Master and apprentice

The wooden blade cut a sharp path towards my head, its swift and aggressive arc amplified by a surge of telekinetic force. I shifted just so, the subtle twist of my torso evading its trajectory. The rush of air in its wake ruffled my hair, a ticklish whisper against my ear.

In retaliation, I directed a precise jab beneath my apprentice's left knee, capitalizing on his temporary imbalance. His legs buckled, surrendering to gravity, and he tumbled to the cold floor of the Io base gym. The sound of his practice sword clanging against the metal walls punctuated his fall.

"Your commitment is too great in your swings," I chided, looking down at the slim figure now splayed on the ground. "A hit with the strength to bisect a tank is of no use if it doesn't connect." Extending a hand, I struck a balance between firmness and encouragement. "Stand, and let's try once more."

With a swift gesture, the practice sword responded to his silent command, spiralling through the air to return to his hand as he rose. "Thought I had you that time, Master Rin" he muttered, the fringe of frustration in his voice betraying his cool exterior.

"Strength and speed form part of a larger equation, apprentice" I replied, patience colouring my tone. "Brute force isn't the sole path to victory."

His ensuing onslaught was tumultuous—a maelstrom of untamed swings and fervent jabs, each pulsing with raw potential. My response was to mirror nature's grace, my form fluid as a willow bending in the wind. I was the guide, not the blockade, channelling his exuberance rather than clashing against it.

His blade's passage cleaved an almost tangible divide in the air. As I sidestepped, I felt the whoosh of the blade, his footwork a tempestuous rhythm of youth and resolve. But in his vigour, there was a lack of economy, each extravagant movement squandering energy, each wide step an invitation I was poised to accept.

I closed the distance with a calculated advance. His surprise at my forwardness was palpable, a fleeting dilation of his pupils before I parried an ambitious thrust aimed at my chest. Using his momentum against him, I swept my foot in an arc, dislodging his balance once more.

He fell, a controlled descent this time, his telekinesis flaring out to cushion the impact while propelling me backward—a tactically astute maneuver that showcased his adaptability and wit.

As I steadied myself, a smile played at my lips, born of the relentless spirit he displayed. He was on his feet again in a heartbeat, sword in hand, his breathing heavy but his gaze undiminished—fierce, alive with unyielding resolve.

The combat dance resumed with newfound measure, his strikes more thoughtful, his steps surer. He was evolving, and my pride in his progress swelled. Yet, our lesson treaded on unfinished paths.

"Synchronicity, my young apprentice, is the key," I began anew, adopting an aggressive stance to parallel the gravity of my words. "It's not merely about sword strikes or power usage in isolation. It's the seamless weaving of both. Strike with the sword, strike with the mind—unite them. Envision your aim, let the intent surge through your veins as you act."

I gestured with my hands, as if carving the space between us. "Picture your target cleaving under the sheer force of your will, feel the surge guiding your arm. It is in this union of physical action and mental intent that we breach the mundane's confines."

My gaze fixed upon him, laden with the gravity of our shared journey, I paused to let the concept resonate. "When you can cross the threshold where the tangible and the thought converge, then the improbable becomes attainable. Within you lies the capacity to challenge the confines of the material, to unlock the vastness of mental prowess. Seize that potential."

My words, steeped in the promise of his untapped capabilities, hung between us, a challenge to his imagination and commitment.

"I don't... I can't see how," Two responded, the furrows in his brow deepening, a clear testament to his inner struggle. "How do I focus on all that at once? It's like juggling with my mind while fighting."

"You're compartmentalizing, seeing them as isolated tasks," I pointed out with an understanding nod. "Consider your body in motion when you walk. You don't consciously coordinate each muscle; you simply walk. Otherwise, you'd fall flat on your face. This principle is not unlike that."

Prepared to bridge his understanding with demonstration, I beckoned him closer. "Observe, my apprentice" I urged, poised to embody the lesson in motion.

As my turn came to strike, I unleashed a fury that dwarfed my apprentice's efforts. If he was a tempest, then I embodied the full wrath of a hurricane. My every thrust was a bolt of lightning, precise and deadly; my slashes were the howling gales that could flay skin from bone. Yet, beyond the physical onslaught, I became an elemental force, awakening ancestral terrors, evoking visions of early humans who crouched in caves against the raw fury of untamed elements.

Each movement I made was a study in lethal grace; each strike was a duel against both flesh and spirit, a simultaneous assault on the body and the psyche. He retreated, muscles quivering from exertion, psyche fraying from induced dread, until, in a crescendo of panic, he cast aside his sword to conjure a barrier of telekinetic force.

With a single thrust, I shattered it like glass, stopping the practice blade a hairbreadth away from the space between his eyes. "See," I said, my voice calm, "It's not about juggling multiple tasks. It's about unifying them into one."

The fear in his eyes morphed into awe, but that was quickly replaced with a sullen expression. He was just about eighteen—known for such mood swings. "Adding a sword just makes it harder for no benefit. I'm deadly enough with my telekinesis alone. This is a waste of time."

Patiently, I explained, "This training is meant to help you integrate your psychic abilities with your other skills. Martin did you little favour by completely isolating them. I suppose such sharp division was useful for his research, but it does pose problems with a more real-world application of your talents. Besides, have you forgotten why we started training with the sword in the first place?"

His sharp blue eyes widened in realization. "You finally made it?" His voice held a gleeful note of anticipation, his earlier frustration forgotten. The corners of his mouth tugged upward in an eager smile, the sullenness of before completely vanished. He was like a child who had just been promised a visit to a candy store.

"I completed it some time ago. I just needed to ensure you wouldn't accidentally lop off something important when I hand it over."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because I suspected you might try to take it before you were ready."

"I suppose that's fair. So where is it?"

"In my workshop. Follow me," I beckoned.

Two scooped up his pet snake, the reptile having observed our sparring with serpentine disinterest. He handled it with a care that belied his recent ferocity. As he trailed behind me, exiting the gym, the balance between master and apprentice, between discipline and anticipation, walked with us.

Our walk to the wine cellar took us through the gleaming corridors of the Io base, a brisk ten-minute journey marked by the hum of high-tech efficiency. The walls, aglow with ambient lighting, echoed the quiet power of the complex.

Halfway there, I seized the moment for inquiry, my voice echoing softly off the polished surfaces. "Tell me, how are the others faring?"

His role as my apprentice had become multifaceted; the responsibility I had placed upon his shoulders served to rein in his more troublesome traits. His bullying had been a problem, but with actual weight on his shoulders, he had grown. The leadership potential I had always seen in him, now nurtured, made him the natural overseer among his peers. Assigning him this position had been strategic, and as long as I maintained a watchful oversight, I had confidence in the equilibrium we had achieved. Receiving his progress reports was crucial, a touchpoint for both his development and the well-being of the group. It was a check-in, certainly, but it also served a deeper purpose, strengthening the bonds of trust and mentorship between us.

"Three's prep for the stage is almost done. He's eager for you and Fano to see it," Two mentioned casually, before diving into an abbreviated rundown of the others.

Both the more mundane matters, like their hobbies, interpersonal matters, and progress with schooling, and more esoteric, like the development of their psychic potential. Ten was struggling with English. Nine had taken on tea-making using pyrokinesis. The twins, Seventeen and Sixteen were currently not talking to each other.

I offered guidance where needed—advice to soothe, encouragement to motivate, and corrections to steer them back on course.

Delegating my teaching role through Two was proving to be a wise move. My preference for one-on-one instruction aside, it was witnessing the diverse talents of their peers that spurred Two's growth. His tendency to focus on strengths and neglect weaknesses was being challenged. Competitive by nature, he couldn't stand being surpassed, especially by one he was supposed to teach, and this drove him to invest in areas where he was less adept, particularly the psychic disciplines that didn't come as naturally to him.

Arriving at the wine cellar, I punched in the security code into the keypad. Considering the mix of children and teenagers we had on the base; it was only common sense to keep our alcohol supply under lock and key.

I wasn't too concerned about Two discovering my wine cellar. I had occasionally permitted the older boys to enjoy a glass of Elven wine at dinner. Two, however, had refused any after his first taste. He had an aversion to anything that could cloud his mind.

The look of astonishment on his face was priceless as I revealed the concealed door to my private workshop. "This is straight out of 'Hero Forged in Fire'!" he burst out, his enthusiasm uncontained as he referenced a scene from Trevor's graphic novels. "It's a dead ringer for the secret entrance to Rin's den, where Shirou gets his suit revamped."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his excitement. "I suppose it is a bit distinctive," I replied, teasing him, "So you're still into Trevor's comics?"

The sudden flush of crimson on his cheeks betrayed him. "That's beside the point," he deflected awkwardly, shifting gears, "You didn't show Trevor this place, did you?"

"Of course not," I reassured him, my tone laced with amusement, "If I had brought him to Io, I would have told you."

His eyes widened in disbelief. "Then how... No! Don't tell me his comics were real?"

I responded with only a knowing smile, allowing the mystery to swirl around us. In a fluid motion, I transformed, the visage of the elf known as Rin fading into that of Rin Tohsaka. "Not in this World," I offered cryptically. "But for what's to come, I think this form suits me best." And with a flourish, I reached into the gaping mouth of the demonic head that served as a lock.

His voice echoed in the spacious room, filled with awe. "I have so many questions," he said as the heavily warded door creaked open, revealing my workshop in all its intricate grandeur. The room was a vast expanse, cluttered with a myriad of magical paraphernalia. Tools and materials essential for magecraft were scattered throughout, each with its own intriguing story. Among them were objects of a more carnal nature. A-frames, wooden horses, and St. Andrews crosses stood proudly alongside vibrators, gags, and other tools of pleasure, each object emanating a faint aura of magic. "And now I have even more questions."

I chuckled lightly at his reaction. "That's the spirit, Two. Questions are the beginning of wisdom. You're welcome to ask anything you want. I may even answer. But, first things first..." I let my voice trail off as I led him further into the room.

We navigated through the labyrinth of objects, from the Aperture Storage Cube containing prototype hell, to the alchemical equipment where I extracted the golden ether variant from the grail-created chocolate. I could see his eyes darting around, trying to take everything in with child-like wonderment. It was strangely pleasing. Perhaps I should have introduced him to this place earlier, but his talent didn't lie in this direction.

Finally, we stopped in front of a large, sturdy table situated in the middle of the room. On it lay several pairs of sunglasses, a silver bracelet embedded with a single gemstone, and a metal cylinder, half the size of my forearm.

"This," I said, presenting the cylinder to Two, "is why we're here."

"Is this really a lightsaber?" he asked, almost hesitantly accepting the cylinder. He swung it through the air a few times. "But I can't find the switch."

"It's not exactly a lightsaber, but it's close enough. There is no switch, you just need to push your telekinetic power into it."

At my instruction, a red blade suddenly sprung from the tube. "Wow! It's red!"

"Just as you asked," I replied, grinning at his enthusiasm. "It's not really a lightsaber per se, but more of a sword lens. It gives shape and properties to your power, focusing and strengthening it."

Two's eyes lit up with delight as he held the pseudo-lightsaber. He took a few experimental swings, the blade cutting through the air with a satisfying hum. He danced around the room, the red beam of light moving in sync with his swift and precise movements. He attacked invisible enemies, parried non-existent strikes, and defended against phantom foes. The light from the blade illuminated his face, painting it with an eerie red glow and reflecting in his wide eyes.

Each swing was filled with an exuberant energy that was purely his, and with each movement, he grew more confident, surer of himself. The room resonated with the hum of the pseudo-lightsaber and his soft laughter. It was a sound that filled the space, mingling with the magical energies that already permeated the room.

I watched from the sidelines, an indulgent smile on my face.

"Two," I called out, reaching for the sunglasses laid aside. "I have something else for you." I extended them towards him.

He took them with a noncommittal grunt, "Thanks, I guess."

Disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm, I adopted a lecturing tone, "In Thomas Malory's 'Le Morte d'Arthur', there's a relevant conversation between Arthur and Merlin. Arthur, upon receiving Excalibur, is awestruck by the beauty and power of the blade. Merlin expresses disappointment in Arthur's infatuation with the sword."

At this, Two snickered, interrupting my tale. I paused, waiting for him to calm down before continuing. "Got that out of your system? Good. As I was saying, Merlin chastises Arthur for being foolish to value the sword more than the scabbard. He explains that while Arthur has the scabbard with him, he will not bleed. Thus, he should always keep the scabbard with him."

"What does Merlin's sex ed class have to do with anything?" Two queried.

"Sex ed?" I was taken aback. The thought of the young Saber I knew receiving a lecture on sex from a half-incubus Merlin was either disturbingly hilarious or hilariously disturbing.

"Well, the sword and the importance of always having a scabbard with you?" he tried to clarify.

"I was talking about sunglasses."

"Would they stop me from bleeding?" Two asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"No. Why would glasses stop you from bleeding?" I returned, puzzled.

"Why would a scabbard?" Two retorted, leaving the both of us in a bemused silence.

I decided against attempting to explain Avalon to him. Given that I was the one grading his math tests, I knew that geometry in more than three dimensions was beyond his current comprehension. This was disappointing because such understanding could be quite beneficial for telekinesis, and visualizing objects in more than three dimensions could enable some advanced applications. But I had to work with his limitations.

"The sunglasses," I began, "while you're wearing them, protect you from witnessing things that men are not meant to know. In other words, they act as a sort of censor, shielding you from mind-shattering truths."

"Like that place where androids go?" Two inquired, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

"Yes, thanks to the glasses, the Otherworld is open to you, and through it, a path to Earth."

"Earth? Is that safe?" His eyes widened a bit, probably remembering the events in the Missing Mile.

"That's what the bracelet is for. While you wear it, you'll be covered by glamour. No one who doesn't personally know you will recognize you. If you choose to visit Earth, go to Hawkins," I advised, shifting to another of my forms: Ace Johnson, the Technical Director of Aperture. "I will be for the next few days, maybe a week or two, as I deal with some issues in the new facility. Besides, Trevor will be there, promoting his comic, if you want to see him again. I need to go now. I have to pick up Jane from the Enrichment Centre before heading to Hawkins."

"Jane?" he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"Eleven."

His frown deepened at the mention of her. "Why?"

"Not that it's any of your business," I replied with a small smirk, "but her mother asked me to keep an eye on her while she's visiting her little boyfriend in Hawkins. I guess that's something you two have in common."

"Trevor is not my boyfriend!" he protested, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

I returned to the Enrichment Center through the Otherworld, just briefly stopping to pick one item, stored in the metal attaché case. As it was my habit, I exited the Otherworld into my office. It was one of the few places that was not monitored in the Enrichment Center.

At some point, I needed to bring GLaDOS into my confidence fully, but first, I had to convince Archer that it was a good idea. Fully resolving the matter with the Aperture Science Data Collection and Human Suffering Enablement Chamber would certainly help.

"Hello, Percy," I enunciated clearly.

In creating the patented Aperture Vocal Interpreter Chip, GLaDOS may have managed to produce something much cheaper and more predictable than the Aperture Personality Cores she used as a base. But this innovation came with downsides.

First, it was far more limited. The Personality Cores were fully operational Artificial Intelligences, capable of making decisions. They weren't always good decisions, but the same could be said about people.

The Vocal Interpreter Chip (VIC), on the other hand, merely translated spoken directives into digital commands. This necessitated careful enunciation and clear instructions to function correctly.

The Aperture Personality Cores were a byproduct of a mind transference project. In fact, our only success in this area so far hinged on a serendipitous discovery during an unrelated experiment. We found that while the vitrification process—triggered by exotic particles during botched attempts at macroscale quantum tunnels—completely converted carbon to silicon, it somehow preserved the neural architecture of the human brain. Whether this meant those lost were forever trapped as sentient glass statues, eternally barred from the sweet release of death, was a thought I tried hard not to dwell on.

Nevertheless, this discovery allowed us to get our hands on silica-based neural gel. We even managed to find a way to create it artificially, without vitrifying humans in the process.

The desktop computer in my office was an Aperture original. As the director, I felt a sense of duty to stay loyal to our brand, especially given that our tech outclassed the competition, even Apple. Upon booting up, the radial menu — shaped as the Aperture logo — sprung to life on the screen. With windows and mouse interfaces patented by Apple, we opted for voice input and a radial menu display. This design choice seemed fitting for our brand's aesthetic.

"Access new messages."

The computer chirped in compliance, and the first message popped up, casting a pale blue glow across the desk's surface. It was another report of turrets firing on the perimeter of the lunar base. Paranoia aside, the turrets were set up there primarily to test their adaptability to the lunar environment. It was obvious that this caused some sort of malfunction in target recognition. After all, there was no one else on the Moon, and even if there was, it's not as if they would invade using infantry.

"Next."

The screen refreshed, now displaying another petition for creating more communal living spaces.

In the first place, the Enrichment Center had not been designed for habitation. The living quarters had been originally created for the all-too-common occurrence when an employee, mostly scientists, but occasionally other specialists, worked overtime and then decided to sleep in the facility, rather than take the long drive home and back.

One of the drawbacks of being situated in an abandoned salt mine in the middle of nowhere. But the isolation was quite useful in preventing industrial sabotage and containing incidents like unleashed crimes against nature—for example, the Mantis Man incident, robot rebellions, or being transformed into glass.

But in the last year, more and more employees preferred permanent residence.

The explanation was unmistakable: the Bounded Field enshrouding the Enrichment Center.

It had two effects: protection and inspiration. And it was the second one that caused this petition.

The applied topological magecraft didn't merely encourage a trickle of creative thought; it unleashed a deluge.

Beneath its influence, every individual at Aperture became astoundingly omnific. This transformation was not limited to scientists; it permeated every stratum of the workforce—from security personnel and custodial staff to the test subjects and dependents residing within the complex.

Art and science burgeoned in unison, thriving like subterranean fungi in the bowels of the earth.

The allure of this exalted state of awareness held an almost addictive charm.

The mounting petitions for permanent residency did not catch me off-guard, yet the sheer number had slipped past my estimations.

This resulted in a gentle brush with overpopulation.

Presently, the vacant conference rooms have been repurposed into temporary living quarters for those on the waiting list. Additionally, some of the test chambers—where our most brilliant minds endeavor to engineer the ideal habitat—are now functioning as living spaces.

The test chambers offer a degree of comfort, assuming one is indifferent to the gaze of observing scientists and the occasional unscheduled experiment.

Expansion was the obvious solution, yet it was anything but straightforward.

The challenge lay in accommodating more individuals without compromising the unique qualities that made the Enrichment Center an exceptional place to live and work. Merely packing in more living spaces would erode the very essence that drew people here.

The Bounded Field's effectiveness was intertwined with the Center's design; its potency was rooted in the precision of the structure's sacred geometry. Expansion had to respect this intricate arrangement to preserve the integrity of the field.

Moreover, aesthetics played a pivotal role in our architecture. The design was not a superficial afterthought; it was an integral part of the experience. The harmony of shapes, colors, and symbols around us was crafted to work in concert with the Bounded Field, enhancing its psychological impact.

The task of spatial zoning was an art in itself. The sectors under Azazel's patronage thrived with a palpable vigor, catalyzing the work of those dedicated to armaments and cosmic exploration. Sariel's serene watch cast a lunar affinity over areas focused on the Moon Shot project, promoting a kinship with the cosmos.

Penemue the Scribe's domain became a nexus for our programmers and publishing teams, where creativity in digital and written forms found a fertile ground. Altogether, the Enrichment Center spanned twenty zones, each resonating with the influence of a Watcher, each space echoing the distinct nature of its celestial guardian. It was this careful alignment that allowed the Bounded Fields to function with maximum efficacy, creating a symphony of productivity and innovation.

And there were other types of rooms that were required for the proper functions of our underground utopia.

Some were more mundane like cafeteria, food processing facilities, toilets, showers, gyms, storage rooms, laboratories, conference rooms, offices, underground gardens adult recreational rooms – a side effect of Bounded Field was increased libido, and I was tired of stumbling over couples and more fucking in corridors. Even if such sins, delighted the fallen angels, or more to be precise remaining thoughts reshaped into Watchers.

Others were more exotics, like robot bays, room-sized Static Quantum Tunneling Devices, automated testing courses, automated manufacturing lines, experimental facilities built for testing…

Mapping out the expansion of these spaces was a colossal endeavor — one that required careful consideration to balance both the mystical and the mundane.

I didn't have time for that now. "Mark for later review, next."

This was the message that I was waiting for. Terry Ives, well now Evans, had confirmed both the time and place where she and her daughter were waiting for me, an empty conference room—a short walk from my office. 

The corridors of the Enrichment Center were never devoid of character, and today was no different.

As I navigated the familiar hallways, the fluorescent gleam of motivational posters provided a constant, albeit offbeat, source of illumination. These were the brainchildren of GLaDOS, each one a unique blend of cold logic and subtle menace. They were as riveting as her notorious manifesto 'Calculating the Anti-life Equation', through which she'd managed a massive hack that flipped the presidential election of the United States.

One of my personal favorites read, "Ask not what science does for you, but what you have done for science." This charming reminder of our shared servitude to the insatiable beast of scientific progress was nothing short of effective - if morale was any higher, we could use it instead of a portal to reach the moon.

Rounding a corner, I nearly collided with a janitor. He was shepherding a pack of spider-like cleaning robots, deftly wielding a control rod equipped with a laser pointer to guide them. The robots' sensor lights flicked towards me in an uncanny imitation of a pack of dogs. Acknowledging their mechanic presence with a nod, I moved on, their metallic chatter fading into the background.

Glancing at another poster, the motto seemed more in tune with Aperture's spirit: "No idea is too crazy—unless it's not crazy enough." A fitting mantra for our unique brand of madness.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of motion. A young boy from the orphan project was skating past, grinning wildly as his shoes, soles slathered with our signature propulsion gel, sent him gliding down the hallway. The sound of his laughter echoed off the sterile walls, a poignant reminder that, despite everything, life in the Enrichment Center had its moments of pure, unadulterated joy. Of course, with every joyous moment came the constant potential for bone-breaking accidents.

Sometimes, I found myself wondering if the Clocktower in London was anything like this. I'd never had the opportunity to find out for myself. It wasn't that they didn't want me, quite the contrary - they wanted too much. Specifically, they granted me the Sealing Designation.

But this was no time to dwell on the past in another world. The door of the conference room was in front of me.

As I entered, I could hear Terry in earnest conversation with Jane, listing out a set of items and instructions she needed to remember for this trip.

"She's going to Hawkins, not some unexplored planet. If she forgets something, there's a good chance we'll find a replacement," I tried to lighten the mood after our greetings.

"I know," Terry responded, wringing her hands. "It's just... this is the first time we'll be apart since you reunited us. If you weren't with her, I don't know if I could let her go. But I trust you."

Just then, Jane piped in, her voice steady but filled with the familiar undertones of teenage impatience. "Mom, I'll be fine. I want to see my friends... and Mike," she added, a hint of blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I promise to call every day. Plus, he'll be there with me," she pointed towards me, offering her mother a reassuring smile.

I nodded in agreement, "And I'll ensure she stays safe, Terry. You have my word."

With that, Terry seemed to relax a bit. The goodbyes were brief, and soon Jane and I were on our way. We had a portal to catch.