Dante

  “When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.”

  --Lao Tzu

  I surface from my dreams, but this time there are no hints. Just a vague impression of all of us as mere children, hiding in trees and poking around puzzles we scarcely understand.

  Imagining ourselves to be spies, instead of pawns and playthings.

  ***

  I wake. It’s been a month, and still no sign of this mysterious person I’m supposed to help.

  Unless it’s Ghost. Though she seems more about helping me. In her own way.

  Or maybe I’m just bad at recognizing them. Or they’re trying to avoid me.

  Or maybe it’s Ghost. But my gut tells me she isn’t the whole story, and if Keiron was clear on one thing, it’s that when I found my mystery collaborator, I’d know.

  I glance around the room, then extend my mind in that way I have, that sometimes lets me sense the way forward.

  The strategy I need most.

  But nothing stirs in my mind, or the room, but my most recent memories.

  ***

  A month ago – the day after my half-forgotten arrival and the beginning of the semester – Anton is standing in my living room, asking me to wear some sunglasses at night.

  Well, it’s Barry’s living room, and the sunglasses aren’t really sunglasses.

  “Just try him on,” Anton urges. “Verge’ll give you the lowdown way better than I ever could.”

  “Verge?” I ask. “You mean the AI in those?” I look at the mirrorshades dubiously.

  “You wanted to know what we could do for you,” Anton pointed out. “As Archons. And since you’ve already forgotten our heroic rescue, we can at least show you some tech that doesn’t involve being blown up or shot at.”

  “Like Verge,” I say, resigned. With an inaudible sigh, I slip them on.

  And the world opens in front of me.

  “About time,” a relaxed, resonant male voice remarks. “Tiptoeing around the truth, Dante? Or just tired?”

  “Waiting for you to recharge and run self-diagnostics,” I counter as a window appears next to Anton.

  Antonius Alexandros Aspect

  Known Abilities:

  Paragon – Rank 0

  Polymath – Rank 1

  Enhanced Strength – Rank 1+

  Savant Empathy – Rank 3

  Savant Mathematics – Rank 2

  Known Affiliations:

  Archon – Probationary Member (Trainee)

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  Waycross Academy (Tower School) – Student

  The Program/The Island (Accelerated School and Testing Ground – Defunct) – Former Student

  “Oh,” I say after a moment. “That’s… What is that?”

  “Seeing my public profile, eh?” Anton asks. “Trippy, right? Don’t worry, though. Hardly anyone has a copy of Verge, so most people will think it’s an AR game if they see it, and the copy you’ve got is still set to show only the least-confidential data. So you won’t spill any secrets. Not to anyone who knows what we are in the first place, anyway.”

  “Ooo-Kay,” I respond.

  Anton waves one big arm in front of his face. “Take a look at yourself. Verge’ll have your stats.”

  I wave a forearm in front of my own face. Just then, something obvious strikes me.

  “Wait,” I say. “You were on the Island?”

  Anton nods slowly, a hesitant expression on his face, but as he does so, my stat block pops up and I pause, seeing myself broken down – at least in basic terms – like a videogame character.

  I shake my head like I’m trying to get cobwebs out of it, distracted by the popup and my own uncharacteristically sluggish memories.

  “There was an Anton in our class…” I begin slowly. Then my eyes find the block again, before finding his gaze, and I read it at a glance.

  Dante Michaelangelo Alistaire

  Known Abilities:

  Paragon – Rank 1

  Savant Tactics – Rank 2

  Savant Strategy – Rank 2+

  Polymath – Rank 0

  Known Affiliations:

  Archon – Probationary Member (Trainee)

  Waycross Academy (Tower School) – Student

  The Program/The Island (Accelerated School and Testing Ground – Defunct) – Former Student

  Ghost Network – Probationary Member/Status Uncertain

  “So…” I begin. “What does all of that mean?”

  Anton has his own mirrorshades on and, I assume, his own copy of Verge running.

  But Verge is the first of us to speak.

  “It means you’re at the beginning of your journey. Light years ahead of most, but barely a shadow of what you could become.”

  “Verge can give you a lot more numbers,” Anton adds. “Especially if you want to increase your abilities.”

  “But the numbers are mostly nonsense, laid out like this,” Verge says. “Oh, they’re a good enough gauge of overall progress, but if you want to enhance yourself, we’ll be working with much more specific data. Fortunately, as an AI, I can crunch the numbers for you.”

  “Kind of like how bodybuilders break down everything – their weights, reps, rest periods, diet, supplements… all of it. Only Verge can figure out your specific gaps in any ability – or where you naturally excel – and a plan to get you there. And if you don’t want to know what the plan is,” Anton shrugs, “he can just guide you through exercises until you arrive, anyway.”

  “And you don’t have to do all of them,” Verge notes, “because I can find alternate training regimens if you need them.”

  A polite cough came from Dante’s iPhone. “He already has an enhancement coach,” Lyrica commented.

  “And a diagnostics suite,” Foresight called out from Dante’s wrist.

  “We can work together, then,” Verge replies. “I’m sure we all have his best interests at heart, and wouldn’t want our infighting to undermine his plans. So let’s see what he wants from us. If anything.”

  “Okay,” I say, “but all those numbers have to mean something.”

  Anton nods. “Yeah, they do. Okay, to simplify the simplified data, Rank 0 isn’t really zero. It’s the point where you rank as superhuman at all. And technically, you’re still human at that point. Just operating at a level most never see.”

  “Especially across the board,” Verge adds. “That’s the one place these nonsense numbers make sense.”

  “How so?” I ask, my eyes narrowing as a I stare at… well, the shades on the bridge of my nose.

  “Think about it,” my AI-haunted LaserShades observed. “‘Paragon’ is what we call someone whose baseline abilities – their intelligence, willpower, speed, agility and so on – have all hit some kind of minimal level.”

  “Usually a high minimal level,” Anton says.

  “Polymath is the same thing for skills you can learn – from boxing to brain surgery, from piloting to Pilates – and is extra-scary if you’re a ‘Full Polymath’…”

  “Implying you know all the skills.” Anton shrugs. “With rare gaps and exceptions, like dead languages no one’s rediscovered yet, technologies yet to be invented…”

  “Or legitimate omissions,” Verge adds dryly from his perch just beyond my eyeballs, “like not mastering every card game in the known universe. Or reading every manual for every outdated piece of tech.”

  My lips twitch into a brief smile. “So when you rank me as a Polymath 0, you’re saying –”

  “You know a lot,” Antons agrees amiably, whether that was where I was going or not.

  “And when you rank Anton,” I look over at my new friend, amused, “as Polymath Rank 1, you’re saying–"

  “I know a lot more,” Anton admits, “at least when it comes to useful trivia. For Now.” His gaze is steady. “It’s not a judgement, but a snapshot. A summary of where we are now, in broad brushstrokes.”

  “Not where we’ll be.” I nod my understanding.

  “Especially given you’re both seventeen,” Verge snorts. “And you, Dante, haven’t had the chance to refine, say, your brain surgery or stickboxing skills in a forgiving virtual environment, or to speedread when the effective passage of time itself is accelerated to one minute in every second.

  “Or faster.”

  “And meanwhile, you’re building on an insane foundation,” Anton says. “Remember, read three good books on a subject, and you already know more about it than 95% of the population. 99% in a lot of cases. Polymath ‘Zero’ is a lot more than three good books.”

  “And Paragon 0 and 1?” I ask, bringing up the other elephant in the room, who was presently sitting on Barry’s couch, trumpeting and eating peanuts as he observed the proceedings. Metaphorically.

  “Paragon 0 is the equivalent of being an exceptional human across the board,” Verge observes. “Unless, say, there’s some area where you’re better, like Anton’s strength.”

  “And Paragon 1,” Anton observes, “means you’re borderline superhuman across the board. Something clearly established your ‘1’ isn’t so much a rank as an acknowledgement.”

  I raise an eyebrow and give a ghost of a smile. “So you’re saying I’m superhuman.”

  “I’m saying anyone who knows about you – really knows about you – will consider you superhumanly capable and will treat you that way from the start.” Anton’s eyes were unwavering, his tone blunt. “For good or ill.”

  “So when they come,” Verge clarifies, “they’ll come loaded for bear. Or elephant. Or worse.” He pauses to let that sink in. “And they will come.”

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