shelter than him; he focused, and the stone tipped back, and very slowly rolled over to crush the figure. Too slow; the other snapped back to himself and rolled away just in time, and the rock threw itself across the valley to crash into the youth's sturdier shelter, which broke in half along the line below which it was buried in the earth.

Cursing, he focused, and the upper half of his boulder rose into the air and tipped forward by a quarter-circle to act as a shield. Holding it in place to protect himself, the youth ran forward to the edge of the valley, and then fell through the ground a foot before he reached the lip.

An illusory floor. He'd fallen for an illusory floor. Literally.

He dropped the rock, swore again, and then his fall slowed until he was hanging in midair halfway down to the valley floor. He rose back up until he was level with the lip off which he had fallen, and then carefully swiveled himself back upright.

The figure was striding confidently across the air towards him. He steeled himself and drew his gun, waiting patiently for the other to approach. No need to waste his concentration on going forward if the enemy would come to him.

The other was wearing a plain gray-brown uniform, which included a helmet. The figure stopped when it was a few meters away, and slowly raised its hands.

A surrender? Really?

It raised its visor, and for a moment the youth lost his grip on himself and fell about half a foot. In the space of that single second, the enemy already had a gun in her hands.

'Guns?' she asked, smiling an oh-so-familiar smile. 'Really?'

The youth concentrated on holding himself aloft and keeping his gun locked in place; conversation was beyond him.

'Aren't you glad to see me?' asked the girl.

He didn't move a muscle. He couldn't shoot her, not like this, but he didn't know if she felt the same way.

'Not talking?'

He remained silent.

'Just tell me this, then: did you come to my funeral?'

'Yes,' he said deliberately. He should have remained silent, he really should, but he couldn't do that.

'Did you cry?'

'Yes!'

'You're so sweet!'

'Why?' he asked, through clenched teeth. 'What did they offer you?'

Her expression grew suddenly serious.

'Big G was using us. Is using you. It doesn't care.'

'What did they offer you?' he repeated, growing hysterical. 'Money? Command?'

She smiled, a dreamy little smile like she used to make... 'A country. A real country. You should have seen it! Real universities, where they teach whatever they like! Real newspapers, with entire sections for people to criticize the state! Coffee and books and electricity in every home!'

'But not your country!'

She sighed, and there was real sadness in it. 'If I turn around and walk away now, will you shoot me?'

'Yes,' he lied.

'Then we finish here?'

'Yes.'

'Then let's do it like what we really are. Please.' He saw the tip of her gun move and he almost fired, but she was actually moving it away. His own remained trained on her.

'Please,' she repeated. 'For what we used to share.'

He moved his gun aside.

'Drop on three,' she said.

Arrangements like these were always dangerous.

'One.'

Would she keep her word?

'Two.'

No, of course she wouldn't. She was a traitor, untrustworthy by definition.

'Three.'

He dropped his gun, and in a split-second focus grabbed the gun that was now falling from her hand, turned it, and fired.

But they had both had the same training, so of course, she had done exactly the same thing. He felt the bullet enter his heart, and died.

Chapter 1: Introductions

Up until now, I had always liked the first of September. It was a routine. You stood there, in front of a class of sometimes nervous, sometimes expectant, but always uneasy students, and you spoke calmly and deliberately, and you told them exactly how things were going to go. Generally they didn’t take you at all seriously, but there are a good many areas of the mind other than the conscious and somewhere down there, your words were taken at face value. It wasn’t particularly impressive, it certainly wasn’t a revolutionary style of education, but it worked. That was the important thing.

Today, however, I had the distinct impression that it was not going to work.

Not that I had never worked with troubled students before; quite the reverse—I was, and still am, a national expert on the subject. I've even done a few years in a juvenile correction facility, an experience that I would not wish to repeat. But this was different; now, for the first but not the last time, I was a special employee of the government, working to raise these children to a very specific purpose. Damn the Governor.

Even now I can remember the entire scene, vivid as the here-and-now, and I doubt I would forget it if I live to be a hundred…

I walked into the Governor’s Office and removed my hat, standing straight upright, feeling more awkward by the moment. Eventually, the grey-haired man working on the other side of the desk raised his head.

‘Ah.’ Said the man, making the single syllable sound like an official announcement. ‘William Steel. I beg your pardon for my rudeness, but I do not generally see people outside normal public hours.’

I nodded, once, to show that I had heard.

‘Now, do you know the—oh, sit down, sit down!’

I sat.

‘As I was saying—do you know the reason for your presence here?’

‘The summons only said that I was being called for special government service, as specified by the Legislation.’ I said. ‘Sir,’ I added.

‘Indeed you are. But do you know why?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Well, have a look at this…’

The Governor pushed a newspaper cutting across the table. I looked down at it; it was over a year old. Across the top was the title: IT’S OFFICIAL: SORCERY IS REAL.

‘Oh,’ said I. ‘That. But what has that to do with me? I’m a teacher, not a scientist.’

‘Exactly,’ said the Governor. He smiled, very briefly. ‘Tell me, Mr Steel. Do you consider yourself a patriot?’

So now, here I was, getting ready to teach a group of children who some scientists were insisting weren’t even technically human. Homeo sapiens magus, I thought, and almost smiled at the paranoia of humankind.

However, the reality of the present situation couldn’t be laughed off. I had to teach these children, and I had to teach them, in addition to a complete standard curriculum, the use of very unusual skills that no-one had ever had to teach before, and which I myself did not possess.

Not to mention the fact that sorcerous abilities appeared to have some connection to behavioural disorders. One more problem.

I glanced down at my watch and began walking towards the classroom, still not entirely sure how I was going to tackle these students. I have, as I've mentioned, a general formula for my start-of-year spiel, but this time I was convinced that the standard approach would not work—my class was special and my aims were different, this time. I reached into my pocket for the key, and my fingers encountered a soft, cloth-textured object. I pulled it out, and laughed.

It was a thud—a juggling ball. My nephew used to play with them, to give his hands something to do, and had evidently left it in the last time he had borrowed the suit. I almost put it back in my pocket when an idea struck me. I looked at the ball closely, and bounced it a couple of times in my hand.

‘Now, class,’ I muttered under my breath as I unlocked the door. ‘Let’s play ball.’

***

I sat down at the teacher’s desk, and waited patiently for my students to turn up. This took some time. I then sat statue-still, pretending to be interested in something else, and waited for the class to quiet down. This also took some time. I then stood up, and as I spoke I carefully allowed my voice to shift from calm benevolence to low, seething anger. This took barely any time at all.

‘Good morning, class. My name is William Steel, and I will be your class teacher for the year. Before we begin our standard schedule, we will have a short introductory activity, but before that, I have a few words to say…’

‘Most of those present here have been in difficult institutions before. And, therefore, most of you probably think that you can take whatever we have to throw at you. Public school, you think, could not possibly pose any danger that you haven’t faced in…wherever it was you come from. You are wrong, as I will explain shortly, but in the meantime all of those present are confined to their individual sleeping cells from the end of class until tomorrow morning, with the exception of those three who were in class on time.’

I calmed my voice again, which was easy, because I wasn't actually angry; I was enjoying myself immensely. ‘Speaking of which, you should probably be told the various rules, penalties, and so forth that are applicable to you as students in this facility. I will tell you about these details after our introductory activity. Until then, suffice to say that we are strict. Very strict.’ I noted the amusement that still adorned the faces of several of the students, the familiar bored look of been-there-done-that, focused on one of them at random and added, ‘Stricter than that, as well.

'You see, this school has been granted the status of a special Government operation. A major transgression – say, of the kind that would get you suspended or expelled in another school – will here be seen as a disruption of that program, and will draw the attention of the law. In theory, that kind of offense is punishable by up to ten years imprisonment, although as I look upon your sweet, innocent faces, I am sure none of you would ever do anything to merit such a punishment.'

Raising my eyes to the rest of the class, I announced cheerily, ‘Well, that’s everything for now! Clear your desks to the side of the room, arrange you chairs in a circle, and let’s get to know each other!’

It was interesting that they did what I asked; despite the statement they had been trying to make by coming in late, they were curious about their new environment, and this made them inclined to play along. I had to take advantage of that, keep it alive while it lasted, because it was the only real control I had access to.

Once the classroom had been reorganized, I drew my own chair into what was technically a triangle, reached into my pocket, and withdrew the thud. The class watched me, most of them evidently bored already. A few students, however, were looking slightly wary, like they thought they knew what was to come but were expecting to be surprised.

Aha. That was good. Welcome to your new school, boys and girls. Keep awake, all the time.

‘Now,’ I said. ‘I’m sure most of you know this game. I throw the ball, someone catches it, tell us your name, where you live, and one random fact about yourself, and throw it to another person in the circle. Now, let’s begin.’

Those of the class who had been looking bored were looking more bored; those who had been looking wary were looking warier. Bright kids, but those are the ones to watch. Not our kind of bright…

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, considering my options, and then threw the ball to one of the more awake-looking students. Let’s see just how fast they are. The boy snatched it out of the air quickly, and then relaxed when it failed to inject poison into his hand or something equally sinister. As he opened his mouth to speak, I cut him off.

‘No, no,’ I chided, clicking my tongue and using my best exasperated tone. ‘Not like that. Give it back.’

I caught the ball out of the air, and noted that the entire class was now looking thoroughly bewildered. Better and better. Get used to it, children. There are rules here that you’re going to have to work out fast. Aloud, I simply said, ‘Now, I’m going to throw the ball again, and this time I want you to catch it properly, all right? So…’

I passed it to another student, this time selecting one of those who had been less alert at the beginning of the game. As expected, she reached out and caught it easily. Once again, I asked for it to be passed back. This sequence repeated itself a few times, until I threw it to a student who had been whispering in his friend’s ear—they had come into class together, so I assumed they were friends—and the ball stopped abruptly, standing in the air a few inches from the boy’s chest. He was focusing on it intensely.

Ah, I thought. Two of the three children who turned up on time, whispering to each other, and then one of them manages to figure out the game. So are they good kids or bad kids? Naturally, I knew the answer to that question: neither. These were people, real people, and they couldn’t be categorised so easily. Therefore, they were to be watched.

Seeing that he was not being corrected, the child announced: ‘Adam Miller. West Buarner. Allergic to thuds.’ There were some suppressed laughs from the rest of the class, and Adam flashed a smile.

And he knows how to play to a crowd, too. Clever boy. ‘Pass it along, Mr. Miller.’

Still keeping his eyes fixed on the ball, Adam wrinkled his brow, and the ball jumped from him across the circle, to land on the air an inch before hitting the nose of the girl sitting there. Once it had stopped spinning, she said, ‘Serenity Caelo. Svartheim. Believes her life to be none of your business.’ Again, a few chuckles. She appeared not to notice them.

She was detached, I noted, and a little resentful. That could mean nothing, of course, but with kids like these it was more likely to mean rebelliousness. Could be dangerous, could be not… Let’s wait and see.

Serenity focused, and the ball shook in the air and dropped an inch before she managed to catch it and send it flying over to the boy sitting directly opposite her, who managed to artfully slow the ball until it was floating above his palm, before spoiling the effect by dropping it. He looked at me, embarrassed, but I pretended not to notice.

'Peace,' he said. 'Royal Island. Usually less clumsy.'

I knew enough not to ask for a surname. Peace had the characteristic colouring and build of the Hettite race, and adult Hets – which he was, under their customs – have no right to a second name until they marry.

'Pass it on, Peace.'

The ball jumped around the circle without anyone laying a hand on it. Sometimes one of the students only managed to slow it in the air, or hold it for a second until it fell on the ground, but I didn’t mention it; what was important was that they were using their skills, and if some of them were weaker than others, well, that was why they were there. At one point, however, the ball simply fell in the lap of its recipient, without displaying any signs of force—or, technically, Force—being applied to it. The girl glanced up, looking embarrassed.

‘Claire Raynesh. Stiple. Never used sorcery.’

And the third student to be in class on time is the one in denial of her own gift. This is starting to get strange…

In fact, I wasn't overly worried about Claire. I had her file and I had plans on how to handle her; for the meantime it was best to let it lie. Embarrassing the poor girl at this point would serve no purpose.

Aloud, I just said, ‘Well? Pass it along.’

The ball continued on its round, until it came to Adam’s as-yet unnamed friend, who appeared to be lost in space. The ball passed straight over his shoulder.

And stopped two feet behind him.

At the time I didn’t know all the rules of sorcery, and even those that I now do seem to be more like guidelines, but I was, and still am, fairly certain a sorcerer couldn’t apply Force to something he couldn’t pinpoint the location of. And at that stage of their development they shouldn’t have been able to affect anything more than thirty centimeters from their skin, anyway.

'Well?' I asked, being more abrupt than I meant to in an effort to cover my confusion. It was the first small mistake in a line of progressively larger ones.

'This is Jonathan Miles, also of West Buarner.' said Adam. 'And he hasn't been able to speak since he was three years old.'

Jonathan nodded his confirmation, and the ball sailed through the air into my hand. I caught it on automatic. Mute? I was outraged. One of my students has a major functional disability, and nobody thought it a good idea to tell me?

Nothing I could do about that now. Best to act normally.

'A disability is a fact about your body or brain, not yourself. Nice try.' I threw it back. 'I can read sign language; I'll translate for you.'

But the ball had landed on his lap, and he appeared to be lost in space once again.

‘I think,’ said Adam, ‘that my friend would like us to draw our own conclusions about that.’ And he passed the ball back to me.

In retrospect, I really shouldn't have let them get away with that. It started off a whole chain of events that I eventually had to act pretty drastically to correct. But we all make mistakes, and at the time I was too angry—not with the students, but with my employer—to think properly. It wouldn't be the last time.

Chapter 2: The Watcher on the Wall

Serenity woke up sometime in the middle of the night, rose, got dressed in complete silence, and went outside. She walked by the dark structures of the school complex, unsure and uncaring of why she had gotten up or where she was going, enjoying the feeling of the cool night air. That’s something of a cliché, but Serenity had wandered through dark streets on a lot of nights and this one really was cooler than most. More suited to midwinter than the beginning of autumn.

Maybe she should go back and get a sweatshirt? Screw that; she had better things to do with her time. It was almost half past four, and the sun would be up soon anyway; better to take advantage of the night while it lasted.

On the subject of which, wandering aimlessly around the complex was getting boring. Where to next? The wall, she decided. It would be fun to climb, at least, if no less childish fun presented itself.

Serenity weaved her way through the complex until she saw the great metallic wall looming up in front of her. It really did loom, she noticed, like a person drawing themselves up to look threatening. It managed to give the impression that it had been built to look bigger than it actually was.

‘Looks scary, doesn’t it?’ said a voice behind her. ‘Built to impress. I didn’t notice it before, but it’s more obvious in the dark.’

She turned. There was a boy standing behind her, whom she recognised vaguely as having been present at the introductory activity. At the time, however, she hadn’t bothered to pay attention to what he was saying.

‘And you are…?’ she asked, not in the mood for subtlety.

‘Max Messenger. And you’re Serenity Caelo.’

‘And we’re both standing around in the middle of the night discussing the architecture.’

He grinned impishly. ‘Good point. Let’s get started. I assume you came out here for the same reason I did?’

‘And that would be?’

‘To break out, of course. I have an inborn obsession with getting the hell out of here.’

‘But you only just got here,’ she pointed out.

‘The above statement is applicable wherever here may be. Now, are you with me?’

What the hell. Why not? thought Serenity.

‘Sure.’

‘Well then, let’s go. I assume you have a plan?'

Serenity shook her head, warily. His grin had faded a bit, but Max was still smiling, and permanently cheery people made her uneasy.

He sighed theatrically. 'Typical.'

She glared at him. 'Typical of what?' she asked. I dare you, she thought angrily.

'Homo sapiens sapiens. People are notoriously terrible forward planners.' He stopped talking for a moment, the smile faded further, and although he didn't move his limbs Serenity had a vivid mental image of someone rolling up their sleeves.

'The standard escape from a walled compound follows one of three vectors: over, under, or through.' He explained. 'Which do you propose?'

She thought for a moment. 'Not under,' she decided. 'The ground is concrete and asphalt.'

He nodded, and Serenity got the impression of a teacher walking a student through steps that they could have done twice as fast themselves. Still, that was his problem; he had invited her.

She continued. 'And I don't think I could climb that thing...' she looked at Max, and narrowed her eyes. 'Could you?'

'I'm honestly not sure,' he said thoughtfully. 'Give me a second.'

He walked over to the wall, pressed both palms against it, and closed his eyes. In the silence of the night-time compound, Serenity could hear his breathing slowing. Then, very carefully, he lifted one leg – Serenity realised he was barefoot – and carefully placed his foot against the surface.

After one more silent moment, he stepped back.

'They're good,' he said, almost to himself.

'No luck?' asked Serenity.

'I'm afraid not. It's smooth all the way up, as far as I can tell. Barely the slightest irregularity. I've no idea how they managed it.'

'That just leaves through,' said Serenity.

'I suppose it does,' said Max. 'The most probable vulnerable point is the gates. Consider it an integrated potential hole in the wall.’

‘You like long words, don’t you?’

‘Affirmative.’

She laughed, and then stopped abruptly. The walls were laughing back at her.

‘Creepy, isn’t it?’ commented Max. ‘Notice that the walls curve backwards very slightly? Makes them more difficult to climb, of course, but also produces the rather foreboding echo. Now come on, we don’t have all night.’

Serenity flashed a glare in his direction. He actually flinched back before the hurt reply managed to form.

‘What did I do?’

‘Don’t boss me around. I’m no-one’s dog.’

After a fraction of a second, he bowed, very low. ‘My pardons, m’lady. No offence was meant. Would you care to join me in this moonlit bid for freedom?’

She laughed again, anger gone as quickly as it had come, and this time carried on despite the echo, so that it actually took a few seconds for the sound to die away after she stopped.

‘Alright,’ she chuckled. ‘Just don’t do it again.’

They turned, and walked in the shadow of the wall. After a long period of silence, during which Serenity noticed to her satisfaction that Max was flashing her wary glances, he noted: ‘I wonder what all these buildings are actually for? Surely they wouldn’t need much more then a dormitory and a classroom.’

And indeed, now that she came to look, it did seem to Serenity that there were more structures than could really be accounted for by the needs of a regular school.

‘Go figure.’ she shrugged. ‘Perhaps they just have really expensive labs?’

‘Hmm…’ said Max thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps…’

But they had arrived at the gates.

‘What now?’ asked Serenity, uncomfortably aware that she had put herself in a position where she would be forced to follow his lead.

‘Now,’ said Max, ‘we study. See if we can find the point where pressure will be most effective, because I don’t think either of us are strong enough to actually pull this thing down outright. You focus on the hinges, I’ll take the lock.’

Serenity stood absolutely still for a few seconds, legs slightly apart, arms folded, and sent out the Sight.

She didn’t use it very often in her everyday life, so the sensation was still a shock. The surrounding area suddenly becoming clear despite the darkness, the dulling of all mundane senses, and most of all the feeling of detachment, of becoming the strange, free-floating, air-like entity that was the sorcerer’s second power.

She sent the Sight upwards, towards the highest set of hinges, looked at them from all angles, and then moved downwards, inspecting each hinge carefully. She was on the third set of hinges from the top—the gates had eight—and still hadn’t found any weak spot, when somebody behind her said, very quietly:

‘Well, I’m pleased you kids are putting your powers to use so soon. Although you might have found some implementation that didn’t involve trying to destroy school property.’

* * *

Max and Serenity spun around simultaneously.

‘On the subject of which,’ added William conversationally, ‘those gates are made from a material similar to that used to make tank plating, and are perfectly capable of stopping a charging elephant dead.’

Okay, thought Max, they were smart enough to build decent gates. And I doubt I can cut a hole in it. I may have to try something unconventional.

He stood very still for a moment, thinking desperately, aware of Serenity next to him but not daring to shoot her a glance in case she misinterpreted it. Finally he asked, in a voice that might have sounded a very little more scared than he actually was, ‘Where did you come from?’ It never hurt to get a little more information, especially on the subject of handy observation posts.

‘I was standing on top of the wall, since you ask. There’s a wonderful view from up there.’

‘How’d you get up there?’ he blurted, and then bit his tongue. Too obvious. Damn.

‘That, my dear student, is not part of your syllabus for this term.’

The three stood silently for a while, and then Serenity asked, loudly, ‘Well?’

William’s gaze snapped to her. Max noticed that the teacher had obviously been waiting for her to speak. His voice, however, was quite calm as he instructed, ‘Go back to bed, both of you. You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours; some leniency must be allowed.’

They fled.

***

Well, thought Jonathan, as he withdrew the Sight and opened his material eyes. That was interesting.

Chapter 3: Information Received

On the morning of the second day of school—the first day of organized studies—Claire was, once again, one of the few people to be in class on time, sitting alertly in the desk directly in front of the teacher's. This was a change from the habits of previous years; she had never been an ardent pupil, and throughout senior school her marks had been slipping steadily. This year, however, she had resolved to do better. She had been selected, chosen as somebody very special, and therefore would not disappoint.

Of course, although our heroine was not the brightest of girls, and certainly had never studied the complicated branch of psychology that dealt with understanding one’s own subconscious, even she was aware that the above was, technically, irrelevant. Her real reason for turning up on time was far less noble, and she knew it.

The simple fact was that Claire Raynesh was scared out of her mind. She was scared of the teacher—having met him only once; scared of the high black walls; scared of the unfamiliar room where she now slept; and most of all she was scared of her classmates, who, even seen with the eyes of one who tried to see the best in everybody, gave the distinct impression that they would hurt her, simply as a matter of course, unless she gave them sufficient reason not to do so.

Therefore, out of sheer animal self-preservation, she had resolved to do well. Ingratiate herself with the staff, stay out of the students’ notice whenever possible, and her chances of survival went up. That simple. Hence, being on class on time.

The teacher walked in, placed a largish cardboard box down on his desk, turned to survey his mostly empty class, typed some names into his diary, and then straightened up.

'According to your test results, none of you are stupid enough not to know why you're here,' he said quietly. 'But in keeping with longstanding teaching tradition, I'm going to tell you anyway.'

Claire heard laughter behind her, but it was nervous and hesitant and died away quickly.

'You're sorcerers,' said Tutor Steel, and smiled slightly. 'Sorcerers! The scientists didn't want to call you that, you know. They said the word indicated something that couldn't be scientifically understood, and of course the Governmental Scientific Institute is determined to prove that everything can be scientifically understood. But the powers fit too well with the old stories, and besides, the Governor wanted it. And of course the will of the Governor, being the will of the People, cannot be denied.'

Of course, it was a saying Claire, and presumably her classmates, had heard many times.

'So that's what you were called, anyway. It was a name designed to induce awe, to make people feel like you're something supernatural, to remind them of your powers. You can move things without touching them—'

He touched a button, and the board behind him changed to show a picture of a hand, fingers splayed.

'—you can send some kind of sensory thing out of your bodies to move through the smallest cracks and gather information—'

Another button, and in the palm of the hand appeared a staring eye, the iris coloured in an impossible rainbow pattern—

'—and you can make volumes of empty space look like they have an image projected on them, at least to the naked eye.'

A starburst appeared inside the pupil of the eye, its longest arms reaching just through the iris and into the white.

'Respectively, these powers are named Force, Sight, and Illusion.'

Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw someone raise her hand. 'Tutor, where did the GSI get this information from? Have they been studying us?'

Claire was pretty sure she wasn't talking about the kind of study that required the subject's consent, or even awareness. The various Governmental Institutes, and especially the Scientific, were entitled to gather information that way, of course – they just had to have a good reason, and to Claire it seemed that figuring out why a bunch of kids had been born with superpowers would probably count.

'I'm getting there, Opal. Just a moment. Also, by the way, next person to speak before being given permission gets confined to their room this evening. One doesn't punish without warning first, though, so you get off free.

'The point I'm trying to make is this: the Governor never does anything without a reason. In this case, he wanted to stress how different you were, and it was for a similar reason that he set up this school. He wants you to be functioning members of society, of course, but he also wants you to be as sorcerous as possible. So while you will still be learning all the subjects I'm sure you remember with love from the standard curriculum back at your old schools, they're all going to take a back seat to sorcery.

'Which leads me to Opal's question. For extremely complicated reasons that we'll be studying later this year, sorcerers are born in waves – which is why all of you are roughly the same age. As far as the Government is aware – correction: as far as I am aware that the Government is aware—'

More laughter, a little less nervous, a little less hesitant.

'—you are the only members of your wave. The next will be larger, and will probably be born in about four years' time.

'You weren't the first wave this millennium, though. There was another, thirty-five years ago. It included only two people.'

He touched a button on his laptop, and the screen behind him sprang to life. It showed two figures, their faces digitally blurred, standing back-to-back, dressed in identical military uniforms.

'These people were first noticed by GSI officials when they were nearly fifteen years old. They went through a hasty series of tests and interviews, and, being exceptionally talented individuals quite aside from their more unique abilities, went on to develop and record quite accurate written techniques. Later, they proceeded to join the Governmental Armed Forces, lending a whole new meaning to the term “Special Assets Unit.” This photograph was taken just before the famous Kraken Operation, from which one of them did not return.

'Until that happened, however, the two of them were working on a kind of journal. They were essentially inventing a whole new science – or art, as they liked to think of it – and they felt it was a good idea to keep accurate documentation. They tested the exact properties and limits of their powers, they made up terminology to describe things and techniques that no normal person would ever be able to properly understand, they ran some of the most bizarre experiments you could possibly imagine – and they wrote it all down. They also came up with the rather tasteful symbol up there.' He indicated the board.

'I'd love to tell you that the resulting work was an astounding piece of philosophy and practical research, preferably with an impressive title like The Book of Power, but unfortunately top-secret documents rarely get given any name at all, and the text itself is an extremely detailed but frankly dull not-at-all-edited diary covering, almost day-to-day, a time period of three years from two different people's perspectives. That's one reason why the Government sent me instead of seventeen copies of the journal; none of you could have gotten through it or learned efficiently from it if you did.

'The other reason, of course, is that it contains a lot of things the Government doesn't want you to know, although I doubt any of you had to be told that. Inconveniently, however, this knowledge is all tied up, throughout the text, with the information they feel you absolutely must learn. Which is where I come in.'

There was a pause as the Tutor cleared his throat, and Claire looked around her. Every one of her classmates was paying rapt attention. Well, of course they were – this was it; this was stuff all of them had wanted to know for their entire lives.

Except her, of course.

'In case you didn't notice yesterday, I'm not a sorcerer,' said Tutor Steel. 'But I've read and reread that journal – which, as I mentioned earlier, is difficult enough in itself – and I'm pretty sure I understand the way your powers work better than even you do.'

Claire heard a sound which might have been a muffled snort behind her. It was so tiny she wasn't sure she'd heard it at all.

'More importantly, though, I think I know enough about the practical side to be able to help you along. A lot of the work must be your own, of course – but if there's anything specific you're not doing right, I'll probably be able to point it out, and if you have a specific problem, I'll hopefully be able to help you with it.'

He gave them all a sad smile. 'You know, to rewrite an old saying, what we have here is a paraplegic dance instructor.' Laughter again.

'But to business. We will begin with a practical test. Each of you, please come to my desk and take a force meter.’

Each student reluctantly wandered over to the teacher’s desk and took a device from the box.

Claire turned hers over in her hands, feeling apprehensive. It was pretty much just a digital display screen like that of a pocket calculator, with a red dot marked just above it, and three buttons below: power, reset, and lock.

On the other side, where one would expect to find a factory and product serial number, there was only a Governmental Scientific Institute logo, and beneath it the hand-eye-starburst symbol. For some reason, she found it frightening.

'The device you hold in your hands was developed specially for your use. Once you turn on the machine, focus on the sensor marked above the screen, and you will see the force measured increase. Once you are applying the maximum force you believe you are capable of, hit the lock button to freeze the display. Write down the force you have achieved, take a moment to rest, and then hit reset and try again. You have five minutes to try to reach the highest score you think you can. Begin.'

Claire hit the power button and stared at the little red dot until her eyes watered, and nothing happened. She tried again, feeling more embarrassed by the second. After the fifth time she had done this, and feeling like a complete loser, she looked up at the teacher, who raised an eyebrow and said: 'I'm quite sure all the machines are functional, citizen. I checked them this morning.'

'Yes, Tutor.' she said, dropping her eyes. 'But I did tell you that I've never used sorcery.'

'Oh, yes. You did say. Well, the forcemeter is hardly an easy starting point. Don't worry, we'll find something for you.' He gave her a warm smile, and then looked up at the rest of the class and announced: 'Time's up, citizens! Please write down your final score and turn off your meter. Don't bother to hand in your achievements; for now, they are for your eyes only.

'Those of you who are familiar with GSI Standard Units may notice that your score on the forcemeter is significantly less than the weight of the ball that you so easily threw around the room in yesterday's exercise. This is because most of you use your gift only in reaction, but are incapable of using it consciously; this is an important early barrier that you must overcome in order to gain full mastery of your abilities.

'Which, of course, brings me rather neatly on to the subject of your training.'

So suddenly and palpably that Claire was almost surprised he didn't flinch, the man at the front of the class was the absolute focus of everyone's attention.

'We'll be going through each of the Powers in turn. Since all of you have practical experience with the First Power, and most of you with the Second, so we should get to Illusion before the end of the year.

'The training, of course, consists of more than just practical exercises. Even those of you uninterested in anything except application will benefit from studying the theory. We'll start on that next period.

'But first—' he turned off the board '—recess. Go act your age for a bit.'