Ice Pie [SpyxFamily][Si]

Quick note at the beginning, Spy x Family is a fairly new manga by Tatsuya Endo. There are only 15.5 chapters out, it's not super serious, and there's minimal lore or world building. The only setting details we have is 'vaguely cold war era West vs East Germany'. So I'm making a lot of shit up of the top of my head. You don't need to have read it to read this fic. In fact, I'll be diverging fairly quickly, and given how much lore/plot I'll have to make up, this will get AU pretty quick. Also. I list this as SI, but it's more of a generic 'person from our world' than 'me' specifically. This is so I can make a lot of references to Youjo Senki/Tanya the evil, for reasons you'll see, but Spy X Family is not an isekai.

Enjoy. Hope you comment, I'm going to need help figuring out bizzaro!cold war stuff.

Ice Pie
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This place wasn’t so bad. I mean, it was a run down, brutalist building made of bricks and stone, but the rooms were dry and the widows were tight. Mister Erhard, the guy running the orphanage, was an alcoholic, but then again, in this bizzaro eastern europe I found myself in, I’d have been more surprised if he wasn’t. He kept us fed, didn’t skim much off the top for his booze, and had a fairly sweet relationship with some seamstress woman who lived elsewhere that kept us clothed.

And he wasn’t a pedo. Can’t understate how great that is.

Not that pedos have been a problem for me, since I was reborn in bizzaro world, but as a tiny little blonde girl, I am aware of the potential threat.

Erhard didn’t like me much, though. He was a bit superstitious, and let’s be honest here. I was a bit weird as an adult in my past life. With all my memories, in the body of a little girl? Oh yeah. I’m bizarre as fuck. Too mature. I don’t cry. I don’t need constant help. I don’t like playing with the other children. I spend too much time by myself.

Now, you’d think a ‘mature’ child that can dress, bathe, and feed herself would be a selling point for adoption. You’d be partially right. Although most couples prefer to adopt babies, some couples prefer to risk the chance of getting an already fucked up kid if it means they don’t have to lose sleep and change diapers for a year or so. I’ve been ‘adopted’ twice, both from previous orphanages.

First couple were child farmers. One of those couples that adopts a shitload of children to get their government dole, then skims off the top to pay their own bills. Now, that’s not necessarily the worst thing in the world, no worse than a small, private orphanage, if they at least keep up their end of the bargain. Food, clothes, place to sleep, at least some care. Enough to turn out a survivor if not a socially well-adjusted child.

I took one look at those kids, heard the fear in their voices whenever ‘Mama Birgit’ turned her hawkish gaze, and was gone before nightfall.

Nope. Nope nope nope. Not my mama.

Had some hope for the second couple. Quite a bit more well to do, actually talked to me a bit before adoption. They didn’t have previous kids, probably some sort of fertility problem I’m guessing, not that I got that in depth with my own questions. I was, after all, trying to at least be an acceptably weird little girl. Got taken home, did some settling in stuff. I was cautiously optimistic. Lived with them for a bit over a month. Found out both were cheating on each other. Him moreso than her. Apparently, their failure to have a child naturally caused some pretty intense stress and fights. She blamed him and his ‘weak seed’. He blamed her for being a failure as a woman. They needed a child to qualify for some sort of inheritance from a grandfather.

Well, that’s not ideal, but it wasn’t until some inter family shenanigans I wasn’t really privy to happened that I realized it wasn’t going to work out. The gist I got was, they were angling for a percentage of the inheritance, not a premade slice. So the other potential heirs, with their ‘natural children’, managed to have me ruled invalid. Divorce isn’t really a common ‘thing’ around here, but either way, the writing was on the wall as far as I was concerned. Neither had any more then perfunctory interest in me, even at the best of times. Left, lied a bit, ended up in a new orphanage, daunted but not defeated.

Still, while this is arguably the best orphanage I’ve lived at, I sure don’t want to be here until I’m ‘of age’ and end up a whore somewhere. Did I mention this is bizzaro world eastern europe? And the year is 1984? Oh my god I don’t want to be an eastern european whore.

So when Erhard comes in with this tall, lanky blond guy dressed in a dapper grey suit and an upper crust air about him, I paid attention. I mean, I don’t actually have any idea how good his suit was, but given how good it looked and how shitty this place really was, the idle thought that ‘the money he spent on that suit could buy this place’ crossed my mind.

I picked my toy up where it sat beside me and went to watch the rich man follow Erhard in, seeming to be a bit shocked when the greasy, balding drunk told him to pick the one he wanted.

Really, Erhard? I’m nocking a point off my review for this place, though admittedly, deference to rich people is a thing here. I realize asking for due diligence is an unreasonable expectation in this unreasonable place, but… ahhh, fuck it.

‘What a rough place,’ the gentleman mused, looking around at the half dozen of us kids playing in the hallway and common room as he entered. ‘But the shadier the facility, the higher the chance of these kids having a murky background. It’s more convenient if we have less records to change.’

Motherfucker what? He wants untraceable records? That’s a big red flag!

‘The mission is to create a family. As long as I have a child, I can make it work,’ he thought silently to himself, seeming to nod in satisfaction.

What what what? That doesn’t sound like a pedo, that sounds like some sort of-

‘I wish I could do this on my own,’ he continued musing, giving each snot nosed little runt the gimlet eye. ‘But not even Westalia’s most renown spy can disguise himself as a child.’

Oh.

My.

God.

I didn’t have a real good grasp on history, even my own personal history I admit, but I did know the names of the, to me, most important countries around, and kinda a gist on the rest of it. Bizzaro world, bizzaro names. The best example I can think of is Tanya in Youjo Senki, with me as Tanya, with the sole major difference being this is bizzaro 80s cold war instead of bizzaro WW1. Hell, at first I thought this was Youjo Senki, but with a lot of country name drift.

United Albion replaced the UK. Francia is bizzaro France. Westalis is the name of bizzaro West Germany.

We currently live in Ostania, bizzaro East Germany. Basically, after some unholy abomination of WW2, the country got split. They even built a wall between them. However, about ten years ago or so, they tore the wall down and signed a bunch of treaties or something and mostly made nice.

The big difference is that unlike home, West and East didn’t unify. In fact, they’re pretty prickly to each other.

And this blond James Bond looking motherfucker right here is an honest to god cold war spy.

And me? Continuing with the Tanya theme, besides being tiny and blonde, I also had special powers.

I could read minds.

I stared at the ACTUAL SPY kid shopping in front of me with eyes about as big around as saucers.

“Oh right, if possible, I’d prefer someone who can read and write,” he admitted cheerfully.

Oh my god. Was this happening? This was perfect! This is bizzaro fucking Youjo Senki! But a cold war spy thing instead of WW1 quidditch murder! Thank you, Being X! Or God, or however you wish to be called. Tanya resented you, but you’re A-Okay in my books!

“Yeah, I know just the one,” Erhard agreed. “Anya!”

He almost had to call me twice, even though I was close by. I was actually trembling I was so excited.

“She’s our smartest kid,” Erhard explained. “Don’t talk much, but… Eh, she’s a good kid,” he added, looking at me. ‘A creepy little brat, really,’ he added mentally. ‘Hope this guy gets her outta my hair asap.’

‘Fuck you, you bald fuck,’ I thought right back at him. I can’t actually send thoughts, though. Just hear. My regular efforts to train my power probably contributed to him thinking I’m creepy, now that I think about it.

“C’mon, aren’t you gonna say hi?” he prompted.

I opened my mouth to say something, but the spy’s thoughts interrupted me.

‘Eden Academy starts at age six. She’s too small, too young.’ Out loud, he said, ‘Um, excuse me, but-“

“Six!” I blurted, standing as tall as I could. “I’m six years old!”

I’m lying through my teeth. I don’t know my own birthday, much less how old I am, but I might be brushing five. I mean, physically.

“I don’t think,” Erhard began, giving me a dubious look, but I overrode him.

“I’m definitely six!” Shut up old man!

I could tell the man wasn’t buying it. “Test me!” I demanded. “I can read and write and do math and everything! I’m just short!”

Come on, man, I could be the tiny psychic spy to his James bond! It’s a match made in heaven! Don’t take this from me!

“We don’t have many books here, but I assure you she’s good at reading,” Erhard added, helping me out.

You just got that extra star on my yelp review, dude!

“I do have a newspaper,” he allowed, pulling it from an inner coat pocket and handing it to me.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said politely as I took it from him. I quickly scanned it and found the start of some article about a scuffle between Westalian and Osternian female athletes.

“Westalian female athlete, Patrica Schulth, who brought shame on herself and her nation in the Athenian Games, to be expelled from the Westalian athenian team.” I gave it some bombast, really trying to impress. “The Albionese born Westalian runner was the cause of a disastrous accident in the 1984 games, tripping up heroic Ostanian athlete Katja Amsel in the 3000m race.”

I think my complete ignorance of german actually helped me learn bizzaro german, since I went in with minimal preconceptions. My knowledge of english works to understand Albionese, but there’s some words in there that weren’t in my lexicon. To go back to the old analogy of english being three midgets in a trenchcoat, pretending to be one language, well, the midgets are the same, but they’re wearing different clothes under there, and the trenchcoat has more pockets.

Mister Spy wasn’t dismissing me out of hand, but I don’t think I had sold him yet.

Hmm. I bet there’s a crossword puzzle in here. I flipped through the paper, then asked for a pencil.

I ended up seated in Erhard’s own chair, the paper on his desk, with the still unnamed spy leaning over my shoulder as I scanned the clues.

Hmm. One across, eleven letters, the tendency toward a stable equilibrium. Homeostasis. Four down, eleven letters again, ‘to turn into vapor.’ Evaporation, easy. No wait, that doesn’t line up with that. What’s this other clue that intersects, uh… ah, disconsolate. That means four is sublimation. Gotcha.

It started great. But this was like, Mensa’s fucking crossword puzzle, and I started taking longer.

‘Good start, but I guess even a smart child can’t be asked to know ‘causal closure’. And if that’s a C in that space, that makes 32 across ‘symplectomorphic map’.

What. Still, if he’s going to unwittingly feed me the answers, I’m gonna take advantage.

Also, damn this guy was smart. I bet his education was both tasteful and expensive.

After about fifteen minutes, I had the crossword completed and handed it to him happily.

He was kind of staring at me. ‘She actually got it! Where did she learn this stuff?!’ He took the newspaper from my slightly shaking hand and marveled at it. ‘What terrifying genius! With her, passing the entrance exam should be child’s play!’

Abruptly, his head snapped to the side, focusing on Erhard.

“I’ll take her!”

Aww yiss…

Again, though, when Erhard actually waved off the idea of paperwork and told him to just take me, he lost that goddamn star in his review. If I end up in a shallow grave somewhere, I’m going to haunt your greasy ass, Erhard.

Before we left, the man introduced himself as Lloyd Forger. Later, I was to discover it was actually spelled Loid, which is weird, but okay. He got my name, Anya, (it’s like Tanya, but I don’t like heights so fuck being an aerial mage!) and asked me if I had any belongings I needed to get.

The only thing I had, I kept with me always. My toy stuffed animal, Chimera. It was given to me by maybe!Mom, and is the only thing I’ve managed to keep throughout my adventures in surviving eastern europe’s child welfare attempts.

It’s pretty clearly a chimera. It has a lion head and body with a snake tail (with the snake head at the end of it so you know it’s a snake). That’s pure chimera. But instead of the goat head, it’s got bat wings, so the overall effect is more like that of a manticore. But I was told it was a chimera, and you don’t have to be a genius to see the narrative clue here.

My powers aren’t the result of natural mutation.

I was made somewhere.

And if I get involved in spy stuff, I bet I get to eventually figure out who made me.



AN: Like I said, Spy X Family is not an isekai. Anya is a 'normal' psychic little girl. But add an insert and bam! Cold war spy Youjo Senki. High five, Being X!

 

I ignored the waving of the children as we left together. I wasn’t friends with any of them, and if I had to run away from my new daddy, I’d be looking for an entirely different orphanage again. I kept silent, and obediently followed the gentleman as we left.

“Listen up, little lady,” he began.

“Anya has been my name until now,” I interjected. “No last name. But I can get used to a new name if I must.” I kinda liked Anya, since it was close to Tanya.

“Anya will be fine,” he agreed. “And your new last name will be Forger.”

I nodded, then put on my brightest, most outgoing child expression. “Hello, Mister! I’m Anya Forger! Are you my new Daddy?”

He smiled at me. “Yes, though I would prefer to be called ‘Father.’” ‘That seems fairly upper crust,’ he thought.

I gave him a crude curtsy, dipping a little, and said, “Of course, Father. It wouldn’t do for a family as dignified as ours to be seen as crude and plebian.” I suddenly brightened and bounced a little on my feet. “Unless we’re pretending to be lower class, right Papa? Huh? Right?”

He paused and gave me a considering look. ‘She understands more than she should, but that could be a very good thing.’ He nodded. “Yes, daughter. And don’t forget, I have always been your father.”

I nodded back. “What is father’s name?” I deliberately did not say ‘your name’.

“I am Loid Forger. I am a psychiatrist.”

I nodded. “Daddy is a mind doctor! He helps people who feel bad!” I went back to my serious tones. “What specialty? Neurophysiology? Forensic? No offense, you don’t seem to be comfortable enough with children to be a child psychiatrist.”

His lip twitched a little, and I could sense the amusement in him. “I am a clinical psychologist, at the Vivante Klinik Berldam.”

I nodded, committing the information to memory, then moved on. “It’s been kind of sad since Mother left us.” I paused. “Died? Abandoned us?”

“Died will be easiest to fake,” he agreed, and we resumed walking. “Although I should be finding a mother for you soon.”

I nodded. “I know how to stick to a story, Father.” I walked in silence for a bit, then added quietly, “But we need to have a conversation in private. I need to know what you want. And you need to know what I want.”

“What I want?” he asked. “I can’t just want a family?”

I couldn’t help myself, and snorted. “Father, I probably know more about how the adoption process goes than you do. You need me for a purpose, and to pretend otherwise insults both of our intelligence.”

‘Ah. I had not considered the challenges an intelligent child would provide. This may prove trickier than I thought.’ He nodded slightly.

We traveled in silence after that, making our way through the streets of Berldam, the capital of Ostania, by foot and by taxi.

I spent the time listening to his thoughts.

Telepathy is weird. Not at all what entertainment media had prepared me for. For one thing, although I slip up and refer to it as such sometimes, it’s not at all like ‘reading’. Instead, it’s more like, an extra set of ears, that are also antenna. It feels more like I’m hearing broadcasts from other people’s minds. Really short ranged broadcasts, too. I might have a total range of a hundred meters or so, and that’s stretching it. My actual, function range is more like about a third of that, and can be cut even further if there’s too many people nearby, or the person is a static brain.

The clearest and easiest thing for me to pick up on is internal vocal thoughts, like I’m best tuned into the language centers in people’s brains. When Loid looked at me and thought, ‘This girl will be perfect for my mission,’ he was essentially speaking to himself, in his brain. Verbal thoughts like that come in loud and clear, are easy to distinguish, and have the most range. I even get the tone the thought is in, making the emotions fairly clear.

However, purely visual thoughts are harder to distinguish. Action planning thoughts, like someone visualizing slapping me in the face, still come through, but are… fuzzier, for a lack of a better word. Like, my face in that image would be like an unfinished greyscale drawing, and there would be no background. Or if someone was memorizing the details of a painting, I’d get all the bits they focused on, but the surrounding bits quickly fade into bland obscurity. It’s still useful information, but it’s not like seeing through their eyes. I think the bits that broadcast the best are the details the brain is actually getting, not the impressionistic ‘it’s there but I’m not really looking at it, so my brain just glosses over it,’ sort of thing where the brain just kinda guesses.

Like how we don’t actually see during saccades, but our brain fills in the gap with extrapolation. The extrapolation does get broadcast, but it’s noticeably fuzzy, and, like, shorter ranged than the actual visual data. It makes getting an accurate impression of another person’s visuals almost impossible outside of about fifteen or twenty feet. I have a few theories about why this is, but no proof and nowhere to really start getting proof.

Also, reading memories? Forget it. Unless the person is actually thinking about the memory, going over it in their mind, I can’t see it. All I get is surface thoughts. Pure emotions likewise come through badly, or not at all. Maybe because emotions are more of a neurochemical thing, not a neuroimpulse thing?

For that matter, I think I pick up on touch, as well, but only in really really close ranges. Inches at most. Little phantom pinpricks of sensation that mostly don’t mean anything, but can transfer sensations. Like, if a kid sprained his finger, and I hold that hand, I get a phantom impression of that pain. As I start pulling my hand away, the sensation gets fainter and fuzzier, down to nothing at all. And if I hold his other hand, I’m too far from the hand generating the pain symptoms, and I get nothing.

Also, I can’t seem to influence thoughts or talk directly to another person’s mind… maybe. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to send thoughts and orders to other people, and even animals. Once, for about fifteen minutes before it flew off, a raven I was watching in a tree seemed to be doing what I thought at it to do.

But that only happened once, and it might be that the raven and I had similar ideas on what a raven in a tree should be doing.

Any discussion of telepathy would be incomplete without the drawbacks. Well, the media seems to have gotten that bit mostly right. That telepath from Code Geass, the one obsessed with CC. Forget his name. He’s just about spot on as far as the drawbacks. You can’t turn it off, and you can’t unhear it. When I’m around a lot of people, it’s like being in a noisy crowd, except you can’t plug your ears. It gives me headaches, and it’s very, very, VERY difficult to focus on a single mental voice in that crowd. I’ve always hated being around too many people, even in my first life. Here, it’s just about full blown fear of crowds.

I don’t like it.

At all.

There seems to be this… static that comes from other people. Like turning on an old analogue radio, and hearing the crackle of random noise coming through the speakers. It’s really bad, and fuzzes out anything I might otherwise get, if the person is too far away. So the way I see it, each person more or less seems to have their own wavelength, or actually, a whole cluster of wavelengths for various mental senses, but they’re really close together. Like listening to FM radio, and one person is everything from 99.5 to 100.7. The problem is, another person near them might be 98.9 to 100.1, with overlap. And the closer they are, the stronger the signal, but also with the problem that each sub frequency has its own strength. One person at fifty feet away with a mental voice on 101.3 will drown out another person’s visual sense at 30 feet, but if the visual person gets closer, down to like, twenty feet, then the signals jumble into indistinguishable noise, at least until one gets closer.

Lastly, some people are just unclear in general. I call them static brains. People who don’t seem to think a lot, and exist in more of an act-react sort of mindset. Children, especially, are static brains. Not a lot of coherent thought in most children.

My theory is that I’m literally picking up on electrical signals from nerves, which is why my telepathy seems to be more of a passive reception with limited range and static, and doesn’t pick up on things like chemical emotions. I have no proof, but it’s a working theory for now. Also, I think a lot of the static is from thoughts my brain can’t translate. Like, I get mostly static from someone thinking in french, because I only understand a smattering of french and can’t really think in it. And maybe people with bad eyesight produce more staticky visual thoughts.

Loid had a wonderfully clear mental voice. It was really nice to listen to, much more pleasant than anyone in recent memory. The benefits of a logical, organized mind, I suppose.

He didn’t think much about the overall mission as we travelled, and instead seemed to be mentally shopping for food and supplies. It was like being near someone constantly talking quietly to themselves.

We got out in front of a rather nice building in a good neighborhood, the kind the upper middle class, or perhaps lower upper class, might live in. Though the building itself was probably older than the blocky, brutal architecture of the orphanage, it had more ornamentation to make it look nicer. I don’t know the architectural style, but it seemed like a pretty good place to live, if you liked cities.

I didn’t like cities, but they had their uses.

As soon as we entered the building, an old woman greeted us, and they exchanged names.

“Hello, we’re the Forgers,” Loid said, introducing both of us.

“Oh my, your daughter is adorable,” she exclaimed, doing that exaggerated old lady gasp thing.

“Pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” I replied, giving another curtsey.

“And so polite, too!”

Loid smiled, pleased with my performance. We continued to the apartment and he let us in.

For a place in the city, the three bedroom one bath apartment was actually really nice. The rooms were large and well appointed, with tasteful furniture in excellent condition. Some of it looks brand new and recently purchased, some of it, like the couch, had some signs of light wear, like it had come from an older place, implying continuity of life.

Nice.

He even had a TV, a positively huge one for the mid-80s. It had to be nearly 30 inches diagonal. More importantly, the apartment had a number of bookcases, already filled with books. I browsed through them briefly as Loid sat down in a chair and loosened his tie.

Sadly, all of the books were reference books and journals. Medicine, law, philosophy, just the sorts of things a well to do doctor would have. To my eye, though, most of them looked too new, with no signs of even the most minor crease in their spine. I’d need to put some wear and tear in them when I got the chance.

And make sure Loid saw me doing it, so I could continue my theme of being a reliable co-conspirator.

But that was for later. It’s best not to hit someone with too much stuff all at once.

After I’d familiarized myself with the apartment and left Chimera on my new bed, I laboriously climbed up into a chair opposite Loid. It ain’t easy being tiny.

Loid watched me with mild wariness, wondering if this is when the other shoe was going to drop and I was going to turn out too weird to be acceptable.

Apparently, things had been going too well, and he was getting paranoid.

“Okay,” I began. “I don’t believe either of us are willing to show all of our cards at the moment, but in the interests of cooperation with each other, here’s some information about me.”

Loid nodded cautiously.

“I am unusual,” I admitted honestly. “I’m too smart for my age. I don’t think like a normal child. I’ve been in three different orphanages and I only barely remember the woman that dropped me off in the first one. I remember her being scared, and telling me she loved me. Since then, I’ve had to learn how to survive. Have you ever been in an orphanage, Father?”

He nodded, his face softening a little, but his thoughts had a melancholy tone. “I was an orphan as well.”

That made sense. I could see his handlers preferring a spy with no attachments.

“Then you know it’s not easy. Bigger, meaner kids will take your food and belongings. The caretakers rarely care. It’s cold in the winter and hot in the summer. You get sick a lot. People treat you badly.”

He was nodding, remembering his own experiences.

“I’ve been adopted twice,” I continued. “The first family was just in it for the money they got for taking care of children. They spent the money on themselves and us kids were left to fend for ourselves. If we acted up, we got beaten. I ran away, and found a different orphanage.”

He was a little impressed, and also slightly angered.

“The second family acted like they wanted a daughter to love, but really it was just about some money they wanted from a grandfather, and when it fell apart, I had to run away again. I ended up at the orphanage where you found me.”

“I see.”

“So what I’m trying to explain here is, I know you want something from me. Everyone wants something, right? I don’t have a problem with that. If you want a trained pet, able to repeat lines on command, I can do that. If you want a partner who can act a role? I can do that, too. Honestly, especially given you didn’t pay anything for me, you got a really good deal.”

Here’s where I stood up in my chair and leaned forward, my hands on top of the table.

“Here’s the deal. I have things I want, as well.” I gave him a challenging stare.

Loid stared back at me, his thoughts running too fast for me to really understand them. Finally, he said, “I’m listening.”

I nodded. “Good. I want consideration. Everything has risks, but I want you to at least put forth an effort to keep me safe. I doubt you will tell me anything, but I promise to keep your secrets. Just make sure you tell me everything I need to know to do my part. Most importantly, when you’ve gotten what you want from me, I don’t want to be thrown away.”

He straightened a little, and I might have detected a note of approval in his mental ‘hmm.’

“If you can’t keep me, I’ll understand. However, I do not want to go back to an orphanage. I want good caretakers. It doesn’t have to be a real family, but I’d prefer someone who can at least keep me fed, housed, and arrange for a good education. A little money here and there, nothing unreasonable. I may be a genius compared to most of the people around me, but I’m still a child, and as hard as I’ve tried, I cannot make it in the world on my own. Not until I’m older.” I gave him a quirk of my lips.

“You want reassurances. That’s understandable, and very forward thinking of you,” he admitted.

“I realize I have no way of enforcing my demands,” I admitted. “Not without compromising secrecy, which would violate my own promise. I’ll keep your secrets no matter what.” I wanted to be real clear on that part, and hopefully head off any shallow grave bad ends. “But if there’s an honorable bone in you, that’s my price. I will do what you ask to the best of my abilities, which should be far better than most other children. And in return, you ensure I have a future. Okay?”

Loid smiled at me. ‘I hadn’t even considered what I would do with her after the mission. Damn headquarters, they didn’t give me enough time to plan this out like I want. But her demands are reasonable. If she’s as smart and easy to deal with during the entire operation as she is right now, I should be able to find a good home for her myself, even if central doesn’t want to foot the bill.’

“We have a deal then, Anya Forger,” he said, holding his hand out for a shake in a way that was mostly honest and only minimally condescending.

“We have a deal, Father,” I agreed, shaking his hand.

‘If nothing else, she’d actually be an incredible early recruit for the spy program,” he thought. ‘Yes, Anya, that’s why I do this. So you, and all the other children, have a future.’


AN: Continuing on. As always, comments appreciated, I'm happy to discuss mechanics, and I use all spelling and grammar corrections people give me.

 

“Pass the entrance exam to Eden Academy and make friends with certain children, particularly Damien Desmond. Work to become a member of the elite Imperial Scholars group, which requires me to be awarded eight ‘stellas’ or stars. My primary goal is to be on such good terms with the families, again, particularly the Desmond family, that we are invited to their estates for social events.”

“That is correct,” he agreed. “These families are the most elite, most powerful, and most reclusive in Ostania. The only way to arrange meetings with them is to become part of their social group, and the most practical way of doing that is to have a child become part of the same school group as their children.”

“I understand, Father,” I said solemnly. “I will become one of the top students at Eden Academy.”

“To accomplish this, our first goal is for you to pass the entrance exam. I have some materials coming that will assist us in this goal.”

“Materials?” I asked.

“Study guides, textbooks…”

I smiled in anticipation.

“…and a copy of the exam and the answers to the questions.” ‘Will she be concerned about cheating?’

“Wonderful, Father. Any methods may be used to complete our goal, yes?”

He nodded again in approval.

I gave him a grin. “And as the old saying goes, ‘If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.’” I grew serious again. “Although I’m confident in my ability to pass most tests, especially any for a normal girl my age, I do have a few weak areas in my knowledge. None of the orphanages I stayed at had any history books, and I only read a few while staying with families. Also, while I can fake it a little, my manners are not those of the upper crust. I will require training in how to act properly. I may also require help with proper pronunciation if I am to fit in.”

“Those are all very good points, Anya. I’ll see about getting appropriate study material.” He made a hmm sound. “I will be able to teach you most of it, but I might have to bring in some experts.”

“I can speak, understand, read, and write in albionese about as well as I speak germanian. However, I only know a few words in russcovia and francian. My accent is also terrible.” I paused as another thought hit me. “Oh, and my handwriting is bad. I haven’t had much time to practice.”

Loid smiled happily. “All of those are valid concerns, but you won’t be expected to be perfect at the beginning. So long as you pass the exam, we should have time to bring you up to acceptable levels of proficiency. And with a child as intelligent and composed as you are, I shouldn’t have many worries.”

“Just remember. You don’t throw me away at the end of this, and I’ll do whatever you need,” I reminded.

We shook on it once more.

After that, we went shopping. At first, he didn’t want to take me, which is understandable. From personal experience I can tell you that shopping with children is worse than going clothes shopping with a girlfriend. But I pointed out that there were things I needed he probably wouldn’t guess, and most of all, I needed some books.

As a bit of a bibliophile, not having ready access to reading material in this life had suuuuucked. I read once in a Heinlein book that reading withdrawal was as bad as coming off cocaine, though not as bad as heroin.

Shopping went pretty smooth, though. Got some soap and shampoo suitable for a girl. Some new underwear, a couple of simple dresses, some food, toiletries, and some writing and art supplies. Tablets, pencils, pens and such. Books were fast and easy to get. Went to a book store, asked the clerk what books were considered essential in various genres, and ended up with a starter stack of six children’s literature books. The only really extra things I got were fruits and some albionish breakfast teas. Rather than cooking that night, we got some food to go. The Turkish worker invasion of the germanys had been a thing here as well, so we had what was basically doner kebabs.

Once we got back, Father said he needed to go take care of some business. He didn’t think it directly, but I’m pretty sure he was reporting success to his handler, and maybe handling paperwork stuff. As much as I’d like to pick his handler’s brain, I didn’t argue. We had already made a short list of important events. My ‘birthday’, which we were putting as July 12, 1978, to make me just turned six. Grandparents dead, former home was in Rostoak, no aunts or uncles.

With him gone, and honestly since I we feeling pretty tired, I got a bath and went to bed. The bath was lovely. You never really get to be clean and scent free in a run-down orphanage full of snot nosed little brats.

For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep in a clean bed feeling comfortable and safe. For that alone, I’d do my best for the spy who adopted me.

The next day, I got woken up for breakfast.

“You’re a good cook, Papa,” I informed him, tucking in to freshly warmed bread with honey and jam, and sausage with boiled eggs. “Sorry I don’t like the yolk, but I do like the white part of the eggs,” I added.

“Is there anything you would prefer?” He asked, mentally glad he had gone to the nearby bakery first thing.

“I like eggs scrambled and over easy, too,” I replied. “And muesli with fruit, or sometimes pastries… I’m not very picky, I think.” I paused. “Except for solid egg yolk. I don’t like it fried or boiled. It’s good when its warm and runny in over easy eggs, though.”

He nodded, eating his own meal and occasionally glancing at a newspaper. ‘I guess any child can be a little picky,’ he mused.

“I can eat it, if I have to, though,” I added, a little irked at being thought as picky. It was just one thing I didn’t like, come on. “I can eat anything and pretend to like it. But if I don’t have to, I’d rather not.”

He paid my mild protests no mind.

After breakfast, he had an announcement. “Originally, I was going to go meet him myself, but I suppose there’s no harm in having him come here. A friend of mine is coming here with those supplies I asked for. While we’re waiting, let’s get started on test preparation.”

“Reporting for duty, Sir!” I snapped, standing at attention.

First thing we did was some writing practice. My own script style was a horrifying amalgamation of loopy french ronde style and plain print. Ostanian normalschrift has some pretty noticeable differences. Also, my spelling wasn’t great. I didn’t have a lifetime of germanic spelling embedded in my head, just a couple years of semifrequent reading.

Hilariously, in complete counterpoint to how learning usually goes, my fundamentals were lacking, but I was great at the advanced stuff. Except history, again.

I was going to have to do a lot of writing drills. It was going to suck.

Ah, well. At least I wasn’t going to be stuck trying to do everything in blackletter. Thank Being X for small mercies.

Father’s friend, Frankie, showed up mid-morning with a sack full of books, the application for Eden Academy, and a copy of the test and answers.

Frankie was a kind of nerdy looking guy with bushy black hair and thick black glasses. He had kind of a squareish sort of face and jaw that, on a handsomer man would look manly, but really just made him look lumpy and unfinished. I think he was a bit shorter than Loid but the almost afro hair he had going on made him just a bit taller.

“Hi uncle Frankie! Haven’t seen you since before we moved to Berlingto!” I said brightly, giving him the hug of an old friend. “Papa said you were going to help me study for the test.”

“Uncle Frankie?” he murmured, giving me a strange look. “We’ve never met before.”

Really?

“Really?” I asked, turning to give Loid a look that wordlessly asked, ‘this guy can’t even play along?’

“Of course, Frankie. You’re an old friend of the family, right?” Loid prompted with a tiny smile.

“Silly Uncle Frankie. Of course we’ve met before. And we’ll meet more often now we’re living in Berlingto, right?” I prompted as well.

He coughed, catching on. “Oh! Oh, yes. Right. Yes, Uncle Frankie is here to help you study.” He awkwardly patted me on the head.

I rolled my eyes a little and moved to escape the touch. Headpat privileges are for people who can improvise.

“Like I said, Anya has the potential to be a little professional,” Loid explained. “The mission will be considerably easier to accomplish with her active assistance.”

“Does she-“ Frankie cut himself off, then gave a silent plea with his eyes at Father. ‘Does she know you’re really a spy?’

“I know what I need to know. I don’t ask questions that don’t directly involve the mission,” I answered for him. “What I don’t know, I can’t give away.”

Frankie looked genuinely astonished. ‘Loid wasn’t kidding! This child is unreal!’

“I said she was intelligent,” Loid added. “And surprisingly discrete. Let’s set her up here at the table. We can talk in another room.”

“I want to try taking the test without any cheats, first. I’m sure I can pass it, but I know I don’t know everything.”

It’s important to know what you don’t know.

At my request, I was allowed to do a practice run on the test, but without any refresher or peeking at the answers. Papa and Uncle Frankie went to Papa’s bedroom to talk without being overheard. I very deliberately stayed at the dining table and worked on the test.

It’s easy to pretend to respect other people’s privacy when you hear everything they think. Oh, and speaking out loud? Uses the same language centers that speaking mentally does. I can hear everything they say.

Which is mostly boring. Some cheerful words of hope about this mission being practically in the bag, some estimates of time frames for the mission, and the things they could do to keep me on top of the academic standings.

Frankie was a spy as well, of course, but he was more sigint, signal intelligence, than Loid’s humanint, social sort of spying. This was the mid-80s so computers were rare and expensive, and analog radio and telephone were very much the kings of transmission. Fortunately for us, Eden Academy was both stupendously well-funded and on the cutting edge. They had a mainframe and terminal system set up, and while it had required physical access to the hardware on site, he’d managed to get the information.

Apparently, however, the test itself was available in various social circles. The rich and powerful, whose children were obviously going to be accepted, received the test well in advance and had plenty of time to prepare their children to pass. The truly slow or stupid could and would be failed out, but even an unexceptional child could be coached to pass given enough time.

I also gleaned a few details about Father’s spy moniker ‘Twilight’. Frankie was proud of it, and really considered it to apply to the both of them, as they were partners, though he deferred to Father in terms of leadership and ability. Father didn’t think much about the title, other than the useful fact that rumors of ‘Twilight’ activity in a place usually sent the local authorities into a frenzy.

I couldn’t afford to just listen to them all day, though, so I tuned them out and focused on the test.

Whew, man, let me tell you. They’re not fucking around with this entrance exam. If you weren’t one of the elite, carefully coached to pass, you’d have to be the kind of young genius the powerful like to groom into useful servants. This was a test for six year olds. First graders, in american terms. It presumed functional literacy and mathematics, and went right past ‘See Spot run. Spot is the name of the ____?’ and straight to ‘The superlative form of the word ‘bad’ is _____.”

Damn, son. I mean, obviously I know the answer, it’s not hard. But I’m an adult. I should be expected to know the answer. And if this is just the entrance exam stuff, how god damned hard is this stuff going to be? I’m smart, and I have a great memory. I am not, however, actually a genius with a photographic memory. I’m just cheating my ass off with decades of extra experience.

Six year olds? More like sixth graders. This was going to be a lot more work than I thought.

I had a headache by the time I was through with the test and handed it over to the adults. Father got Frankie to grade it, using the answer sheet he’d stolen.

While he did that, I got tea and some fruit from Father and collapsed on the couch. My butt was a little sore, too. Working at the dining room table had involved a stack of books and a cushion to elevate my tiny loli ass high enough to reach the top. Being small sucked.

“I’m going to need my own desk and chair for studying,” I pointed out. “We probably should personalize the house a bit more, too. Some pictures on the walls, some posters or something.”

Father agreed.

Waiting for the test to be graded, I also had cause to wonder how my memory worked. I had the brain of a six year old, right? Well, actually, probably more like a four or five year old, and I was psychic, but still. How did my past life memories, possibly written in my soul, get accessed by my physical thinkmeats? I don’t even have a hypothesis.

In the end, Frankie deemed that I had passed with a correct percentage of 92%, which I was a bit offended by. I mean, yes, the test was hard for a six year old, but I am an adult. Even allowing for several history questions I knew I had guessed at, it should have been better than a 92.

I felt stupid after I reviewed the ones I missed with the correct answers, though. Little details half remembered tripped me up. Also, my spelling tended to be interpretive rather than correct.

Ah, well. Can’t remember everything. Both Frankie and Father were convinced that I’d have no trouble getting into the academy with a 92. And after some review and practice over the next few days? I’d ace that test.

Of course, when, days later, I found myself in a large auditorium full of fidgeting, complaining, mentally screaming children, it was a bit of a different story. It’s hard to concentrate in that kind of noise, even if it was just brain noise for the most part. Headache central. Like, migraine. Terrible.

I passed, of course.

With a 99%. I was not happy. All that and I still missed one?

Talk about a blow to the old adult ego.

Neither Father nor Frankie were upset, though. 99% on a test as exacting as the Eden Academy entrance exam was pretty much a guarantee for acceptance. I was rewarded with a bit of a shopping spree to fill out my room.

Things were looking great. I was feeling healthier and more energetic with good nutrition, I had new, clean clothes, I got a haircut, I had books to read, snacks, everything I’d missed except for the collective entertainment resource of several decade old internet.

Then the letter came from Eden Academy, inviting us to the secondary exam.

A three person interview.

No exceptions would be made, not even for death or illness. Only children from proper families were allowed to attend Eden Academy, no matter what they scored.

We had a child.

We had a Pa.

There is no Ma.

 

Several days passed. The first, and most obvious thing for my father, the secret Westalian agent ‘Twilight’ to do, was to simply contact his handler and request the addition of a female spy to the team.

A fellow spy could be read into the mission, would be practiced in deception, and could easily be ordered into the role.

Perhaps that’s why we couldn’t get one. It would be too easy.

Does this world run on narrative structures? I mean, I’m already pretty convinced that there is literally a higher power arranging things. I don’t have any proof, I mean, I suppose it’s statistically possible that somewhere in the infinite infinities of the omniverse I, an otherwise fairly ordinary person, could be reborn as a loli telepath and adopted by a cold war spy. Infinity means infinite possibilities, after all.

But as much as I try to be a logical being, I am only human, and I can’t help but anthropomorphize. This is just so similar to stories I’ve read and dreamed up that calling the mysterious forces that put me in this situation ‘Being X’ is compulsive.

I’m not even mad, like Tanya. I genuinely appreciate this second chance. This place is pretty neat. I like living again. There’s a world of possibilities here, I mean, it’s similar to my original world, and I’m far enough back in time that with some hard work, I could be the next Steve Jobs, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, Larry Page, Sergey Brin, Pierre Omidyar, all rolled into one.

I could fucking RULE this place.

AND I have psychic powers?!?

If Being X wants me to, I’ll build a billion dollar cathedral and found a brand new church dedicated to whatever it wants.

I mean, yes. As an intelligent, logical person, I see the inequalities of this stupidly elite school for the children of the rich and powerful. It may educate, but it’s primary mission is to keep the power in the hands of the powerful and out of the hands of the plebeians. Wealth disparity and the problems of late stage capitalism are known to me.

Oh, and I keep forgetting, but this is the cold war, and the looming threat of a potential nuclear exchange is a very real issue that I sort of gloss over because most of my life experience is in a world where WW3 is a distant and unlikely event while brushfire wars and terrorism are more immediate threats.

All that sucks. It’s unfair. Okay, I valued free will enough that I wouldn’t blame God for the evils perpetuated by man. The freedom to be awesome is valuable enough to be worth putting up with the shitheads being free to suck, but still, I had a hard time giving the Abrahamic God any real credit. God, to me, if it existed, was probably more of a ‘wind up the universe and let it go to see what happens’ sort of deity than one that would actually poke around with miracles and want worship.

A God that would poke around with miracles, but still leaves the vast majority of the world in such a state? That wasn’t the kind of God I would worship. I had Opinions.

So then, why would I enthusiastically worship this ‘Being X’ god or God if it desired?

Because everyone has a price, and a new, much more interesting and pleasant life was more than enough to pay for me. The potential of this world was far above and beyond my dreams, you just don’t know. Even if I failed, and died penniless and obscure and in pain in some sort of eastern european shithole whorehouse, I would have no beef with this God.

Because if that happened, I could see it as my own failure. Maybe, if Loid hadn’t shown up and adopted me, I might have been a little more bitter. Starting off as an orphan in fucking bizzaro East Germany is hard mode, after all. But I’ve got advantages now. I’ve got all the potential in the world, and some actual help from some people I could respect.

If I fuck up and squander this the way I did my last life, well.

That’s on me.

But as determined as I am, I’m also nervous. This is SUPER IMPORTANT and I DO NOT want to FUCK this up.

So when father came home with bad news, telling me, both through inadvertent mental comments and actual words, that the recent past had seen too many Westalian female operatives killed or exposed, and there were none that fit the requirements for our mission available, I got a little upset.

Not screaming or crying or anything, but after a little bit of sitting around, both of us wondering what we were going to do next, I did have some stomach upset and had to go to the bathroom.

I had to calm myself down. I could not afford to freak out every time some little problem cropped up. Was I not secretly an adult? Was I not capable of mastering my emotions, buckling down, and overcoming obstacles? I had a goddamn job to do! Straighten up and don’t be a pussy, me!

“Why are your cheeks so red?” Father asked me when I returned to the living room.

‘Because I was slapping sense into someone,’ I didn’t say. Instead, I ignored the question.

“So what’s our next step?” I asked.

“I put in a request for outside assistance. It may not be granted, so we keep looking. I’m actually thinking I will see if Frankie can fill the role.”

I gave him a dubious look. “Uncle Frankie? Uncle ‘I’ve never seen this child before in my life,’ Frankie? Big square head, built like a fireplug?”

Loid winced a little. “While it’s true he has no talent for people, he can act if he’s properly prepared. And true love transcends shallow appearances?”

A day, and a lot of latex mask and makeup work later, we stared from our positions on the couch as Frankie did the catwalk pose in front of us.

Okay. In fairness, you shouldn’t judge people based on their appearance. Frankie did look like a woman. Better, even, than many drag queens or trans women I’ve seen. Father was truly skilled, and worked with his features instead of just trying to cover them up. Unfortunately, that meant that Frankie ended up looking about sixty years old, or maybe an eastern european forty, chubby, moderately wealthy, and slightly vain. Too much rouge on the cheeks, far too elaborate earrings, winged eyeglasses, and a perm.

In a bingo parlor, or church, Frankie wouldn’t get a second look.

But here…

Whoof, damn she ugly.

“It’s no good, I suppose,” Loid said regretfully. “Looks like it’s impossible for you to play the mother, Frankie.”

“We need a Ma, not a Grandma,” I agreed sadly.

“With your skills, why couldn’t you have done better?” he asked, rather annoyed.

“There are limits,” Loid countered. “Masks add to your features, they can’t take them away. You’ve got a large head, Frankie.”

Frankie fumed and staggered off in his high heels to change back.

Loid plotted.

Me? I worried.

This was seriously a deal breaker. If I was going to get into this school, I needed a mother. If I couldn’t get into the school, the mission was a failure. Loid’s handlers weren’t going to put up the money or effort I needed to have an acceptable living situation until I was an adult, not for a failed mission. Most likely, the best I could get would be a nicer orphanage and the occasional checkup.

And I liked Loid. I mean, it took work, and constant mental reinforcement, to see him as a father, but the fact is, I liked his brain. He had a very smooth, orderly mental voice with minimal static. It was soothing. And his job as a spy was fascinating.

Maybe I should just admit I was a psychic? The thought had crossed my head a few times. Surely he wouldn’t dump a telepath, a frighteningly useful tool in his line of work, back into the orphanage system.

But… He’d probably tell his handlers. He seemed like a loyal sort, a genuine believer in doing what was good for his country rather than a sociopathic womanizing thrill seeker the way James Bond often seemed to be. Loid’s handlers might find me useful enough to preserve as an asset… Or they might cut me apart to see what makes me tick and try to make more of me.

Either way, the more people who knew my secret, the more likely it was I’d be targeted by someone who DID want to cut me open to see what makes me tick.

I did low key plan to tell Loid eventually, but I wanted us to have more of a connection first. I needed him to feel protective, indebted, or, ideally, love for me first. I wouldn’t mind being his secret asset. His handler and supporting organization, even if they were mostly good people, would be hard pressed to keep me a secret even if they wanted to. Something always happens, be it now or in the future. Even if I was lucky enough to stay a secret until I was a trillionaire, some Edward Snowden motherfucker would out me eventually.

Would I risk telling him I was a telepath if this mission failed?

I don’t know.

There was little I could do to help the situation. Frankie stole employee records and census data. Loid hit bars and browsed the singles ads in the newspapers.

“The problem is, you need a woman who’s okay with a previous child, is elegant enough to seem upper-class, and is willing to legally marry you on sight. She also has to be either smart enough to play along, or stupid enough to not notice how irregular all this is,” Frankie stated, dropping a huge stack of bios on the table. “If a goddess like that existed, I’d love to meet her.”

“Thanks, Frankie.”

“Meeting women is hard. I’m not even picky, and I still can’t find a date around here,” he complained.

“Have you tried just being yourself?” I asked curiously.

“Of course! That’s what all the dating guides say!” he griped, throwing his arms up.

I squinted at him. “Maybe… Don’t do that? Try being someone nicer.” I paused. “Handsomer. You know how to play a role, right?”

He glared at me, then over at Father. “Now even the kid is making fun of me. How is this fair?”

Loid ignored his whining. “Actually, things are tough all over.” ‘With the loss of so many female agents, and agents in general, they’re sending even more missions my way. Short, simple missions, but it’s still cutting into my prep time for this.’

He had been disappearing pretty often, at all times of the night and day. I focused on my studies, but had plenty of time for reading, and I had even watched a little bit of TV. The news was interesting from a propaganda perspective, but what passed for entertainment was fun only in the ‘wow this is so bad’ sort of way.

“It seems that there’s been a rash of betrayal and double agents,” Frankie admitted.

“It might be good that we didn’t get a mother assigned to us if that’s the case,” I mused as I made some tea. I had to climb up a stool to reach things, but I could do it. “If you had another agent for a wife and she betrayed us, we could all end up shot. I know it’s a problem, but I’d like to avoid the risk of a traitor.”

Hmm, but I can read minds. Would I be able to catch her before she betrayed us? People don’t think about everything they’re doing all of the time. In fact, whenever we’re pretending to be father and daughter, even Loid’s thoughts wouldn’t necessarily give him away. He doesn’t think things like, ‘Oh, here I am with my pretend daughter.’ He sinks himself into the mindset.

Really, the only unusual thing about his mental voices, compared to those around him, is how alert he is, always watching and mentally cataloging things like whether or not someone is likely to be armed, or if details don’t match appearances.

Frankie took a cup of tea from me, then didn’t quite do a spit take.

Huh? Did I say something?

“How do you know about that?” he blurted.

“You said ‘agents’ out loud, Frankie,” Loid said, giving him a reproving look.

“Oh,” Frankie said with a gulp, then his expression changed again. “Wait. That doesn’t actually explain everything, she should be surprised.”

I blinked. Oh. OH! Oh shit. Thank God he did actually say that out loud. It’s really easy to accidentally respond to mental comments.

I looked guiltily over at Loid. “Sorry, Father! We’ve been so casual while we worked on this problem, I let it slip.” I scrunched my nose up, thinking hard and fast. “A-and and and… I just have an active imagination!” I exclaimed, finally getting something I could work with. “I don’t know anything, I just have an active imagination, and I like that Spy Wars show on TV.” I grinned, fake guilelessly, at the two of them. “Papa and Uncle Frankie are great for playing along, but I know the difference between TV and real life!”

We all kind of looked at each other awkwardly, while I kept the fake, determined smile on my face.

“She knew?” Frankie demanded, once again, not playing along with my improvisation.

Damn it, Frankie, you are such a shitty spy.

“She is intelligent, you know,” Loid replied dismissively, going back to reading bios.

“I promise to be more careful,” I said, cringing a bit. “I’d never slip up like that around people not in the know.”

I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, actually. I could totally see myself slipping up. I’d have to double down on being careful. This period with Loid has been the most conversation I’ve ever had in this life, and I clearly haven’t fully adapted to telepathy.

“It’s fine. I knew you’d figure it out eventually.” Father didn’t seem concerned.

“And we’re okay with this?” Frankie asked, taking umbrage to the lack of concern.

“What do you want?” Father asked, turning the page he was reading. “Like you said, we either needed someone smart enough to play the role, or naive enough to not notice the irregularities. We got intelligence. It is what it is.”

Huh. Father was surprisingly cool about this. I guess I’d kind of expected him to be all Batman type super paranoid if any of his secrets were found out. But then again, he’s supposed to be a master of dealing with people. I guess knowing when to trust was just as important as knowing how to deceive.

I sat down with a cup of tea and gazed at him in genuine admiration. Dude had skills.

Patting Frankie on the arm, I said, “It was going to get stupidly obvious when I was asked to plant devices in the homes of my classmates. Realistically, you needed someone like me.”

Frankie shrugged and bobbled his head in acknowledgement.

One of our clocks chimed two P.M, and I glanced at it. “Papa, don’t forget our appointment at the tailor.”

He nodded, glancing at the time, then getting up and stretching. “Mother or not, you’ll still need nice clothing for the interview. An off the shelf dress won’t do.”

I nodded.

“See if you can find any likely candidates in these files, Frankie. We should be back within the hour.”

“Alright. Take care, Boss.”

xxxxxxxxx

So we went to a tailor. Well, an änderungsatelier, because german. A high class place, like where Father would get his suits, except this one clearly catered more to women and girls, judging by all the dresses hanging on mannequins. And this place was just french enough in appearance they probably called them mannequins, instead of like, some horrifying german frankenword, like schaufensterpuppe or something.

I’ve been doing a lot of vocabulary review, sue me.

Anyway, I’d been switching back and forth between three different off the shelf dresses since the early shopping I’d done with Father. Now we were going for a whole new wardrobe of the sort that would see me fit in with the children of the wealthy. Thank god Father had an impeccable eye for fashion, even women’s fashion.

None of my prior life experiences had prepared me for this kind of experience. I mean, there’s getting a tuxedo fitted or something, and then there’s tailoring.

Now, I don’t much like standing on a wooden stool in just a pair of panties while some woman measures every part of me, but I can deal.

The thing is, I had to keep standing there while more and more dresses were thrown on, eyed critically, then either replaced or put in the keep pile. Not just dresses, but also tights, hose, jackets, coats, hats, scarves, mittens, gloves, and socks.

We’d have to go elsewhere for shoes.

The tailor lady was brusque but professional. She posed me like a doll, I stayed there. Everything was impersonal, her thoughts completely focused on her job, with no time for judgement.

Father sat in the waiting room, musing about the various women. Apparently, the seamstress was married, and that was about all the time I had to listen to his thoughts. However, when the measurements were finished and the modest, yet enormously expensive, pile of clothes were being bundled for the final alterations, I went back to the waiting area to find Father talking with a woman.

I found out after a bit that her name was Yor, and she was a beauty. Tall for a woman, though nowhere near Loid’s height, lithe and slender with bundled black hair under a head scarf and bangs down to her modest but noticeable chest. What really stood out to me, even as sexless as I am in this underage female body, were her legs. Long, in black tights, and muscled like a ballerina. She wore short, high heeled ankle boots to go with it.

She seemed nice, and her thoughts were of asking Father to a dinner tonight!

Nice!

Father’s thoughts were that she seemed too sharp and intelligent, and would be too risky to ask.

No! Not nice!

“Who’s this, Papa? Did you meet someone nice?” I asked, putting extra zing into my steps as I went over.

‘Oh no, I almost asked out someone married with a child!’ she thought guiltily.

Before THAT thought got any traction, I stepped all over it with the grace of a lumbering water buffalo, which I could do because I was a child.

“You’ve been sad since Mama died. You need more friends!” I chided.

I almost said he needed to find me a new Mama, but that might be pushing her too hard.

Yor’s thoughts went from guilty and ashamed back to hopeful.

Hell, yeah, Father. You suave devil, you. Get you some.

“You’re… a single father?” she asked.

He gave her a sadly rueful grin. “Yes, my wife passed two years ago. So I’m raising her on my own, without a woman’s touch.” ‘It would be really convenient if she would pretend to be my wife,’ he admitted to himself. ‘She’s intelligent, but just like Anya, if she plays along, the mission will be that much easier.’

‘So, there’s no problem with asking him to pretend to be my lover!’ she thought jubilantly.

…huh? She what now?

She then asked him that.

Straight out loud, no beating around the bush. Even Father was kind of surprised.

“You want me to pretend to be your lover?” Father asked, once we were outside and just sort of loitering.

“I’m 27, and I’ve never been married or had a boyfriend,” she admitted, ashamed. “And the women at the office are getting nosey. Also, when I was on the phone with my brother, I sort of lied and said I had someone I was going to a party with. So I really need a date. If it’s not a bother, do you think you could be my date to the party?”

“Oh. Uh-“ Loid began, but she continued.

“I don’t have any ulterior motives, and I promise to pay you back,” she lied hurriedly, but then trailed off quietly. ‘If I don’t get a boyfriend soon, even a pretend one, people are going to start guessing my secret! I don’t want to get dragged away by the secret police!’

“Understood,” Father said, “I’ll accept. But on one condition.”

“Really?! That’s wonderful! Name it.”

And then he spun this tale he had come up with and I contributed to. Of a lovely, but dead wife who valued education, and wanted only the best for me. And how he had promised to get me into Eden Academy so I would have the absolute best education and chance at a good life. But how the requirements at Eden were strict and unforgiving, and required all children to be in a normal family of a married man and woman. And the deadline for an interview was coming up, and he needed someone to pretend to be his wife, for the sake of me, the daughter.

Yor was indeed pretty sharp, I gathered from reading her thoughts. That, or she was extremely practiced at dealing with liars. Perhaps both. The whole time, she was looking for tells. Nervous glances, twitches, not meeting her eyes, all sort of things.

The thing is, Loid is literally a professional liar. He’s very, very good at it.

So there were no tells, which resulted in her believing him completely, trusting in her ability to detect lies, where a more foolish woman might harbor doubts, knowing that she could be deceived.

Wow. I mean, hahah, she got fooled specifically because she was smart. Papa’s a hell of a spy. He’d make a frightening con artist.

Though, I suppose some spy jobs might also be considered patriotic cons.

Yor was moved by Father’s tale of love lost and promises to be kept. She thought he was a nice man.

Father, of course, was inwardly planning on how to do this favor for her now, then more, and finally convince her to play along with the marriage.

And you know? From listening to her, I think she would be a pretty good pick. She’s either a lesbian, or possibly asexual, because she did not seem physically attracted to him in any of her thoughts, and was more focused on keeping some ‘secret’. Unmarried at her age was starting to make her look suspicious in the heavily ‘normalized’ environment of her office work at one of the government buildings.

This could result in cover for both of them. Loid wouldn’t care if she was a lesbian, so long as she kept it discrete, and it’d be even easier for an ace. He wasn’t actually looking for a lover, just someone to pretend. And since she was looking for the same thing…

I’m sorry for doubting you, Being X. Though this is another tick on the ‘active higher being manipulating events and or narrative contrivances’ possibility.

I mean, what are the odds we’re going to run into a beautiful lesbian that needs a beard right when we need a mommy?

 

Someone on SV, probably looking for Spy x Family fics given the anime is now out, necroed the thread on SV. I'd literally forgotten the details of this story in the years since. You ever go back and read something you'd written and be like, '...why'.

So anyway. I've seized on a certain mania, much like the impulse that made me start this thing way back when SpyxFamily first came out. Here's two short chapters I wrote this past week. One more is currently exclusive to patrons.


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xxxxxxxxx Chapter five:


“So you’ve got a date Saturday evening with a girl who wants a cover as badly as you do. That’s kinda impressive, Father.”

He nodded. “It’s an unlikely event but it might be our salvation.” He frowned slightly. ‘It might be too convenient. The odds of someone learning of my mission and putting her in to be a double agent is low, but so is a woman, who’s that beautiful, being desperate for a date,’ he mused to himself.

Hmm. Her thoughts definitely didn’t indicate she was a double agent. I’ll keep an psychic eye on her, of course, but I think she’s legit. I better try to keep Loid from talking himself out of a deal with her.

Heh, the man is rightfully paranoid, but I think the real problem here is that he’s savvy and intelligent enough that narrative convenience slash literal deus ex makes him suspicious.

“So she’s definitely beautiful, and I got the impression she’s fairly smart. Being unmarried I could see, but she’s never had a boyfriend? What do you think, Father? Strict religious upbringing or just not attracted to men?”

“Ah, that’s a good question, Anya,” he replied. “I was thinking it was suspicious, but you’re right, there are a number of perfectly legitimate reasons for her to be in this position. Nasty rumors about her might even explain why she’s so desperate for a date.”

I nodded, putting the conversation on pause until we got back inside the apartment. Loid carried the big bags of clothes for us. I carried what I could when I could, but I couldn’t contribute much. We still needed to pick up shoes, and it was also getting about time for a grocery run.

Once we got inside, we found Frankie at the dining table, still sorting through various census data, building a pool of unmarried women between the ages of eighteen and forty.

“Good news, Uncle Frankie. Father got himself a date for Saturday,” I announced cheerfully. “It’s almost as if women would throw themselves at him.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, but did look at Loid, who nodded.

“I need everything you can get on Yor Briar. She actually did approach me, claiming to need a date to an event. She’s black haired, late twenties, red-brown eyes, and built like a ballerina. She claims she’s never so much as had a boyfriend, and was starting to stand out as strange.”

“That is suspiciously convenient,” he admitted. “Lesbian or strictly religious?”

“Or just not attracted to anyone at all,” I added, mildly concerned that Frankie had drawn the same conclusions. “Or it could be even stranger circumstances.”

“I’ll talk to Frankie about it. Go put up what clothes you can right now, we’ll be leaving again shortly.”

I nodded, and laboriously dragged the bags of clothing one by one to my room. I felt a little chastised. I’d gotten a little too familiar there. Being seen as a co-conspirator could be a good thing, but equally they probably didn’t need my inane amateur comments.

They didn’t say anything about it, not even in their minds, but that kind of unvoiced irritation doesn’t come through psychic telepathy at all.

So anyway. Most of the stuff we’d bought was custom tailored, made right there in the store. None of it was starched stiff, so it could go right in my closet and drawers. The closet worried me a bit, but it had a second, lower pole I could actually reach. I made quick enough work of it that I was actually made it back in the living room before Loid called for me.

“So you’ll babysit Anya Saturday evening. I doubt you have any trouble. We’ll grab some snacks while we’re out,” Loid finished.

“What about when the both of us need to do something?” he asked.

“We’ll hire a sitter. Anything suspicious is well hidden and Anya will tell us if something happens.” He glanced over at me. “All done?”

I nodded.

Together, the two of us went shopping.

Shoes didn’t take long. Two pair of standard, if high end, girl’s shoes, a pair of exercise trainers, and a pair of boots for bad weather. We’d need winter gear eventually but we were fine for now.

Afterward, we hit a grocery store. I never went to Germany in my first life, but I had heard they didn’t go for the mega market type stores. Most of the stores we went to seemed more like some sort of bodega type place. Although not the dismal hellscape of 1984 East Germany, Ostania definitely lacked the variety I was used to seeing in the twenty first century.

Lots of fresh stuff, a lot of dried bulk foods, but relatively low in the kind of processed foods and frozen ‘heat and eat’ stuff I was used to seeing.

I had a particular love of fruit and fruit juices, but here it was pretty much a choice between apple or orange. Snack pastries and cookies were things you got from a bakery, not a grocery store, though sometimes the store was a combo. So for common, extended shelf life snack foods, nuts and hard candies were the main option.

Ostania, like Germany, has a love of hazelnuts. They’re decent. Chestnuts are more my thing, and are also common. My favorite nut is the pecan, which wasn’t available. Walnuts are good in things but too bitter and woody for me to eat them straight. I personally don’t care for peanuts much, but I do like peanut butter. We got both, because I’m not the only one in the house.

Candy is okay. I particularly like anything sour lemon flavored. They had a few options. Again, most people go to an actual candy shop if they want candy.

The main reason I bring this up is because of what happened at the cash register. The old guy manning it rang everything up, told Loid he had a dime in change, and then made a frog croaking sound in his throat. Almost like he was choking.

Except I was listening to his thoughts. He didn’t add up shit, he just took Loids money and gave him a dime back. Then congratulated himself for the ‘natural sounding ribbit’ and making contact with the agent.

I realized I had missed whatever code phrase Loid had given him. Dammit. To sooth my ego a bit, I asked for the receipt and pretended to go over it as we left the store.

“You gave him two twenties,” I noted, still looking at the purchase list.

“Hmm?” Loid asked.

“He owed you four fifty-five.” I gave him my best effort at a piercing look. “You know he overcharged you. If it was just a matter of keeping the change, he wouldn’t have given you a dime back. And he ribbitted.” I deliberately raised one eyebrow.

He shook his head a little. “Keeping everything a secret from you was never going to be possible, was it?”

Heh, with my telepathy? No, no it wasn’t.

I just smiled and shook my head.


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The dime was hollow and had microcode in it! Holy shit actual spy bullshit. Loid used a jeweler’s loupe to read it.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be an emergency mission requiring both him and Frankie, during the Saturday daytime.

So I got to meet my new babysitter. A fiftyish woman with grown kids and too much time on her hands, one Franziska Blucher.

Deranged neighing?

But no. Just a lonely old widow.

Now, I only somewhat resent that I had to have an adult present. Frankly, I even argued that it was a security risk, and I should be trusted alone, but Loid pointed out that the blowback from him being found out to leave his daughter at home alone was a far more likely risk than any snooping busybody.

So I spent the day reading. Knocked out all the children’s lit entertainment, and also got some vocabulary work done.

Writing drills suck.

Having an old woman around didn’t help. While she praised my diligence, she also wanted to ‘talk’ and ‘play’. Absolutely would not leave me along for more than fifteen minutes before interrupting again. I think she was bored. There was nothing untoward in her thoughts, but this was definitely not how she saw the day going.

I know I should really work on her, get details and suchlike, but I had so much stuff to do and also I’m not good with small talk. Ultimately, we worked out a deal where ‘as a reward’ after each book I blitzed through, we’d play a card game and chat, and by chat I mean she’d ramble about her kids before they’d grown up and flew the coop.

Eventually, I got tired. My official bedtime was nine, and I sacked out.

I woke up when Loid got home, his thoughts buzzing. It didn’t take long for Frau Blucher to hurry off into the night, and when I crept outside my bedroom, I found Loid holding ice wrapped in a washcloth to the side of his head.

“She hit you?!?” I exclaimed.

“No, no. This is from the mission earlier. It had some complications, spilled over into our ‘date’. I actually messed up and ended up claiming we’d been married for a year,” he explained loudly as I hurried into the bathroom and grabbed a suspiciously well stocked medical kit.

He didn’t trust me to treat him, but admittedly even reaching his head was difficult, so I sat down in another chair and watched him tend to his wounds.

“Honestly, other than being a little naïve and credulous, she genuinely seems like a nice woman. Apparently the reason she never dated was that she worked as an escort after her parents died and she had to provide for both her and her younger brother, at least until they were old enough to have real jobs.”

“Oh, dang, she worked as a whore? That could definitely put you off relationships,” I admitted.

“Does that bother you?” he asked. “I’m not going to ask where you learned about prostitution.”

“No, no. She did what she had to do, for her family. That’s pretty impressive. I’m more surprised you’re okay with it. Most men seem to hold prostitutes in contempt even if they go to them themselves.” I paused, as he was staring at me with one raised eyebrow. “Hey, you know what most young orphan girls end up having to do for food and shelter. Obviously I wanted to know what was likely to happen to me.”

He winced and nodded. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. It really speaks well of her, to have that kind of strength and willingness to sacrifice.”

I nodded.

“So, some stuff happened,” he said, clearly glossing over having actually been wounded. “We actually got attacked by some of my enemies after the party. She seemed to buy my hasty explanation of violent psychiatric patients, which probably means she’s a bit dim witted, but she also knocked one out that charged us before I could even react, which was surprising.”

“I saw her muscles, and the way she stands,” I admitted.

“Yeah, I hate to think how many of her clients, or otherwise, must have attacked her for her to put that much effort into learning self-defense. She’s a strange mix of incredibly competent and strong of will, but also kind of credulous. I’m not sure how much I’d want to be around her otherwise, but for our mission, she does seem ideal. She’s going to move in tomorrow.”

“That’s amazing,” I said quietly. “I genuinely think you must be the best spy in the world.”

“Thanks,” he said kind of awkwardly. Inwardly, he disagreed. ‘The best spies are completely unknown, though. Even the rumor of Twilight being somewhere gets people stirred up. But I suppose I have had a long streak of good luck. Let’s hope it stays that way.’


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xxxxxxxxx Chapter six start


Man I miss music. Not that there’s no music here, but while I do enjoy classics, our role as ‘upper class’ means I can’t just go down to some underground record shop and start trying to find the alt universe Sex Pistols or something. And Loid had a nice, for the era, TV, but had missed getting a record player. So we largely helped New Mama Yor move in without musical accompaniment.

I wasn’t the help I could have been. Loid, as the big strong man, got the big stuff she wanted to keep, and all I could get was small boxes. But she got more and more anxious as I tested boxes to see what I could carry, so I ended up backing off and finding make work to look busy. Dusting things, moving our stuff, that kind of thing.

Might be another point towards being neurodivergent, might just be perfectly natural apprehension at having her stuff gone through for the first time in decades. She did basically raise her brother and herself alone through hard work. It’s understandable that she might be a bit territorial.

Loid was right to give her a separate bedroom. I made a note to never go in unless invited.

She’s kind of quiet, but I do notice her eyes lingering on me. I couldn’t pick up anything telepathically, it wasn’t like she was actively talking about me to herself mentally. Just the kind of quietly studious consideration people do sometimes.

Actually, that appeared to be her default mental state. When she did think something, like Loid, it came through clear and static free. She had a lovely mental voice. But she rarely actually thought like that.

Getting close, though, I could feel the way her nerves lit up in waves as she walked, or lifted, or just stood there in a perfectly relaxed but also weirdly high strung pose.

Like, she was constantly on guard for a physical attack, maybe?

She did seem unusually physical. Father’s words came back to me.

‘I hate to think how many of her clients, or otherwise, must have attacked her for her to put that much effort into learning self-defense.’

Hopefully, we could be something nice in her life.

I made a point of smiling at her when she looked at me. A few reassuring words might help, but I’m not sure what to say given my inherent weirdness. She’s got a lot to be stressed over, so I decided to go for ‘quietly supportive’.

She did smile back at me whenever I smiled at her. Seemed natural enough. A point against neurdivergence? Or at least against certain kinds of neurodivergence.

Once she got all her stuff in, though, I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re living with us now.”

A little wordy for a six year old, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She smiled back. “I’m glad to be living with you, too.”

And she did seem to relax a bit. Might be deception. Again, that kind of wordless emotion was more of a neurochemical thing than the kind of mental voice I could read. Man I wish my telepathy had come with empathy as well. You could almost say I was somewhat neurodivergent as well. I wasn’t great with picking up on people’s vibes.

I was kinda huggy, though. I’ve always liked physical contact, and Yor’s physicality was fascinating to feel, so I lingered near her for the most part.

Her legs were like pythons wrestling under tights, man. And they were longer than I was tall.

xxxxxxxxx

“I’ve called in a favor and gotten our wedding certificate backdated a year,” Loid explained two days later. “Since it would be suspicious for us to get married right before the school interview.”

Yor nodded, accepting that easily.

“And I’ll come up with an excuse for your brother about why we’ve maintained separate apartments until now.”

“I’ll keep my old place for a while, just in case,” she replied. ‘Although, now that I’ve got permission from the shop keeper, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about,’ she mused.

He nodded. “That’s a good idea. I won’t pretend that this situation will be easy.” He paused while she nodded. “Now, Anya has a genius level intellect, so there’s nothing to worry about for her grades. However, there are certain pretenses and mannerisms we’ll have to maintain as a family for her to be acceptable at Eden Academy. They are the very top echelon of the wealthy and powerful in the country.”

“I’m weird so I’ve got to learn how to behave properly,” I added from my own seat near Yor. “I’m not a troublemaker but until now Father has just let me be me, and that’s not going to be good enough for Eden.”

“An oversight,” Loid commented. “Anya soaks up information like a sponge but doesn’t seem to have any social advantages.” ‘Genius, although useful, does have its disadvantages,’ he thought.

Ow. Like, ow. I hadn’t realized he’d picked up on my kryptonite so easily. We hadn’t even spent much time around people for me to be awkward.

He is some sort of super spy, though. Maxed social knowledge IS to be expected.

Yor was looking at me, with a little bit of surprise.

I squashed my mild embarrassment and dove in anyway. “So if we’re going to pretend that we’ve been a family for a year, we’re going to have to get used to each other.”

“As well as successfully mimicking the traits of the upper class,” Loid added. “So to start, I’ve prepared a series of likely questions we’ll be asked at the interview. As Anya prefers, we should go over them with no preparation to see our weaknesses, then take some time to prepare, and try it again.”

“I understand,” Yor replied. ‘Like a teacher putting a student on the mat the first day, so that the student knows how much they need to learn.’

I perked up at that. Her having a history of martial arts made plenty of sense. Surprised she didn’t say ‘sensei’, but this is Europe. Maybe some descendant of ringen, since we’re in a Germanic area. Maybe I’ve had a subconscious assumption of expecting to run into Japanese stuff since Youjo Senki was a manga, but there’s no real reason to think that other than my predisposed tendency to assign the narrative structures of my past life into this one.

With that said, we launched into a faux interview.

It was…

Well, I did okay. Not great. I got flustered and bobbled some words I probably should have practiced saying aloud before trying to use them.

Yor, though. Oof. Definitely not a social master like Loid.

But that’s fine. Really. You take the test unprepared to see what you’re weak on. Even Yor, who definitely ended up the most stressed of the three of us, ended up acknowledging it not as a setback, but merely a step on the path to success.

It had been a stressful couple of hours, so we went out to the park.

As a family.

Honestly, it was kind of nice.

x
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AN: I freely admit there's not much here in terms of literary merit. It's really more the fanfiction equivilent of getting a wad of cotton candy thrown at you. At least actual divergences from canon are becoming more clear.

Next chapter is available on my Patreon.

 

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xxxxxxxxx Start chapter seven.


‘Her hands are so cute and tiny. It takes me back to when I used to hold my little brother’s hand,’ Yor mused, holding my hand as we walked together.

Loid trailed a bit behind. They had tried holding hands briefly, but Yor had gotten a little flustered. Actually, I think maybe she did like men? Loid is, of course, stupidly handsome. I found a natural way of lubricating their social interactions by inserting myself and briefly demanding attention to shake them out of feedback loops.

Loid was surprisingly quick to worry when Yor had fluffed the ‘interview’. Hazard of being a professional who worked with professionals, I guess. And he’d lucked up and got me for a child, and while I was no spy, I was better prepared to play a role than could be reasonably expected. Yor was a great find for the mission, but social stuff was clearly her weak point.

Yor was still thinking about me, and her formerly tiny little brother. ‘Hahhh. She’s just as delicate as he was. I’d better be careful. Don’t want a repeat of that time I hugged him too hard and broke two of his ribs.’ She gently squeezed my hand, clearly feeling the tiny little bones roll around each other.

!

Damn, girl!

Physical comedy or tragic ‘I hurt those I love the most’ drama?

Man, let’s hope its physical comedy. I had to resist the urge to yank my hand back. The way I perceived her as holding my hand shifted from ‘oh what a cute little girl’ to the kind of ‘this animal is so delicate I could accidentally crush it’ feeling I got from holding small animals like kittens or birds or mice. Not so much the urge to hurt, but the awareness of ‘other’.

“Father is very smart and very skilled,” I told Yor, “but he’s wrong sometimes too. He’s so used to knowing how to do everything that he’s sometimes impatient when other people don’t instantly pick up things. I know he’s worried about getting me into the best school, but don’t let him push you too hard. If you need some time prepare, remind him.” I turned and gave him the stink eye. “Remember, Father. This is a team effort, that’s the point of a family.”

For his part, Loid did look a little bit bashful. “I’m sorry, Yor. Anya is right, as usual. I allowed my worry to make me treat you coldly.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. I understand that the answers I gave were not sufficient. And you haven’t treated me badly at all. You’ve just been quiet. I understand the need to think.”

Huh. Yeah, actually, all his complaints were in his head. Unlike Yor, who only uses her mental voice occasionally, Loid keeps a running commentary going in his head, and I’d lost track of the difference between spoken words and thought.

“Well, that’s why we’re taking a break in the park. It’s a stressful time for everyone, and it’s a new environment for you. As Anya said, if I’m pushing you too hard, please say something. You’re doing us a tremendous favor, and shouldering most of the hard work as well. What do you say to getting a nice meal, and then finding some entertainment? Upper class stuff so we can practice our roles, but less intense and stressful as just sitting down at the table and studying.”

“That sounds nice,” she replied, offering him her hand.

Arm in arm, with me on her other side, we left the park and headed for an evening of upper class entertainment.


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A fancy restaurant was our first stop, early in the evening. Really more around tea time, since we’d gotten out and about early.

Under the guise of teaching me, Loid had gauged Yor’s knowledge of fancy etiquette.

I mean, and mine. Mine was certainly lacking. I had vaguely remembered something about starting from the outside and working my way in, and a few other tidbits, but that was about it. And some of that was wrong.

The biggest thing that threw me was the way Europeans keep the knife in the right hand and use the fork in the left, where Americans tend to use the knife in their right, cut things up, then swap hands. I do consider the European way superior, but it’s tricky to overcome a lifetime of doing it the other way.

Yor knew most of it, though she clearly hadn’t spent much if any time at the truly fancy places like we were at. She marveled at the silverware, which was admittedly pretty swanky. Most of it was genuine silver, unless I miss my guess. And like Yor, I was kind of surprised at the knives being actually sharp. Most of my experience at nice restaurants involved the usual American standard of serrated knives, which disguised their dull blades by simply tearing through food.

I don’t like serrated knives.

But these were elegant, sharp, and, judging by the way Yor spun one around a finger, well balanced.

‘I’ve never killed someone seated at a fancy restaurant,’ Yor thought to herself. ‘I’ll have to remember the quality of their blades.’

…whaaaaaaaat?

“Anya, don’t stare like that, it’s rude,” Loid chided.

My eyes must have been as big around as the plates under our food. My thoughts were sputtering like a cold diesel engine. What-wut-WHAT-huh-wat-Wat-WHAT.

Yor held the knife in a thrusting grip, making a few tiny motions like stab, stab, which she followed through into slicing up her meat drizzled in some sort of sauce which now no longer mattered in the slightest.

But, once I thought about it, it made sense. She was clearly an expert at self-defense. Training and probable inclination plus probably a good chunk of talent. Plus one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, short of literally being in active combat. Men do terrible things to women, after all.

I managed to overcome my shock and returned to my meal. I was going to get the merlu koskera but I managed to remember that the time I’d tried it before, it had slices of hard boiled eggs. I could pick around the yolks but it was easier to just get something else. I got sole meuniere. It’s hard to go wrong with butter fried anything.

One of the major benefits to this new life was enjoying the change in taste buds. I get to try everything for the first time again. A few things had already stood out. I’d never cared much for sauerkraut in my first life, but I liked it here. I hadn’t liked German potato salad, kartoffelsalat, at all in my past life, but despite the vinegar on my delicate loli tongue, it had proven considerably more palatable when Loid made it. And peanuts had proven to be a surprisingly nice snack, far tastier than I’d ever considered them before, even more so than the hazelnuts.

Still didn’t like hard egg yolk, though, or spatzle, or most pastas, really. And walnuts were still too bitter and woody. I also considered cauliflower to be a pale imitation of good broccoli. Really, the main change seemed to be that my new taste buds handled vinegary flavors better.

It was a nice meal. Genuinely tasty, and the tiny little rich people proportions were perfectly adequate for my coin wallet sized stomach. We got some etiquette lessons in, and made a plan to incorporate them into our meals at home until they were habit.

Unfortunately, that was the last of the really pleasant experiences that evening.

After that, we went to an opera.

I’d largely been neutral on the topic of operas in my past life. I like music, and I like orchestra music, but the bombastic singing in other languages was meh at best.

But now, I wasn’t watching it from behind a TV screen. I was actually in the audience.

Between the crowd’s futz of mental noise and the bellowing Italian-

Italian? What was Italy called here, again? Dangit.

-of the woman dressed as either Athena, Queen of the Zombie-Stags or Dra’nakyuek, Genarch Primate of Dying Stars as she blathered on about betrayal, sin, heartbreak, and murder. I didn’t even understand Italian and I could tell that whatever this thing was, it was at least as depressing as that one with the fucking clown.

Between the headache from the crowd and the growing contempt for opera, I’d drawn up into a ball and had my hands over my ears to try and stave off at least the audible horror.

I made the mistake of glancing over to see Yor’s reaction.

Poor woman.

I couldn’t pick up on her thoughts due to the static from everyone else, but the expression on her face…

It kinda reminded me of this video I saw once of this dog, just sitting on the ground while multiple people around him yelled incoherently at each other. Not scared, because he’s clearly not the target, but not happy either. Mostly, it was just confusion tinged with worry. Eyes so wide you could see the whites, darting back and forth. If it was an anime she’d have question marks floating over her head.

It was almost funny, but mostly just kind of upsetting because she was clearly uncomfortable and stressed.

I leaned over to Loid and spoke quietly. “Maybe not the opera, next time. Even rich people don’t like everything. Let’s try a play, or ballet, or a symphony or something. All this noise is giving me a headache.”

He nodded, though he did seem disappointed. Like it was another complication to the plan.

After that, we’d headed home, and ended up going by some sort of political rally thing. Loid said something about patriotism and political camps being important for the hoity toity to have visible strong opinions on.

Oh man.

Remember how I said emotions don’t really come through mental thought?

I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

What a fucking nightmare. On top of the bit of headache I already had from Dra’nakyuek and the audience earlier, a crowd of angry men shouting both audibly and in their heads was a nightmare. Holy shit, you just don’t even know. I thought social stuff was my kryptonite before. I actually started crying and instinctively trying to pull out of the crowd.

Horrible. Just the actual worst.

I mean, the noise sucked but it was just so astonishingly vile. Even if I could catch maybe one actual word in a hundred the sheer vitriol being expressed made me feel like my brain was being boiled in hate and hot sauce.

Like the kind of shitty, way too fucking hot stuff they sold at low end hardware stores and such. With names like FATAL ANAL MALESTROM and DISTILLED TONGUE RAPE SAUCE. Now imagine a big pot of that shit with a bunch of the kind of people it’s marketed to standing around bellowing about immigrants and snowflakes and fags, and they’re all poking at you and yelling directly at you because it’s all your fault and they want you to agree with them and how dare you look away even for a second because another one of them is yelling at you and you’re getting bruised from finger jabs and going deaf and their greasy sweaty spittle is flecking your face.

Now bathe in it. All that hate and chemical pain up in your everywhere. I have no mouth yet I must scream style jar of fucking torture.

But I did have a mouth.

And I did scream.


It ain’t easy, being psychic.

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xxxxxxxxx Start chapter eight.


I didn’t faint or anything, but Yor was quick to snatch me up from the ground and retreat from the crowd, which I was sure to appreciate whenever I was capable of appreciating things again.

“I think the crowd scared her,” Yor told Loid. “She might be a very self-possessed little girl, but that’s a lot of angry men shouting over there.”

“Head hurts,” I mumbled, squeezing the bridge of my nose.. “Everyone is so loud. All shouting.”

I don’t know what else they said, but we ended up going home. My headache faded almost immediately as we got far enough away from the crowd, but I still felt drained.

Once we got home, I requested orange juice. It had a kind of chemical tang to it, and I rolled a sip over my tongue, thinking about it.

The oranges were almost certainly imported.

Old juice.

Preservatives…

Sodium benzoate, potassium sorbate, malic acid? Maybe some additional vitamin C and E?

I got up and got the waxed cardboard box out of the refrigerator. Yep, pretty much nailed it, plus some ‘orange essential oils. I was surprised to see honey on there as well.

This stuff was probably considered pretty expensive. I put the carton back in the fridge.

Both Loid and Yor were staring at me. Yor looked worried. Loid looked pensive.

I toddled back over to the couch and climbed back up. Man it sucks being tiny.

“So. That’s never happened before,” I announced with faux cheer.

“Anya, honey, what happened?” Yor asked.

I shook my head. “It was like too much noise all at once. Crowds have always given me headaches, but that many people shouting was even worse. Just pounding in my head, making my ears hurt. The only other time it’s ever been even close to that bad was when I was taking the entrance exam for Eden. All those sounds of kids mumbling and talking and crying and fidgeting made it hard to concentrate, but it still wasn’t that bad compared to this.”

“Hyper stimulation?” Loid asked. ‘I may need to review the literature about savants. That’s a complication I don’t need.’

I opened my mouth, then closed it and thought about it. I wonder what literature there is available on savants, idiot savants, and other stuff this far back. I mean, I know that I’m not-

Well, actually, I am pretty goddamn divergent, ain’t I? Telepathy ain’t typical.

“…Maybe?” I hazarded.


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So I went to bed. Kind of a downer ending on the day.

I mean, on one hand, it’s not really a big deal. Lots of people don’t like crowds. Hell, I didn’t like them in my first life, though they never caused any kind of debilitating effect like they did here. Of course, I wasn’t psychic in my last life. Was this an old me thing exacerbated by new me hardware? A purely new me thing?

I mean, shit, I was like four or five, given my own imperfect memories. My new birth certificate was a lie I only got away with by having reincarnated knowledge. I can’t expect to have all the resiliencies of an adult anymore.

Yor was still kind of stressed by the whole change in circumstances she had, and now worried about me.

But what really sucked was listening to Loid second guess himself.

In one evening I’d gone from a reliable co-conspirator to a liability.

And that hurt.


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Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair. I’d slept badly. Loid stayed up late. Yor looked chic as always, but also a bit apprehensive?

I joked about my weakness to social stuff, but this newly discovered problem seems to be genuinely a problem. I’m cute, I can probably get a pass on being awkward. But breaking down in a crowd...

But I’m a child! Barely more than a toddler! It’s probably not a real problem, just a reminder that I am not, in fact, all knowing, all competent?

Loid’s worrying, though. Some of those books are getting fresh creases in their spines.

Too many hits close together, I think. I keep focusing on Yor’s stress level, because I worry about her. Loid’s the professional, right? He can handle it.

But the dude literally got injured on a job in a firefight last Saturday. He’s got a massive job to do and they keep sending him little jobs and the guy has GOT to be managing some sort of trauma, possibly including PTSD. To function as a master spy, he’s used to controlling all of the variables.

I give Frankie a little bit of shit but I’m one hundred percent certain he’s a master at what he focuses on, and he’s Loids main support. The only other person Loid relies on is himself, because he can control himself.

Shit.

Would it be better if I told him what he had stumbled upon in that shitty orphanage, I.E. me?

Or would that just mean I was too valuable to risk and I’d get whisked away to a Westalis lab? This ain’t a USA vs USSR proxy war. I’m not even sure who the ‘good’ guys are here, if such a thing exists.

And I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to end up nabbed by the CIA or whatever anyway.

Yor got a call before she went off to work. I didn’t really listen in during the call, which was definitely a fucking mistake.

Because of what Yor thought as she went back into her room to change clothes.

‘The Shopkeeper told me I’d have at least a week before another assassination, maybe two. Oh well. At least it’s during the day, and work is covered. We still need to practice for that interview when I get home.’

Spoiler: Uh. What.

AN: More on my patreon.

 

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I’m not too sure about this whole ‘new mama’ thing, at least now that I’ve found out she’s not a goddamn escort, she’s a fucking assassin.

How did I miss this?

No, seriously, how? I hear people’s thoughts!

What in the actual fuck do I do about this?

Should I do anything about this?

I kinda need to do something about this, don’t I?

But... Maybe not?

I’ve been thinking about this whole situation in terms of narrative logic.

I know, I know. A character in a story thinking about being a character in a story is the kind of bullshit that gets old really, really fast. But I’m exactly the kind of nerd that can’t NOT think about it. So, despite my best efforts, I’m kinda dwelling on it.

The existence of spies is something I’m used to being a thing in both lives.

The existence of telepaths was fictional speculation in my last life, real in this life.

But the idea of a James Bond-esque dude adopting a tiny telepath without knowing it is the kind of thing I can only really frame in terms of a story. It’s too unlikely. Too many coincidences have to line up.

I attribute these things to a Being X, aka probably God.

I guess it would be kinda weaksauce if the mother figure was just some regular woman. That wouldn’t be narratively balanced at all.

An escort might balance that a bit, especially with a tragic past and various issues. So far, I’d kinda been thinking about the potential story I’m in being something along the lines of Firestarter, or maybe more ‘Hanna’, with the super soldier teen girl raised by a CIA agent.

In either of those, a ‘hooker with a heart of gold’ type character would fit pretty well.

An assassin?

It’s not…. NOT on theme.

Ugh. I have lied to Loid. I literally have no talent for acting. Too much of a literature nerd, too focused on themes and tropes to shut up and be a real person. And it’s even worse here, because like Loid, I can't help but notice the ‘invisible’ stagehands setting up props.

This show is gonna be shit. Actually a shitshow. No one’s going to want to read about me or watch me on screen. For fucks sake Tanya was less autistic than I’m being.

This is it. My darkest hour.

I’m literally handling my reincarnation worse than Tanya fucking ‘I have no idea how to communicate’ Degurechaff.

I’m a Muppet that desperately needs the guiding hand of a proper actor up my ass.

Loid came and sat down beside me, startling the hell out of me.

I hadn’t even realized I’d ended up sitting on the couch, staring blankly at nothing, lost in my own head.

“It occurs to me,” Loid started quietly, “that I have done you a disservice.”

“What?” I asked. “No, why? I’d be rotting in that orphanage without you!” I protested.

He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about,” he replied.

“Hmm?”

“You are not an agent. You’re not even a civilian. You are a child-“

“Hey!” I protested. “I’m not just a child!” I didn’t like where he was going with this at all.

“Not just any child, I admit. You’re extremely mature for your age, and you’re the kind of precocious genius that only occurs once in a generation or two.” He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned closer. “But Anya, you’re still not an adult, and it’s wrong for me to put that kind of pressure on you. No, it’s even more wrong for me to allow you to put that kind of pressure on yourself.”

???

Now I’m not even sure where he’s going with this at all.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me into his lap.

Uh.

What.

This is kinda gay, not going to lie.

Wait, no it’s not. What?

What even are my feelings? Am… Am I…

Crying?

I don’t like crying! Crying sucks! This whole thing sucks!

“I remember what it was like, you know,” he told me quietly, wrapping his big arms around me. They were so long compared to my little frame that it felt like they both went around me twice. “The orphanage. I remember having fights over toys. Over food. There’s no one you can rely on but yourself. Anything you wanted to keep, you have to hide. Any time you felt sick, or sad, or lonely, you had to keep it to yourself, or you’d get picked on. Abused. The other kids were rivals. The adults were scary.”

I nodded, dashing at the tears in my eyes. I wasn’t sobbing, but I just could not god damn turn off the water faucets in my eyes.

Loid continued. “I think, no, I know I had it easier than you. I was taller. Stronger. It was easier to blend in.”

“B-boys aren’t really stronger than girls,” I protested with a little bit of a tremor. “You’re just forced to repress it and pretend.”

He chuckled a few times. “Anya. I’m not talking about boys versus girls here. But boys do have it easier. They just have to put up with other boys. Girls have to put up with girls, and the way boys treat girls.”

Seems like bullshit to me, but it was hard to argue from my previous perspective because I couldn’t tell him about my previous perspective. Though admittedly, I was faced with the incipient horror of growing up as a probable whore in eastern Europe. He might have a point.

“No, what I’m saying is that I was basically normal. I fit in.”

“You’re literally the top spy in Europe, mister Twilight,” I replied as sardonically as possible given I was blind with tears.

He froze briefly, then I felt him shrug. “Been eavesdropping, huh Anya?”

“Sorry,” I said meekly, realizing that I’d fucked up. Again. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to sell me off or something.”

He chuckled once. “Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Maybe I was a little better at fighting, at sports, at school. But I’m a spy, Anya. I was selected and trained because I already had the right mindset. I’ve always had the gift at blending in. Whereas you stand out the moment you open your mouth. So for all that time, you kept your mouth shut, didn’t you? Hiding your intelligence. Paying attention. Listening. Watching for threats.”

I gave him a kind of halfhearted shrug, and a reluctant nod.

“But you know what I’ve noticed most about you?”

I shook my head, eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re very empathic. You care about others a lot, don’t you?”

I made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, shaking my head. Empath? Hah! I can’t pick up on emotions for shit! Pure telepath here, bud!

“You disagree?” he asked, sounding like he was smiling. “Anya, think back to yesterday, right after we did the mock interview.”

Yeah? What about it?

“I was disappointed, remember?”

“yeah”

“I’m under a lot of stress. I don’t say that as an excuse for my behavior, but it’s true. This mission, Anya, it’s important. There are a lot of people in both Westalis and Ostania who think their problems will be solved if they can just beat the other country in a war. But you know what that would mean, right? Hundreds of thousands, even millions of people would be hurt. So all my work as a spy here isn’t to beat Ostania, it’s to support the people keeping the peace. I can’t go into details, but my job isn’t just about stopping the bad people, it’s about helping the good people, and trying to convince the ones in the middle that peace is what’s best for everyone.”

“Like the Desmonds?”

He nodded. “Lord Desmond is a major player in the Ostanian government, and in business. If I know what he knows, I’ll know how we can convince him that he should work for peace and not war. Ordinarily I would never support a mission that involves children. Children should be kept safe, not caught up in the messy world of spying.”

“Glad you did,” I mumbled, looking away from him.

Loid hugged me harder. “I am, too, Anya. I would have never met a special girl like you if I hadn’t.”

I’m daddy’s special girl. Gaaaaaay.

“And you’ve tried so hard to be a big help. And you are a big help. I knew Eden Academy was exclusive, but I didn’t realize how hard they tried to keep it that way. That test was ridiculous, Anya. There was stuff on there I didn’t learn until middle school, even high school. I know adults who couldn’t pass that test on the first try. The only way a child was likely to pass that test was exactly what they had planned. Their parents got the test and spent months having tutors teach them to pass it. And you passed it the first time you saw it.”

I am an adult, Loid.

“But you know what really stood out? When I was worried about how badly Yor was doing in the fake interview, you stepped in. You saw how stressed I was making her. You saw how worried I was. And you tried to fix it. And you did a good job. Yor isn’t a spy. I shouldn’t expect her to be able to instantly improvise. She’s not trained to do it.”

But she probably is trained in thirty-seven ways to kill a man with only a thumb. And that’s its own hornets’ nest of problems.

“You’re so smart, and you’re so responsible, and you tried to take it all on yourself. Because you’re a bit scared, aren’t you? We’re not a real family yet, but this is the closest you’ve gotten, isn’t it?”

Shit. He might be right. I don’t want to miss out on this. Not just because it’s an adventure, but because I like Loid. I like the sound of his mind.

And dammit, I like Yor, too. I liked going out with them yesterday. Sure, the end of the evening kind of sucked, but the other? It was nice.

But even if he does keep his promise to make sure I get a home once this mission ends, I can guarantee it won’t be with him. Whatever kind of narrative bullshit in this world allows spies to become famous probably won’t let him have the kind of time he would need to actually adopt me. Maybe if I told him about my telepathy, but that sounds… risky.

“You’re very smart, and you’re good at watching people. But what you don’t know is that it’s not your job to keep everything together. And I shouldn’t slip up enough that you feel you need to.”

His words were quiet, kind of self-recriminatory.

“Yor fell into our home when we needed her most. You’re exactly the kind of child Eden Academy is supposed to find and elevate to the upper class. We’ve got all the tools we need to succeed, Anya. All of them. A Mama, a Papa, and you. We can do this, don’t worry.”

“I’m going to speak up if I see you make a mistake,” I told him, craning my head so I could look up at him.

He smiled and rubbed my back. “As you should, Anya.”

Oh man, that rubbing. I couldn’t help it and kind of arched my back into his hand.

“Oh, do you have a sore back?” he asked.

“Itchy,” I said. It’s not really a lie, but not really the truth. Frankly, I just enjoy scratches more than rubs.

Loid started scratching my back through my dress, slowly increasing in vigor.

Oh man. Bliss. If this was an anime I’d sprout cat ears and a tail and arch my back like a bridge.

“So it’s okay, Anya. There’s only one thing you need to remember.”

I was barely paying attention anymore. Oh man, I forgot how good a good back scratching felt. I haven’t had good physical contact like this since my memories of this life started forming.

“I won’t throw you away for not being perfect. But it’s easier to make plans to get around complications if I know about the complication ahead of time.”

He sounded stern then, and a flash of fear cut through the haze of pleasure.

But… yeah.

“I get headaches in crowds,” I admitted. “All the noise, all the people, it’s too much. The audience at the opera is about as many people in close proximity as I can handle. Honestly, the test I took at Eden had too many kids in there. It’s why I missed some. I could barely concentrate.”

The shame. I don’t think, logically, that I should feel it. But I do. Shame.

My erstwhile father nodded. “Thank you for being brave enough to tell me that, Anya. It’s something to ask the Headmaster about. Tell me, what do you know about savants?”

“Enough to know that I don’t fit all of the symptoms.”

I’m not autistic or a savant, I’m a reincarnate. But I can’t say that.

“True,” he agreed. “But there’s a growing amount of research that indicates it’s less a specific condition and more of a sliding scale of degrees. Many, if not all, of the brightest people in the world share certain personality traits to one degree or another. You’re definitely one of the brightest people in the world, so looking at those traits can give us a framework to understanding. And one of the most standout symptoms is the way certain people with savant syndromes react to noise and hyper stimulation.”

I’m not autistic. I’m a reincarnate. With telepathy. Who hates the noise and pressure of crowds.

“I understand emotions, though,” I protested.

“Yes, you do. You’re quite empathic. But hyper-empathy is another trait, actually. But the point is, Anya, I’m not diagnosing you with a defect, far from it. You’re a very bright little girl and you don’t have to feel defensive. What I’m saying is, you don’t have to hide when you’re bothered by things. Tell me, and we’ll come up with a plan. Okay? We’re a family now. It was you that said we’d figure it out together, or what was the point of a family at all, right?”

So here I am, sitting in the lap of an adult blond man who’s telling me-

-well, okay, maybe he’s paraphrasing, like, A LOT-

“-Okay, Papa.”

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AN: More on my patreon.


Some people have complained about 'character noticing the story' stuff. I've also heard, not specifically about this story but in a more general sense, complaints about isekais/SIs that focus too much, or any at all, on the mechanics of isekai/SI stories BEING isekai. On one hand, there's that author urge to explain. Skippy the spacebat. Rob the bored omnipotent. Just the HOLY SHITness of going to another world, which would be a massive wrench in the logical framework we all build to explain the HEREness of here.


We read too many fucking isekais and SI stories to be at all entertained by yet another asshole being shocked and amazed that 'they're in another world'!


It's better if you just ignore it and launch into the story. We're all primed to willingly suspend that particular bit of disbelief in the goal of finding acceptable entertainment escapism to avoid the 'Holy shit we're living in the worst timeline. Like, seriously, holy shit guys, what the fuck, the entire goddamn world is actually a dumpsterfire right fucking now and it's actually gettting WORSE fuuuuuck'.


But. I didn't exactly go into this story with a plan. And because I didn't have a plan, I sorta ended up writing SiAnya as if actually I was her. Not the more idealized, already grown up with it and accepting it sort of SI I have with No Promises, or the more generalized 'not an SI just someone from our world' I've done in other pseudoSI type isekai stories. Me. About as unfiltered me as it gets. And I'm a fairly weird dude. Typical nerd, and I think a lot about stories and narrative works.


So, honestly, I would be having those thoughts. It ain't ideal. In a better world, I'd have cleaned it up and cut all that. But it's already happened, so it's what we've got.


However, I did make plans to get rid of it in future chapters. A sort of mini character development arc, that ends in acceptance of, and sinking into, the role of a psychic little girl with a spy for a father and an assassin for a mother.


This chapter was the peak of that. The conclusion is the next chapter I just sent to patrons. And while a little bit of, not fourth wall breaking so much as, 'If God is really watching, the least we can do is be entertaining' will probably still crop up a little bit here and there, the character knowing they're in a story stuff is concluded.


Anya is learning from Loid, overcoming her feeling that 'this can't be real', and accepting her situation. She's still going to be credulous, believing that she's living in a world where literally anything can happen, but at least she'll stop trying to peek behind the curtain.

 

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Yor came home right on time, exactly like she’d spent the day at her usual job.

Not at all like she’d changed clothes, went out, killed a man, went to her old apartment, cleaned up, changed back, and came ‘home’.

Papa and I were waiting for her.

He used the excuse of taking time off from work to help prepare me for the school. Studying mostly, but also going over the interview.

But mostly studying. And that was mostly writing drills.

Fucking normalschrift. My hand is tired. Damn my original education in Louisiana, one of like two places in the US that does French everything, including handwriting. The stylistic difference between French ronde and German normalschrift is the difference between wiping your ass with silk and punching a man in the throat.

In between, we covered vocabulary, mostly pronunciation. My efforts to pronounce big words was rather hit or miss.

We also prepared a light supper, ‘abendbrot’. Papa made eintopf, which was basically a crock pot stew. Lots of carrots, potatoes, lentils, and tender chunks of pork that was falling apart into shreds. Served with warmed up brotchen, these crusty little rolls which were pretty tasty.

Honestly, to break character for a moment, I wanted to cut the end of one off, pack it full of stew, and cram it in my face.

Yor had this look of wonder on her face when she came in.

“Mama’s home!” I cheered, and threw myself at her in a full body tackle-hug.

Well, it’d be a proper glomp if I was 200% taller. As it was, it was more a glomp-let. I ended up hugging her left thigh, because she hesitated too long before bending down and catching me.

Papa took her light coat and hung it up, before offering but not demanding a hug.

They didn’t hug.

Little steps.

“Papa and I studied a lot today!” I told her. “We practiced handwriting and vocabulary,” I added, enunciating distinctly. “How was your day, Momma?”

Whoops, a little slip there. ‘Momma’ was my first life. I was trying to go for a mix of ‘Mother’ and ‘Mama’ here.

“It was fine,” she lied.

She actually briefly, mentally, regretted that she had to lie, but didn’t think of any details.

“But it’s a lot better now that I’m here.” She paused, then added, “Home.” She said it with a tone of slight wonder, like she was trying out the word and finding she liked it. The smile she gave me was super effective.

My assassin Mama can’t be this cute?

“Would you like to eat now, or wait a bit?” Papa asked.

“I think I’ll change clothes and wash, so perhaps, fifteen minutes?” she replied hesitantly.

Loid smiled and nodded. “I’ll warm the bread. What would you like to drink?”

“Ah, water to start with, perhaps a glass of wine?”

He nodded, and she left to change.

I gave him a thumbs up behind her back when he glanced my way. This was happening. We were doing this.

Soon we were sitting down and eating.

The whole German thing of a heavy lunch and a light supper always struck me as a little weird, given the issues of having a lot of food during a working day on a lunchbreak. Easier to do on a weekend or holiday. But eintopf is much the same as any other crock pot stew, and for a moment homesickness or nostalgia or a mix of both was hitting me like a brick.

Loid lead Yor through a bit of gentle chitchat. How was work, was anything coming up, that kind of thing.

After supper, where they each drank one glass of wine, Loid poured them each a cup of coffee while talks turned to more pressing matters.

Not a full on study session like we tried before, but more a general planning session for my education.

“Music is a good idea. I don’t know how to play anything, but Anya is very bright, so her everyday studies shouldn’t take long,” Yor offered.

Loid nodded seriously. “That’s an angle I hadn’t considered. Recitals and such could be good ways of attracting positive attention.”

“I’m up for it,” I agreed. “But I have no experience whatsoever, and I don’t believe I’ll be able to be a prodigy in music,” I added in warning.

In my first life, I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But I did like music, and young is the best age to learn.

“We can arrange for some lessons, and try to see if there’s anything that suits you.” Loid paused, then continued. “If you find it fun, anything is possible, but for the purposes of standing out, something suitable for solo or small group performances might be best. Violin, cello, piano, or such.”

He had a good point. I’m not much for piano, but stringed instruments are nice. Brass, too, but the days of drum and bass, or alternative pop, or electronic music where a particularly funky solo with a French horn or something can stand out is too far in the future. No, we’re in the environment of classical music. The Desmonds aren’t going to ask for a private performance from a tiny strawberry blonde girl with a tuba.

“I wanna take fencing at some point!” I blurted.

Germany. Home of schlager fencing. Now, getting face scars as a girl would probably be a bad idea, but they probably had women’s’ fencing somewhere. I’d fenced in college in my first life, was decentish at it. Now that I was psychic, and in alt Germany, I wanted to get my sword on.

“Mama, you look really strong,” I added. “Can you teach me to exercise like you?”

Yor smiled at me. “That’s a great idea, Anya. I’d love to spend time with you. It’s important for a young woman to be fit and agile. Instead of music, we might also look into ballet.”

Loid nodded, his lips drawn down into an impressed expression. “Yes, that’s a great idea. Do you know ballet, Dear?”

She blushed just a touch at his endearing nickname. “I haven’t danced in years, but yes, I did ballet during my training. It’s a wonderful way to learn balance, flexibility, and timing.”

Training. Not ‘schooling’. Ballet trained assassins.

Not going to lie, that sounded cool as hell. Anyone who thinks ballet is a thing for girly girls has never gotten a good look at a ballerina’s legs.

Or their fucked up feet, with calluses like a back-swamp coonass who only wears shoes to church.

“That sounds fun, Mama!” I agreed enthusiastically. I mean, I wouldn’t mind learning the violin. But I’d love to learn physical stuff from Yor.

I finally had a plan to bond with assassin-mom!

We wrapped things up fairly soon after that. There were still things to memorize, plans to show certain family traits and such, but the most important thing was internalizing it. Not just pretending to be a character, but internalizing it.

Living it.

And so far?

We were doing great!

Yor relaxed into the setting. Loid wasn’t as tense. I wasn’t stuck trying to mediate between them.

It genuinely felt nice. Almost like a real family. Being friendly acquaintances was the first step to real trust, and I was fucking STOKED at the idea of being psychic Penny Gadget to Loid’s James Bond and Yor’s Femme Nikita.

We tried watching some TV, but it was a mix of weird Ostanian propaganda-news, some sort of long running drama, a family comedy sitcom, a sort of action-thriller about spies, and a mix of things like business reports and documentary stuff.

None of it grabbed our attentions. Loid got his news elsewhere. Yor just didn’t watch TV and seemed almost as perplexed by it as she did the opera. I was somewhat interested by the documentary stuff, but the one that was on at the time was about African lions, and you can only deal with a few years of Big Cat Week before you get pretty tired of lions, especially low tech, low detail stuff made for general audiences.

I was eyeing the bookshelf pretty hard, and I think Loid was, too, when Yor, the physical one of us, suggested we get some air and go to the park. It was still early evening, still plenty of light outside, so we agreed.

Yor took us a ways away via a cab ride, to a park she knew of outside the main city hub.

Surprisingly, it was more like New York City Central Park and less like some grey eastern Europe plot of scraggly trees, trash, and desperate proles sleeping in corners.

Actually, it was pretty nice. One of the things I still can’t figure out about this place is how a country that reminds me so much of communist East Germany can be so full of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Like, from Loid’s thoughts, and possibly something to do with Yor’s secret profession, there’s definitely a secret police, spying, surveillance, and quiet ‘disappearances’ of regular citizens in the background.

But it’s almost like some sort of weird superhero thing, where there’s villains and heroes and they fight, but other than major events, regular people aren’t involved. I never overhear thoughts of like, ‘Gotta look normal, or I’ll end up in the gulag,’ type stuff. I’ve never caught anyone thinking ‘well if I turn in my neighbor for being a spy, the suspicion will be off me for at least a few months’.

On the other hand, I have overheard a fair amount of nationalistic thoughts, especially at that political rally that was so nasty. And Loid, an agent for the OTHER country, Westalis, wouldn’t be here and busy as a one legged man in an ass kicking contest if there wasn’t reason.

Also, Yor’s thoughts about her assassin job implied she was called up two or three times a month.

So I really do not have a good understanding of what’s going on around me.

But for the moment, we were in a nice cobblestone square on top of a hill, overlooking a sloped forest on one side and residential buildings on the other. Kids a bit older than me played soccer in the street. People went about their business, looking neither hurried nor afraid.

“I don’t come here often, but when I’m particularly tired, and just feel down, I find myself here,” Yor explained as we gathered at the railing keeping people from falling down the slope.

It was concrete, not something really expensive like wrought iron or stone, but it had actual aesthetic shape, and wasn’t like brutalist slats or something.

“I had no idea this place existed,” Loid admitted. “It’s lovely.”

“I like it,” I agreed. “It has people, but it’s not too crowded. And the air smells fresh.” The streets and sidewalks had people walking or riding bicycles, and a few scooters and motorcycles in the distance, but there were nearly no cars. No car noise, no exhaust fumes.

If this was the goal, maybe people in the FuckCars movement had a point.

“When I remember that what I do is helping all these people, it gives me the energy to go back to work,” Yor said quietly.

An idealistic assassin? Killer with a heart of gold?

I want to sneer, but then I really look at her, Loid doing the same behind me.

Yor Briar is a lovely woman. Not really ‘young’. Even though she’s just in her mid to late twenties, she mostly comes off as self-assured and driven, even when she’s out of her element. I have no eye for fashion but she always dresses chic. Like you could photograph her at any point and put her in the pages of any women’s magazine. Beautiful and attractive, but not in a way that begs for attention. Sexual without being sexy, just dressed for the weather and for the pleasure of looking good, without inviting comment or approach.

In my mind, she looked upper crust, but without throwing money around. She was so impressive I was a little intimidated. In another world, she’d have been way out of my league. In this one, she felt more like an impossible ideal to strive for. Seriously, virtually none of the ‘Bond girls’ in the films could stand beside her without looking like a cheap imitation.

Loid wasn’t thinking aloud, but I got the feeling that he, too, was impressed.

She was an assassin, though. Objectively, that’s a bad thing. How she manages to function without becoming sociopathic or jaded in sheer self-defense mystifies me. The only other mental state I’m aware of that allows people to kill often without turning into an emotionally deadened monster is to be a fanatic for some sort of cause.

Maybe? She believes she’s doing it for the good of the regular people.

But hell, Loid is clearly killing people on occasion, too. And he genuinely believes he’s doing it as an only choice to protect people at large. Sort of a ‘greater good’ philosophy.

Generally, I’m with the people who eye ‘greater good’ arguments with skepticism. It’s fine to say ‘greater good’ until you’re the one getting sacrificed. And also, the people inclined to ‘greater good’ type arguments never include themselves in the pool of potential sacrifices, because they’re too ‘necessary’. The whole thing is shaky, built on a house of cards rolling down a highway paved with good intentions. Scary shit, and absolutely the kind of thing I’m inclined to go against.

But… what if it’s real this time?

That’s a question I can’t yet answer, and equally can’t unthink.

I mean, look around me. Non-shithole East Germany? Happy, prosperous people?

What if their efforts really are what’s enabling this?

Because… it kinda seems like it is? From my outsider perspective, this place is nice.

Then it becomes more of a ‘Those who walk away from Omelas’ situation.

Because as a US citizen, aware of the problems but still devoted to the freedoms… Murder ain’t right. I have no idea what sort of person I’d be if I was actually a native to the situation, but with my current set of experiences and morals, I’d absolutely leave Omelas. No amount of happiness is worth the sacrifice of one innocent. No matter how many people rely on it, no matter how many would die, or be miserable, or how many evils would rise without it, nothing is worth one innocent life.

I could never get into Star Trek. Prime directive, greater good, none of that bullshit.

Fuck your happiness. I matter. My choice matters. And so does his, and hers, and everyone’s.

But… what if you’re sacrificing the people who want to sacrifice others? What if Omelas wasn’t powered by the pain of an innocent child.

What if, instead, it merely required the lack of privacy of a larger group of people who are mostly thought to be varying degrees of evil? A few innocents get mixed in, but generally don’t get anything worse than having their secrets gone through. And virtually no true innocents get caught up in the purges. The assassination targets are the most evil, problematic people they’re able to target. Some real shitheads get missed, a few less guilty people inadvertently get murdered. But they’re trying their best.

In a perfect world, no. My morals say that no amount of innocent blood is acceptable. But, better though this world is compared to my last, it’s still clearly not a perfect Heaven.

‘Better that ten guilty people escape than one innocent suffer.’

Blackstone’s ratio.

This is a better world, so what would the ratio be here? One hundred to one? A thousand?

Even at a thousand to one, for every million violent crimes, you’d have a thousand innocents on the chopping block.

I have no idea what the Ostanian crime rate is like, but would the accidental murder of ten innocents a year be a rate the population at large would accept?

In my original world, I guarantee it. They accept a lot worse than that. Here, in a world with better overall karma?

I’m not even six years old. I can’t make good judgements on this.

Loid is a good person. Yor is a good person.

I guess I just have to accept what I’m given, and do the best I can with it.

Shouting from below caught my attention.

“He took my purse!” an old lady screamed as a man sprinted away down the sidewalk.

“She should have been more careful,” Loid noted callously, dismissing the crime as something he couldn’t do anything about.

Huh, well, no place is every completely free of HOLY SHIT

Yor went over the railing and down the slope like a police malinois going after a protester of color. I mean holy shit that is batman comic fast. Not quite anime flash step but definitely faster than any parkour efforts I’ve ever seen. She didn’t slide, she RAN down the grassy slopes, slowing herself down by landing hard on the switchbacks of level sidewalk and stairs that terraced the side of the hill away from the trees.

The soles of her trendy, fashionable leather short boots, with low heel I might add, made heavy THWOK sounds as she hit each section of sidewalk, braking to lower speeds before hurtling down the next slope, her war cry of “You’ll pay for that, thief!’ splitting the air.

“Ah. We’d better-“ Loid began, picking me up.

“Yeah,” I agreed, too surprised to really react as the spy began running with me in his arms.

We went down the slope at considerably lower speed, breaking off from Yor’s path to hopefully cut the corner and catch up with her faster.

For their part, both the thief and Yor disappeared around a corner, their footfalls quickly fading out.

Yor came back briefly to check on the old woman, and Loid started to head back in her direction, but she took off again down an alley.

“We’ll have to cut him off,” I said excitedly.

Loid was getting into the chase, and he didn’t disagree.

The next ten minutes or so were spent pounding down the street, taking a few back alleys here and there. Loid was in excellent shape, and not particularly hampered by my modest weight. We went down alleys and upstairs.

‘He’ll head for the crowd near the market. It’s the best place to lose a trail,’ Loid thought.

But when we got there, staring down at the crowd from a raised walkway, his shoulders slumped. The thief had clearly beaten us, if he was there, because we didn’t see any runners dropping to a stroll.

And in the press of people going about their evening, it was impossible to pick out one man they hadn’t even gotten a good look at.

‘Ah. I think Yor will be disappointed we lost him,’ Loid thought

Except that wasn’t the case. There were dozens of people, yes, but they were calm people going about their business. Mentally quiet people, focused more on navigating the crowd and only occasionally thinking about their next stop.

The triumphant glee of a guy mentally counting bills, delighted in getting one over on a stupid old lady came through loud and clear.

“There he is,” I said, pointing.

“Loid?” Yor asked, running upstairs to the walkway to join us.

‘Aha, she’s right,’ Loid thought with fierce glee. ‘He changed his coat and put on a hat, but he still moves the same!’ Turning to his new wife, he barked a quick instruction. “Yor, watch Anya! I’m going to get the thief!”

And then I got to watch Loid, blond James Bond in the flesh, sprint down the raised walkway and leap off, falling fifteen feet or so onto the hapless thief like a hawk swooping on a mouse.

Death from above mother fucker!

We quickly joined him below as he explained to the startled crowd that the guy was a thief and purse snatcher.

Clearly a professional one, too, or at least habitual. He had other wallets on him, and had probably been stalking the streets all day.

Loid seemed a little embarrassed to be the center of attention as the guy was taken away and the purse, with money, was returned to the old lady.

Ultimately, Papa and Mama did the whole ‘aw shucks’ routine with the old lady and each other. Mutual admiration, Yor’s sense of justice, Loid’s successful take down, my quick spotting of the guy.

The old woman even said it, like a moral at the end of a thirty minute episode, or the blessing of God X the Director.

“What a wonderful family you are.”

You know what? I was fucking stoked. Forget the existential implications. Forget the moral quandaries and philosophical conundrums.

Super spy Papa.

Assassin with a heart of gold Mama.

(False) genius psychic tot me.

“Hell yeah!” I whispered to myself.

“Anya!” Loid said, startled. “Who taught you to say that?”

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AN: More on my patreon.

After some teething problems getting the new family set up, things are finally starting to work out. Anya just has to quit poking at the man beind the curtain and get out there and BE.

 

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xxxxxxxxx Start chapter eleven.

And now, a change of perspective.


Henry Henderson, housemaster of Cecile Hall and all around elegant gentleman, didn't do anything as crass as sneer, but there was a palpable sense of disdain as he stared down at the milling crowd of aspirants and their families through his beautiful set of Galilean binoculars. His facial hair was impeccably groomed, and one eye sported a monocle.

After a moment, he lowered the opera glasses and resumed a stern though distant visage. As the oldest and most respected of the House Masters, and indeed the staff in general, he spent less time than the others making individual judgements. It was a tasteful and quiet nod to his years of service, while not embarrassing him with the face that his eyes weren't what they once were.

"This year's applicants are a slovenly bunch," he announced to the room at large, where, along with several other vantage points, Eden Academy housemasters and other staff judged the incoming mob with highly critical eyes.

Indeed, there were far more quiet announcements of 'fail' as the assembled staff made judgements long before the families made it to the personal interview part of the process. Behind them, assistants both male and female held leather bound notebooks listing the applicants, along with a brief recognition guide should the staff need a reminder of who they were judging.

Few needed reminders.

The admissions process for Eden Academy was its oldest, most important ritual. A ritual a large number of very well connected and powerful families across Europe would very much like insights on. A ritual only a few of the most powerful Ostanian families was privy to.

Eden Academy was unquestionably the finest, most elite primary school in Ostania, and oft considered in the top one percent of one percent the world wide. Accordingly, despite laws which required them to open their application process to the citizens of Ostania, or at least the ones who could afford the rather exorbitant fee, much effort was spent weeding out the plebeians.

Just because a family made a small fortune in business did not mean that they were fit to be inducted into the true upper class. Indeed, many such families, ambitious, power hungry, and pretentious, were often little more than up-jumped commoners who got lucky. The ones with taste, however, who had made the right connections and displayed the correct attributes, might get a helpful hint here and there.

The truly elite needed no hint. They were the standard by which the others were judged.

They still had to meet the standard, of course, but such things were handled privately, with consideration given to the family's image. An elite family with a dim or unruly child simply did not push for admittance, instead typically sending them to quieter, more private boarding schools.

They did, however, largely tune out the House Master's yearly diatribe on the virtues of tradition, poise, and elegance. It wasn't that they disagreed with the sentiments, far from it. To a man, they positively abhorred the idea that the hallowed halls of their beloved school could be filled with the grubby, unwashed gremlins produced by the working class. But every year it seemed as if there were more applicants, meaning the selection process had to get even more stringent and efficient.

Some bright stars did make an appearance.

“Ah, there is Sir Blackbell and his wife. And that must be little Becky,” one of the female teachers commented. “Tasteful as always. The tails on his coat are a bold choice. I suppose they will be the height of fashion in the coming year.”

This was sufficiently intriguing that Henry lifted his binoculars to take a look, if only to banish the images of the pretentious proletariat from his eyes.

No one mentioned ‘pass’ or ‘fail’. The answer was obvious.

Henry was about to put his binoculars back down, but another family caught his eye.

"Oho? Is that family saluting the statue of our founder? By Jove! How elegantly respectful!" he announced, surprised. "Who is that family?" he demanded.

"That's K212, the Forger family," a pinstriped assistant announced after a brief check. "The father is Loid Forger, the daughter is Anya, and Yor Forger is his second wife." He quickly found their documentation and passed it over to Henry, where several of the staff glanced at it curiously.

"A 99!" one exclaimed. "That's the highest this year!"

The entrance exam wasn't just a filter for the unfit, it also served as a placement test. Correspondingly, it had questions which any modestly prepared child could solve, and the passing score was set low enough that they were worth sufficient points to pass. The Academy had long since determined that the family interview was the key to keeping out the hoi polloi, not exam scores.

However, it also had an escalating scale of difficulty, with some questions involving historical minutiae, reading comprehension, logic, or trigonometry at a level the Academy didn't start covering until Gymnasium, the academic focused schooling that was generally the preparation track for university, unlike the more general schooling of Realschule or the primarily vocational training of Hauptschule.

Eden Academy did not offer Realschule or (*shudder*) Hauptschule. That was for the working classes.

Those exceptionally difficult questions were there to identify particularly promising young prodigies-

-or cheaters.

Henry quickly flipped through the pages until he found the mistakes. Three of them, actually, a half point deducted each for spelling mistakes, rounded up to a whole 99. The handwriting wasn't great, but it wasn't the worst he had seen. Interestingly, all three of the spelling mistakes had the same mistake, an 'i' before an 'e' when it should have been the other way around.

"A cheater?" Murdock Swan proposed, looking at it from the side. "Might also be a sham marriage."

Although they, of course, attempted to stamp out any insulting hearsay, there was a persistent and hard to quash rumor that copies of the exam could be procured ahead of time for the correct price. Henry had been approached, hat in hand, with some hefty bribes, and taken particular delight in not only denying the would be cheat, but also banning the family from sending any children to attend for a period of one hundred and one years.

Yet, the rumors persisted. Although it galled him to his very core, the possibility existed that some staff member or another might take such a bribe. Elegance was very expensive, and vice could ensnare the unwary.

It wasn't impossible for a child to obtain a perfect, or near perfect, score. If so, the applicant would be exactly the sort of student the Academy delighted in nurturing.

If there were any discrepancies, however…

"We shall observe the family," he announced. "A 99 point score would naturally come from a 99 point family. But anyone willing to cheat on an exam is undoubtedly willing to cheat in other ways." He lifted his binoculars to observe the Forgers more closely.

Henry had to admit, though, saluting the founder was a nice touch. A prospective genius of good breeding would be a welcome addition to Eden, especially compared to the morass of commoners besieging their hallowed halls so far.

The father wore a charcoal suit of fine cut. Anzug, perhaps? Or maybe Kerstin. Hard to be sure from a distance, and his vision was sadly deteriorating. He at least needed to get binoculars with a higher magnification.

The wife was fashionable without being overdone. A small amount of jewelry over the sort of fashion popular among young women of the city, who were oft in a position to be seen. She was very attractive, which could mean the father had shallow interests since his first wife passed, but that was an uncharitable thought. Her poise was perfect.

The daughter was rather small, short for her age, with strawberry blonde hair that was nearly pink. An interesting result given the father's blond. She walked between her parents, but without holding their hands, showing she was self-assured enough to not need the comfort. A good sign in a child so young.

Altogether, they were well above average for the crowd. If not for the shock of the nearly perfect score, he'd have given them a pass already.

Ah! They've spotted one of the prepared tests of character. One of the younger boys, a chubby lad with poor academic discipline equal to his atrocious dietary habits, had accepted the onerous duty of pretending to fall into a nasty gutter to avoid getting a tonitrus bolt for his class performance.

Most, nearly all in fact, families pretended not to see the boy, to their discredit. However, it was hardly a failing condition, as even the most elegant families rarely braved the grime. It was merely an opportunity for an otherwise marginal family to display better attributes, though it could also be their failing.

He watched as the young girl spoke briefly with the father, who nodded and, without so much as a moment's hesitation, lifted the filthy student from the gutter with a single hand, ignoring the dirty water which splattered everywhere.

"Humph. Terrible," he murmured in disappointment. "No family of true quality would dare come to an interview this important covered in filth." He watched a few more moments as the child offered a handkerchief to the chubby student. "Although sparing the feelings of the boy is commendable, I suppose we shall have to fail them regardless."

Henry started to lower his binoculars, but the father's next actions caught his attention once more.

"Wait, what's this?" he gasped. "He brought a change of clothes?!" He frantically focused on the family, doing his best to decipher their statements by reading their lips and body language. "They thought this might happen?!"

The father dashed away, allowing his wife and child to send the sacrificial lamb away, then quickly returned, now dressed in an even more impeccable grey suit.

"That is elegant," Henry admitted. "Could they be the real thing?"

"Oh no! Animals have escaped into the streets!" came the cry from down the hall.

"What?!"

Soon they could all hear and see it. Not just cows from the agricultural program, but horses, sheep, goats, pigs, and even the exotic ostrich from the special enclosure!

"Whose idea was this!" he demanded. "There are VIPs in that crowd! People could actually be hurt!"

Many hurried shakes of heads and other denials responded. "I certainly didn't! Surely no one would be so foolish!"

Henry Henderson gasped in shock. "This is... an actual emergency!"

With no immediate way to respond, he turned back to the view below, wincing as the people cast all decorum aside in their efforts to flee, a stampede as literal as the maddened animals running through the streets.

One child was pushed and fell, and though he wasn't trampled by the people, it was unlikely the cattle would spare him such a fate.

Again, it was the Forgers who responded, the father sprinting with shocking speed to scoop the child off the street and into his arms, where he found shelter in the lee of a building.

But now the wife stood out, also sprinting forward despite the fashionable heels she wore to slam fists into the junction of the lead cow's neck in several places, her superlative speed nearly impossible to follow.

Disbelief warred with the scene playing out in front of him as the cow went from running full tilt to stumbling and collapsing in a matter of a few steps, crumpling to the stone street and sliding to a stop. With the herd leader now stopped and in the way, the assortment of followers also slowed. No longer stampeding, they began milling about, still anxious, but no longer dangerously running about.

Now the pink haired daughter demanded attention, calling to her father and her mother as she ran to the collapsed heifer. Like her mother, he would have assumed anything the little girl might do would be useless at best, an impediment at worst, but the moppet surprised him as much as her parents had.

He could faintly hear her commands now that most of the people were off of the street. Her mother, she of apparently herculean strength, was positioned at the aft of the cow, with instructions to keep it from getting its rear hooves under it, as 'cows get up hind end first'. If the cow could not get its rear up, it would be unable to stand.

Then the girl began stroking the cow's head and neck, apparently crooning soothing sounds as her father approached, no longer burdened by a rescue. Under her directions he produced both the tie he had been wearing and a belt.

The belt was looped around the cow's head, right behind the jaw, and the trailing length hooked forward, through the tie which was encircling the muzzle of the beast. He watched in astonishment as the makeshift halter was literally fashioned, with the belt's loop through the tie giving the most leverage to pull the heifer's head around.

She pointed at the cow's nose ring and indicated it was for emergencies if the cow resisted, but cautioned against its use now that the cow was calmer, since nose rings caused pain if they were yanked on.

Still soothing the beast, she coaxed the farm animal to rise and gently guided it back the direction it came from, her parents trailing behind to gently chivvy the others animals as they followed the herd leader.

"That is absolutely a 99 point family," the housemaster stated to the other gawking staff. "Elegant, considerate, decisive, and intelligent. I would be honored to have Anya Forger in my Hall." He nodded at the others, then gathered his crystal topped walking cane and went to meet them.

Fifteen minutes later, he was there to greet the family as they came back from the pens and corrals. He was there to be gracious, but was shocked once again.

Instead of being rumpled and dirty, covered in animal hair, all three of them were wearing fresh outfits that showed even more elegance and fashion.

"Well!" he announced with a harrumph, mentally chiding himself rather than the family which had met every expectation and then some. "I was going to give you time to clean yourself up before the interview, but I see I don't need to. Well done, Forger family. Well done."

They bowed or curtsied with elegant little flourishes, proud smiles on their faces.

“Eden Academy thanks you for your service,” he said, bowing back. “Please, follow me. I’d be delighted to get to know such a family as yours.”

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AN: Hated this chapter. Had trouble writing it, and it's not even fun to read. The next one is way better. I'll try to have it posted in a day or two. Feel free to throw tomatoes.

More on my patreon.

 

xxxxxxxxx Start chapter twelve.


What the fuck even is this place.

I mean, I grew up poor. Like, dirt poor, on the edge of tens of thousands of acres of trackless swamp in Louisiana. We did nearly everything ourselves, from hunting, fishing, gathering, and farming to stretch our food budget, to doing all the carpentry, mechanicing, and other repairs ourselves. It's a great way to learn how to do a lot of different things.

It's a shit way of preparing for stepping into the frankly bizarre world of the wealthy and powerful.

They made a fat kid half drown himself in a gutter as a test for incoming families.

He was so grateful for the chance to avoid getting a failing grade he willingly threw himself in. He only felt bad when he thought the muck he got on Loid was going to keep us from getting in the door.

I was at least somewhat relieved that the stampede was genuinely not planned. It was either intentional sabotage or someone's fuck up.

I say stampede, but it really, really wasn't. The lead cow seemed pretty scared but she wasn't sprinting, just doing a slow run looking for something that made sense to her. I doubt they would have been much of a danger to anyone actually caught up in the mass, except maybe that kid that fell. These aren't half feral free range animals here. Every one of them has spent its entire life being poked and prodded, but also petted and pampered, by a mixture of professionals and well-meaning if inexpert students.

That cow didn't so much as give token resistance on the way back to the corrals. I've had dogs that were harder to wrangle. I mean, I've spent a lot of time with farm animals, but I have the least experience with cattle, since we didn't raise them on our farm. Cows were the kind of thing I learned about helping on other people's farms.

Interestingly, I actually picked up some mental impressions from the heifer, primarily fear in the beginning, and relief when we led her back to the barns.

Makes me wonder about how much empathy I pick up through my telepathy after all. It was also utterly fascinating from the standpoint of finally getting to be close to some animals. I'd spent a lot of time staring at birds and dogs through the windows of whatever building I was living in, and not getting squat, but in retrospect I'd never really gotten close to them.

My telepathy does have some serious range limits depending on the person and the type of signal I'm picking up. I should do some experiments.

Anyway, we end up inside the building on the side where the actual prospects go. Apparently, they do snap judgements on the families as they come in the gates. Anyone not well dressed enough, anyone with unruly children, or anyone they just decide they don't like gets sent to a much larger conference hall and told not to darken their door with their filthy commoner-ness.

I hate this place. I want to burn the whole motherfucker down and put all their heads on pikes. Put the power back in the hands of the people who do all the real work, not these fatcats.

Kill and eat the rich.

I'mma still study like crazy, get this fabulously exclusive degree, and cheat my tiny ass into being the kind of hyper-rich that makes the term 'oligarch' look like someone's third cousin on the wrong side of the bed. If I'm worth less than a billion by the year 2000 I'm going to be very disappointed in myself.

Kill and eat the rich, tho.

'There is an imposter among you,' I thought gleefully.

My ambitions of being a sussy baka aside, I'm not in yet. Just because you made it through the snap judgements doesn't mean you're free and clear.

Like, I'm pretty sure we're good. My score was good, and we made a hell of a showing outside. The old guy, who's name I found out was Henry Henderson, seemed pretty solidly on our side. Apparently, his big thing was decorum and elegance, which we'd managed to satisfy. Loid's briefcase full of outfits and Yor's inherent chic-ness were unstoppable. I mentally nicknamed him 'Sasquatch', and he was the housemaster of Cecile Hall. But he's not the only one we have to impress.

The thickset man with the weird bowtie looking mustache seemed to hate everyone. Murdoch Swan, housemaster of Cline Hall and son of a previous headmaster. Recently divorced, and the wife took the kid, according to Loid's files. He'd apparently been a no vote on almost every one of the applicants that wasn't already a VIP.

Beside him was another man in glasses, one of those elderly, genial looking men who have had so much shit go absolutely perfect for them all their lives that it's polished all the rough edges off like a stone in a river. Just gently smiling all the time. Walter Evans, housemaster of Malcom Hall, reportedly 'gentle, conservative, and well-liked by his students'.

But I made a point of not assuming that smooth rounded stone was soft, because even if he expressed small amounts of regret mentally each time he denied an applicant, he was still just as elitist as the others. Fail to meet his standard, and he'd vote no just as hard as the fat, angry Swan.

Come and see the violence inherent in the system!

Man was I glad we'd studied the history of this place so hard. Loid knew how these people thought, I'll give him that. Yor was the weakest link in our tower of power.

Though obviously not physically weak. I've seen people punch out cows before, but never with the cowjutsu equivalent of a neck chop.

We didn't have to wait long. Henry had personally invited us in, but there were people ahead of us. VIPs and semi-VIPs they couldn't bump down despite their gratitude for us stopping the animals.

It was interesting to see the difference between the real elite and the pretenders. We were outside the room where our assigned judges conducted their interviews, but I could pick up some of the conversation inside with telepathy, and Loid had apparently broken in at some point and planted a freaking audio bug, and had a radio hidden in his jacket with a discreet earbud. Also, of course, we got to see the results as they left.

Anyone addressed as 'lord' or with particularly respectful 'sir's had kids who answered the questions with little trouble. They knew the routine, and prepared for it. The adults had softball questions, or even just genial chitchat.

The lesser variant of the VIP seemed to be people where the man generally had significant personal power, a judge or something, but didn't have any family weight and didn't move in the right circles. They didn't know how to prepare, so their kids, whatever actual academic prowess they might have, didn't know the answers to 'Who founded Eden Academy' and such.

They didn't make the grade. By and large, they left with the kid crying and the parents either angrily scowling, or in some cases actually berating their little failure.

I got the feeling their future children weren't going to have much of a chance of getting in either, at least in the case of the parents actually publicly scolding their child.

Ol' Sasquatch had a point.

How inelegant!

So, at long last, we got called in.

I'm not going to lie, I was a bit nervous. I mean, I was confident. We cheated so hard we broke the laws of physics. But Loid was a bit worried, because Yor and I were amateurs. Yor was worried because Loid and I were worried.

And I was worried because this was absolutely out of my wheelhouse.

Tests? Math, reading, whatever? I'm down with it. E Z P Z.

Spoiler: EZPZ

Talking to people?

Wooo buddy.

Loid had immediately fixated on Swan as the biggest obstacle.

But the real first move was mine.

Immediately after introductions, I piped up.

"Murdoch Swan, Sir?" I asked for attention. "Are you any relation to Wethersby Swan, former Headmaster of Eden?"

Five sets of eyes zeroed in on me.

"Why yes, I am," the portly man allowed, but instead of sounding flattered, he sounded irritated. "Did you memorize the list of Headmasters?"

Irritation? Did he not like being reminded of his father? Or was there something else going on? I didn't have time to read his mind and figure it out, but I think I made a tactical error.

"Not quite, Sir," I replied. "I simply thought it would be respectful to at least know the current Headmaster, as well as the more general history of the Academy. Unfortunately, the first book I grabbed at the Berlint Library was a bit out of date, and listed Sir Swan as the current Headmaster. I'm fortunate that Father caught my mistake when we were discussing the school."

"The Berlint City Library?" Evans interjected. "I can see that happening. Although a very fine library, they have been known to keep out of date material on the shelves for longer than they should."

Everyone nodded, and the fat bastard seemed to relax at that revelation. So I failed at advancing, but at least I didn't set us back.

I kept my mouth shut as they returned to their planned interview structure. Swan focused most of his questions on Loid and Yor, which tracked given our knowledge of his failed marriage. He barely gave a thought to me, but clearly resented the shit out of anyone in a happy marriage.

Ironically, he'd probably be less irritated if he found out it was a sham marriage, but he'd be even more delighted to give us the boot.

They sparred for a bit. Swan actually got personal enough that Henderson chided him for being uncouth, and Evan's smile briefly flickered. That cheered me up a bit, as they seemed to use a simple majority system.

Instead of targeting Swan, it might be better, tactically speaking, to target Evans and get his approval. Unfortunately, the man was so goddamn genially noncommittal it was impossible to get a grip on him. Even his thoughts were like air. His mind was like a soufflé being baked. Unformed potential, before solidifying and being expressed.

Henderson continued to approve of our elegance, though. Loid had him in the bag.

Evans finally asked a question. "We would like to hear about Anya from the perspective of her parents. What do you think her strengths and weaknesses are?"

Loid smiled. "Strengths? How should I list them? She's extremely intelligent, and it shows. She reads voraciously, sometimes finishing multiple books a day. Her memory for what she reads is excellent. She thinks logically, and she pays attention to everything around her. It is, in fact, nearly impossible to keep secrets from her, because she notices the smallest things and then quickly extrapolates shockingly accurate conclusions from the data."

Spoiler: Heh.

Heh.

"She's empathetic, quickly picking up on other people's moods, but she's also kind, and shows a wisdom that seems beyond her years."

Lol.

"She's so intuitive, it's almost like she's reading your mind."

Lmao.

"But she does have her weaknesses. Her approach to reading material is rather scattershot, picking up whatever catches her interest at the time and following those paths of inquiry, rather than a more consistent, regimented approach to study. She has in depth knowledge of topics you wouldn't expect, but has missed other, more basic subjects most people take for granted. I confess, that's mostly my fault as her father, since I've encouraged her curiosity more than I've given her set lessons."

Yes, yes. As we talked about. I had to come up with something to explain how I can do algebra but I didn't know what Bizzaro Italy was called.

"She's also spent more time studying advanced topics than playing with other children her age, so her interpersonal skills are somewhat lacking. In particular, she's uncomfortable in crowds and prefers smaller, quieter groups."

"Her exam score was exemplary-"

Oh nice!

Housemaster Evans noted, "but there are some concerns."

"She made several spelling mistakes," Housemaster Swan interjected.

So?

"And her handwriting isn't very elegant," Housemaster Henderson added, "but her score was the highest of this year's applicants. She actually got every question correct, but points were deducted for, as my colleague stated, spelling."

Oh, it was spelling that cost me a perfect score. I thought I'd actually missed something. I feel better now. There's no reason for a grown ass person to get less than a perfect score on an entrance exam to an elementary school, no matter how exclusive. But if it was just spelling, in a bizarre-funhouse-carnival version of a foreign country you ended up in after you died, in a language you've yet to master, I suppose it's okay to not be too down on myself.

"You see, Mister Forger, the entrance exam here at Eden isn't just to see if students have the necessary aptitudes to succeed in our school, it's also how we determine a student's academic strengths and weaknesses, to see if extra tutoring is necessary, or perhaps arrange for advanced studies," Evans continued. "In short, the entrance exam is also a placement exam. Many of the questions are easy, the sort of thing which any reasonably prepared child should be comfortable with. But there are a series of questions in each category which rapidly ramps up the difficulty, to see where their knowledge stops." He paused. "Young Anya got every single question correct."

Oh. I see where they're going. You know, I think this may actually be the first time I've ever been accused of cheating. Because-

Henderson continued. "While there have been other students in the Academy's past who have done as well, including several perfect scores, all of those students were already known to have demonstrated genius potential. Some had been noticed internationally. Several had scientific papers written about them, following their development and their savant level skills." He paused and slightly adjusted his monocle. "Anya was a total surprise."

"In short, we suspect that cheating may be involved," Swan said rudely.

Oh. Huh.

You know, technically, we did cheat?

Shit, I actually overlooked that. Like, I've never knowingly cheated before in my life. Not out of any particular academic integrity, more that, in the tiny schools I grew up in, I was the guy to cheat off of. Not the cheater.

The closest I ever came was one particularly memorable bit in a science class, my best subject, in eighth grade. I'd made a mistake when marking off the vocabulary words, and put the dividing line one word short of the whole assignment. The word was 'sepal' the bit of the plant at the base of a flower. Through some series of coincidences where I just never noticed the word, the test rolled around and I had no idea what the answer to the question was. My puzzlement actually caught the attention of a girl sitting beside me, who quietly told me the answer was 'sepal'.

But I didn't write it down, because not only did I not know what a sepal was, it didn't even ring a bell in ANY of the words I knew. So, because I was so confused, I left the question blank and missed it.

Only later did it even occur to me that it had been an opportunity to cheat.

Same situation here. Yes, we had the test, and I studied it, but I was still hung up on the fact I'd technically passed it before cheating, therefore I wasn't a cheat.

But I was.

Huh.

Neat.

Meanwhile, Loid got mad. Yor got mad, too. I'd actually missed most of the argument because I was puzzling out the whole 'cheating' bit.

"-our home library. We may not have the means some families enjoy, but I arrange for her to have access to as many books as possible, and she also trades in many of her old ones. I understand that Eden's entrance exam is one of the most rigorous for most children, but I've watched Anya fill out crossword puzzles in The FAS as fast as she could write. She doesn't quite meet the definition of a photographic memory, but she rarely forgets," Loid said, and paused to breathe. "More to the point, Anya is extremely excited by the prospect of going to Eden Academy. The education here is the best. What other school could provide an education that could challenge a student that learns at a glimpse? And she hopes, and more particularly, our hope as parents, is that at Eden she will finally find peers to make friends with. Anya has nearly nothing in common with average children her age. She has no friends, and little in the way of social skills, because her intelligence and maturity set her apart. At least at Eden there is a good chance she will find someone that can keep up with her."

"Humph. If she is as advanced as you say, why has she gone unnoticed until now? You might not know this, but Eden Academy works with the Vivante Klinik and other institutions to identify prodigies as they appear, and invites them to apply to the academy."

He paused.

"At least, you should know that, as a doctor at the Vivante Klinik Berlint. Why are there no papers on her abilities? She could be the next Gramm, or Schulze, both of whom were immediately invited to attend Eden on their discovery."

Oooh. I did not think of that. Yeah, if I'd been born to a normal family, there's a good chance I'd have ended up the subject of a study or something by now. If it wasn't for the whole orphan thing, and now the spy thing, I would have tried to stand out to the point of like, getting in college by the age of ten or something. I am really not looking forward to the monotony of having to do normal school stuff.

Like, it's fun to excel easily. Very satisfying. But I'm pretty sure I'm going to get tired of sitting in a class all day for the next twelve years or so.

And given he's supposedly a clinical psychologist, he should have put me forward as a research subject. I am anomalously advanced for a six year old. They'd shit if they found out I was even younger. Honestly, I think I'm around five, maybe even a very late four. My original birthday was July 12th 1980, and I have this totally unfounded but persistent suspicion my birthday is the same. I will admit I'm too big to be a normal sized four year old, but I am short for six.

"Because I never published them. Anya is my daughter, and although I may not have the perfect skillset to research the speed of her development, I'm certainly capable of monitoring her progress and performing cognitive tests," Loid lied directly.

Papa's quick on the ball, I tell you what.

There was a brief stalemate, Loid's confident gaze brazenly challenging the thickset house master.

I decided to jump in.

"Sirs, to be clear, am I being accused of somehow cheating on the test?" I asked.

Henry Henderson was the one to answer me.

"There are some concerns held by some of my colleagues, not just Mister Swan, although I must stress that there is no formal accusation."

"Yet," Swan added.

"How?" I asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Henry asked.

Then beg.

Shit! I almost said that aloud.

I took a moment to recover from the burst of panic. Being a saucy little memelord would not help me here.

"Sir, I mean, how? How would I cheat? I don't understand."

The two of them shared a look.

I continued. "I couldn't very well get answers from the students near me. They didn't know the answers, correct? And that's the only way of cheating I know about. I will confess I knew the answers ahead of time-"

Swan sat up straighter but it was Henderson who sported a tiny quirk of his lips. I'm pretty sure he knows where I'm going with this.

"-since I had read them in books. And Father and Mother taught me as well. But I'm pretty sure that's just studying."

Swan frowned. He and Henderson glanced at each other again. "But how did you know what questions to study for?"

"I didn't?" I lied. "I just learned as much as I could and hoped the test questions were things I knew. I know many things that weren't on the test, but all knowledge is worth knowing, even if it's not immediately useful."

There was another pause. Both were thinking about the copy of the test that went around for the most powerful to prepare their children, but neither wanted to be the one to bring it up. Interestingly, Henry thought it was just a rumor. He also didn't think I cheated, thanks to the incident with the cow somehow? Weird. But even Swan was getting doubtful.

Papa spoke up. "Isn't there a simple solution to this? Just give her another test. She'll pass it, I guarantee."

Probably not with a 100 or a 99, but yeah. I'll pass it.

"In fact," Father was adding, "why don't you just ask her some questions right here and now? If she has particular trouble, perhaps a full test may be warranted, but she won't have trouble." He got louder. "In fact, I'm so confident in my daughter, the genius, that I will place a bet. Test her knowledge on things she wouldn't know to have studied for, but could have appeared on the entrance exam. If her genius is still in doubt, I will voluntarily withdraw her application to Eden Academy. She may not know the answer to every question, but there will be no question that she wouldn't need to cheat to pass the exam."

What the fuck Dad? Placing the whole mission on a bet?! What if I fail?! I mean, I know he sincerely believes I'm a genius prodigy savant, but shit man, that's a hell of a risk!

"There's no need to go that far," Henry Henderson replied in protest. "Don't wager your child's future on a foolish bet."

Loid gave him a level gaze, his thoughts full of confidence. "A bet is when an outcome is in doubt. My daughter will not fail."

Damn. The dude genuinely believes I won't let him down here. It's both empowering and humbling.

"A bet is a bet," Swan replied, sticking out his hand to Loid, who shook it.

Henry shook his head in disapproval, and had to stop and reseat his monocle. "So what kind of questions should we ask," he mused. "Obviously, there will be subjects she doesn't know. We merely want to challenge her in the same way as the placement exam.

"That's exactly what I mean," Loid agreed. "As for a subject? She's got the makings of a young polymath. Ask her anything, right off the top of your head. She'll know the answer."

…Rofl.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that Loid doesn't know I'm telepathic.

Any nervousness I had at Loid betting the farm disappeared, replaced by the smuggest grin.

Henderson's eyebrow rose. "Confident, are you?"

"Absolutely. Tests are fun," I replied. And I'm not lying. Tests are fun. Learning is easy.

I was accepted, with a small scholarship, to MIT in my first life. Didn't go, because I wasn't smart enough for a full ride scholarship, and my family didn't have the money for that kind of expense. And looking back on it, and my performance in the college I did go to, I absolutely would have had shit grades or even actually failed if I HAD went to MIT. At least I can still brag and say I was accepted.

Like a lot of 'gifted' students, nothing in grade school required any effort to excel in, but in college level classes that even smart people have to actually put in some effort studying, I kinda got fucked. I didn't know how to study, because I'd never learned. However, in my late twenties I went back to college for two years. Armed with an actual adult's discipline, I was the top in my classes. Even in math, which has always been my worst subject.

Just to be clear, I'm not claiming to be a genius. I'm not. I'm merely reasonably well educated and my interests and professional career have continually refreshed my basic knowledge. Seriously, though. While the hardest questions on the entrance exam were ludicrously advanced for a six year old, they're still just middle school level questions. Any reasonably intelligent adult should be able to handle them. And I am making mistakes. I'm just in the fairly unique position to cover up those mistakes by telepathically grabbing the correct answer.

"That is the kind of attitude we like to see in our students," Henry said approvingly.

I gave him a bright smile.

Murdoch Swan, though, came out of the corner swinging. "Why is the sky blue?"

"Short answer? Rahlait scattering and a lack of violet receptor cells in our eyes." Almost got tripped up with that one. I nearly answered 'Raleigh' scattering. The name of the scientist was different in this world, but fortunately everyone (But Yor, poor Yor.) immediately thought of the local guy.

They weren't expecting the bit about the receptor cells, though.

"What do you mean, 'violet receptor cells'?" Murdoch asked.

"Rahlait scattering is the phenomenon where light is scattered by particles smaller than the wavelength of the radiation, correct? And the atmosphere scatters the smaller wavelengths first. Human eyes have three kinds of color receptors, corresponding roughly to yellow-green, green, and blue light, although the absorption properties of the rest of the eye broaden our overall receptive range, so we effectively see from red to violet. However, the S cones responsible for the smaller wavelengths in the blue range are the rarest cells in the eye, meaning their sensitivity is the lowest, and they still have hard limits on the lowest bound of color they can react to." I paused to take a breath and order my thoughts. I started to go into animal use of ultraviolet wavelengths in vision, but decided to be more concise.

"As ultraviolet has even shorter wavelengths than blue, it's scattered even more than blue, down to the limits of Rahlait scattering in our atmosphere. That scattered light is what we see when there's little else for the light to bounce off in a clear atmosphere. So in actuality, the sky is violet, even ultraviolet, we just can't see it. The best approximation our eyes can tell us is the closest match, blue."

"Well said, and included some information that I didn't know," Walter Evans praised.

Murdoch grumbled internally about needing to verify that, but even in his own head it wasn't voiced. Man, what is that guy's problem?

"Elegantly stated," Henry added. "I can see I'll have to pick something obscure if I'm going to stump you." He paused, thinking, then asked a question I shouldn't know, but most of us do. "What is the Latin word for 'go'?"

"Eo, sir," I replied promptly, messing up the pronunciation a bit because I had to choke a laugh.

"Conjugate it."

I couldn't help it and started giggling.

"What's so funny, girl?" Swan asked indignantly.

I was still giggling. What Monty Python fan wouldn't remember the famous Latin lesson in Life of Brian? I just hoped I wasn't going to have to write it out a hundred times. I'd already lost my balls, after all.

After a few moments, I was able to recover and answer them. "Ah, sorry about that, Sirs. The truth is I've barely touched Latin at all. I will not be able to answer many questions about it correctly, but I was giggling because you picked one of the few things I did know. It's funny, because the pure coincidence would actually make me seem more educated than I actually am."

The adults present did generally agree that it was a little amusing. At Henry's prodding, I did list out the conjugations in the order he thought of them. Truthfully, I'd have missed a number of them, since Monty Python only covered ire, isit, itis, imus, eunt, i, and ite, and Henry also wanted ibam, ibas, ibat, ibo, ibis, ibit, and such. There were actually like fucking twenty words, and that sobered me up pretty fast.

Oh Jesus. I was going to have to actually learn Latin. Like, all of it, not just the funny insults and curses. That was going to suck.

Henry was satisfied with my knowledge of eo, but curious about my professed weaknesses with Latin. "And if I had asked about 'curro' instead?"

I winced a little. "Uh, curris, currit, curram… curr…" I shook my head. The words were available for me to grab out of his head, but I'd already admitted I didn't know shit for Latin. "Sorry, sir. That's all I can remember."

"A noteworthy effort, despite that. I hope you will give the same effort in Latin as you have everything else," Henry both praised and chided. "After all, a truly literate person is not just fluent in Ostanian, but Frankish, Anglais, Latin, and Aramaic."

Aramaic was apparently this world's version of Hebrew, which must have been the result of some truly different historical events.

"Yes, Sir. And I look forward to learning them. It's a terrible thing that so many of the books at the library are unavailable to me." I paused. "Oh! I have managed to learn Anglais," I added in English. "I just haven't had time to get to the others yet."

"She's fluent in Anglais?" Evans asked, turning to Loid.

Loid smiled paternally. "She learned to read so fast I started writing things I wanted to keep secret in Anglais. Notes about birthday gifts and so on." He shrugged, both helpless and proud. "Secrets don't last around Anya."

Spoiler: Smug.

"Hmm, that might actually explain something, now that I think of it," Henry mused, still in english.

"How so, Sir?" I asked. Apparently we were just straight up speaking english now.

"I noticed that all of your spelling mistakes were the same. An 'I' before an 'E' in words where that shouldn't have been the case."

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "May I see my test, Sir?"

My test was quickly removed from the folder and laid flat on the table between us. Everyone craned their heads to look as Henry pointed out the three mistakes. Two of the same word, one of another. "Ah, I do see my mistakes," I admitted, still in english. "Yes, Sir. I've been learning to spell Anglais words over the past year or so, and there is the rule in Anglais that you put the 'I' before the 'e', except in such a large number of exceptions I honestly wonder why they decided it was a rule at all."

"Can you name some exceptions, then?" Henry asked.

"Yes, Sir," I replied. "Eight, weight, abseil, caffeine, zeitgeist, feisty, atheist, reign, foreign, heinous, gneiss, vein, heist, neighbor, leisure, weird, fanciest, inveigled, forfeit-" I trailed off as Henry made a negation gesture with his hand. "Are you sure? There's quite a few more," I offered. I wasn't even reading their minds. "Rules and Anglais don't exactly go well together, but most of the exceptions do come from either older Anglais, or have been stolen from other languages, so you could use that definition for an exception list. The problem is that there are so very many words in Anglais stolen from other languages it would probably be easier to memorize a list of words that aren't. After all, Anglais has been described as a stack of other languages in a trenchcoat, pretending to be one subject." I shook my head. "It really makes me appreciate our language even more. Anglais is terribly untidy."

The four men, even Swan, chuckled a little at that. Loid's chuckle was less about the shitshow of english and more a smug 'I'm totally winning this bet' chuckle.

"Perhaps one more question?" Evans mused aloud, reverting to 'Ostanian'. "Although Mister Forger's confidence in his daughter has clearly been validated." He turned to me and smiled in that genial, sanded smooth way of his. "Although I merely want your opinion more than anything. What is your favorite of the sermons of Saint Bonifact?"

URK!

I'd seen the dude mentioned a few times as the patron saint of Ostania. He was heavily associated with both faith and learning, which, you know, great and all-

-but I hadn't actually read any of his writings!

And fucking Walter Evans and his god damned silent mental voice was screwing me over here. Henry wasn't giving me anything actionable in his mental musings, either, and was simply curious about what I'd pick.

Murdoch Swan, on the other hand, was switching from grumbling acceptance to inner glee, as I took longer and longer to reply, and it was growing clear that I didn't have an answer.

They had me cornered. Neither past life knowledge, current life efforts, nor telepathy were getting me out of this one. I wasn't religious, and didn't go to church. More to the point, I did not want to go to church.

"I…'m sorry, Sirs, but I have not read any of the works of Saint Bonifact in any detail. I cannot give you an honest opinion."

Evans frowned just a little. Henry simply accepted it.

Murdoch found an angle. "Ah, so religious works are not a priority in the Forger house? All too common, these days." He turned. "Eden Academy is officially non-denominational. No specific faith is put before others. We do, however, discuss various beliefs and practices. I hope that's not going to be a problem?"

"No, of course not," Loid replied, carefully not growling in anger. "We encourage education in all of its forms, and Anya is learning many subjects. As you've noted, she is only six years old. At Eden Academy, she will surely find the time to cover any areas she is weak in."

Evans's little smile was back. He accepted that answer, and looked forward to educating me. In both he and Henderson's minds, I was already accepted, and they anticipated that I would soon be a star student.

Murdoch mentally acknowledged that, too. It was quite literally pure spite that kept him pushing.

"I suppose the loss of a wife and mother might cause a certain… crisis of faith," the bastard insinuated. "And perhaps a preoccupation with more worldly matters with a new woman."

Loid's eyes tightened. Fortunately, Yor didn't really get the insinuation.

"MAS-ter Swan, that is highly inappropriate," Henderson chided angrily. Like, actually indignant on our behalf.

"Really, Master Swan, that is completely outside our current topic," Evans said in protest.

"Ah, my apologies," Swan lied, backing down hard now that both of them were against him. "Young Anya is clearly no cheat. However, we've barely talked to her mother at all. I'm merely doing due diligence. It would be terrible if we failed to address the deficiencies in her existing knowledge. For such an advanced student who's gotten her education from home so far, I'm merely curious what her new mother's role in her education is?"

"Mother teaches health and exercise," I countered confidently. We'd covered this in our preparation.

Yor may not have completely understood everything that we had been talking about, but she had certainly been paying attention, and knew when to step in.

"Loid loves his daughter very much," Yor began. "And, being rather intellectual himself, has managed a simply amazing job instilling a love of learning into Anya. However, while he is a surprisingly excellent cook, and stepped up to handle the domestic duties of the house when it was just he and Anya, he tends to make too many rich dishes. Proper nutrition is necessary for good growth, but we certainly do not wish to overfeed Anya. Also, both of them were more inclined to curl up with a book than to play catch. Anya needs a healthy body as well as a healthy mind."

Murdoch was taken aback. "Oh? So you make sure she gets healthy food, correct?" He turned to me, obviously sensing weakness. "So, Anya, what is your favorite food that your new mother cooks?"

"Turnip greens," I said promptly. "Before Mother came along, I didn't know how nice greens could be. Now I love trying everything, especially things I've never had before. How will I know if I like them or not if I never try them?"

That was a winner with Evans and Henderson.

"And what kind of exercising do you do to keep such a trim figure?" Murdoch continued, still trying to portray Yor as some sort of shallow floozy, or something. It was going over about as well as a fart in an orchestra, but he kept pushing.

"Mother is teaching me ballet!" I cheered proudly.

That perked both the other teachers up nicely, and even Murdoch seemed taken aback.

Yor acted a little bit demure. "Although I never had any professional ambitions, since I chose to focus on my career in government administration, I performed ballet quite a bit all the way through university."

Yor had a college degree. And not just in murder. Wild.

"Show them your Grand Adage, Mother!" I added enthusiastically. "And a Grand Jete!"

Yor tried to decline, but Murdoch still hunted for a failure, and both Henderson and Evans were intrigued by the possibility of ballet. Loid also liked the idea, since she'd performed a bit for us already. Although she protested a lack of proper shoes and space to perform, Yor did graciously agree to put on a brief display.

Remember how I said her legs were like pythons wrestling in tights? When she leapt into the air she practically exploded off the floor, high enough with legs outstretched that I could have walked under her with my hands all the way up. And her poise, balance, and control when she stood on the toes of one foot and showed off the moves of a Grand Adage were quite literally worthy of being a prima ballerina. Henderson was moved nearly to tears at the display of elegance and skill.

"I want to be as smart as Father and as skilled as Mother," I announced boldly. "I understand Eden has a number of physical disciplines available, and I can't wait to try out for ballet."

"I'm sure you'll do wonderfully," Evans announced with a smile. He glanced at his notebook, then back to me. "And in the spirit of completion, there's one more common question that we have yet to ask. We've heard answers from your Father, and your Mother, but now I ask you. Why do you want to attend Eden Academy?"

"The simple answer is, Eden Academy is the best," I replied. "But I say that with perhaps a different emphasis than others you might talk to. I understand that Eden is the school for the elite, the wealthy, the powerful, the influential. There are social reasons for the wealthy and powerful to send their children here, a boost in reputation or refinement to say their children attend Eden. For most children, they want what they've been conditioned to want. To be seen as elite, better than everyone else. And while I acknowledge the reality and the importance of those reasons, I want to be clear."

I stood up from my chair, acutely aware that every eye was upon me.

"Their reasons are not my reasons." I gave them my best steely look, my eyes alight with passion and my hands clenched into fists.

"I want to learn."

I paused, letting them take me in.

"If you allow me to attend this school, I will make the most of it. I want to learn music. I want to learn art. I want to learn Frankish, and Latin, and Aramaic, and other languages as well. I want to learn math. I want to learn ballet. I don't want just any education, I want the best education. Teachers that are experts. Curriculums that ensure I don't miss entire categories of knowledge. A school full of the opportunities to learn things I cannot learn elsewhere. It's said there are more than sixteen thousand books in the Eden Academy library. If I'm only going to be here twelve years, that's about four books a day I need to read if I want to read them all. But I don't want to just read the books. I want to learn the things that I don't even know enough about to know how to learn them. In short, I want everything Eden Academy has." I paused, breathing heavily before I continued.

"Father tells me I also need to learn about people. Peers, rivals, friends, all the stuff I genuinely cannot learn by myself. I don't know about that kind of thing yet. Every other child I've met just seems slow. I relate to adults better. But if Eden Academy has students I can really talk to? Students more advanced, or even smarter than people keep telling me I am?" I shook my head. "That would be wonderful. I want to find students like that, and learn from them, too."

Loid and Yor looked proud. The two headmasters who weren't assholes looked sort of genially tolerant, with a tinge of being impressed. Swan just looked sort of resigned, and a bit rueful. Even in his head he'd given up on fucking with us.

The three briefly conferred before coming to a conclusion.

Swan stood and offered his hand to Loid in a show of respect I honestly wasn't expecting. "I withdraw any of my misgivings, Mister Forger. There will be no accusations of cheating. Congratulations on your very well prepared daughter."

Loid was gracious in his acceptance.

Evans gave us the official results. "Although we generally keep the results a secret until the formal announcement, there's no point in being coy here. Welcome to Eden Academy, Anya Forger. We expect you to be one of our brightest stars."

Henry harrumphed and got our attention afterwards. "Students at Eden are given the opportunity to join our elite group of particularly gifted students, the Imperial Scholars. As you probably know, achievements in learning, service, or other noteworthy ways are rewarded with Stella Stars. Getting at least eight stars automatically inducts you into the Imperial Scholars."

Hmm?

"Ordinarily, the elegant way you handled the stampede of animals would be worthy of a Stella, but I'm afraid we can't give you one, as you're not actually a student here, yet."

Dang, but oh well.

"However," and it might be my imagination, but I think light glinted off his monocle, "a lesser known tradition is the award of a Stella Star upon perfect completion of the entrance exam." He held up a long boney finger with immaculate manicuring. "That's a perfect completion, not merely the highest score of the year. Normally, that means a score of one hundred, which Anya did not quite achieve. But, given our failure to reward her for saving our guests, but also being both intelligent and gentle with our animals, and the fact that she did technically get every question correct…" He smiled at us. "I will be putting Anya in for a Stella the moment she officially starts the academy."

"And I will second it," Evans added.

Swan sighed. "And I third."

"I look forward to seeing you in autumn," Henry concluded.

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AN: The patreon is being shut down! I am pleased to report that I've finally lined up a new job which I will be starting at the end of the month. Thanks to all my supporters, I have survived this jobless period. Couldn't have done it without you. Everyone who is currently a patreon supporter will get moved to a mailing list and continue to have early access and special request rights, but no longer pay for it. Yay!

Also, a heads up about Ice Pie. I'm taking a little break from it and working on No Promises, as requested by a number of supporters.

Also, Gnomishness, I fixed the Desmond issue. Also went back and fixed spelling, grammar, and some other mistakes. Plenty left to find, though.

 

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After such an event, you might think I was riding high. And truthfully, both Loid and Yor were both very pleased and very excited.

Me?

“What the h-eeeck L-Dad?” I sputtered.

He gave me a look I can only describe as sardonic.

“I take it you’re upset about the bet?”

“No, I’m upset that you brought the black coat with OF COURSE I’M UPSET ABOUT THE BET!” I exploded.

Yor was giving me a funny look. Loid looked at me like he thought I was funny.

“Don’t risk everything on a single event! Eventually, the coin’s going to come up tails!”

“Anya, have you ever listened to yourself?”

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m trying to be angry here!” I protested.

Yor started giggling.

“And you!” I cried, rounding on my ‘mother’. “You! ...Did great, actually. Never change. But ‘PA-pa-“

Yor scooped me off the ground and gave me a bone creaking hug, enveloping me with a giggle.

“EEEeeurk!” I squeaked. It’s like being wrapped up by pythons.

Loid patted my head. Given I was currently trapped in some sort of smother-vise, I couldn’t protest.

“Anya, anyone who talks to you, at least when you’re not pretending to be normal, can tell you’re a genius instantly. It’s fine. It’s okay to have confidence in yourself,” he said. “You did a great job, Anya. More than I could have ever asked for.”

I grumbled quietly. It had to be quiet, I didn’t have the breath to get loud. Yor was treating me like some sort of plush doll, squeezing me again whenever her cuteness meter overloaded.

We were on our way home.

It felt good to think that.

Home.

Eventually, Yor transferred me to an easy hip carry, and I was able to reply to Loid.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “But now we have to produce all those cognitive tests and such. They want genius? I’ll show them some genius.” I paused, giving it a thought. “I need to go some places. And I’m going to need some money to buy things.”

“Given your accomplishments, I think a reward should certainly be in order,” he agreed placidly.


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I will admit, not everything I asked for was one hundred percent mission related.

My first visit?

A pet shop.

“This hamster is very cute,” Yor admitted. “I like his bulging little cheeks.”

I came over, glanced at the little critter, and pressed my forehead to the outside of its glass fronted cage.

Nothing. Well, maybe a hint of sensation, but nothing actionable. I definitely couldn’t sense the evil I know to lurk in hamster hearts.

“They’re cute,” I admitted, “but the moms eat the babies pretty often, and they’re all more carnivorous than you’d think. Also they’re pretty bitey. Hard pass.” I pointed over to a cage of bicolored rats. “Rats and mice are nicer, and much more inclined to play with people.”

I’d already checked the rats.

Truthfully, I wasn’t here to buy, which I’d assured both of them. I just wanted to look.

Actually, I just wanted to get close to them to see if I could telepathically pick up anything from them.

So far, I wasn’t getting much.

The cats were kittens, and I could pick up vague impressions of hunger or playfulness. They didn’t have any adult cats on site unfortunately. Also, the best way to get a cat is to wait for some half feral mog to adopt you, not shop for one like they’re a commodity. It’s disrespectful and, I dunno, results in an inferior bond between you or something.

I had a similar problem with the puppies. They only had small breeds, and only puppies. I actually like picking out a dog, looking for specific qualities, but every dog is the bestest boy or girl so it generally doesn’t hurt the bond.

I like rodents, and have some very fond memories of certain mice and rats I’ve had, but I don’t have time for a pet-pet. I’m looking for something to experiment with my telepathy, and they weren’t working.

I got a bit more out of a guinea pig, as much as the kittens and puppies, but guinea pigs are horrible little monsters with human hands and human lips and absolutely zero redeeming qualities other than that, apparently, they are a tasty ingredient in south american cuisine.

Other than hamsters and guinea pigs, I like most animals. But again, I wasn’t here for a regular pet. I got zip from the reptiles and tarantulas. A pity. A telepathic bond with a snake would have been pretty cool.

I’m really fond of parrots, but I ran into a problem as soon as I got to the cluster of cages devoted to birds. They had cockatoos, and budgies, and finches, and canaries, and what I think was a mynah bird.

They also had an african grey parrot in a big domed cage, bigger even than the ones the cockatoos shared.

I looked at the parrot.

“Hello,” I said, doing my best to project friendliness in my head.

“Squawk!” said the african grey.

*/~SQUAWK~/* said the parrots mind, hitting me like a ball-peen hammer lobotomy.

No birds, then. Shit that’s loud! It’s like the opera singer but without quite as much range, since it wasn’t a problem until I got close.

Absolutely brutal volume, though. I was hearing some softer, more charming mental noises from the budgies and the canaries, but the mental honk of what must be the fucking Metatron, angelic voice of God, parrot sent me reeling.

“Anya! What happened?!” Yor exclaimed, practically teleporting to my side. “Your nose is bleeding! Did you run into something?”

I let her steady me and dabbed at my upper lip.

Blood.

‘Well, there go my plans for the day,’ I thought as we left the store.

But when I’m old and run my own multinational conglomerate and have to worry about other psychics stealing my secrets with telepathy, I’m going to surround my headquarters with parrots.

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Most of the stuff I asked for really was part of the mission, though. Music is important, so we finally got a record player and some records, and even better a small cassette player and even more cassettes. We looked at a VHS player but the damned things were insanely expensive in the mid-80s, so we mutually decided to hold that off as a reward for another Stella, or something equivalent. I got some art supplies and drafting tools, plus clay and sculpting tools. I also got a number of books. Through Frankie I also got access to some electronics and basic tools. Useful, reasonably priced LEDs weren’t really a thing yet, so I had to get incandescent bulbs and tinted filters.

One of the biggest things I got was a typewriter. It’s much faster than writing, and also low key helps explain my lousy handwriting.

The hardest thing to get was good quality silicone, for making soft body sculptures, but also molds for other things.

We also took some trips out of the city, to various old growth forests and such. I got to see the Black Forest! That’s where my ham comes from!

A joke I can’t share, because no one would get it.

I mostly asked Yor, since she was the most physical of us, to escort me. Together we hiked, and bonded, and came back with some interesting bits of mossy, fallen logs, chunks of tree bark, and the occasional pretty rock. We came back with Loid and some tools when I found the perfect mossy tree stump.

Yor had surprisingly cute sneezes. Turns out she was allergic to something, possibly spores, on the stump. We had to keep it in a bucket with a bag over it until I was able to get glycerin to kill and preserve the moss. I tried the denatured alcohol method but it was discoloring the wood.

And then, I made art.

I’d had some serious ambitions art wise in my first life. I carved and sculpted and painted and sketched. I airbrushed and I did spray can graffiti and I used brushes and rollers. I got all sorts of ‘how to draw’ books and practiced the lessons.

Ultimately, I found out that I had no talent. I developed skill, because I really did try. I could look at a real life object, or a picture in a book, or some physical thing, and I could copy it fairly well. Even modify it a little.

But producing things straight from my imagination?

Couldn’t do it. Not and it look right. It was like some mental block, stopping me from turning the mental image I saw so well in my mind’s eye, to something real on paper or in clay or metal.

But that sort of helped me quickly make a compressed timeline of my artistic efforts. Loid, and some of his support people back where ever, were faking a history of cognition tests and such. I helped with that, of course. Together with Loid we faked the data, and the actual unpublished ‘papers’ Loid had supposedly been writing as notes on my progress got faked by his support crew.

But I handled the art bit myself. For ‘old’ crude stuff, I used my imagination. It mostly sucked, though I did manage a pretty nice western dragon, though it was similar to something I’d done before so it wasn’t pure imagination. Then, for ‘improved’ art, I switched to stuff from books. Flowers and sea creatures and prehistoric creatures (mostly sea life, again) and mushrooms.

Lots of mushrooms. Easy and fun to draw. There are so many pretty ones.

I also three-quarter assed some plush animal patterns of nonstandard plushies. Anomolocarus, of course, but also an ammonite, an octopus, a trilobite, and a Sally Lightfoot Galapagos crab, my favorite. I saw three-quarter because I really did try my best, but I wasn’t an expert seamstress. Most of the plans were sent back to Loid’s people to be turned into plushies.

I kept the crab and the anomolocarus to have done at some place called Mona and Monacca’s, which was some sort of seriously elite tailor shop, as it was the only place in Berlint that sold Eden Academy uniforms.

It figures it was also one of the places where the tres chic Yor shopped for clothes. Loid spent a pretty penny there on my clothes, I tell you what. Even Yor chipped in.

My other art projects were mushrooms made from molded silicone, placed as if they were growing from the stump. Beneath that, hidden in the stand that displayed it, was a light and three light tubes made of clear glass filled with a bleach solution, then coated in a mirror solution. A primitive fiber optic replacement, in other words. A rainbow gradient color wheel placed in front of the light source spun slowly in place, and a three chambered pocket that kept the light tubes separate channeled the light from each section of the spinning color filter to the undersides of the silicone mushrooms.

With three light pipes in play, the slowly spinning gradient filter made the visible, translucent mushrooms slowly light up and change in a wave of rainbow color.

It took almost a month to complete. Loid wouldn’t let me do the soldering myself, even if I totally could, and Franky had to do it. It also took way more effort and probably ten times the price it would take with a basic set of RGB LEDs and some fiber optic strands in the future, but oh well. It was a conceptually easy project, and made a nice night-light in the corner of my room. Still needed a little fairy figurine to really finish it, conceptually, but it was still nice.

Speaking of conceptually easy projects, I also designed a whole set of fidget spinners. A fully circular ‘zero’ lobed one. A ‘one lobe’ to be made from a connected pair of different sized but both small sprockets, linked with a small bicycle chain piece. And the rest were two, three, four, five, and six lobed versions of the classic fidget spinners that took over the world for a while in the aught-teens.

The plans called for them to be made of brass and to have high quality bearings. Loid sent them along with the plans for most of the plushies. While we certainly could have them made here in Ostania, this was all supposed to be stuff we’d had for years as evidence of my ‘genius’.

Following the fidget spinners, Frankie and I made a simplistic fidget ‘cube’ with various switches.

Then we had to make another one, because Frankie wanted one. Frankie and Yor got along well enough. Between the fidget cube and the mushroom lights, he was over a pretty good bit.

Not every project worked out. ‘Slap-bracelets’ were big schoolyard fads when I was in school in the slightly later mid-80s. I tried to make my own, sacrificing a big tape measure in the process. The problem was that, while the tape measure would stay straight without issue, it was the windup spring that forced it into a curl. It needed to be heat treated to do the ‘snap-curl’ bracelet thing, and that wasn’t an easy thing to set up. I ended up abandoning that project, unfortunately.

Lastly, although we never had time to get them made, I started the concepts and sketches for my big debut into children’s toy genius.

Building on the easy concepts of fidget spinners, I came up with two more ideas stolen from better designers than me.

For girls, the flying Barbie spinner doll. Though not Barbie here. Probably go with a ballet theme. Swan lake, maybe, and some fairies. A relatively tall, rigid doll, with hinged arms that splay out into soft foam wings. Set the ‘feet’ in some sort of spinner-launcher device, pull on a ripcord, and send that thing flying like a helicopter without a tail.

Right into a face, usually. That’s why the wings have to be soft foam, barely rigid enough for flight. Other popular landing destinations include fire places, dog’s mouths, over railings, or behind appliances.

They’re really genius as toys because they get destroyed very easily, requiring frequent replacement. The expensive part is the launcher.

Which will be reused with the products for boys, beyblades!

Again, not really beyblades. I barely know anything about them. No one I knew ever bought any for their kids and literally the only thing I picked up through meme osmosis was that apparently dranzers were bullshit.

But same concept. An arena, which will probably be kinda pricey. It’ll need to be a big metal bowl with a mostly flattish bottom. A wok, maybe. The launcher will be the same as for the ballet fliers, but will need some sort of triggered launch mechanism.

I know that beyblades were more complicated than just a spinning top, but I don’t know the details. The first generation will probably be kinda simple. A few different tip geometries, a few different weight profiles, and a variety of different knobby rings for hitting and being hit.

Toys work best with an attached story, so I had to come up with something. I was thinking some sort of League of Legends/DOTA style ‘warriors from all over’ plot, with lots of easily recognizable characters grabbed from cultures all across the world. Roman centurions, dual axe wielding fighters, samurai, halberdiers, spearmen, just all kinds of stuff. Whip up some art, get some prototypes made, write a story…

Too bad I can’t draw comics. I’ll need to find someone. Maybe someone in Eden. Anyway, it’s a longer term project. Don’t want to use all my sleeve cards in the first hand. But being seen working on this stuff at school in my free time, then getting an actual toy company to make it, should impress people nicely.

One of the more fun things I did before school started was use that typewriter and bang out some stories. Nothing directly plagiarized, though my fantasy story about the girl and her giant fucking bird looks a lot more original now that it predates all of the stuff it cribs from.

All of that stuff took pretty much all the time I had between the interview and school actually starting. It was really busy. I didn’t really have time to truly study, not that I apparently need to. Really, the only true school prep stuff I did was exercising and the very beginning of being taught ballet from Yor.

The time appeared to go by in a flash for me. I had my job, ‘be a genius’, and that was what I focused on, to the exclusion of most else.

I imagine that time period looked very different through the eyes of the people around me.

x
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AN: Here's something from the last of the patreon posts, with minor edits. Patreon is shut down, since I have a full time job now. Thanks to everyone who supported me and helped me survive.

I ain't saying things are perfect now, I'm still having some lingering health issues and my new insurance, despite being ludicrously expensive, still doens't want to pay for me to get an actual insulin pump. Also going from no schedule to fixed schedule always sucks. The biggest complaint I have is not having time and energy to write much, but that's typical. Everything is super busy at work right now because of back to school but in another couple of months all that calms down and I'll have more time and energy.

 

xxxxxxxxx Yor POV


“Anya, it’s time to wake up,” Yor prompted, sitting on the little girl’s bed where she was face down in the crack between her pillow and the bed.

“Mmph. Scratch my back,” the girl pleaded sleepily.

Obligingly, Yor began scratching her adopted daughter’s back. Slowly at first, then increasing speed. The pink haired girl grunted happily and contorted beneath her hands, luxuriating in the stimulus and arching her back like a cat.

When Yor stopped, she didn’t whine or complain, she merely sighed happily and lay still for a moment, but immediately started climbing out of bed as soon as Yor stood up.

It was quite early in the morning, and Yor found it interesting that, while the girl positively delighted in sleeping until quite late in the morning, she was also happy to get up and join Yor in her morning exercises.

Yor had work to go to, and did require a fair bit of time to bathe, dress, and apply makeup, but to keep herself in shape she also usually needed about an hour and a half for a proper morning exercise.

Loid, too, had been joining her, proving to be both capable of keeping up with her and similarly devoted to his exercise regime. Although if left to his own devices, he’d generally do it much later in the morning, he was perfectly willing to adapt to her schedule. He didn’t require the same amount of primp time she did.

Mindful of her new family, she kept herself to a light workout. A good pre-workout stretch, followed by two hundred each of handstand pushups, inverted situps, and a series of slow ballet moves which trained strength, balance, and endurance, all followed by a thirty minute run, which usually worked out to be about five kilometers since she was just jogging.

Loid actually kept up with her through all but the ballet moves, which was both surprising but also extremely gratifying. She’d never noticed it before, but working out could be lonely. Having someone there with her as a partner felt good.

Little Anya couldn’t come close to keeping up, but did her best to at least follow along with easier pushups and situps, starting with an easy twenty each. Unlike Loid, who moved on to a more traditional martial arts exercise, Anya did her best to follow along with the ballet moves. Although it cut into her own exercises, Yor didn’t mind taking the time to help Anya begin the training to start ballet.

Her morning run was also easily adapted to the company. She and Loid did wind sprints back and forth on the block while Anya did her series of sprints, then a cool down jog. At first they often had to carry their daughter back to the apartment, but as everyone learned how to work together, they judged things more accurately. Anya would go back inside and clean up first, then start breakfast prep while they finished their runs.

Loid would then take over and cook breakfast while Yor bathed. The lies they told during the school interview notwithstanding, Yor’s culinary skills were limited to bakery bought goods and simple fixings like muesli with milk. Loid was incomparably superior, though Yor had been making efforts to learn.

They’d eat together, then he’d quickly clean up while she and Anya washed the dishes, then Yor went and dressed. He generally even had time to shave before he had to finally surrender the bathroom to the goddess of fashion, at least until Yor left for work.

Anya was perfectly okay with the early morning efforts, especially since she generally had the time to grab another hour or two of sleep after breakfast.


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xxxxxxxxx


It was the weekend, and Anya glanced around curiously from her position in the passenger seat of the rented car. She had a couple of maps stacked beside her, and was trying to follow their route as they passed street signs.

Yor smiled faintly as she drove.

Ordinarily, Loid would be the one driving, but even though he didn’t have any work related tasks to do this weekend, Anya had requested to go with just Yor, and make it a mother-daughter day.

They were headed to an area bordering the Miriquidi forest in lower east Ostania, an area pointed out by Franky as a good place to hunt for old, near-rotten stumps, which her step-daughter Anya needed for… some reason. It was just over 180 kilometers away, and Anya intended to bring back some things, so Yor had needed to rent a car with a sizeable boot in the back.

While there were doubtlessly closer places to look, removing natural features from a park would be a crime, as would be trespassing. But the area Franky had found was a large bit of hilly land near the Ore mountains that had been used for timber for generations, and the owner lived in Berlint, so it was a simple matter to get permission to visit.

Anya was decently helpful as a navigator, not that Yor really needed the assistance, but it was appreciated. Mostly, they spent the approximately three hour trip in a mix of conversation and contemplation.

“…That’s why you must be careful with light colors,” Yor explained. “While they certainly feel cool and summery, the least little thing can leave an embarrasing stain.”

“Wouldn’t pure white be better than pastels or brights, then?” Anya asked. “Because then you could just use bleach.”

“That’s true, but it weakens the fabric if you use it very much. That’s okay with some things, but not with others,” she replied. With how active she had to be in combat at times, any weak spots in her clothes had an awfully embarrassing tendency to tear.

“Oh, yes. You do move like a superhuman gymnast,” Anya said, out of nowhere. “I can see how rips would be a problem. But what about other stain removers? I’ve heard hydrogen peroxide is good on blood stains.”

Yor glanced at the girl in surprise before turning her eyes back on the road. They’d been talking about dirt, grass, and ink stains beforehand. Sometimes it seemed like her stepdaughter had very morbid thoughts. “Well, yes,” she agreed, a touch awkward. “Peroxide is good at removing blood stains, but it does cause bleaching on many colors.”

Anya’s face lit up in realization. “Oh, yeah, the oxygenation! I suppose that would mess with many dyes.”

They sat in silence for a while, Anya clearly thinking hard.

Yor left her to it. Anya’s thoughts, while often seeming to come out of nowhere, were frequently interesting, at the least.

Still, it nearly startled her into a swerve when Anya suddenly yelled:

“MEAT TENDERIZER!”

“Hah?!” Yor replied, her heart pounding.

“Bromelin! It’s an enzyme in meat tenderizer used for cooking. It breaks up proteins, and I’m pretty sure it breaks up some other kinds of chemical bonds, too. I think it would work for removing blood stains, and should be safe for fabrics, too,” Anya gushed excitedly.

Yor had never heard of anyone using meat tenderizer as a stain remover, but Anya was a genius, after all. “So how would you use it?” she asked, smiling at the excited girl.

Anya opened her mouth. “Ah… Hmm. Probably just use it as a paste. But you have to let meat soak it in for a while. That might just be to let it actually get into the meat, but it might be a reaction speed thing? Hmm. Well, we’ll just have to experiment, also known as just messing around, but you write down the results. SCIENCE!” Anya cried, her tiny fist shooting up.

“Science!” Yor echoed with a smile.

They ultimately had a very pleasant day driving out to the forest lands. Once there they prowled around, hiking through the hills and valleys. Anya had several botany books, and Yor carried a bag full of tools.

It took a while, as Anya was searching for something specific according to her own inscrutable standards, but near a small creek flowing between two hills, they finally found a small tree stump she liked.

It was about 30cm across, and the wood had turned black with age and rot. It also had a coating of green moss, and several shelf mushrooms growing on its side, which Anya had, after some effort with her books, identified as either blushing brackets or a particularly brown example of mossy maze polypore.

Neither species was edible, unlike the several clusters of sulphur shelf mushrooms they had collected during their hike.

The stump was somewhat rotten, but still firm enough to not crumble under their touch. It had several spreading roots, but was reasonably compact overall. Anya loved it.

By herself, she couldn’t have done much with it. But while Yor was no ditch digger, neither a shovel nor a saw was hard to use, and she plucked it from the ground with less than thirty minutes of work. Most of the time was spent just being careful.

Once they had it removed, they bagged it up in a large canvas sack and carried it home.

Anya nattered about her plans for it as part of an art piece, and Yor drove.

‘This motherhood business isn’t so bad,’ Yor thought happily to herself.

Anya leaned over from the passenger seat and gave her a hug.

AN: Kinda short, but Yor is hard. Next chapter is a bit longer, and features Franky. It's on my Patreon.

Note: I am writing again. I had stopped my patreon about a year ago, because I got a new job and didn't have much time for writing. Things went well for a while. New insurance helped me pay for my meds, things looked good.

Then I got sicker. And sicker. And lost the new job.

I am now unemployed and on medicaid. I'm broke. I'm also pretty sick, and it doesn't look good for getting better. This is probably the downward spiral.

So the Patreon is back up. I can't promise a rigid schedule due to health reasons. But I AM writing as much as I can. There's new chapters of both Then Be Batman and Ice Pie on my patreon.

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

Some other new stories and new materials are also incoming. Your support is appreciated!

Edit: I forgot the link. I have a new story up, Then be Batman. Let me know what you think.

 

xxxxxxxxx Chapter 15: Interlude Franky


Franky paused in the doorway and took a cautious sniff.

The rotten stump Anya and Yor had brought home wasn’t just covered in fungus, it was also full of mold. That wasn’t a problem when it was fresh from the wilds and damp with moisture, but by the first evening, when he’d come over, it had dried out and released spores everywhere, to the detriment of all present.

“I said I was sorry,” Anya told him with a roll of her eyes as she stared up at him. “For the record, I sneezed all night, too, even after we put the stump outside.”

“I spent two days dusting the place,” Loid said with a small smile as he invited Franky in. “Twice.”

“I helped!” Anya insisted.

“Yes you did. Everything you could reach,” Loid agreed.

Everyone glanced at Anya’s diminutive form and looked away innocently. The little girl pouted at having her efforts dismissed.

“Welcome again, Franky,” Yor greeted.

Franky still found it hard to believe that Loid had just… went out and found an intensely beautiful woman who was willing to pretend to have been married to him for more than a year. One who didn’t mind that he had a kid, even.

Though, admittedly, Anya was weird enough she might just be hanging around to see what the little goblin did next.

Still, Yor was a gracious host, and not at all unpleasant to be around. She was pretty quiet, not at all inclined to get involved in most discussions, but it wasn’t that she was stupid. The black haired woman actually had very keen eyes and seemed to carefully follow their conversations, but only spoke up if she felt she actually had something meaningful to say. It was actually an interesting contrast in the different types of intelligences people could have.

Loid viewed words as just another tool. He didn’t mind speaking, but when he spoke, he always had a goal in mind. With Franky, he was generally trying to convey information, or receive information. With most other people, he was either trying to convince them to do something, or trick them into doing something.

Yor, on the other hand, seemed to have a rather cautious relationship with words. Yor was a thinker, a watcher, and a doer. Getting into a conversation didn’t really seem to scare her, but she also didn’t place much personal value in it. For Yor, words were just something she had to do sometimes, and it was best to be short and succinct about it. Ordinarily, Franky would have kind of looked down on that sort of attitude as the kind of thing fit only for brutes and manual laborers, but Anya had been talking him around, bringing up various psychological studies, and telling him of some saying by an American scientist, something about fish climbing trees. And for all that Yor was completely bizarre for just going with the situation Loid proposed, it was clear that she was far from dumb.

He’d watched her and Anya perform a long series of experiments testing ways of getting blood out of clothes, and while it was definitely Anya’s idea to start with, Yor was quick to think of ways of testing things like fabric tensile strength and color fade afterwards, in repeatable, controlled methods. Maybe it was just her womanly fashion knowledge, but she did genuinely seem to have a good idea of how to put things together.

Speaking of Anya, there was another, rarer kind of intelligence he didn’t think he’d ever really ran into before. Anya loved words. She played with them. Instead of something to avoid, like Yor, or merely a means to an end, like Loid, conversation with Anya was like playing with a toy construction set. They had a bunch of parts, words, and Anya liked sharing the task of putting them together to see what new thing they might create.

Maybe that was just her being a child.

Maybe.

She certainly didn’t act much like a child in other ways.

That wasn’t a complaint, though. He practically shuddered to imagine the difficulty of their mission if Anya had been just another whiny, needy child, instead of a logical and mature co-conspirator.

After a bit of basic hospitality, they all gathered on the couch. Several low tables had been set up, with one bit of secondhand furniture occupying center focus.

But before that, he had a delivery to make.

“Here you go, kid,” Franky announced, opening his bag and pulling out a cube shaped contraption.

At first glance, it might seem similar to the relatively recently released ‘Rubix Cube’, a toy that had been internationally released in 1980. Anya had one of those, actually, and had quickly solved it. She dismissed any idea that solving the cube was an intellectual challenge, pointing out that, while it might be a difficult for someone just seeing the thing for the first time, actual solutions were based on mathematical parity and memorizing a few simple patterns, algorithms, were all it took to solve the thing.

Privately, Frankie had thought much the same thing, having had little trouble with the toy himself. You just needed to think logically.

The cube he presented was smaller, and made of a mix of brass and plastic. The concept was Anya’s, though he’d had to show her how machine shops preferred to have their designs laid out. Each side of the cube had some sort of interactable switch.

“So this is what you were talking about, Anya,” Loid mused as he looked at it.

Anya took it, then passed it to the others. Yor took it first, and turned it over in her hands to examine it from all angles.

“What does it do?” Yor asked.

Side one had three rocker switches. One was a simple on off, the middle one had a neutral middle setting, and the last one was based on a rheostat and would stay in whatever position you put it in.

Side two had nine pushbuttons, which would stay down on the first click, or pop back up on the second click.

Side three had a simple ‘pop’ membrane button, which just made a pop when clicked.

Side four had a little wheel along one edge that would click like a ratchet as it spun one way, or spin freely the other.

Side five had a little stick sticking out of it with a rounded top. The stick wanted to stay centered, but could be wiggled in any direction.

And the last side, side six, had a metal ball set in it, so that about a third of the ball protruded from the side. The ball could be spun in any orientation.

“It doesn’t do anything!” Anya replied proudly as Yor worked some of the buttons, which produced satisfying clicks. “I call it the Fidget Cube!”

“Eh?”

“Okay,” Anya announced, going into lecture mode. “Have you ever been bored? Pretty much everyone has. Okay, imagine you’re bored, but you’re in, say, an office environment. You have to be there. You can’t just get up and go for a walk. You also can’t just pull out of a book and start reading. Reading is ‘doing something’,” she said, making air quotes. “You’re supposed to be working, so you can’t ‘do something’ else, right? But for the moment, you don’t actually have any work. That’s kinda why you’re bored. So, for most people, kids especially, you pick up something and toy with it. A pen, or a pencil. Maybe you sharpen it a bit. Or dig your fingernail into it and scratch it. Maybe you find a paperclip and bend it.

“It’s especially prevalent with us kids, right? Generally speaking, we haven’t really learned patience yet. As you get older, you get more patient, you learn to live in your head, imagining things or remembering or whatever, but that’s hard when you’re young. But it’s not just the young kids, either. A lot of savants, or people with some savant traits-“

Here she and Loid shared significant looks. Franky understood, the topic had come up a few times between he and Loid as well.

“-just need some sort of stimulation. So that’s what this is. A source of easy, tactile stimulation that will fit in a pocket. It doesn’t do anything. There’s no point in toying with it. And yet, if you have it at hand, it’s exceptionally easy to just… let your fingers poke at it while you think.”

They all turned to look expectantly at Franky.

He blushed faintly.

“She’s right,” he admitted. “I couldn’t keep my hands off it earlier today. I think I’m going to have one made for myself.”

“Exactly!” Anya said proudly. “Ideally, we’d sell the idea to a toy manufacturer for a percentage or something, though I don’t know if it’d actually be worth the trouble.” She nodded deliberately at her adopted father, and caught Franky’s eyes, too. “By itself maybe not, but I’ve been refining some of my other ideas, and maybe if I have a big enough portfolio?” Anya shrugged. “You know I’ve been working on the ‘Spin Duelist’ idea, and the associated ‘Fairy Flier’.”

Yor passed the now named Fidget Cube to Loid.

“And the Fidget Spinner,” Loid reminded.

“Yeah, if they ever finish making them,” Anya agreed.

Franky knew that the devices were being made by a shop back in Westalis.

“I was also looking at the vacuum when we were cleaning up the other day, and I think I can make a better one. That’s the kind of thing that might make some real money,” Anya admitted.

“Does it spin?” Franky joked. So far, basically everything the little genius had made involved spinning in some form or another. He’d made a few jokes poking gentle fun at her before.

Anya snorted. “Ah-“

She cut herself off suddenly, a conflicted expression on her face.

Franky laughed at the sight of it. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Shit,” she said in a defeated voice.

“Anya!” Loid and Yor both exclaimed.

“Sorry!” she replied, blushing. “Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” She glanced at the angry and disappointed expression on her adopted parents faces and hastened to explain. “It sort of does spin. I mean, obviously there’s the motor itself, and the turbine. But the idea is, right-“

They were still frowning at her foul language. Loid had even stopped fiddling with the cube and set it down on the table between them.

“Current vacuum cleaners just suck up dirt and blow it into a bag, right? Some have the suction turbine in front of the bag, so the exhaust is what goes in the bag. That’s great for initial suction, but rough on the turbine. Any rock or other hard object that gets in the turbine can break off blades. Others have the turbine behind the bag. The suction pulls the debris stream through the bag, which traps the dirt. That keeps the turbine safe, but reduces suction power.

“And both types have the fundamental problem that, as the bag and filters get clogged with dirt, the air has a harder time getting through it. You lose suction power from the restriction of the bag, and you really lose suction power as it clogs. The whole thing is really kind of inefficient.”

Her parents expressions were starting to lighten as they considered what she was saying.

“So what we need to do is to remove the dirt from the air stream, but without using a filter that will clog up. That’s hard to do, but it came to me earlier,” Anya explained.

“You spin it,” Franky said thoughtfully.

“Yep! So, yeah, I know, it seems like everything I think of involves spinning, but that’s just because spinning is easy. So, you know what centrifugal force is. When you spin a thing, it wants to leave the spin and fly out according to the angular momentum. The faster you spin, the more force there is.

“So what we need to do is spin the air. Like a cyclone! Like a tornado. Take a cylinder. Something smooth sided. Or maybe even a cone. We’d have to experiment. But anyway, have it so that the air, as it enters, goes through a ring of ports that puts it into a spin. If you have a fast air stream, which you want anyway for suction power, and you tighten the spin, we should get enough centrifugal force to yank the dirt right out of the air! The clean, light air can find an exit in the middle, but the dirt is left behind. The advantage is a higher overall suction power for a given motor power, and it won’t clog until there’s literally so much dirt the cyclone is blocked. Hold on, I made some sketches.” She quickly ran out of the room.

Franky and Loid shared a Look. A mutual commiseration for the surprising trials of dealing with a genius. Loid sat the Fidget Cube down on the table.

Yor just looked vaguely proud, but she did glare at Franky.

“Have you been teaching our daughter to swear?” Yor demanded.

Franky shook his head frantically.

Fortunately, Anya returned quickly with a notebook, which she passed around.

“While you look at that, here’s what I’ve got going on for the stump,” Anya announced. “Since the mold or whatever on the stump proved to be an allergen, we had to clean it up, but without altering its looks, because looking like a mossy stump covered in mushrooms is the point. So we got a large tub and soaked it in methanol, wood alcohol. That killed everything living in it, washed off most of the spores, and dehydrates the moss cells. Then we drained it and soaked it in a glycerin solution, which fills the moss cells back up and preserves them. I also did some of the other mosses we collected, but most of this we just bought at a flower shop. It’s easier.”

Franky had never heard of preserving moss like that, but apparently it was a known thing if you could just buy it at a shop. Anya read a wide range of books. He was a reader himself, but mostly stuck to technical manuals.

“So here’s how this goes together. We’ve got the little table we found,” she said, indicating a small round table they’d found at a secondhand shop. It currently had the stump sitting on the top of it, with the roots trimmed so that it didn’t hang over. “The stump goes on top, obviously. And I’ll use moss and some filler to make sure it looks natural sitting up there. I also need to find a way of inclosing the bottom, or part of the bottom, between the legs to hide the electronics. And it goes like this.” She began to pick up various bits and pieces arrayed before her.

A bright white lightbulb would be put into a mirrored, parabolic housing, so the focused light could only escape through a clustered trio of holes that made about a third of an arc circle.

There, the light would pass through a round, spinning, colored filter. A whole rainbow of colors, from red to purple, made of strips of overlapping filter media turned into a wheel. This wheel had to be spun by an electric motor. The three separate holes would focus the light through three different sections of the filter wheel, resulting in a progression of colors for each one in the group, and a changing gradient for each one individually.

“We want variable speed, so it needs a rheostat. And it needs to be able to go pretty slow, so we might need to gear it down. But mainly we need it to be quiet and efficient. That’s where I need your help, Franky. We need to hit some electronic shops and put this thing together,” Anya explained.

Once the now colored light passed through the filter, it entered each of three oddly shaped glass bottles.

“I’ve got mock-ups made with clay, here. I honestly don’t see any way of getting it made short of just going to a glassmaker and asking them to make it. It needs to be very clear glass, too.”

The three clay mock-ups looked like cylinders designed to sit in close proximity to each other, and each one terminated in a third of a dome on top. When put together, they would direct each color of light in a different direction, both out and up. They would need to coat it in a mirror solution, which wasn’t the hardest thing to do, but they had to leave a number of gaps in the mirror coating.

“We’ll probably just coat the outside. I can just put wax over the places I want light to actually go through, like the bottom where the light comes in through the filter, and the places on the top I want it to leave. And once it’s mirror coated, we’ll fill it up with a bleach solution that will keep it clean and let the light shine through properly.”

At the top, across the dome pieces, a half dozen clear spots would be left. These would each be mated with another piece of glass, hollow and partially mirrored just like the main one.

“I originally intended for it to be all one piece, but I think it would be too hard for the glassmaker to actually make,” Anya confessed. “So I broke it up.”

The light would go through the tendrils and exit the end of them. But each tendril would end inside various decorations, mostly mushrooms Anya had made, which she had been spending her days working on.

“Most are made of colored silicone gel,” she said, showing them off. Toadstools and shelf mushrooms and fat little button mushrooms. “I made some of them by shaping them by hand, and others I made through a lost wax process to get the fiddly bits right, like the veils and gills. A couple are made of actual hard wax, and I tried using some clear plastic for one but I don’t think it turned out well. I’d like to get a couple of glass ones made, too.”

Again, Franky exchanged a look with Loid, who just shrugged.

“So, obviously, the point is that we hollow out the underside of the stump and run all this glass through it. The mirrored surface and the bleach solution will channel the colored light to everywhere we want, without losing much brightness. These mushrooms are translucent or transparent, so when the light hits their underside, they’ll glow. The color wheel is there so that they’ll turn a rainbow of shades as it spins. We even might want to stop it sometimes. It’d be nice to be able to select one specific color by hitting a button, but it’d probably be easier just to have a knob that can control the speed, and you stop it when it hits the color you want.” She shook her head. “Anyway, isn’t it going to be pretty? A magical fairy sort of setting. An old mossy stump covered in magical glowing rainbow mushrooms. I want to make some fairy figures to sit on it, too, but mainly I just need to get the lighting done first.”

Franky could see it in his head. That would actually be kind of pretty. Not really a money making sort of idea, but the kind of art piece she could carry to school to impress people.

Because ultimately, that’s what this was about. Anya, as a precocious genius, needed to have a backlog of precocious genius examples, or it’d be weird that she’d show up to school and excel in everything, but have no history.

It was kind of interesting.

Franky followed Loid more out of personal loyalty than any real sense of ideology. Yes, he agreed that war sucked and people shouldn’t do it, but the kind of all-encompassing motivation for peace that Loid showed had sort of passed him by.

But being with Anya helped him understand. How many other Anyas were out there, orphaned by war and never getting a chance to show what they could do?

Well, that was the point of all this, he supposed. Not just a career as a spy, but working to keep the ever paranoid and xenophobic Ostania from restarting the war.

Belatedly, he realized that at some point, he’d picked up the Fidget Cube and was playing with it again.

Although, partnering with a little genius to make a bunch of money didn’t sound bad, either.



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AN: Loid's interlude is up on my patreon.

https://www.patreon.com/Nugar

I'm a little slow at the moment, but I'm supposed to get new meds after the start of the new month which will hopefully help. Did you know that medicaid limits you to 6 medications a month that they'll pay for? Because they do. What do you do when you need more than six?

Fuck you for being poor and sick, amirite?

 

xxxxxxxxx Chapter 16: Interlude Loid


Loid sat at the dining table, stacks of papers in various piles around him. On one corner, a brass, three lobed 'Fidget Spinner' steadily lost speed.

Along with the seven little toys, HQ had sent backdated and carefully aged 'notes', purporting to track the precocious development of his daughter. The notes were based on data gathered from other studies, but adjusted here and there based on his observations of Anya. They were fairly informally styled, to sell the idea that he, a psychologist, made them out of curiosity, but had no intention of publishing them as a case study.

The tragic loss of his wife, Anya's subsequent withdrawal, and the shattering of their lives meant that any interest they might have had in fame had been thoroughly squashed under the necessities of putting their lives back together.

He liked that. It seemed nicely plausible, covered many holes, and saved him from a lot of problematic work.

In the kitchen, Anya and Yor were nattering on about cooking. Yor was a terrible cook, but Anya insisted that it had to be a skill issue and she just needed careful instruction and a chance to gain experience.

Anya was not a particularly great cook, either, but she wasn't hopeless. She could follow a recipe and understood the principles, but was generally stymied by the physical issue of being 101cm tall.

Also, she tended to get distracted and overcook things, or even burn them. Her mind raced like a car engine, and tended to overlook the small stuff when she was excited. Anya was, at least, aware of the issue, and made liberal use of an egg timer to remind her to check what she was cooking.

Loid was currently looking through her art portfolio, which was sure to be a major topic in their upcoming meeting with the school. The 'Fairy Stump' was nearly done. It had only taken a few days for a glassmaker to make the required 'light pipes'. They had coated them in mirror silver the night before, and Franky was scheduled to come back over in two days for the light filter installation.

Anya was already considering trying to make little fairy doll versions of the three of them to sit under a big mushroom on the very top of the stump, and had gotten both Yor and him to sit down for some sketches, which honestly came out fairly well, much to her excitement.

The plan was to take most of her art to the school, as part of their plan to get more Stella Stars. He had a clear progression of material, starting with stick figures and coloring book pages, and terminating at the stump. All of the art was even her work. HQ had sent over art examples of what she should have created at different ages, and she'd redone them in her own style, successfully mimicking the lack of sophistication.

Arguably her greatest piece, or at least the most poignant, was a sketch of her 'mother'. Going by her description of what she vaguely remembered as her actual mother, and combining that with a list of dead women with acceptably vague histories, they'd managed to put together some 'old photographs' of the family, which were 'hidden' so as not to offend Yor. Anya had taken one and, with deliberately crude but also painfully exacting lines, drew her several times in an 'old' sketchbook.

Then sprinkled little drops of water all over it for authenticity.

She was so proud of herself.

Loid, however, was left with the question that came up all too often with his adopted daughter.

Where the hell did she learn these things?

Anya came back from the kitchen and hauled herself up into a chair, then leaned forwards and gave the spinner an enthusiastic flick, setting it going again.

"Wow," she said. "Mama could burn cereal, and she's got no sense for spices at all. But her knife work is impeccable. She could get hired at the fanciest restaurant in the country as a prep cook in an instant. She knows the difference between cubed, chopped, and diced better than I do, and she's so fast!"

"Is she safe to be left alone in there?" Loid asked quietly.

Anya gave him a thumb's up.

"We're not doing Bavarian beef stew this time, but more of a tomato based one," she explained. "Fewer steps, and it doesn't use wine. She's just putting stuff in the pot at the moment."

They had the Bavarian version once every week or two, which used beef cubes braised in a red wine sauce. Loid actually had noticed that Yor was exceptionally skilled at meal prep, if not the actual cooking.

"Where did you learn the recipe?" he asked his daughter curiously.

"Previous family," she said very very quietly, then resumed her normal volume. "Bone broth and tomato sauce base, with beef, potatoes, and every kind of bean you can find. The only spices are salt, black pepper, and a little bit of thyme."

He nodded thoughtfully. That sounded nicely hearty. Sometimes, he wished he could meet the previous family that had adopted her. Some of the things he heard about them seemed wholesome. Others… just made him want to slap them and ask what the hell was wrong with them that they would essentially discard a child as special as Anya.

Though she did admit that she'd pretended to be a normal, unexceptional girl in front of them, but what kind of events made her even think about something like that? It was clear Anya had learned deception before the married couple had ever lain eyes on her.

"How goes the presentation?" she asked, glancing at his materials.

"It's a large project, but it should pass scrutiny. Thank you for your efforts," he praised.

Anya gave him a bright smile.

The ding of an egg timer cut their conversation short, and she gave the spinner one last flick, then hopped down and hurried back into the kitchen.


xxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxx


"No, Anya. Let Franky do the soldering," Loid chided gently.

She pouted just a little. "Fine. But I'm going to need my own tools eventually."

It was the night of the final assembly for the Fairy Stump. Only nine days remained until school officially started, and they needed to go three days early for a meeting with the faculty about Anya's placement.

The mirrored glass pipes had been inserted in holes carefully drilled in the old stump, and capped with the fake mushrooms. The hardest part, at least for them, had been the boring of a large hole up from the underside of the stump, which had required the dual efforts of both Yor and Loid, working with large drill bits, a wood borer, a keyhole saw, and chisels.

At some length, however, they had managed to get the three big light cylinders inserted and mated to the branching glass pipes. When a flashlight was shone into the bottom of the main cylinders, the corresponding mushrooms had obligingly lit up. Franky was doing the final installation of the filter wheel, gearbox, and motor, as well as the controls.

"We already compromised on the knife set you wanted," he countered. "I agree that you're responsible, but you're still very small, and lack dexterity."

"Eh, the whale knives are as much an art project as anything else. I wish I could make them myself, it'd mean more, but yeah." She sighed. "I'm just so small." Anya shook her head. "Do you think they'll have them done by the time school starts? Is that the kind of thing we should carry?"

"I don't see why not. You're going to be using them for your art, right? Their cutting edge is no bigger than a penknife, it should be fine," Yor, expert in all things bladed, interjected.

Down on the floor, atop a drop cloth and slab of wood brought for the purpose, Franky finished the final connections and sealed them in rubber tape. Once he plugged in the power cord and checked to make sure there were no shorts, everyone gathered close for the test of the switches and dials.

The table now had a 'skirt' of thin, bent wood hanging from the table top, which would hide the filter wheel mechanism. It was sanded and polished and stained the same color as the original table, and bore a small array of controls set in the wood, each carefully labeled by engravings filled with white crayon.

There was a master on/off rocker switch, which powered the assembly. Next was another switch labeled 'continuous' and 'timed'. Setting the switch to continuous made the sixty watt white mercury lightbulb in its parabolic housing light up. Like a flashlight, the only way out for the light was through a hole on one side, which focused the light properly. Also, a small, quiet fan turned on, which would circulate air to keep it from getting too hot.

Next was an adjustable rheostat with a turnable knob. Franky carefully twisted it clockwise, and with a soft click, the electric motor started to spin. They'd been forced to use a gearbox with a chain of small gears, more so they could set the motor to the side and out of the light path than any real need in gear reduction, though it did end up at a 2:1 ratio. Franky sped it up and slowed it down several times, and while there was a noticeable buzz of gear noise at full speed, it wasn't overwhelming.

The last of the controls were those of a timer. The lights could be set up to turn off after a custom set of time, or, with the push of a single large button, the whole setup would turn on, run for fifteen minutes, then turn itself off.

The idea was, if Anya needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, she could hit the button from her bed and have a nightlight that would last until she got back in bed, and turn itself off about the point she was falling back asleep.

"Well, it looks good so far," Franky admitted. "Let's install everything now."

Boards had already been cut and pre-fitted. As an art piece showcasing the clever use of light, the whole thing had been made to come apart easily for demonstration, with wingnuts holding things in place instead of screws, and plenty of insulation on the wires. All they had to do was put on the color filter wheel, put things in place, and hand tighten the appropriate wingnuts. Except for getting the filter properly affixed to the shaft, it took less than five minutes.

Loid poured three glasses of wine and one glass of cider. Franky packed his tools. Yor got the lights, plunging the room into darkness.

Anya hit the switch.

The mercury bulb took several seconds to reach operating temperature, meaning the glow, when it started, was subtle, but it quickly built.

Since there were three light pipe groups, the glowing mushrooms had three distinct groupings going around the stump, with one including the largest, central mushroom sprouting from the top of the stump. Each pipe also matched a different area on the color wheel. The left group was on yellow-green, the middle and front was on blue, and the right was on red. The bright colors gave the dark wood and matted moss an ethereal, fey quality, as intended.

Then Anya turned the dial, and the colors changed. Slowly, the light advanced, a literal rainbow of color dancing around the stump in a spiral of playfulness and imagination.

It was all too easy to imagine tiny little fairies dancing around the stump, flitting to and fro, and sitting under and on the magic toadstools, giggling the while.

Loid glanced at Anya.

Her eyes were shining.

They all toasted the art piece's success. It had taken most of the month, and he knew Anya still wanted to add some fairy figurines, but it was basically done, and in time for them to show it off for the administration at Eden Academy.

"It's lovely, Anya," Yor said softly.

"Pfsh, I barely did any of it actually myself," she scoffed. "And I bet the school people don't believe it was really me, either. That's why I wrote everything down, all the steps and whatnot."

"Kid, you handed me a wiring diagram," Franky countered. "Whether those stuffy old teachers believe you or not, this was your idea. There's no shame in contracting out specialty work. I'd have to hire people, too, if I was your size."

Anya bobbled her head in mild agreement. "Well, like I said, I wrote down the steps. It's not like this thing is all that important, what's important is that it shows the process. I gotta have a reputation for doing stuff like this, so it's more believable in the future when I pull out something new. I don't want to be a one hit wonder, after all."

"Somehow, I doubt this is the limit of the surprises you have in store for us," Loid said wryly, thinking about what he knew about his co-conspirator.

"Heh. Yeah. Speaking of which, we need to find out what the legal situation is for inventing things at school is. Obviously, I want to invent some stuff very publically, under the eye of the teachers, where no one can doubt me. But if I make something at school, do they get ownership, or part ownership of the idea? If it's on school time, and all? I don't want to give them anything valuable. I think it'd be nice if we could monetize some of my stuff."

Franky and Loid exchanged another Look.

"Why would they have any claim to anything you come up with?" Yor asked. "If it's your idea."

"Well, some enterprising teacher could immediately go file a patent and claim it was his. Or the school could say that, since I did it during time I was supposed to be conjugating verbs, it's theirs. Or maybe they'd say that, since I invented whatever using school supplies, the school owns the prototype. I don't know, Mama, and that's the point. We don't want to get blindsided by some clever, greedy a-ah, uh, person." The tiny pink haired girl gave them a grimace in the rainbow fairy light.

"O-oh. I suppose greed can make people do some terribly, terribly unwise things," the woman replied, her own face a stern mask that, for a moment, made Loid pity anyone foolish enough to attempt to cheat Anya out of her due.

"I'll look into it, and we'll discuss it at the upcoming meeting," Loid promised. "We won't be caught unawares." He paused. "I do have to remind you, however, that you don't have to go that far. You're already a prodigy, you don't have to have a portfolio of inventions on top of that. It's not necessary," he stressed.

"Maybe not, but it might make things easier," Anya countered. "A smart little girl is one thing. A smart little girl that keeps coming up with valuable inventions, inventions that can raise her comfortably upper middle class family into the nouveau rich? Investment opportunities for the elite and wealthy? Let's see them ignore us then."

She twisted the dial all the way to the right, and the gentle rainbow waves became a pulsing strobe, a riot of color and potential.

"Their children will read my stories and play with my toys. Their servants will use my inventions. They will buy my art. And we?" She turned, so her face was hidden in shadow. "We will succeed, Papa."

She paused.

"Muahahahah!"

"Seven out of ten," Franky announced.

"Pppfth, what? That's a ten out of ten, and you know it!" Anya cried out, offended.

"Mmm, you know how the Russky judge is."

As his friend and daughter started squabbling, Yor turned on the lights again and went to the kitchen. She returned with a plate of what Anya called 'oatmeal candies' or 'no-bake cookies', another recipe she'd learned from her previous family. A chocolatey, peanut buttery cookie filled with oatmeal, which was sweeter than it sounded.

Loid sat there and stared at the Fairy Stump, which was still glowing, though it was washed out by the living room lights.

He had a mission. A mission for peace.

Really, the mission was almost a retirement, of sorts. He had a great track record, a service history full of successes. But that kind of running, gunning, and sneaking around was a young man's game, and Loid had recently passed thirty years of age. Old injuries were catching up to him, and while his skills were as sharp as ever, eventually he was going to make a mistake he couldn't afford.

Transitioning from active spy to long term embedded asset was a way for him to still contribute, but lower his risk profile. And it wasn't as if it was just a make work mission, no, if he could gain the ears of Ostania's elite, he'd be able to do more to keep war from breaking out than he ever could meeting shadowy figures in the dark.

To that end, getting a family had been a necessary bother. Ideally, a suitable female fellow agent would have been his wife, and the trials of an adopted daughter could be managed.

Of course, problems came up in every mission.

'Marrying' a local, unaffiliated girl was acceptable. Yor was pleasant, didn't pry, and fit right in. He liked Yor. At this point, he'd pick Yor over another agent, and he hoped that everything continued to go smoothly.

But a big part of the reason everything had been going so well was Anya.

Never, in all his years, had he had the kind of out of nowhere advantage Anya presented. A true genius, a prodigy that would shake the world, hiding out as an orphan in a run-down orphanage. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew there was no way anyone could have predicted he'd go there and pick her, he'd almost wonder if he was being pranked. You just didn't run into people like Anya.

But who was Anya?

A genius, yes, but that's just what she was. Who was she? Where was she from? How did she know the things she did?

Why was she as devoted to deceiving those around her as much as he was?

Anya didn't just help create the backstory, she understood the need for a backstory, and how to add believability to it. Her contributions added verisimilitude to the fabricated history.

There was no reason for anyone to doubt the veracity of the Forger family.

They were a bright, happy family with a bright, precociously creative child, who was advancing fast, but not unrealistically fast. Then a tragedy, followed by a long period of grieving where she abandoned many of her previous hobbies and became more introverted and disinterested, but found solace in reading, absorbing facts about a wild range of topics.

Then her father found a new love, and the adaptable Anya embraced her new mother, finding new, feminine interests and a role model with wildly different experiences. Yor was no intellectual, but showed excellence in her own chosen fields equal to any of the more cerebral works of the father.

Unfortunately, some damage was done, the girl missing out on some of the formative periods of socialization other children would enjoy, but more of that was about her being unable to relate to age peers than a true lack of opportunity. Thus, the family goal of putting Anya in a school of such quality that she could find other prodigies like herself, as well as giving the girl the kind of learning opportunities and challenges she would never find at lesser institutions. With support, education, and socialization, she would brim with ideas.

The mission honestly looked great. His only real concern at this point was that she was almost certainly far more advanced than the young son of his target, Damian. While the boy would have had access to the finest tutors and attention available, there was a big difference between 'decently intelligent child with the finest education' and 'serious contender for most intelligent child in the world'.

But Anya had that covered. She was going to be an Imperial Scholar, that wasn't in doubt. And there was another Desmond scion already a part of that group. She would attack from both angles, attempting to befriend Damian by appealing to his interests, and trying to gain the attention of the older Demetrius through a mix of writing, art, inventions, and sheer academic prowess. Even if the children proved reticent, surely Lord Donovan would be interested in the ongoing spectacle that was Anya.

Loid certainly would! He could barely believe the things she did, and he lived with her.

Some of the people back at HQ did not believe his reports. Only the weight of his impeccable service history allowed him to convince them to provide the kind of records a prodigy of her caliber required.

Things like the Fidget Cube and Spinner, those were within the realm of belief. A child inventing a toy is hardly unheard of. The Fairy Stump was pushing the envelope. The artistic idea wasn't overwhelming, but the use of light and color seemed almost beyond what a six year old could imagine on their own, for all that he had quite a few pages of her notes on exactly the train of logic that had resulted in it.

Her idea for the 'Spin Duelists' and associated 'Fairy Flier' weren't too bad, until she proudly showed them the design for the dual use launcher, which would drop the spinning top, or release the flying doll respectively. But, sure. No one would believe that she really designed that on her own, clearly some adult had a hand in it.

Anya's design for a 'cyclonic vacuum' had, if you'll forgive the reference to her art piece, stumped him.

There was no one she could crib from. It didn't exist. No one had patented it, and when asked, she couldn't point to any reference books that talked about the principles of the idea, other than topics about cyclones and centrifugal force. Somehow, his adopted daughter had spontaneously come up with a serious engineering marvel in her head because she didn't like their vacuum cleaner.

And she had more ideas, things which might be just as inventive. Ideas she knew that she had to somehow make believable before she even told her family about them! The face she presented to him was itself a deception, one made not to inflate her importance, but to downplay her abilities! He'd caught her mumbling about them sometimes, and matched them to cryptic notations in her journals.

Most concerning was the quiet conversation with herself he'd overheard one day while she was writing.

'No, that's too many inventions this quick. Got to slow down, space them out into something plausible. No one's going to believe a little girl came up with this stuff. Got to have a reputation first. Invent it in front of people so they can see me do it.'

Anya talked to herself fairly often, especially when distracted. He supposed it was the result of being without a conversation partner for most of her life, with only books to fill the void. Honestly, it was a terrible habit for a spy, and could very easily tank the mission if she did it in front of the wrong person about the right topic.

But he didn't want to train it out of her. Not yet. Not until he knew.

Not until he understood.

Why did Anya know what she knew?


xxxxxxxxx

AN:

The scene in the anime where Yor deftly cubes some steak and throws it in a pan with a red wine sauce is almost certainly bavarian beef stew.

I was raised making 'oatmeal candies', which I learned later in life are more commonly called 'no bake cookies'. We called them oatmeal candies because oatmeal cookies were so obviously something entirely different. They're really good but I can't have them anymore, heh.

'Oatmeal Candies'
There are other recipes out there, but this one is mine.

Combine the following in a large pot (I don't recommend non-stick pots, you're gonna have to stir vigorously and scrape the sides)
2 1/2 cup white granulated sugar
1 stick (8 tablespoons) butter
4 tablespoons cocoa powder
2/3 cup (one small can) evaporated milk (usually carnation evaporated milk, NOT sweetened condensed)

Slowly bring to a slow boil, stirring frequently to mix the ingredients. With relatively little liquid, it has a bad tendency to stick to the pot and burn, so bring the temp up slowly and stir and scrape the sides and bottom. Once a slow, steady boil has been achieved, start a timer. Boil for four minutes, then turn off the heat.

Add
2 tablespoons vanilla extract and stir.
8 heaping tablespoons of creamy peanut butter and stir until thoroughly mixed.
2 1/2 cups of dry plain oatmeal and stir until thoroughly mixed.

Spoon cookie sized lumps out onto a large non-stick baking pan. This recipe amount usually fills up two pans depending on spacing. They're quite good warm and gooey, but given an hour or so to cool, they will turn hard and crumbly and cookie-like. The flavor is chocolaty and peanut buttery and oatmealy, but with subtle flavors of vanilla, too.

If you boiled it too long, or put too much sugar, or too much oatmeal in it, it will get very stiff, the oatmeal will stay fairly white, and the resulting cookies will be super dry and crumbly. Add a little bit of hot water while adding the oatmeal and mix thoroughly to soften and moisten the final result.

If you added too much condensed milk, or too much peanut butter, or didn't boil it long enough, the result will be tasty but gooey and never really get hard. You can save this at the final step by adding a bit more oatmeal, or plan ahead of time by adding more sugar at the start.

Practice makes perfect!



These are the whale knives mentioned. https://www.echefknife.com/search?type=product&q=kujira They are nice little paring/utility knives in fun shapes.


This is the inspiration for the Fairy Stump. I've actually got most of the stuff I need, and have done some of the work, on making my own, but then I got sick and the project is on indefinite pause. These days, you'd just use a few cheap RGB LEDS and some fiber optic line. The whole thing with the spinning color filter and the mirrored light pipes is just making do with primitive tech.


Next chapters of Then Be Batman and Ice Pie are out on my patreon. There will be another chapter of Ice Pie before I go back to Then Be Batman.

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

Also, as requested by people who justifiably hate Patreon, I have a Ko-Fi now.

https://ko-fi.com/nugar

Thanks for all your support! I'm mostly caught up on meds and supplies now. Next goal: An eye exam and new glasses.

 

xxxxxxxxx Chapter 17


"Maybe you're feeling ordinary,
Maybe you don't feel right-
Maybe you wish for something better o/~
Maybe it's about time,
We got bridges to burn and dreams to realize-

I sang softly to myself as I danced around my room, getting ready for the big day

No, not the start of school big day. I wasn't looking forward to that at ALL. No, today was the special meeting with the administrators of the school about my placement. The big day where the products of the past month are carried up and plopped down in front of all those elite old monsters and figuratively plopped my aggressively lower class but absolutely enormous intellectual cock down on their desks and being like, 'What up, bitches?'

Alright, so I've got a chip on my shoulder, sue me. This isn't the first time I've gone through this kind of thing. I was 'gifted' in my first life.

And I didn't amount to shit.

"It's a great big world and a big bright sun o/~
Shinin' on everyone-
SHY nin on every~one-OHJESUSCHIROPTERAN-"

Loid was standing behind me, because of course he was.

How do you sneak up on a telepath?

Mushin. The state of no mind.

Loid didn't even know I was a telepath, didn't even SUSPECT I was a telepath, I think, but he's used to being able to sneak up on people, and somehow the bastard had learned to do it to ME by being so nonchalant in his approach I don't notice.

That or this really is anime and he's able to, I dunno, erase his presence or something. A valuable warning.

That or I'm just getting used to hearing him at all times. Still, my heart was pounding in my goddamn chest and I was pounding a tiny little affectionate fist into his thigh.

"Don't do that!" I demanded.

There may have been some whining in my voice. Hey, no one likes to be startled, and I get startled more easily than many. Just ask all my friends who had the unfortunate circumstance to walk up behind me in a first person shooter game that has friendly fire.

So many blue on blue deaths…

Don't fucking startle me, though.

"Sorry, sorry," he said with a chuckle, accepting his punishment with grace. "I was just listening to you sing. I don't think I've ever seen you this happy. Is that a new song?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I guess. I'll write it down later."

"You don't have to," he replied neutrally. "What you've got now is fine. I was just enjoying it. It's a nice change from the ones you've already written. Much more upbeat."

His thoughts were pleased about that.

Loid mentioned the songs because we'd worked out a 'set piece' for later on. I had 'written' some songs, supposedly about the pain I felt losing my mom, and they were mostly somewhat depressing. I've no head for music but I can remember lyrics. For my earliest efforts, I offered up a couple of Veggetales songs, 'If It Doesn't Have a Tail It's Not a Monkey' the solo singer version, and 'The Bunny', and for my 'sad period' I made a version of Under the Bridge which was about Berlint and death instead of Los Angeles and heroin, and pretty much just straight up plagiarized Bittersweet Symphony. Lyrics only, as I said, I really can't do music.

Loid was going to 'surprise' me by bringing up my music, and I would protest, and it'd be a thing that kinda explains the depressive and creative slump I fell into after 'mom died'.

The song I was singing earlier, though, was Great Big World. One I'd never told Loid about. And I'd made a big deal about not wanting to get too into music, because I didn't think I'd do very well with it.

Consistency, your name is not my name. John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt isn't, either, both because that's an old song which may or may not already exist, and also because there's a chance it might have some sort of connotation in this world.

Honestly, the hard part with the other songs was translating them into Germanic. Doing stuff in Anglais would be easier. But I still don't know shit about actual music.

Sighing, I went back to getting ready. I wasn't technically a student yet, so the school uniform was inappropriate. But I did need to be in my best outfit.

You know…

"I'm gonna show you something," I told Loid. "Something my mom gave me, that I've kept hidden."

The whaleknives had, in fact, came in. They were cheap and easy to make, and didn't even have proper handles beyond a bit of thin leather wrapped tightly around the tails. I used one to carefully slice open the threads of a seam on the stuffed chimera I'd been left at that first orphanage with, so long ago.

Deep inside the fluff lay the only other two items I'd owned for most of my new life. Two weird little cone shaped clip barrettes, black silk with gold embroidery. They actually went pretty well with the official uniform of Eden Academy, thought the pattern is different, but I probably wouldn't wear them. Frankly, I hate having things on my hair. Headbands, glasses, things like that are fine, but I don't like hats.

Still, I'd had to fight, scream, bite, and steal to keep chimera and its secrets. I'd been over the stuffed animal and the cones inside and out, and never found any coded messages or anything like that, but they were my only link to the circumstances of my birth.

The probable mom, or at least birth giver, and ultimately, the mad science project that created me. The chimera horn hair ornaments felt heavy in my hands.

I handed them over to Loid with due solemnity.

"Mom gave these to me. I was dropped off at the orphanage with them, and the stuffed animal," I explained. "I was afraid to lose them, so I hid them inside. I haven't had them out since shortly after I got there."

Loid turned them over in his hands, looking at them closely.

Truthfully, there might be some sort of coded microfilm or something inside. I had never dared take them apart to see. They're made of a lacquered black wood frame with black silk stretched over it, and two metal hair clips underneath. Nothing rattled when I shook them, but you can never be sure. Still, I didn't dare take them apart. I couldn't bear to.

"Will you put them in my hair?" I asked. "One here," I said, pointing to one side of the top of my head, "and one here."

He nodded carefully, then clipped them in my hair.

I went and checked my reflection in the full length mirror.

I looked…

Well, I looked like a child. A young girl. I was 'short for my age' though, when I'd looked up the information, I was actually within the normal range for a girl of six. I still had some baby fat, which, you know, props to the orphanages for at least feeding me, but I was starting to get a little bit thicker in arm and leg with all the exercises I'd been doing. I'd grown both up and in weight since I'd been adopted. I was, to use the medical term, thriving.

And in other ways, too. I had a family, as charmingly bizarre as the Addams. I had a nice home. I had art supplies and books. I had projects and inventions. I had a meeting with the administration of the finest school in the land, where I was about to dazzle them with charm and baffle them with bullshit to put me in the kind of program for the academically gifted that the entire goddamn state of Louisiana couldn't match.

I had a future.

But I couldn't forget my past.

"Here's to you, Mom," I whispered. "Thanks for everything."


xxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxx


"It's really rather unconscionable on their part," Loid explained to Yor as he drove us through the streets of Berlint.

"I had no idea," Yor admitted. "I had no reason to doubt you, but it did strike me as a little odd that this school would be so… so…"

"Stuck up? Elitist?" I volunteered. "Dedicated to the preservation of their class and privileges to the point they actively scheme ways to keep out what they see as mere riff-raff?" I sneered. "It's certainly been a bit frustrating. You can see why I've got an attitude about it. It's not that I think I'm so great as to deserve special treatment or anything, it's that I think everyone deserves the same opportunities."

"Hmm. Anya and I differ on that a bit. I agree that every child deserves access to quality education. But although I am self admittedly biased in this, Anya's gifts mean she doubly deserves the finest education. She, no, we are lucky that you agreed to help us meet the requirements for their school. Without you, your willingness to go along with our deception… I fear my hopes would have been dashed." Loid looked appropriately somber at the thought.

Hey, we had to tell the woman something, right?

The big story Loid hooked her with was that my 'dead mother' wanted me to go to the finest school in the land, Eden academy. And to that end, Loid was running a number of deceptions all aimed at convincing the school, and any other interested parties, that we were a perfectly normal upper class family. Yes, my 'original mother' was dead, and Loid was a widower, but he'd remarried out of love and duty. It certainly wasn't a sham marriage for social status reasons, no sirree.

And Yor knew the score. Although the Ostanian constitution had officially dissolved the powers of both the niederer adel and the hochadel, the nobility and the royalty of the Germans, after they'd lost the last war against Westalis, the separation was recent and, much like my original world's UK, the family names and titles still meant quite a lot both politically, socially, and economically.

Most importantly, like the English, and here the Anglish, the entire country kind of treated the whole 'nobility' thing as some sort of national point of pride. And Westalis, the western half of what had once been the Germanic kingdoms, was sort of like, say, Ireland, in that they'd historically been treated pretty badly by the nobility.

I saw it once described as a family that was obsessed with clowns, and had clown holidays and clown decorations and favorite named clowns, with a neighbor whose grandparents were horribly murdered by clowns. The very clown ancestors of the clowns being fetishized next door.

Anyway. Yor's familiar with the concept that the former nobility have managed to maintain some of their old power and prestige, and while they legally have to let in commoners, they aren't letting them in easily.

Yor also murders people who fuck with the status quo.

I mean, presumably. I'm not sure of the politics or the goals of the shadowy group that employs my new mom as an assassin. But they apparently like her, and are giving her the freedom to experiment with having a family.

Yay for employee benefits?

But the point is, hide a candle in a bonfire. Yor knows we're lying to the government. So we, I mean Loid and I, have brought her into it. Asked suggestions, shared plans, everything. We're just not giving her that pesky final detail that all of this is technically about spying for Westalis.

Yor is pretty indignant on my behalf, actually. Loid's really hammered home the whole 'genius' thing with me, and Yor agrees that I absolutely deserve to go to school with the finest, and that keeping me out just because my 'mom died' is really a massively shitty thing to do.

Thanks, Mom.


xxxxxxxxx

AN: Yup, pretty fast turnaround this time. Though this chapter is short, it's because of somewhat awkward scene balancing. The next chapter is out on my patreon and is over twice as long, and primarily covers the actual meeting.

I'm gonna finish expanding the next Then Be Batman chapter on my patreon, because it needs more substance, and I'm also thinking of doing another, shorter, informational post, but in character like the last one. However, thanks to some patreon requests, I'll be releasing one more chapter of Ice Pie before another real chapter of TBB. My speed is pretty good right now, so hopefully this won't be long!

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

Also, as requested by people who justifiably hate Patreon, I have a Ko-Fi now.

https://ko-fi.com/nugar

 

xxxxxxxxx Chapter 18.


We showed up to Eden Academy in a rented van loaded with all of my shit. It's not that we brought that much, really, but the Fairy Stump could not be transported in the back of a truck or strapped to a roof, and wouldn't fit in a normal small car.

Personally, I thought Loid should look into getting a permanent vehicle, but then I'm American and I still sort of think it's odd not to own long distance transportation.

Once we got there, we were shown to a meeting room, and porters helped us carry everything in, so it only took one trip.

The meeting room was amazing. All mahogany and ebony and ivory and alabaster. Polished wood hundreds of years old, antique but sturdy furniture, decorations so valuable and tasteful it's a wonder the Anglish didn't try to steal them for a museum.

Henry Henderson, the big elegant sasquatch himself, was there to greet us. After pleasantries were exchanged, he explained his presence.

"It is my pleasure to inform you that, in light of our interactions, I will have the honor of having your daughter in Cecile Hall, of which I am the Housemaster of."

I got the 'squatch? Cool. I made appropriate noises and genuflection and kow towing and such.

Interestingly, Walter Evans showed up soon after, and there was another round of greetings and congratulations.

"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Evans," I announced to him particularly. "I've had time to read some of the writings of Saint Bonifact. Although I confess I don't have all of the context needed to fully understand the environment he worked in, as there is quite a lot of writing about the man I haven't had a chance to read yet, I do vastly admire a man as dedicated to education and reform as he is. I'm proud that a man of such goals is our national saint."

He was quite pleased by that.

Although they, and the others that showed up in ones and twos, all expressed interest in the various documents and art pieces we'd laid out, everyone took their time with small talk while they waited for the final guests.

Headmaster Goodfellow and Theobald Goddard, head of the Imperial Scholars program, who came in together.

These people were the high priests of this little educational cult, and were treated appropriately, with a variety of respectful gestures and greetings.

I kept my mouth shut as Loid took charge of our delegation, a decision mirrored by Yor. I wasn't particularly intimidated, I didn't need to hide behind Yor's skirts, but this is social combat at a level far, far beyond anything I have the skills to handle.

Also, rather frustratingly, there were just slightly too many people in this room for me to easily pick out thoughts. The meeting room was not small, but all eleven of us were at one end, clustered around the head of the table.

Worse, all of these people, with the sole exception of Yor, were thinkers. It wasn't so bad when they were talking, as most people's thoughts and spoken words are identical, but when they stopped talking, they started thinking.

So it was like they never really stopped talking.

At least until they started listening to the Headmaster.

Loid was personable without being obsequious, and had things well in hand as introductions went around, establishing bonafides and areas of interest.

Amazingly, two of them had some recollections of Yor! Both admitted to following the Berlint University's fencing and ballet programs, and Yor had been a standout performer during her time in the school. 'Personal reasons' had forced her to get a job rather than continue as a ballerina, and she lied and said that she had never really gotten into fencing despite her talents.

One of the guys who recognized her, the art teacher, Topher Temple, expressed particular disappointment at that. Apparently, Yor's ballet trained legs made her lunge particularly devastating.

Having seen the woman perform a Grand Jete that Loid could walk under, I absolutely believed it. Imagine that kind of power propelling a sword at you.

But that's a state trained assassin for you, I suppose. As an aside, I believe that they sent her to college as a way of giving her the skills and certificates needed to slot her into any governmental role they wished as a day job. Yor wasn't an intellectual like Loid or I, but she slotted in to her government job like a round peg into a round hole.

The peg just happened to be particularly long and pointy, if you'll forgive me stretching the simile.

Loid's background as a clinical psychologist at the Vivante Klinik didn't result in any vocal 'ah-ha's from the assembled personages, but there were several mental 'ohhh's. His doctorate, which he likewise earned honestly, and his career were respectable but not particularly notable, the way the nobility liked out of the commoners who were upper class but not actually worthy of being peers. Quiet experts in fields the nobility generally don't want to do, but fully agree is necessary.

Especially when you've got a murderous cousin or a disabled sibling that needs to be very quietly interred into a pleasant but restrictive facility… somewhere else. The Ostanian elite clearly took after the Anglish.

Once all the social roles had been defined, ourselves as the better sort of commoners, petitioning our betters, and the various hierarchies of the faculty, things turned to the reason everyone was there.

Me.

God it sounds arrogant to say that. But it's true. This is my big chance for a first impression. I had to perform. So I kept a polite, refined smile and only spoke when spoken to, but I let myself fidget just a little, as if I was eager to show off. Loid 'cautioned' me to calm down once, which I obeyed.

Frankly, the initial process was a little bit boring. There were four primary groups we were there to talk to.

Housemaster Henderson, mostly representing himself, since I'll be in his house, but also there with Housemaster Evans, who's just interested.

Topher Temple, who taught art, and Ormonde Werhner, who taught advanced history, and was also only there out of curiosity.

Jochim Harman, math and physics, and Korbim Dalhaus (MULTIPASS) who did general science.

And of course, the Headmaster and the guy that ran the Imperial Scholars program.

Every teacher there, with the exception of Ormonde Werhner, would be one of my teachers for the first several years. There would be others, of course, but not everyone could make it, and these old guys seemed to have seniority. I decided that thinking of them as being like tenured professors at a college rather than general faculty. They were there to give their impressions of my 'early efforts'.

Would have been nice to have a woman or two, and maybe a literature teacher, but whatever. Obviously, I really needed to impress the head honchos more than any individual teacher, but I'd need to get closer to the two dudes before I could accurately read their minds.

Loid decided to start big.

The Fairy Stump was already plugged in. Someone got the lights.

I hit the button.

Bam! Nobody expects the rainbows, motherfucker!

"My word," Walter Evans said quietly to himself. "That's rather lovely."

"May I?" the art teacher asked, kneeling down beside it.

I showed him the controls and let him go at it, speeding up and slowing down the color change.

"Hmm. But how much did she do, really?" the math teacher murmured to his companion.

"AN EXCELLENT QUESTION!" I all but yelled, pointing directly at the man, having been waiting on that sort of comment.

I got several frowns because of how loud and borderline uncouth I was, but more eyes turned to Harman, because I wasn't the only one to have heard that.

And then I dropped to my knees and started unscrewing wing nuts.

"I have to admit: much of this was done with the assistance of my parents," I said, grunting just a bit as I started pulling out components. "Father, will you show them the notebook?"

Loid pulled the design notebook off the top of the stack, opened it, and handed it to the nearest man, who happened to be Henry Henderson. Someone turned the overhead lights back on so everyone could see.

The Housemaster took a moment to focus, with two of the others leaning over his shoulders in unabashed rudeness, such was their eagerness. Ol' Squatch blinked rapidly, then started turning pages.

"I had the idea after reading some fairy tales," I explained. "I love nature, and I confess to a certain predilection towards things others might consider gross and overlook. Spiders, grubs, insects of all types, all those sorts of things that form the foundations of the world around us. And I'm especially fascinated by fungi. Mushrooms, bracket fungi, molds… They're so mysterious. Many refuse easy categorization." I slowed the colors until one of the fake fungi was lit up appropriately, and stopped the progression. "And so many are beautiful! Look, here's Calocera corna, the yellow finger jelly fungus. And here's Clathrus archeri, the octopus stinkhorn, with red fingers erupting from opaque white balls."

I played with the controls, pointing out various fungi, and even noting which ones shouldn't be growing on the stump, like fly amanita and a morchella.

"So when Mother and I were out hiking, and I saw a mossy stump, it struck me how beautiful it was in decay. Almost magical, really. And when I thought about magic, I thought about fairies. Tiny little people, fey and free, dancing around mushrooms and toadstools. And when I think about magic fairies… I think about rainbows. And then I thought… what if mushrooms glowed in all the colors of the rainbow? Everything you see here stems from that concept. From the need to create that scene."

I finished unscrewing the last nuts, and the main component board dropped down into my hands, which meant the light in the mushrooms died.

That was okay, because now I was holding something just as amazing. A twisted, three part star pipe and a spinning color filter wheel with attached motor.

"May I see that for a moment?" I asked the Housemaster, who passed it over.

"It's quite striking," he said as he handed me the notebook. "Not quite what I would call elegant, but definitely fey and wild."

Okay? Is that bad? I think that's bad. I mean, in his terms. But he didn't seem unhappy with it, either. Weird guy.

I thanked him, then flipped to the beginning, held the notebook up, and started explaining.

"What I wanted was an easy way to make translucent mushrooms that would light up in the colors I wanted. What I got was an education in finding acceptable solutions." I then proceeded to go, step by step, through the whole process of coming up with a design. Then I halted and sighed.

"But yes, Mr. Harman, I admit. I had to prevail upon father to have these light pipes made by a professional glass blower. Mother and father did most of the actual physical work involved with drilling out the holes for the light pipes. Heh, if you'll forgive the expression, I made the molds for the molds, but Father wouldn't allow me to heat them to drain the wax. Likewise, I wasn't allowed to solder the components in place, or saw the boards to fit, or many of the actual mechanical processes for making the piece. It's very frustrating, being this small," I complained.

"I am a psychiatrist, not an artist. Or an electrical engineer, for that matter," Loid said quietly. "I helped Anya find the reference material she needed, but the design was all hers. Even, and this is something that I confess that all my experience with Anya failed to prepare me for, the wiring diagram for the controls and the timer. I took her to the library, helped her get a stack of books as big as she is, and the next thing I know, she's talking about Ohm's law and electronic circuit notation. Gentlemen, I do not know what some of those squiggles mean. But she does. Ask her anything you like."

The math and physics guy did just that, when he found my diagram. He asked a few basic questions to see if I actually knew the notation, then tried to trip me up by asking what amounted to more of an opinion sort of thing about why I had set the timer circuit up like that.

I countered by showing him the 15 minute button. One push, fifteen minutes of activation, and then off again.

"I prefer to sleep in the dark, but it's nice to have some light to see if I need to get up in the middle of the night," I explained.

The art guy had more relevant questions to the actual artistic merits of the piece. I showed him sketches of different mushrooms, went into why I chose them, but ultimately agreed that the balance off the piece was off.

"Yes, Sir. I don't actually consider it finished yet. Ideally, it will have some fairy figurines. Either some winged figures on wire, flitting around it in motion, perhaps, or some small brownie type figures hiding among the moss. What I really want to do is some figurines of my parents and I. I've got sketches here…." I flipped to the appropriate pages of the book. "But my early efforts were crude. A mushroom may have erroneous lumps and still be a mushroom. People are… harder. But I'm working on it. It's just not my only project."

"It's still a beautiful piece," Mr. Temple admitted. "Would you mind leaving it here for a while, so I can show some others?"

"Of course!" I agreed. "With one request. Keep the notebook, and show them the insides. I like the art. But the beauty is in the making."

"The elegance is absolutely on the inside," Henderson agreed. "And what elegance it is. A fine example of starting with a goal, and taking logical steps to achieve that goal."

Loid took center stage again, passing out notebooks and sketchbooks and stacks of bound, typewritten pages.

"Art is not her only focus, though she does enjoy it. Her math is particularly advanced for her age, as noted by the equations for the gears for the piece, and the wiring diagram, but she primarily uses math in pursuit of some other goal. Really, she is driven to be creative. Here are a selection of some of the things she has thought of over the years."

He pulled the whole fidget spinner set out of a box and passed them around, as well as a few of the stuffed animals.

"Her early efforts were primarily toys, like these, which I had made according to her designs. These days, however, she has advanced past even pure art pieces like the Fairy Stump, and is thinking about everything from household appliances to industrial processes."

"You really weren't kidding," Walter Evans admitted. "Anya got every question correct on the entrance exam, and that's certainly a sign of genius. But this…" He looked up in concern. "Why didn't you publish? Anya could have been celebrated as the next precocious polymath. She should be celebrated for her gifts."

Loid sighed and looked ashamed.

"We would have," he admitted. "We were going to. But then…"

"Mom," I said quietly. "My first mother."

"You have to understand. Anya went from being bright and happy and enthusiastic… and then withdrew. We both did. I'm afraid that, in my grief, I did my daughter a disservice," Loid admitted sadly, not meeting anyone's eyes.

Yor patted his shoulder consolingly, and he put his hand on hers.

"It's not Father's fault," I insisted. "I read the books on grief. We were both saddened by her loss. It's normal to avoid doing the things that constantly remind you of someone you've lost. It's normal!" I insisted, louder. "Everyone grieves! It would be weird if we didn't!"

"But think about where you could be now if we'd just… kept going. Kept pushing you with new challenges," Loid replied. He looked around. "Do you understand that Anya may be one of the most precociously gifted children the world has ever seen? There have been many savants who exceed her in their given areas of focus. Math prodigies, eidetic memories, or artists who could draw an entire city after a moment's glance. But the last time such a wunderkind appeared was in 1964."

"Silas Beck," Headmaster Goodfellow said quietly.

You know that thing that writers use sometimes? Where a character is kept really quiet, so when they do speak, their words have greater import?

Every person in the room was staring at the Headmaster.

Silas Beck. He may or may not have existed in my original world. I don't know, I don't exactly memorize lists of child prodigies. Here, though, he had shown up in some of Loid's research.

Beck was your usual sort of gifted child, if there is such a thing. The first studies of him were done at the age of four, when he was showing some precocial traits. From there, he practically exploded with talent. He had a photographic memory, perfect pitch, could calculate large numbers in seconds, and knew algebra before he went to his first year of school.

Kinda like me!

Except obviously I'm faking. I'm a cheater. Isekai for the win.

"He went here, you know," Headmaster Goodfellow continued. "Silas Beck, the treasure of Ostania. He was an investment for the entire nation."

Oh shit, really? I didn't know he went to Eden Academy, and if Loid knew, he didn't tell me. I glanced at my erstwhile father in concern. I mean, it does make sense now that I think about it, where do you send the prodigy but the best school in the nation, but at the same time, I can think of one very big reason why Beck's enrollment at Eden isn't publicized more.

Loid inclined his head, because of course he knew. Motherfucker is keeping secrets from me.

"It was a tragedy," Theobald Goddard said in disgust. "Many people failed their duties."

Yeah, uh.

I don't want to be the next Silas Beck.

"I will not allow that to happen to my daughter," Loid said quietly, with no small amount of menace.

"Nor will I," Yor agreed.

I went and stood between them, because that's what you do when your parents quietly swear to protect you.

"However," Loid continued, "Anya Forger is not Silas Beck. I am not Todd Beck, and Yor is not Pernille Beck. And none of you are Lovrenco Perkovic." His tone was full of quiet menace, a kind of warning of 'you fucking better not be'.

"There's no such thing as a 'typical' wunderkind. The human brain is too complex, too many faceted. Anya has an excellent memory, but not an eidetic one. She is talented at math, but takes time with her calculations, and is not above the occasional mistake. However, her intuition and logic are, if anything, noticeably superior to that recorded of Beck. I won't lie and say that Silas Beck isn't something of a cautionary tale in our family. However, at the same time, it would be a shame if Anya became anything less than the best she can be. Anya isn't the next Silas Beck."

He smiled.

"She's the new Anya Forger."

Loid is lying, of course. We've talked about Beck like, twice. Long story short, parental pressures and the psychologist who documented him fucked with Beck until he went bugfuck. Total insane megalomania, paranoia, and eventual suicide. It was basically like one of those Hollywood child star situations.

None of which actually applied to our situation, and we both knew it.

This was its own entirely new flavor of fucked up! With spies and assassins and genetically modified telepaths, oh my!

So, that sort of killed the mood of the meeting. Bit of a downer, you could say. Instead of doubting the veracity of my efforts, they instead quietly worried about my potential to go bad.

…Was that deliberate? Is this part of some long play thing on Loid's part to keep an eye on someone as potentially volatile as me?

In any other situation, that question would drive me nuts. I'd worry, I'd feel guilty, and it would color my whole interaction with Loid. An anxious introvert's 'are you mad at me?' given a shot of cold war era paranoia steroids.

But I can read minds. Loid is literally thinking 'Better that they fear her than doubt her. Anya will win them over.'

So, thanks for the vote of confidence, Papa? Would have been nice to have been consulted beforehand, but I do know he doesn't like to rely on my acting ability too much. He likes to control variables, and I am very much a variable.

My 'records' were wholly given over to the school, and they did take some time to discuss the issues of inventions and patents. Although it's never really come up before, given that even Silas Beck predates modern Ostanian patent law, Loid was able to hammer out some sort of agreeable deal.

Actually, it was a very generous deal, where Eden agreed to be totally hands off from anything I created… so long as, at their discretion, they could brag.

Cautionary tale of genius gone bad notwithstanding, they did like the idea of having someone they could put on an international pedestal.

The Headmaster and his buddy excused themselves to step outside for a discussion while the others talked with Loid.

I 'accidentally' dropped a few nuts and washers in such a way as so they rolled over near the door, so I was obliged to go get them. And if I lingered a bit long, well-

Loid glanced across the room and smiled at me.

I gave him a bright smile back.

Because, despite being down the hall a bit, I could hear the Headmaster and the Imperial Scholars guy's thoughts as they talked.

"Do you think she's the real deal? That is startlingly advanced material for a six year old."

"The father is a psychiatrist, if anyone were capable of such a fakery, it would be someone like him. However, he had a point. Faking achievements such as those before school is one thing, but he sincerely believes that his daughter is going to continue to produce miracles. No, he believes that she is going to positively ignite with even more ideas as she learns."

"If he's right, his insistence on protecting her patentable ideas makes sense."

"Exactly. We don't induct first years into the Imperial Scholars, anyway. There will be time for her to prove herself, or to falter."

"And if she proves herself?"

"Then she is exactly the kind of student the Imperial Scholarship is made for."

"Ah, but what of our other promising young scions? The Desmond child, and the Blackbell heir, in this year alone."

"Politics? We don't do politics in the Imperial Scholars. It is merit by which they are judged, and merit only."

"Not what I mean at all, old friend. What I'm saying is-"

But I had to go back and put the Stump back together. Dammit.

Still, that sounded good, right? I think it sounded good. Some doubt, which, Loid aside, I prefer to fucking fear. I wonder how many fake geniuses they had to see to get so cynical about their students?

I got everything put back together, and showed the art teacher the process. Only one of the secondary light pipes was removable, since I didn't want the others falling out and breaking. I also pointed out the heavy use of insulation, so that it was safe to leave plugged in and show the light generation.

"Music, too?" one of the men commented.

"We should have brought Martha."

"Anya's birth mother was more musical than I, and Yor's art of choice is dance. Anya was always making up silly rhymes and simple songs… before. Afterwards… Well, she got better as she got older, but after she wrote Bittersweet Symphony, she said music made her sad, and stopped trying."

"Hey! Hey, hey! You weren't supposed to bring any of that!" I cried.

"They're good songs, Anya. You shouldn't be ashamed of them," Loid protested.

"They're not FINISHED! I never actually set them to music or anything. I still don't understand those tadpoles!" I protested.

Loid glanced at the other men. "She knows the notation, but keeps saying she doesn't 'get it'. If she doesn't get it, I don't know what getting it looks like."

"I don't, though. I don't get it. I know what an eighth note looks like, but I don't hear it when I read it. You've got to hear it to get it."

"I've heard you sing it, though," Loid said again. "You hear the music you want to make."

"But I don't know how to play it! I can't even write it down the way I hear it! Besides, I'm much better at writing. Did you see those stories I wrote?"

"Please, young Anya, don't change the subject," Henry Henderson interjected. "You're talented at so many things, and I look forward to seeing them all. But you've got me curious. Please, sing for us."

I wavered.

I wavered hard.

My chin veritably quivered. I was proud of that, actually. Do you know how hard it is to make your chin quiver on command?

Actually, I really, truly, did not want to sing. I'm not a good singer, in this life or the last. No training, no immediate talent. The only thing I have going for me is a high, sweet voice.

But I am here to perform.

Dance, Anya, dance!

So I sang a solo variant of the classic Veggetales song, 'If It Doesn't Have a Tail It's Not a Monkey', a classic about the problems with binary categorization in a complicated world, which I then talked about at length. The missing two people hurried back in for my performance.

"I had just read about Diagones making fun of Plado by screaming 'Behold, a man!' while holding the plucked chicken. And I realized we essentially make the same mistake, at least by a strict definitional reading, with the classification of mammals." I gave them a sardonic grin. "Take the coconut. It produces milk. It has hair. Behold, a mammal!"

That got a good chuckle.

"Obviously, we solved that by adding more and more conditions. Live birth, a placenta, warm blood, and so on. But you can still run into edge cases. The African naked mole rat cannot regulate its own temperature, and I think there were a couple of others. The platypus doesn't have mammary tissue or teats, but produces a thin milky fluid which flows down its chest hair. This is one of the reason I'm fascinated by fungi. Many of them are deeply, seriously, intensely weird. I find I learn the most about the world where I find the places where simple statements of description can be turned in on themselves."

"Fascinating. Although it would be uncouth to bring a child to a drinking establishment, you would be the toast of the evening at the next meeting of the Hadrian Club," Korbim Dalhaus said with a chuckle. "All bon mots and clever turns of phrase."

"I certainly hope I would pass any judgement of you and your fellows," I said politely. Mangled it a little. I'd been trying to come up with a 'pass' reference to use on him since I'd heard his name.

"Childish, but brilliantly so," one of the others praised.

"She was thirty-two months old when she came up with that," Loid lied. "It's one of the few she liked well enough to write down."

"What about her more recent works? I find myself intrigued by the title 'Bittersweet Symphony'." Goddard asked.

I winced. "I uh. I'm not sure I can sing that one without crying. I was… not in a good place, mentally."

That's true. I listened to that song a lot when my wife died in my first life. It still hits pretty hard. But it's also not really the same without the actual music.

"I suppose I could give Under the Bridge a go," I said with a sigh.

One of The Red Hot Chili Pepper's greats. And not quite as obviously about California, sex, or heroin as so many of their others. Instead, it's just about Los Angeles.

Replace 'City of Angels' with 'City of Berlint', and a few other issues with translating it from English to German, and you can imagine my rendition of it.

Teared up a little, too. Finally just gave up and stopped so I didn't have to fight with the repeating chorus.

Everyone clapped, but in a serious, somber sort of way.

That was basically it for the meeting, so we started gathering up what little we were carrying home. I saw several of the men approach Loid with condolences and offers of concern and support, for both Loid and I.

Hell, I can't leave it on a sour note like that, pun intended. Not after concerns about a previous wunderkind going nuts.

"You know, you asked me earlier today, if I'd finished that new song," I said loudly enough to get attention. "You know, the Anglish one."

"Oh, Anya. I didn't mean to put you on the spot," Loid said, lying, putting me on the spot.

But obviously I'm willing, or I wouldn't have brought it up.

"So, I haven't written this one down yet. I've been working on it in Anglish, so forgive me if I bobble, I still make mistakes in the language. For that matter, I still make mistakes in our language, but learning is a process, right? Anyway. I stopped making music when music made me sad."

I gave them all a crooked little smile.

"But you know what? Things are better now. I love my new mother, Yor. There's nothing that says I can't have two Mamas. And Papa is happier now, too. Things are honestly going pretty great. So, uh, I've been thinking happy thoughts."

And so I sung them 'Great Big World', by Kari Kimmel. It's quite a bit more childish than the two 'sad songs', but it's also bright and happy in ways I haven't genuinely felt in years.

It's a song of hope and joy.

And I had to dash a few tears from my eyes while singing it, too.


xxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxx


Years come and years go, bringing with them fresh crops of young students. Heirs, also rans, bright prospects and barely acceptables, with potential Scholars seeded amongst them.

But this year was special. A diamond had been found, unpolished but sparkling with promise, standing out even among the scions of some of the most powerful families in Ostania.

For some, this incredible young girl was a reminder of failure and shame.

Others saw her as a promise of things to come.

The best decided that she was deserving of an education no better, but no worse, than the absolutely best efforts they gave to all of Eden's apples, and that it was a joy to see every child flourish.

None, however, considered her unremarkable.

No one called her 'The new Beck'. But she, and her art, and her stories, and her test scores, were the subject of a number of discussions, even amid the rush of back to school preparations.

X
X
X

"You called for me, Housemaster?"

"I have a… mission, shall we say. Should you choose to accept it."


xxxxxxxxx


AN: Sorry it took me a while to get this out. Got sick, AGAIN, after that burst of productivity. Whole week got wasted. Bleh. Anyway,, the next chapter, which is actually a bonus chapter for my highest tier patron, is available on my patreon. Next, I'm going back to Then Be Batman for probably two weeks. I'm kinda liking this two weeks one, two weeks the other, because I don't have to make my mind flip as much.

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

Also, as requested by people who justifiably hate Patreon, I have a Ko-Fi now.

https://ko-fi.com/nugar

 

xxxxxxxxx Special bonus chapter 1


"This place is amazing, and I want to live here," I announced as I wandered the aisles like I was at a museum.

Or a zoo.

Jupiter Hanza Markt was THE electronic store in Ostania, and probably one of the best in Europe. This is the mid-80s, the time when consumer electronics are hitting the big times. Back in my original life, RadioShack was the amazing place full of opportunities, a hardware store but for electronics. Unfortunately, I lived in the middle of fucking nowhere, so the RadioShacks I got to go to, on the rare occasions, were fairly small. But this is Ostania, and they do things the Germanic way.

Is this what Akihabara is like? I bet this is what Akihabara is like.

JHM Berlint is the largest one in the nation and boasts four floors and 10000 square meters of floor space. Not only does the place have things like televisions, radios, stereos, and appliances, it also has a floor devoted to music and movies, and other floor devoted to things ranging from toys to vehicle electronics.

But the big one. The Mecca for tech geeks like Frankie and I…

One entire floor, 2500m^2, is dedicated to electronic parts.

Bins of resistors, capacitors, and even microchips. Solenoids, motors, batteries, blank circuit boards, acid, gears, tools, all of it.

And if they don't have what you need?

They can order it!

Not quite as convenient as having everything available at your fingertips on the internet, but it's nice to be able to pick things out same day.

They even had a sort of advertising area where they could put you in contact with various shops that do custom electrical work, which reminded me a little of how Lowes could set you up with a carpenter or whatever.

Frankie and I were there getting stuff for the Fairy Stump. It was in the middle of the day, and both Loid and Yor were busy. Technically, Frankie was babysitting me, but we were shopping with my 'parents' blessing. And money.

There's no real point reinventing the wheel, so we bought an off the shelf power unit that could output various voltages. We spent a while going through the fancy lightbulbs and ended up picking a small mercury vapor bulb that put out a lot of lumens and managed to be a fairly white colored blue-white.

They did have LEDS, but they had exactly one color. Red.

Obviously, we got several to use as visual indicators that a circuit was powered, given that a major point of the Fairy Stump was to take it apart and show how it worked.

Figuring out which of a number of electronic timers was the best to go with actually took the most of our time. The clunky old things were the size of bricks at the smallest, and had actual dials with numbers on them. Programmable chips existed… but weren't really a feasible option. Not at this level.

"Sometimes, I think maybe I should have played your mom," Frankie mused as we toured the store.

"Hah?" I asked, having not caught whatever thought had been bouncing around in his head. There were a lot of people around, so I was trying to tune everything out, unless we were talking to a clerk.

"You really are like some sort of cross between Loid and I," Frankie explained. "You pick up on stuff from people like Loid, but you like electronics like I do."

"Aww, thanks, Frankie," I replied. "Honestly, I think I'm actually a lot closer to you than Papa. I mean, yeah, I understand people. But I don't actually LIKE them. I mean, most people are surprisingly decent, I've found. Which really was as surprise because for a while it seemed like the only people I ran into were evil. But I don't like dealing with them. Even if I can get away with not really having to have a conversation with someone because I'm six, it's exhausting just being around them. Give me a book, or, well, a circuit board."

He gave me a kind of side eye. "You always seem energetic when I'm around."

I scoffed. "Yeah, but I actually like you, Uncle Frankie. You get it."

'If you say so,' he thought, but didn't deny.

I mean, yeah, I could tell he was a bit weirded out by me, given the package I came in, but if I'd been a guy his age, we'd probably be friends in that sort of introverted way nerds do. We'd be drinking buddies, if I drank.

I didn't blame him, though. I would freak myself out a bit, too.

I did like Frankie, though. It'd taken a while, but I'd pieced together some of his history, particularly his history with Loid. Turning against Ostania because they'd sent him to die for no good reason made perfect fucking sense for me. He was jaded in ways I could emphasize with, but still made efforts to be a good person.

"You know, when I finally build up enough patents for it to be worth starting my own company, I'm gonna hire you to run it."

"Oh? You think you're gonna invent that much stuff?"

I had stopped on a row that had electric motors.

An entire fucking row of nothing but electric motors. From fifty pound, five horsepower monsters, down to a couple of different choices of tiny little things no bigger around than a magic marker.

The kind of thing that would be perfect in a vibrating toothbrush, or razor.

Which reminded me.

I hustled back to a small section devoted to quartz timepieces.

Piezoelectric crystals.

Squeeze a tiny piece of quarts, and it produces a zap of electricity. That's how a surprisingly large amount of cigarette lighters light.

But send electricity through a tiny piece of quartz, and it vibrates. That's how quartz timepieces work, using the consistent vibration to keep time.

That's also one of the ways of generating ultrasonic noise.

You know, for an ultrasonic toothbrush. Or potentially an ultrasonic razor.

They didn't have an entire row devoted to piezoelectrics, but they DID have some.

Frankie caught up with me a few moments later as I was picking out some likely pieces.

"Frankie, I've already thought of that much stuff," I said with a grin. "You want to be rich, right?"

"Anyone would," he admitted warily.

"Then let's get rich."

Toys were one thing. But there were only so many really interesting toys I could remember how to make, at least until we hit the computer age. Maybe I can do a tickle me Elmo at some point.

Of course, there were also interesting 'adult toys' I remember. And I'm not talking sex toys.

Well, not just sex toys. I'll probably wait until I'm at least well into my teens before inventing any of those.

But I mean the kind of shit the Sharper Image, or the Skymall, or Amazon pushed on people. Stuff too complicated for kids, but absolute catnip for tech geeks. The kind of thing where you can kind of consider it mass produced art.

Stuff like the Fairy Stump, but simpler.

I'm not sure when I'll be able to get ahold of some liquid nitrogen and make a hover thing, but I've got some other stuff in mind. Next, after the stump, I'm going to make an art piece called 'Perpetual Motion Machine and Batteries for Perpetual Motion Machine.'

I explained it to Frankie. "Have you ever seen a marble race track?"

He hadn't, so I explained the basics to him, but also included the fact that I needed the marbles to actually be steel ball bearings.

"The fundamentals, of course, involve the marbles rolling and clunking around on a complicated series of simple machines. Ramps, rollercoaster tracks, falling and hitting tiny drums or piano keys, things like that. An endless series of semi-hypnotic motion and sound for you to just… watch."

"Does it spin?" he asked with a grin.

I rolled my eyes. Technically, almost anything that involves movement has at least some spinning, because electric motors spin. His snide little comment slightly depressed my excitement for making the vibrating toothbrush/razor, just because of that. But I actually did appreciate that he liked me enough to give me a little bit of shit back.

"Actually, what I'm going to make doesn't," I said primly. "I just need a tiny little metal detector, to sense the steel ball, and a capacitor based electromagnet to give it a boost as it falls. That's where the seemingly perpetual motion will come from, since the outsider won't be able to see the magnet. You know there's no such thing as perpetual motion. Energy is always, always lost to friction."

I explained the idea in more detail. At one point in the marble race, the steel ball will roll down a track. At one point, it will be sensed by a tiny metal detector, which will activate an electromagnet beside it, which will give the steel ball a yank. But then the electromagnet will turn off, and the ball bearing, with increased momentum, will go back up a ramp which launches it to the top of the bearing race. It was the kind of toy you could buy on the internet in the future.

"But I'll include a spinney bit, just for you," I said. "Probably a funnel for the ball to roll around in a bunch before it goes down the center hole back onto the tracks."

"That does sound kind of neat," he allowed. "But what's the point?"

"For people to believe I'm a genius, I've got to be seen doing genius things, right?" I prompted.

"Anya, you are a genius," he countered.

I scoffed. "Genius is as genius does. If I want people to buy into my ideas that will actually make us money, I need them to pay attention. So the art stuff is just for show." I paused. "I mean, if anyone wants to pay for them, or for a replica or something, that'd be nice. But I don't think I'm going to make much money off silicone mushrooms, glowing or not."

I went through and picked up some quartz stuff and some tiny electric motors just to get started. While I think the cyclonic vacuum is a cleverer idea than a vibrating toothbrush, I'm willing to bet fucking Phillips made more money off those damned multi-blade razor heads than Dyson made off its vacuums. Fifty fucking dollars a pack, man. Highway robbery.

A shame, really. I remember really liking the closeness of the shave.

Huh. I'll have to make a point of giving Loid a kiss, or nuzzling him or something when he's got a five o'clock shadow. It'll give me a reason for making a better razor.

Forger sonic razors? Forged sonic razors?

I want my name on it for branding, but I wouldn't mind licensing the patent. I suspect the nitty gritty of actually owning a manufacturing company would suck.

The best thing about the JHM store was that, once we got done on the components floor, there were three other floors.

Well, two, really. Neither Frankie nor I gave a shit about normal home appliances. I mean, we'd walked through there once, but that was it.

I also wasn't much for ordinary toys, even if JHM tended to have the fancier electronic ones. A toy firetruck is a toy firetruck, whether it has flashing lights and 'real firetruck sounds!' or not. Frankly, even in my first childhood, my imagination outstripped conventional toys when I was still in the single digits.

But, though this was only 1984, they had personal computers!

PMI, Professional Machines International, had literally just released the PMI PC-AT. A 16 bit 12 MHz 80286 processor based personal computer with two HD 5 ¼ floppy drives, two DD 5 1/4s, a 20mb HD, EGA graphics, and 512kb onboard RAM with a further 1 MB in expansion slots. It also came with PMI DOS 3.0, which had preliminary networking support.

And it could be mine for only $6500 marks!

That was the high end one, of course. I could get a low end one for only four grand.

I won't lie, I wanted it pretty bad.

But…

I've seen the PC magazines. The 80386 32bit processor is due to come out next year. And that was a processor you could do some shit on. Also, proper networking support for MT DOS was due to come out next year as well. In addition, Microtech is working on Windows 2.0, and it's supposed to come out next year as well, probably along with the actual MT DOS 3.x with networking.

So what I'm saying is, I want the PMI PC-AT, because I miss having a computer. But at that price, and knowing that it's gonna be pretty shit compared to the 32bit stuff coming out next year… I just need to be patient. Loid's got some resources behind him, but I don't think they're going to be willing to drop $6500 on a kid's seeming whim sort of resources.

If the 32 bit stuff comes out and I still haven't made any money of my own, I'll start negotiating. And if I stumble over six grand in the near future, maybe I'll revisit the PC-AT. But for now, I'd be patient.

The first computer my family had in my first life was an Atari 520ST, their ill-fated venture into the personal computer market. My brother, ten years older than I was, saved up his money for quite a while to buy one when he was in late high school, 1987. Then, because he was into Atari stuff, he found an old Atari 2600 and a bunch of games used. We also ended up getting a lot of Atari games saved to floppy disk, which would run on the ST. I never got another console, until I briefly had a PlayStation one in 1998, and got an Xbox and PS2 in 2003. I was a PC guy all the way.

Here, Kiai Inc., has released various consoles and associated games. The Kiai 5200 has been out for a while and has a lot of games available.

Frankie and I end up sitting down in a little kiosk thing with a 5200 and playing some Joust for about fifteen minutes. It was fun, but it was a mindless sort of fun I didn't want to get too into.

Too much to do, you know.

I could probably get Loid to buy me a Kiai, but really I figured I'd hold out for whatever came out of Japan. Ironically, I remember playing the original Mario Brothers game on the Atari. It sucked. Super Mario Brothers on the NES, the one everyone actually played, was way better. The video game market has totally crashed out right now, so there's not much really going on. I think that's part of the reason Kiai is trying to get into personal computers, but I know better than to give them money, this time.

Right now, the Famicon is a big thing in Japan. I think it's got a bit before they release it internationally, and video games come back in a big way.

Waiting, again. Bleh.

"The Kiai 2600 has been out a long time, right?" I mused as we left the game area. "Do you think you could find a used one and a box of used games?" I asked Frankie.

"I suppose I could check around," he allowed.

After that, we hit the rest of the media.

Music and movies.

There I spent some of Loid's money.

Ostania didn't loathe western society like East Germany and the USSR did. While there had been a fairly significant Eastern Bloc alliance called the Kalugan Accord, and Ostania had been in that alliance, it wasn't 'communism vs capitalism'. Also, the Accord ended up being pretty shit, because when Ostania invaded Westalis in the early 70s, the USCR had refused to start all-out war with the Atlantic Defense Coalition. They'd still supported Ostania, with money and materials and 'advisors', but the simple fact was, even the USCR recognized that Ostania was being pants on head retarded in its attempt to reunify the country. And as a result, Ostania got its shit pushed in.

But, like I said, this was less ideological in nature and more rank greed pushing nationalism. Communism was strangled in the crib by Rasputin and his cult, in service to the Tsars of Ruska. The uprising that finally overthrew them had been much more restrained than Stalin and his purges.

Also, some comments by Loid indicated that Rasputin's secret society had just coopted the leaders of the Revolution, anyway. So while the USCR is still a fairly unpleasant place, it's unpleasant in that historically Russian peasant way, rather than the ideological horrors of soviet communism.

Ostania was still allies with the USCR, but they'd found much more in common with Albion and Romagna, which was alternate Italy. So Anglais was in vogue as the secondary language of choice, and we actually got a lot of Anglish music and movies.

The US is sort of a thing, as the UNAS, United North American States. The US had split up in the Civil War, and it had been North vs South in the World War, of which there's only been one, in the 30s.

Unfortunately, it was the Confederate States which went full fucking Nazi in this timeline, with genocides and purges in addition to the slavery. On the bright side, they got turbo fucking rekt and virtually all the plantation owners had been hung in the war crimes trials after they got crushed by the coalition forces of the northern US, Kanata, and the EUM. Tens of millions dead across much of North America, and the survivors banded back together as the United North American States, literally covering the continent, with everyone chipping in to crush the evil confederate fucks under the mighty boot heel of reform.

So American bands and movies are kind of a crapshoot. Jazz still exists, but it doesn't look like anything I'm familiar with.

But that's okay. There was plenty of Anglish stuff. We didn't have a VCR yet, but I saw that there was a lot of Monty Python's Travelling Circus available, which was nice. Music wise, I managed to find a copy of the Yes album on vinyl. It was even called the Yes Album, and the band's name was still Yes. Roundabout, here I come! But even better, personally, was the album 90210, and the slightly changed Owner of a Broken Heart. That was my favorite song and album when I was a kid in the 80s the first time, and I was glad to have it back.

If I had a Stand, it would be named either Owner of A Lonely Heart, or perhaps Hole Hearted, which was a song by the band Extreme, which unfortunately wasn't a thing yet, and might never actually be a thing.

Hole Hearted had dethroned Owner of a Lonely Heart as my favorite song in the early 90s, about the point I got my first computer, a Packard Bell 386. My college going brother introduced my pubescent self to hentai and the Doki^2 Waku^2 BBS, and I spent many a horned up night looking at 16 color gifs while Hole Hearted played on the hits radio station. I pavloved to that fucking song for decades.

Speaking of anime, Nippon has been producing it as you'd expect, though there are some differences. They'd never been nuked, and had a significantly more peaceful history, with only some brushfire wars against the USCR and some mainland countries that sat where China and the Koreas should be. Without the weird censorship imposed on them by the US, anime didn't quite develop the same, though I could see elements of what would be a thriving hentai industry in the future. Dream of the Fisherman's Wife predated American notions of propriety by quite a time, after all.

Not all of it made it to Ostania, but the giant robot stuff was available, as a new genre. Macross, Gundam, Mazinger type stuff. Some of it was live action, with giant monsters. I also spotted what I'm pretty sure was Lupin, and Urusei Yatsura, all subtitled, which is automatically more Japanese media than I expected of the 80s.

Come to think of it, I'd spotted a Nipponese company in the supermarket, Super Oishii, which even my limited Japanese recognized as 'Super Delicious'. Weird. I'm not 100% on the history here, but there's some sort of link between Ostania and Nippon.

Again, I couldn't pick any of it up yet. I was supposed to get my own television, a VCR, and a bunch of tapes when I got my second Stella. I looked forward to it.

For the moment, all I had was a record player, and a portable cassette player called a Soundabout. It was actually Frankie who convinced Loid that I needed both, as I hesitated to ask for them both. But music for studying is different from music for walking about, and also cassette fidelity isn't that great. A few extra marks for a tape in addition to an album wasn't a huge deal for the Forgers the way it had been for my original family, anyway.

Weirdly enough, the CD already existed, which I had forgotten about. But CD players were nearly as expensive as VCRs, and the format was new enough that it didn't have huge catalogues of music. Something for another time, I suppose.

The early to mid-80s is such an awkward time, technologically speaking. The precursors are there, but we haven't arrived yet.


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This chapter was written for Cosmic, who made a big donation, and is set back in the interludes, time wise. I'll go back and change its position in the threadmarks later, I want people to see it for now. It's less than he deserves. There are other people who have donated big and I hope to be able to give them chapters or stories for whatever they want as well.

Things have been rough the past several weeks. I've not been able to write much. Frankly, I've not been able to DO much. When the nerves in my brain reconnected, they crosswired my fucking balance and I've spent the whole time dizzy, nauseous, and vomiting. Just starfished on the bed, holding on. I've had more intense periods of misery in my life, but rarely have they lasted so long.

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

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