“I’d like to appear for the FSAT as soon as possible,” I told Mr. Fickle the next day.

The teacher smiled. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I’ll run you through a pre-assessment test tomorrow, then you can go for the test whenever you’re ready. One more thing, though?”

“Sure.”

“You’re going to appear in the SATs as well?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“I suggest you do. Also, I’d like you to think about West Point.”

“West Point?” Where had that come from?

“The U.S. military is always looking for good officers. You have the makings of one. Also, it’ll give you a college education for free - and there are great benefits for dependents.”

“I’m flattered, sir. I… don’t think it’s for me, though.”

“If not you, then who? I’ve had many students walk through these halls over the years. Some made it through.”

“Don’t you need to be nominated for that?”

“You’re out of date, son. West Point abandoned the nominations system ten years ago.” Fickle grinned. “There are about fifteen thousand applicants every year, and they accept close to four thousand. You’ve got a good chance of getting in.”

“I… see.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of facing the aliens.”

“What if I was?”

“You aren’t. You wouldn’t have picked Nachtsturm as your topic if you were. Or chosen the sculpture you did.” He smiled. “We normal people won’t be able to stand on Fortress Skyguard and fight to defend our world, no matter how much we want to. I can see that hunger in you, the desire to do something - anything - to protect people against the alien. You can choose any career, but you will always have that feeling in your heart… that need to stand in front, to take the blows and defend humanity.”

“I….” I couldn’t think of what to say. “I don’t know if I am the kind of person you think I am.”

“I know the kind of person you want to be, Andrew. You want to be a protector. West Point will give you that - facing the foe eye-to-eye will be what you need.”

“Look, you don’t have to go for it if you don’t want to. Just… promise me you’ll think about it. At least give the SATs.”

“I’ll… think about it,” I promised Mr. Fickle.

“He doesn’t know you’re an ultra, then,” Anne told me that evening, as we worked in the basement.

“I suppose so,” I replied, picking up another graphite block and transmuting it into nanofibre weave.

“Do you need to use those blocks only?” asked Anne.

“For nanofiber, any carbon source will do as the starting material,” I explained, “but the higher the purity the easier it is for me to get the transmutation right.” I pointed to a lump of black slag in the corner - the results of my first few attempts. “That’s what happened when I tried with coal.”

“They look expensive.”

“Not really. These are high-density graphite blocks used in carbon brushes for electric generators. I got them from the hardware store for $10 a kilogram.”

“How many kilos per square metre?”

“Actually, one kilo gives me twenty square metres. The final product’s lighter, of course.”

“Huh.” She furrowed her brows in thought. “Wait - you said you need seven hundred square metres - that’s thirty-five kilos.”

“Yes, and I have to wear that unaided.”

“Crap, that’s going to be heavy.”

“Once it’s ready, I’m going to practice wearing it for a bit. Make sure that I can move easily in it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re strong. Because really? Carrying thirty-five kilos of armour and that sledgehammer of yours into a fight? Really tire you out fast.”

“Here’s the thing - nanofibre weave is supposed to be light armour.”

Anne’s eyebrows widened. “What’s heavy armour going to weigh?”

“Don’t know, but I think I understand why there’s a special skill for powered armour. It can’t be easy to make. Or operate.”

I came home the next day to a party.

Jimmy had set it up, with Anne’s help. “We couldn’t let you spend your birthday not doing anything,” he’d explained.

Mick had brought along a half dozen bottles of beer, and Lou and Clarice had brought me a gift - which turned out to be a bobblehead version of Viking. “‘Coz you’re brawny like him,” explained Lou.

Jimmy’s gift was a handheld game console. “Because you work too hard, man,” he told me. “You need to lighten up. So I got you something that there’s no way you can make into work.”

I smiled and thanked him. I also resolved to use Analyze on it later to see if it could help me figure out electronic control systems.

Six people might not be a huge party, but it was fun. We had cake (which was better than the ones I’d made), beer (and soft drinks for Anne), chips, and party games.

We made sure no-one went into the basement, of course. More than a hundred square metres of nanofibre weave was stored there, in great piles of shimmering grey cloth. The last thing we wanted was to answer questions about our stockpile.

On Monday 23rd December, I walked into Tanisport City’s Scholastic Assessment Centre, where the FSAT was administered.

AP Biology, Chemistry, Physics A and B allowed me to breeze through at lightning speed. A lesser advantage from skills such as Chemist, Field Surgery, First Aid, Electronic Arts and Mechanic - the knowledge these skills relied on was somehow hardwired into my brain, and I had near-perfect recall of all I’d learnt about them.

AP Calculus, Statistics and Trigonometry also went through easily.

English went quite smoothly. Most of the questions related Othello, Hamlet, Pygmalion and Brave New World - all of which I could remember well.

Macroeconomics and History were the two subjects I struggled with.

Since it was Christmas week, there were few other test-takers; my presence in the centre still raised a few eyebrows, but the administering staff were professional enough not to ask questions.

Finally, on Saturday, 28th December, I stepped out of the testing room for the last time. “Done,” I remarked to the clerk at the front desk.

“You’ll get your results via e-mail tomorrow,” she replied in a monotone, “or you can download them from the website.”

“That soon?”

“It’s standard. All the best.”

Anne stood looking over my shoulder as I downloaded the test results.

As I opened them, I realized I’d achieved my goal:

FINAL QUEST COMPLETED!

YOU HAVE COMPLETED THE ‘GET AN EDUCATION’ QUESTLINE!

+500 XP

+1 INT FOR SUCCESSFULLY CLEARING THE HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION EXAM.

+1 WIS FOR RECOGNIZING THE IMPORTANCE OF EDUCATION AND FOCUSING ON IT, EVEN IF YOUR POWERS ALLOWED YOU TO CHEAT A LITTLE.

+1 ATTRIBUTE BOOST.

1 SKILL UNLOCK AVAILABLE. USE NOW?

I chose ‘Yes’ and picked the Healing Skill Tree.

NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: HEAL.

WOUNDS, INJURIES, GENERAL MALAISE, INSIDIOUS HARM - ALL THINGS THAT INFLICT DAMAGE ON THE BODY.

YOUR POWER ALLOWS YOU TO UNDO THIS DAMAGE BY EXPENDING MENTAL ENERGY POINTS.

UNLIKE FIRST AID AND FIELD SURGERY, WHICH SPECIFICALLY ADDRESS COMBAT-RELATED INJURIES, HEAL CAN BE USED FOR ANY LOSS OF HEALTH, IRRESPECTIVE OF TYPE. CANNOT INCREASE HEALTH POINTS BEYOND MAXIMUM. EFFECTS ARE INSTANTANEOUS AND HEALTH RESTORED IMMEDIATELY, EVEN IN COMBAT.

LEVEL 1: TARGET RECEIVES +30 HP.

COST: 20 MP.

VALID TARGETS: SELF, ALLIES, SURRENDERED ENEMIES.

Healing was massively more efficient at restoring HP than either First Aid or Field Surgery.

Also, I could use it on myself - which meant that my MP pool might actually be useful in combat.

My MP now recovered by 6 points per second, which meant I could - in theory - take 30 damage every four seconds and keep fighting indefinitely. Or, I could restore myself to full health from 1 HP by spamming five heals.

Now how do I get to Cure?

“How’d you do in the exam?” Anne’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Huh?” In the flurry of notifications, I hadn’t bothered to read through the results. “Oh. It says I passed.” I glanced more closely. “GPA for the test is…. 3.9.”

Anne whistled. “That’s…. Impressive.”

“Is it?”

“3.9 out of 4.0? And you gave the entire set of tests in less than a week? You bet.”

“History brought it down a bit…”

“Yeah, but you still aced it. Damn. I was worried you’d tanked your college chances.”

“There’s still the SAT.”

“Yeah… but with a 3.9 you could probably apply to any college you want.”

“Do ultrahumans go to college?”

“There’s a sitcom based entirely around that idea, you know. Two ultras attend college, neither know the other’s an ultra, they start dating.”

“..... I assume that chaos ensues.”

“Yep.”

“Well, I got Heal.”

“Is it any use?”

I briefly explained the skill. “More efficient than First Aid, that’s for sure. Maybe I’ll get Cure if I give the SAT?”

“Did you get a quest for that?”

“.... No.”

“Then probably not. Hey, at least we know that if you practice a skill, it gets higher in level.”

I had run across that little nugget of insight during a Prophet’s Roulette a few days ago - not that we hadn’t suspected as much already.

“So maybe if you reach a high enough level in Heal, you can unlock Cure?”

“That’s a good point,” I noted. “I’d have to test Heal, though…. I can test it on myself. Hey, I could cut myself and heal myself continuously….”

“You are not cutting yourself.”

“It’s perfectly safe.”

“You know, for a 3.9 GPA, you’re acting pretty stupid right now. Have you thought about what happens if you cut yourself wrong? You could hit something vital and bleed to death.”

“So what do I do to practice?”

“Well, you could use it on Dad’s bedsores.”

“.... I could, but that hasn’t helped First Aid level.”

“Look, your power’s telling you things that help you get better, right? How does cutting yourself help you get better?”

“... a good point.”

“How about you put on a mask and costume instead and go heal sick kids in the hospital?”

“.... Yeah, that could work.”

“There are very few genuine healing capes. Melody Harmony, Mender of Bones, Redcross Rhythm and Doctor Sparkle are the only four in the United States. What you have, your power? It’s a fantastic hero-type power. Even if you can’t cure people, you certainly can help.”

“Are there non-hero-type powers?”

“Well, mind control isn’t good, and there’s an ultra who summons plagues of locusts, but mostly hero or villain is about how you use your powers.”

We tested Heal on me first, then on Paul. The pressure sores - and the attendant HP loss - vanished when I used them.

PAUL DRAKE

CLASS: WORKING MAN

LEVEL 3

HP 160/160

STATUS EFFECTS: UNCONSCIOUS, COMA, Q-PHASE BLAST EFFECT

CONDITIONS: TYPE 2 DIABETES

As we’d expected, Heal didn’t remove the Coma or the Q-phase blast effect - the latter still being something unexplained.

That afternoon, though, I put the finishing touches on my other major project - the Nanofibre Weave Combat Armor.

Touching the cloth, I forced myself to think about the Nanofibre Weave Bodyplate.

NANOFIBRE WEAVE BODYPLATE x1 ASSEMBLED!

A shimmering dark grey breastplate appeared in my hands.

I almost dropped it at first. The plate was heavy - more than ten kilos. Fortunately, my enhanced Strength did have a few advantages.

“Note to self,” I muttered, “be prepared for the jerk when these appear.”

Anne giggled. “You looked funny.”

I glared. “Let me get the rest done.”

NANOFIBRE WEAVE HELMET x1 ASSEMBLED!

NANOFIBRE WEAVE GREAVES x1 ASSEMBLED!

NANOFIBRE WEAVE BOOTS x1 ASSEMBLED!

NANOFIBRE WEAVE BRACERS x1 ASSEMBLED!

NANOFIBRE WEAVE GAUNTLETS x1 ASSEMBLED!

AVAILABLE ARMOR SET: NANOFIBRE WEAVE COMBAT ARMOR.

ARMOR POINTS: 400

DAMAGE REDUCTION: 100%. ARMOR WILL BLOCK ALL DAMAGE UNTIL BROKEN.

DAMAGE NEGATION: 10

BONUS: 50% REDUCED COST OF EVADE BLOWS.

EQUIP ARMOR? YES/NO

I stared at the six pieces of armour, lying on the table - which was creaking under the weight of over thirty kilos of advanced equipment. “It’s giving me an option to ‘equip’ the armour.”

“Put it on,” urged Anne, “I want to see how you look in it.”

“I’m getting a shopping trip vibe.”

“Hey, every girl knows that when you get a new outfit, you try it on. Go ahead.”

I picked Yes.

Immediately, the armour pieces vanished from the table.

I could feel them encase me.

“Wow,” whispered Anne. “It’s when you do stuff like this that you really act like an ultra.”

“Oh, and how is that supposed to be? Wise and all-knowing?”

“Nope, magical and mysterious. Wow. That thing really muffles your voice, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Here, I’ll record a small segment and play it back to you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I began, but Anne already had the recorder on. “No names, then.”

“There, done,” Anne said. “I’m playing it back now.”

A deep, hissing voice issued from the phone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I sound pretentious,” I grumbled.

“You sound scary, like a dark and mysterious ultra speaking from the shadows. You look it, too. Check the mirror.”

The mirror showed me what Anne meant.

A dark, hulking figure, with a featureless face, powerfully built arms and standing a good six feet seven tall stared back at me.

The armour had added a good four inches to my height. Thick undersoles on the boots and armouring atop the head contributed to that.

Everywhere else, the nanofibre weave had manifested as two-inch thick layers between me and the environment.

I’m not a slender guy, but the armour had made me bulk up even more.

“I look….” I winced. “I look intimidating.”

“Very scary,” Anne agreed. “Should scare the aliens a bit, for sure.”

I checked my stats:

NAME: ANDREW DRAKE

CLASS: UNKNOWN

FACTION: NONE

HP: 130/130 + 400/400

PP: 247/247

MP: 360/360

CP: 230/230

AP: 169/169

$ 1,879.00

XP: 2795/3000

Ethics: +7

I didn’t know if it would scare an alien, but if something wearing what I was wearing jumped out at me from the dark, I would definitely be petrified.

“Can you lift your sledgehammer with that?” Anne asked.

I picked up the sledgehammer. It was a heavy-duty hammer, weighing about ten kilos - and combined with the armour, it was quite a lot of weight.

Not enough to slow me down, however.

“Wow,” Anne remarked. “That’s… that doesn’t even slow you down.”

“It’s nothing compared to Viking or Lady Lumina,” I muttered, “but I should be able to face off the next Sarnak I see.”

School started the next day with a visit to the principal’s office.

Principal Johnston gazed at me from across the table. “A 3.9 GPA on the FSAT. Do you think you did well?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“I’m inclined to agree. I would still recommend, however, that you take advantage of the preparatory courses and the school libraries to ready yourself for the SATs. After all, the school year runs till May.” He grinned. “We won’t need to boot you out until then.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll take a few.”

“Good, good. And Mr. Drake? We are all very proud of what you’ve achieved.” Johnston smiled. “On behalf of all the faculty - we wish you all the best.”

I could feel myself blush. “Thank you, sir.”

Jimmy and Lou were waiting for me outside school. Jimmy grinned as I approached. “Dude! You should’ve told us! You cleared all the FSAT papers in a week?”

“Is the news out everywhere?”

“Nah, Anne just told Clarice. Who told us. So when’s the party?”

“The party?”

“You graduated, bro. From high school. In three months.”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Don’t think, then. You missed Christmas because of the FSAT, didn’t you? The least you can do is celebrate the New Year with a bang.”

I smiled. “All right. Just this once. My place?”

“Again? Forget that. We’ll pick you up.”