TWELVE: One O’clock on a Thursday

It was supposed to happen differently.

It definitely would have if Alden’s life were an action movie…or even a comedy. If the universe were a writer, there would have been some dramatic build-up. Some tension that needed breaking. Maybe even a small disaster that could only be overcome by the deus popping out of the machina.

But it didn’t go like that.

Instead, it was one o’clock on a Thursday. And Alden had just bombed a quiz on Hamlet because he’d somehow failed to see a reading assignment that had, apparently, been posted on the board all week.

It was out of character for him.

Hannah’s funeral was in two days, and while he was a long way from bursting into tears at random intervals like he had in the months after his parents were killed, he was having a pretty hard time focusing his attention on the everyday stuff.

His AP Literature teacher looked like she wanted to have a worried conversation with him, so he made a quick excuse, grabbed his bag, and dashed across the hall to the bathroom. There, while he stared at some of his schoolmates’ artistic graffiti and did what people do in bathrooms, he suddenly felt a jolt.

It was a brief, painless full-body spasm. Like a hypnic jerk.

Startled, he grabbed onto the cracked plastic top of the toilet paper dispenser with a steadying hand. But the physical sensation was already over.

An instant later, a voice spoke quietly in his ears.

“Hello, Alden,” said the System. “In 1963, the peoples of Earth accepted an infusion of magic and technology, as well as a promise of future protection, as part of an agreement with the Artonan Triplanetary Government. In doing so, Earth became an Artonan resource world, with all the accompanying rights, privileges, and responsibilities afforded by that designation.”

Oh, Alden thought. Maybe it was because of his surroundings, or maybe it was because he’d been forewarned. But he felt less afraid than he would have expected. This is THE speech. It’s really happening to me.

For some reason, the System almost always delivered the selection speech out loud this way. Not with the visual interfaces it seemed to prefer for most communication. The working theory was that it was analyzing you and making tweaks to your mind or soul based on your reactions to what it said, before it fully completed its merge.

“As part of this alliance,” the System continued in a volume that was barely above a murmur, “Earth is required to deliver a number of suitable individuals into contractual servitude. You have been selected for this honor. You may refuse to sign your planet’s version of the Interdimensional Warriors Contract out of personal principle, and your objection will be taken into consideration hereafter. Ultimately, however, you may not refuse to serve.”

I didn’t expect it to happen like this. Today. Now. Here.

A mote of mixed emotion, equal parts excitement and anxiety, made Alden grip the toilet paper dispenser a little tighter. He stared at a marker drawing of an oddly-shaped cactus that had definitely started its life as something less innocent before it was repaired by a more tasteful artist.

The System went on. “Upon signing, you will become one of your planet’s Avowed. As a signing bonus, you will receive an additional gift. Refusal to sign will result in the loss of this bonus.”

Right. Carrot and stick together.

“Upon becoming one of the Avowed, you will be subject to summons, for emergency and non-emergency purposes, by members of the Artonan wizarding classes. By Artonan law, all Avowed are justly rewarded for any service rendered.”

“Your rank has been determined. Your class has been randomly assigned based on the Triplanetary Government’s current requests. You have ninety Earth days to sign the Contract of your own free will. During that time, you may trade your class with equivalently ranked selectees from your own planet. Once affixed, your class assignment is immutable.”

For some reason, Alden found himself whispering the final few words along with the System.

“Welcome, Alden. And thank you for your future service.”

There were only a couple of heartbeats between the end of the speech and the moment when the System window suddenly appeared in front of Alden’s wide eyes. But a couple of heartbeats were enough for an entire cascade of thoughts, hopes, worries, and wonderings to pass through his brain.

This was it. Right here and now. His life was taking a sharp turn in some new direction and he had almost no control over it at all.

A single point of dark golden light appeared at the center of his vision, and then it bloomed rapidly to overlay everything else. Breathing hard, Alden stared into his own future.

[Pre-affixed Selectee: Samuel Alden Thorn

Divergence Rank: B

Assigned Class: Meister of Cudgel]

…

[Samuel Alden Thorn, do you willingly accept your duties as one of Earth’s Avowed, thereby satisfying a portion of your world’s debt to the Triplanets?]

YES/NO

2159 h: 59 m: 34 s

Alden read it all. Then, he read it again. His brain must have short-circuited at some point, because he had to keep reading it before the simple words finally held some meaning.

He watched the timer tick down and down, until the sound of someone peeing in the stall beside him made reality reassert itself.

B-rank. Meister of Cudgel. Okay. Now…what? How do I even turn this thing off? Alden wondered, staring at the words superimposed over his vision. Interested as he was in heroes, he’d never actually hit the level of obsession where one studied the layout of the System’s display.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

He knew verbal commands were a thing. But the bell had just rung, and the bathroom was filling with people. He didn’t want to be overheard trying out different versions of, “System, switch to invisible mode.”

It would cause an uproar.

He tried a mental command, and when that didn’t work, he looked for a button. He expected to find something like an X in one corner of the imaginary “screen,” so it took him a long while to realize that what he needed was a swiping gesture.

An open-palmed one.

Less cell phone, more window washer.

That’s about as subtle as a punch to the jaw, he thought as he finally managed to make it disappear.

He frowned at the empty place where the display had been. He felt…really human. Because he was. He hadn’t clicked YES. So his new powers hadn’t been affixed.

I guess I’ll go to my next class?

It seemed like what he should do. He had ninety days. There was no need to rush into things. No need to panic.