Sherwood Prime’s internal communications net was oddly spotty for the main orbital dock of a world of two billion souls. “An old friend called me this morning and I’ve given the Ship’s Mage position to her son. I would have let you know in advance, but once we couldn’t I figured I owed you an explanation in person.”
Damien swallowed. “Thank you, sir,” he said politely. He’d figured he’d at least get the interview, not be shut down almost before he’d introduced himself. “Is there any chance you’d be taking on a second junior Mage?” he asked carefully.
The Captain had the good grace to look somewhat sheepish. “I’ve actually agreed to take on two juniors already,” he admitted. “Kyle and Grace McLaughlin, I would guess that you know them?”
Damien nodded his recognition of the names of his classmates. The McLaughlin family were the core Mage family of the Sherwood system, traditionally providing the system’s Mage-Governor and generally acting as an established aristocracy. Kyle and Grace were two of six members of the family who’d gone through Jump Mage training with him – he knew them both well and had been ‘close’ with Grace.
“Thank you for your time, Captain,” he said politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading back to the station – I’ll need to see if any other ships have available slots.” He knew perfectly well that none did – and if any did, one of the other McLaughlin youths would likely have already snapped it up.
“I know it’s a point of pride not to lean on one’s parents,” Michaels said quietly, “but you really should see if your family knows a ship’s crew who owes them a favor.”
Damien focused his gaze on the spell plaque above the Captain’s head. “I’m a Mage by Right, sir,” he said quietly. “My parents were bakers… and died years ago.”
Mages by Blood were born to the core families of the Protectorate, the inherent nobility defined by the Compact that ended the Eugenics Wars of the Twenty-Second Century. Mages by Right were identified by the testing every human child underwent at age thirteen. They had all the rights of Mages born of the main families, all of the powers and all of the official support from the officers of the Mage-King of Mars… but none of the family connections.
“I’m sorry,” Captain Michaels said quietly.
The young Mage shook his head in response his gaze still on the spell plaque as his Gift traced the lines of power and he read the runes. He blinked at it confusedly. “Um, sir, what is that plaque supposed to do?” he asked, intentionally changing the subject.
“It’s a security spell,” the Captain explained, seizing on the topic change. “It detects if anyone enters the office with hostile intent.”
Damien traced the flow of energy through the runes and shook his head again. “You might want to have your senior Mage look at it,” he told the Captain. “The scribe used future-imperative tenses instead of future-probabilistic. It’s actually slightly encouraging the chance of violence, not predicting it.”
He turned his gaze back down to the captain, blinking away the lines of magic. “Magic doesn’t predict the future very well, sir. If the plaque was detecting hostile intent, it would be obvious to you well before it triggered an alarm.”
Michaels looked at the plaque, and then back at Damien. “You mean I got scammed, don’t you?” he asked.
“A little bit, sir,” Damien admitted. “Like I said, have your Senior look at it, I may be wrong – I haven’t seen a spell like that before.”
As he let the office, though, Damien knew the Captain had been thoroughly scammed. He hadn’t misread a rune matrix since he’d started studying his gift at thirteen years old.
#
The same spacer escorted him out of the ship, but clearly sensed that the young Mage wasn’t interested in talking. Damien had contacted Captain Michaels as soon as the posting had gone up on the
Damien swallowed. “Thank you, sir,” he said politely. He’d figured he’d at least get the interview, not be shut down almost before he’d introduced himself. “Is there any chance you’d be taking on a second junior Mage?” he asked carefully.
The Captain had the good grace to look somewhat sheepish. “I’ve actually agreed to take on two juniors already,” he admitted. “Kyle and Grace McLaughlin, I would guess that you know them?”
Damien nodded his recognition of the names of his classmates. The McLaughlin family were the core Mage family of the Sherwood system, traditionally providing the system’s Mage-Governor and generally acting as an established aristocracy. Kyle and Grace were two of six members of the family who’d gone through Jump Mage training with him – he knew them both well and had been ‘close’ with Grace.
“Thank you for your time, Captain,” he said politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading back to the station – I’ll need to see if any other ships have available slots.” He knew perfectly well that none did – and if any did, one of the other McLaughlin youths would likely have already snapped it up.
“I know it’s a point of pride not to lean on one’s parents,” Michaels said quietly, “but you really should see if your family knows a ship’s crew who owes them a favor.”
Damien focused his gaze on the spell plaque above the Captain’s head. “I’m a Mage by Right, sir,” he said quietly. “My parents were bakers… and died years ago.”
Mages by Blood were born to the core families of the Protectorate, the inherent nobility defined by the Compact that ended the Eugenics Wars of the Twenty-Second Century. Mages by Right were identified by the testing every human child underwent at age thirteen. They had all the rights of Mages born of the main families, all of the powers and all of the official support from the officers of the Mage-King of Mars… but none of the family connections.
“I’m sorry,” Captain Michaels said quietly.
The young Mage shook his head in response his gaze still on the spell plaque as his Gift traced the lines of power and he read the runes. He blinked at it confusedly. “Um, sir, what is that plaque supposed to do?” he asked, intentionally changing the subject.
“It’s a security spell,” the Captain explained, seizing on the topic change. “It detects if anyone enters the office with hostile intent.”
Damien traced the flow of energy through the runes and shook his head again. “You might want to have your senior Mage look at it,” he told the Captain. “The scribe used future-imperative tenses instead of future-probabilistic. It’s actually slightly encouraging the chance of violence, not predicting it.”
He turned his gaze back down to the captain, blinking away the lines of magic. “Magic doesn’t predict the future very well, sir. If the plaque was detecting hostile intent, it would be obvious to you well before it triggered an alarm.”
Michaels looked at the plaque, and then back at Damien. “You mean I got scammed, don’t you?” he asked.
“A little bit, sir,” Damien admitted. “Like I said, have your Senior look at it, I may be wrong – I haven’t seen a spell like that before.”
As he let the office, though, Damien knew the Captain had been thoroughly scammed. He hadn’t misread a rune matrix since he’d started studying his gift at thirteen years old.
#
The same spacer escorted him out of the ship, but clearly sensed that the young Mage wasn’t interested in talking. Damien had contacted Captain Michaels as soon as the posting had gone up on the
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