A Story

Isaac hunched over the bench, assembling electronic components with speed and efficiency. His enhanced eyes focused down to microscopic resolution as he connected leads and bonded parts with molecular glue. Beneath his hands, metal frame - resembling nothing so much as a blaster from a science fiction movie - gradually filled with circuitry, power packs, lenses. . . he likely had less than four hours before the rest of his team grew too impatient. Their new adversary had escaped despite their best efforts, but the homing beacon was still functioning perfectly. Photon (Why do supervillains feel the need to rival their heroic counterparts for the silliest names?) hopefully wasn't expecting his secret hideout to be compromised tonight, but they needed more than surprise. The villain took everything they had and still escaped with his prize, so a new ace was needed. As the witless moniker suggested, Photon emitted a high-powered laser beam which could do serious damage to his compatriots. The ace Isaac determined to build was a device capable of emitting a sustained distortion field that would disrupt the coherence of any laser, effectively neutralizing the enemy's most powerful weapon for a few seconds. Optics was a specialty of his, after all, so how hard could -

A scan of the emitter in his hand showed hairline fractures. A closer inspection revealed two of the internal crystals to be blackened; the emitter must have burned out in an earlier experiment. Almost frantically, he searched several boxes in the sparsely-equipped lab, but found nothing in the required emission range. Of course, several were at the university lab, but there wasn't enough time. Damn.

The technomage felt his frustration echoed in the 'tech within his body, felt its energy stir as it sought the release of action. He rubbed his temples, willing himself to relax. There must be some other way to neutralize Photon, some other device. . .

The 'techsong in his mind rose in intensity; if this were a movie soundtrack, the killer was standing behind him with a butcher knife. Closing his eyes, he turned inward with the thoughtless equivalent of Alright, what is it?

<You play with toys> The sending was clear, almost true verbalization. Never had the voice in his head been so explicit. <You are Mage, not toymaker.> The almost-voice was part his, a touch of his master, and something else he couldn't identify - which itself was odd, considering he'd lived with it for a couple of years.

I don't understand.

<You look outwards, always. Look inwards, your true power is inside.>

Do you mean...

<It is time. Now. Hurry>

Bloody hell.

This was most unexpected. Reaching into his pocket, he popped a capsule containing the iridium the xenosymbiot required. Almost as an afterthought, he swallowed five more, a toxic dose. Something told him he'd need it. Turning from his cluttered workbench, he left the lab.

Isaac breezed down the hall, nearly knocking Stacy over. He skidded to a halt. "Stacy, I'm going to be working downstairs," he said in his clipped I'm-in-a-hurry-very important-matters tone. "I shouldn't be disturbed. If the others ask, I will . . . be with them as soon as possible." He was off again before the secretary could voice her confusion. Into the library, the beautiful room with the woefully underburdened shelves. A touch at the proper point and a shelf swung silently outward. The door closed with a snick and he clambered down the stone steps into the cool darkness of the dungeon - an affectation of an eccentric former owner. Down the hall, lit by the dimmest fake candles, and then a sharp turn to the right, through the illusory stone wall. A few feet more found him faced with a metal door, featureless except for a strange glyph carved into the cool surface. A close inspection would reveal a series of buttons on the face of the rune, and a clever explorer would guess that when pressed in proper sequence the buttons disarmed whatever locks and traps the mage had waiting. Isaac was cleverer still, for any sequence would bring down magical nasties upon the intruder; instead, he touched a most inobvious point on the stone wall. The door opened, and he entered his sanctum.

It wasn't a large room, but then it didn't have to be. Sconces along the walls awoke, transforming the subterranean blackness to a comfortable dimness and revealing the pentagram on the floor, inlaid in superconductive metal modern science had thus far been unable to discover. Glyphs and designs surrounded it. In the far corner sat the only item in the spartan room: a short round cylinder some four and a half feet in diameter. It was a gift from his mentor. When the symbiot within matured, Nicodemus said, the device would be his own symbitech replicator, building nanites by the millions and producing the symbimetallic alloys he would need to construct his wonders. But for now, apart from dutifully pouring powered bone, iridium and mineral supplements into the black casing, he ignored it. And at the moment, he had something much more important to attend to.

The 'tech had something to do.

Isaac stepped into the center of the pentagram, and smoothly dropped into a crosslegged sitting position. The everpresent song continued to build, tension thrumming through his limbs.

I'm ready. And in a moment the pain hit.

Tendrils for fire burrowed deeper into muscles, wrapped around organs, insinuated themselves further still into his nervous system. Thought died. Time stopped. The room disappeared, and only the intense, intimate awareness of body, of organs, of blood, of cells, remained. Then the agony died down to an unpleasant tingle, rather like when blood pours to a limb that's fallen asleep. And his brain awoke. It awoke to vistas of thought undreamed of, as if a page or two from the blueprint showing the workings of the cosmos slipped out of God's notebook and fell into his lap. His mind reeled with newfound knowledge: knowledge of light and gravity and the forces scientists had no names for, knowledge of what he was truly capable of, knowledge of power. As the wonders unfolded before his minds eye at dazzling speed, he half consciously put into action what he was learning. Light of every color filled the room, bouncing from the walls and arcing far slower than it should. A mental equation became form as an invisible platform raised his scintillating body into the air. Energy coursed through him; he felt more alive than ever, and damn near invincible!

"As you were, my pupil."

Isaac blinked. Standing on the cylinder in the corner was a man whose wrinkles and white hair were belied by the youthful fire in his eyes. He looked at Isaac with a disapproving frown that couldn't hide his amusement. The young mage did away with the light show and placed his unsteady feet back on the ground. Still slightly addled with sensory and mental overload, he wasn't certain whether Archmage Nicodemus was really before him, a projection, or a figment of his imagination. With Nicodemus, it didn't matter much either way.

"That's better. Although, I suppose you'll never truly be 'as you were,' for you've moved beyond that. You've broken through a shell. As an initiate you learned you dabbled with gadgets - advanced though they were - but now that your eyes are open, you know that your magic is within, not without. Yes, Isaac, you are now a mage Adept." Isaac looked down at his left palm, which was plain save for the crescent indentations where he clenched his fists in his agony. Shifting his perception above the visible spectrum, he saw the fiery blue pentagram appear. When last he had looked, one of the five arms was filled in: the mark of an initiate. Now the arm beside the first was also colored. Beaming, he returned his attention to his old master.

"I must admit, I was a little concerned, the way you rushed things. It takes time for the living tech to expand, and to impart the secrets of the Adept. The transformation usually takes at least a day, usually two, and here you complete in less than two hours! Don't be surprised it you continue to grow into your new station for another few days.

"But here, your time grows short and I believe you have much work still to do this night. So I shall leave you with a gift, the mark of your new status." He indicated an object at Isaac's feet. The young mage absently noted that it was a box: black, with an albedo of 0.09, 135 cm long by 18 cm wide by - he chuckled at his own unconscious analysis even as he reached for the object. Though he could find no seam or catch, it opened at his touch. And he beheld a new wonder: an elegant black staff, surmounted by a series of intertwined silver dragons clutching a crystal orb. As he grasped it, an inner fire awakened within the orb. But what he felt next. . . His 'tech thrummed, and its call was answered by the staff! He gasped.

"Yes, young adept, there is 'tech within the rod. It is your 'tech, in fact, fashioned with your symbiot and your own DNA. The rod is a powerful focus, for it is practically part of you. Always keep it safe, for it is a part of you, and should another mage wish you ill, your staff will make an excellent vehicle for whatever doom he can invoke."

"But I see you have miles to go before you sleep, so I shall leave you with my congratulations and best wishes. Try not to be burned to ash before morning, would you? That would cause me no small amount of embarrassment among the council of archmages."

"I'll do my best," Isaac replied, still admiring his new regalia. When he looked up, his old master was gone. He checked his internal clock, and was mildly alarmed at the lateness of the hour. He touched the network of security cameras with his mind, scrolling through each of the cameras in his mind's eye until he found his comrades in the computer room - no doubt trying to track him down through the security cams as well. A few minutes later, he presented himself to those assembled, dressed in black and hefting his new staff.

"Let's go Photon-hunting, what say?"