Directorate School (The Directorate Book 1) Read online

  Directorate School

  Pam Uphoff

  Genetic engineering lifted psychic powers above the random background of coincidence. Backlash and prejudice against 'Magic' and 'Satanism' resulted in the exile of all genetically engineered people to dangerous worlds; not-quite-parallel earths they weren't expected to survive.

  Fourteen centuries of turbulent Earth history later the exiled magicians have been forgotten, rediscovered, clashed with . . .

  The Empire of the One grew from the accidental stranding of an early cross dimensional exploration party of the genetically engineered, two years before the Exile. They arrived in the middle of a war, where the three great powers, China, the Islamic Union, and Greater Argentina vied for possession of the no-longer-radioactive ruins of Europe and North America. The marooned explorers used their special talents, and a lot of flimflam and fast talk to place themselves on the top of the Islamic Union as the New Prophets of the One True God.

  Fourteen hundred years later, their descendants are still the elite of a united world with twelve cross-dimensional colonies.

  After several deadly clashes between Dimension Age civilizations, the newly fledged Department of Interdimensional Security and Cooperation is attempting, with fair success, to keep the peace among the growing number of worlds exploring the Multiverse.

  So a group of youngsters in the Empire of the One can concentrate on college, and training for the teams who explore new worlds. A bright future . . . if they survive the politics swirling around them.

  Copyright © 2016 Pamela Uphoff

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN

  978-1-939746-19-1

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.

  Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Cedar Sanderson

  Chapter One

  1 Qadah, 1402 yp

  The University was not at all what Ebsa Clostuone had expected. He'd thought the University of the Empire's School of Directorate Studies in New York City would be so upscale and snooty. So elevated and erudite. The best of the One.

  The hazing came as a surprise.

  Oh, he'd known perfectly well that as a "mere" Clostuone he'd probably get some mental testing . . .

  "Did you hear me, Fresher?" The upperclassman was four inches taller the he was. Muscular shoulders and chest obvious through the thin tight fabric of his shirt.

  "Actually I'm a Junior. Transfer student, you know?" Ebsa tried to make his voice sound patient, and perhaps a little amused. I probably just sound like a dork. And I don't need a confrontation with a dozen other students looking on.

  "Here you're a Fresher, until you prove we can rely on you in the field." He looked beyond Ebsa. "And that goes double for a Colonial."

  A snort from behind him. A young man stepped around Ebsa and dropped his suitcase in front of the heckler and shrugged a backpack off his shoulder. "You must be the houseboy. I am assigned to room 312. Bring the luggage." He stepped past the bully and headed for the stairs.

  Ebsa gawped.

  From a colony? Where they have Native houseboys?

  The Hazer grabbed for the Colonial, who sidestepped neatly. The Hazer pounced and flew over the Colonial's hip. Unfortunately, he knew how to fall and rolled right back up to his feet, fists clenched.

  Ebsa stepped smartly back, and checked the area. Something like ten men were standing up and heading their way. The closest one rushed at them. Ebsa shrugged his own backpack off and swung it under the nearest man's feet. It was a magnificent pratfall: headfirst into the Hazer. Ebsa ducked a swing from the next student rushing into the fray, blocked the follow up. Got shoved from the rear . . . Two guys grabbed his arms, he kicked the man in front of him first. Gently—this wasn't a life or death fight and he really didn't want to kill someone his first day here . . . The one with his left arm staggered as someone bounced off him. Ebsa heaved all three of them to the right and rammed the right arm man into the wall. Swung the still unsteady left fellow around to stumble into a chair and twisted his arm loose. A punch to the right and he was free.

  The colonial kid was surrounded. Ebsa trotted over and kicked the back of one man's knee, grabbed his shoulder and jerked back and down to aid his encounter with the floor. Then he was face down on the floor with about three tons of upperclassmen trying to suffocate him . . .

  He barely heard the new voice. Something about "Hell" and then "RIGHT NOW!!!!" came through loud and clear. Bodies rolled off him and he heaved in a couple of deep breaths before he stood up to face the music.

  "I see we have once again failed to grasp the basics." The man surveying them was elderly but upright. Medium height, a bit on the thin side, both hands draped casually on a cane. "Edge, when capable of standing, please recite rule thirteen. These youngsters need to learn these things, so they will not add to my burden of, well, you and your cronies."

  The Heckler crawled to his feet. "Thirteen. Your classmates are on your side. In theory, in the field, they will have your back. In practice, it is therefore a good idea to not inculcate within them a desire to stab you in the back."

  Yeah, you can recite it, but you don't remember it when it might do you some good. Do you Edgie?

  Ebsa tried to not sway on his feet. His quick head count had five of the "enemy" standing and five who hadn't made it up yet. The Colonial was standing straight and alert. His nice dress shirt had lost a couple of buttons. and hung open at the neck, no other sign of damage.

  Ebsa caught his eye. "Not bad, two against ten." He kept his voice down but the old man's eyes narrowed.

  "Oh, yes? And do you think this will make things easier for you?"

  Ebsa shrugged. "Doubt it. More likely they'll come back with at least twenty, next time. Or just ambush us one at a time." He eyed the older students. Not more than a year older than me, though.

  The old man glowered. "What is your name?"

  "Ebsa Clostuone Castellanos Montevideo."

  That got a mutter from the bullies. "Clostuone! Can't believe they let the lower classes attend here."

  The old man ignored them and eyed the other newcomer.

  "Ra'd Withione Nicholas Makkah."

  Snorts from the upper classmen. "Told you he was a Colonial. A Halfer mother trekking to Makkah to give birth doesn't make you a member of the Makkah Clan."

  The old man shot the Hazer a quelling look, then looked back at Ra'd. "Here on the One World you should use your Oner designation when asked your name. You may use your nickname, but it is not your legal identity."

  Ra'd raised a single eyebrow. He had black hair, but his skin was paler than most Oners. "Perhaps, then, you could inform me how one is supposed to pronounce W, Q, L, W?"

  The old man hesitated. "Most likely something like Wuck Lew or perhaps 'Ra'd' if one ignores any sane rules of pronunciation." His eyes swung around to Ebsa. "And I suppose you have a nickname as well?"

  Ebsa shrugged. "I'm trying to leave it behind. Ebsa will be fine."

  "Well, you may find yourself acquiring one different enough to distinguish you from the four other Ebsas I have in classes. I am Doctor Ivpi Withione. Here at the directorate we try to put our clannishness behind us. Not easy; family is important. But we will be working for the entirety of the Empire, and as such we need to open up our allegiances and let more people in, not retreat to our clan and subclan and keep others out." He looked over his shoulder at the Hazer. "Hopefully you all have enough bruises to henceforth respect each other's fighting ability, and further judgment and trust will come by other means. Please do proceed to put your p
ossession in your rooms. Then join us for dinner." He turned back to the others. "Since you are all feeling so energetic, one lap of the track before dinner. Now!"

  Ebsa stepped over to his gear. "So, where did you grow up? I can't place your accent, other than that you speak pure English. Why no Arabic words, if you're from Makkah? Or are you from one of the colonies?"

  "I have never lived anywhere other than this world, although my father was born on another and came here when he was a young man. We traveled a lot, and I have only a small circle of people that I am truly close to."

  "I'm an upstart Halfer's bastard, myself. I have a mentor who has encouraged me to reach out and do the impossible." He glanced around. "Like this."

  "Your father?"

  "No. He died four years ago. She's not a relative, but she makes me believe I can do anything. And I'm going to." Ebsa nodded decisively, grabbed his backpack and suitcase and headed for the stairs. Ra'd was right behind him.

  Room three fourteen was two doors down from Ra'd's room. He tossed his stuff in, and took a quick minute to poke into the common areas. The compact cube of the building had the bedrooms lining the outside walls, and the two flights of staircases, a laundry, toilets and bathing rooms and so forth in the central core. Twenty rooms to a floor, three floors above the ground level. They walked down to dinner together.

  The dining hall was long and skinny. Windows down one long wall and doors to, presumably, the kitchen on the other. The short walls had doors to the outside. Eight tables perpendicular to the window wall, a ninth, smaller, table parallel to the back wall, midway up the room.

  Ebsa inhaled carefully, but the odors wafting from the kitchen were pretty good. Chicken—the only thing guaranteed to offend no major cultures, except the vegetarian varieties—but it smelled like they used plenty of spices. Real, not fabbed. Hope that's not an aberration for the welcome dinner.

  Dr. Ivpi was sitting with a group of older men and women at the small table.

  "I suppose those are the teachers assigned to the residence halls, poor sods." Ebsa muttered.

  Ra'd grinned. "Do you think it might be a punishment assignment? Any worse and they're cleaning privvies?"

  Edge-the-Hazer was at the head of the second table. He looked around and glared at them. Pointed to the far end of the table. "Sit there. First day we get a welcome speech and lecture. Later you can fraternize with the ladies."

  Ebsa blinked and focused on the other tables. Yep, two of the eight held female type people. "Cool. All you ever hear about is Action and Info teams. All guys." He headed for the foot of the table. Wiped something off the seat of the chair before he sat down. Ignored the snickers.

  One of the old men cast a glance at the clock and rose. Dinged his spoon against his water glass.

  "I would like to welcome all the incoming students to the University of the Empire, and to the School of Directorate Studies. Close to three quarters of you are fresh out of high school, others of you are transferring in from other colleges. You will find the Directorate School different from your previous colleges. We are, in many ways, a trade school. The Directorates will be employing most of you.

  "Internal Relations, External Relations, or the Presidential Directorate. " A dubious gaze over the hall. "But I'm sure you all know all about the three Directorates from watching improbable action vids."

  "But just because so many of our people are in field operations, do not think that we are lax academically. Yes, even those on the Action Team track are required to pass classes in the non-combat related disciplines."

  "Our classes fall into six main categories, which are how we split up the departments. Languages: modern, archaic, and cross-dimensional. The social sciences: history, politics and sociology. The hard sciences. The biological sciences. Combat—which covers everything from military tactics to hands-on training. And Information: collection, management and analysis.

  "Analyzing what we discover is a large part of what we do."

  "Now, there are some glaring holes. Keep in mind that the Directorate School is less than five percent of the University. If you wish to study law, medicine, or engineering, you will be taking classes outside our little enclave. All of you will be taking some classes 'out there.' You will all get specific training in magical techniques, which is handled by the School of Magic."

  He glanced around the room. "I won't lecture you further, tonight. You should all have appointments with your counselors, and will be signed up for classes in short order." He sat down. Apparently the signal for the servers to get to work.

  Ebsa inhaled deeply. Garlic, Rosemary . . .

  The man to his right curled a lip. "Waste of time, teaching a Clostuone magic."

  Ebsa smiled. "Is it competitive? Scared I'll be better than you?"

  He got an incredulous look and a mental slap. Which he bounced. The man's eyes narrowed. "At least you're not helpless. I'm Ogly."

  "Ebsa, that's Ra'd."

  He looked across the table. That fellow avoided his gaze, turning a bit to say something to his neighbor.

  Beyond Ra'd, the fellow at the foot of the table looked utterly indifferent. Across the table, another over-muscled man with aggressive posture.

  Ebsa sighed, and met Ra'd's gaze. "I think a lot of our fellow dormies are on the Action Team track."

  Ra'd nodded. "I had thought the movies exaggerated."

  That got them glares, but the servers had made it down to their end of the table, and they all dug in.

  "So, what are you specializing in?"

  Ra'd hesitated, then shrugged. "I had thought, Action Team. But this lot is changing my mind fast. You?"

  "Exploration or Info Team. I started out wanting to be a Presidential Guard, but, well, I decided I'd rather go see things even stranger than politicians."

  That drew a sneer from across the table. "What do you know about the Presidential Directorate?"

  "Oh." Ebsa waffled, then decided to edit his brag sheet. "I know someone in the Presidential Directorate." Who beat some sense into my thick skull and trained me. Inspired me. Worked my ass off and drilled me before finals.

  Several sneers. "So do you know Paer, the President's daughter? She's here." Several glances over shoulders.

  "Er, no. Never met her. I didn't realize she was here." "Princess" Paer the Olympic rider has Directorate ambitions? Probably Rael's good influence there, too.

  "Just transferred in, like you, Fresher."

  He craned his neck. Not that he could see any of the female students, but there were two woman down at the far end of the hall, just sort of standing around. Neither of them familiar. He shrugged. "No one I know."

  "What are you talking about? You can't see them without standing up." The one across the table frowned at him.

  "Those two women standing around will be presidential guards."

  The men in hearing range all stood and peered.

  Ra'd's hands snaked out, scooped up their two water glasses and placed them across the table. Grabbed the ones there and pulled them back.

  Ebsa cleared his throat to stifle an impulse to laugh and turned back to his dinner. Although surely they wouldn't dope the water . . .

  After dinner, there was a quick tour of the campus for the new students. Their dedicated buildings were to the west of the sport's complex, with the rest of the campus to the north and east. History, Fine Arts, the School of Law, Yusef Engineering Center, and the Medical School in a line going to the east. Then the tour cut south past the School of Magical Arts, and turned back west past the Physics, Chemistry, Biology buildings. The Center for Human Cultures was further south down a side street, and a small building was billed as the Political Sciences building. "Ignore them. Most of the politics you'll learn will be with us, or in the field."

  Then the sports complex. Football was, of course, the most popular, but a few other team sports were popular enough for the University to field a team. On a more individual level, and more to all the new kids' interest, there were r
ooms with mats for hand-to-hand combat training. A fencing salle. Shooting range. And the track.

  "Enough of you will wind up in very active assignments that everyone will run regularly, everyone will learn karate, and everyone will be trained to shoot a variety of weapons. Two semesters of karate are required. You must pass the basic firearms proficiency standards. If you are trying out for the Teams, you will have both martial arts and weaponry every semester. Weapons certification is required for Teams, and it is considerably more difficult than the basic proficiency." A deep sigh accompanied a resigned expression. "There are other sports. Those of you inclined to . . .social or political advancement may want to consider fencing. There are team sports, but we advise against them, as they tend to be very time consuming. These are all strictly optional, and will be in addition to your classwork, and the running, shooting, and karate. If you get a job at a desk or in a lab, you can let yourself go. But not until then."

  Ebsa had been noticing some squirming from the younger set. And comings and goings from various buildings, and into and out of the lavatories as they walked through the gymnasium. So, is a constipation remedy a standard hazing method? Watching everything I eat could get old really fast. And I hope that, if it was in the water, we got the instigators, not the innocent.

  They walked back into Directorate territory, and the three buildings were pointed out. Languages, history, political, and social sciences, there. Sciences in the next building, and the Combat and Information programs were run out of the third building.

  They were dismissed, and half the kids bolted for the nearest toilets. The others walked quickly away in the direction of the residential buildings.

  Dr. Ivpi sighed. "Someday civilization will come to the young men. But probably not until they're old. And some not even in their dotage. So you two managed to dodge that prank, which the seniors were specifically ordered to not do?"

  Ra'd shrugged. "I took an opportunity to swap water glasses with the men across the table. That being the only thing they had access to, prior to our arrival."