Date: Mon, 7 Feb 2022 22:11:44 +0000 (UTC)
From: Samuel Stefanik <churchphilips@yahoo.com>
Subject: Crown Vic to a Parallel World: The Beginning. Chapter 20

And here's Chapter 20 as promised.  Enjoy!!

If you're younger than 18 or find these kinds of stories offensive, please
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20

The Magic Box

Room 604 was much the same as we'd left it the day before.  Some minor
changes included the removal of all the weapons in the cases and the
stainless clean-up of my blood from the padded floor.  "I'm glad they took
them out," Bem commented in reference to the weapons, "never should have
been there in the first place."  I nodded my agreement.  Bem would get no
argument from me.

Our gun cases sat just inside the door, where we'd left them on the way to
lunch.  We removed our shoes and walked onto the padded floor of the
sparring room.  Bem glanced up at the still-burned-out catalyst and shook
his head like he was reliving his amazement from the day before.  He
started conversation with me.  "How's the magic going?  You learn any
control?"

I'd actually forgotten all about practicing.  I hedged my answer.  "Some.
Needs more work."

Bem didn't react to my partial admission.  He shifted to Shawn.  "Any
thoughts on weaponizing your power?"

Obstinance rose in Shawn, and he didn't bother to hide it.  "No." He said,
spitting the word out like it was something he'd found caught between his
teeth.

Bem's left hand rose to knead his right shoulder, his right hand found its
way into his pants pocket.  "Here's the way it is, guys.  We've got a
month, and whatever we are at the end of that month, that's what is going
to try to save the world.  It's not enough time to make you soldiers, but I
don't need soldiers.  You both need to be able to defend yourselves and use
whatever skills you have to the best of your ability."

Bem turned his attention to me as he went on.  "Church, your magic is
apparently what will save us.  I want you practicing ALL THE TIME.  Even
when you and Shawn are banging it out, get creative.  See if you can," he
shook an almost closed fist back and forth in a lewd gesture, "while you,"
he thrust his hips forward and back in another lewd gesture, "you get the
idea."

Shawn blanched at the suggestion.  "I'm not letting his power anywhere
near...my sensitive bits."

The conversation struck me as odd.  It seemed strange that in a world where
one can walk down the street and get propositioned or turn on the
television and watch an orgy on every channel, sentences like, `stroke him
with your magic while you pound him,' seemed taboo.  I also thought it
interesting that Bem assumed I was always the top.  I wondered why.

Bem didn't make any more suggestions, but he did set a goal.  "It's Monday,
by Wednesday I better be impressed.  Go out in the observation room and do
something, even if it's wrong."

I felt like a first-year apprentice who just had a broom shoved into his
hands.  I was ashamed that I'd lost a whole day without activating my power
even once.  Everyone was pushing the idea that my magic was somehow going
to save the world.  I supposed I had enough of the stuff, but what they
expected me to do with it, was beyond me.  I took myself toward the glass
door.  On the way, I heard Bem telling Shawn he was going to test Shawn's
self-defense prowess.  I figured Shawn had a better chance of landing a hit
on the hopping sparrow than I did and mentally wished him luck.

I wanted to watch the match, but knew if I did, I wouldn't do anything
else.  I needed to get to work.  I scanned the room for objects to play
with.  The neat row of shoes lined against the glass wall seemed likely
candidates.  I called one of my heels to me.  It came easily enough and
hovered in front of me.  I poked it with my finger and felt the pressure
through my power.  It was like pressing one palm against the other.
"Weird." I said to the red heel.

I didn't look at the second heel.  I pictured it in my head and called it
over.  It came eagerly to hover next to its brother.  I poked them both at
the same time and felt the pressure in my mind like I had two imaginary
hands.  I knocked the heels together and felt the opposite pressure in each
facet of my power like the hold I had on the heels was a physical thing.

Two in the air didn't seem to take much more concentration than one.  In
fact, adding the second object seemed to halve the amount of concentration
I needed for each.  I pictured the canary-yellow heels that Shawn had been
wearing and called them both to me.  They arrived as a unit.  My power held
them as a pair, not individually.  It was a strange distinction between
holding my heels separately and his together.  I split my hold on his heels
and floated them next to mine.

I made mine heel / toe march in place while I held Shawn's still.  Once I
had mine marching along, I added his to the company.  I got another idea.
I tried to condense my magic into an imaginary floor for the heels to walk
on.  I figured, my telekinesis `holds' the objects I command, I should be
able to solidify that force into an object of its own.  The idea took some
heavy concentration to set up, but very little to maintain once I had it.
Soon, both pairs of heels were walking along flexing their toes when they
stepped down and pushed off.

I tried adding Bem's boots to the parade without looking at them, but I
hadn't noticed them closely enough to picture them accurately.  A glance
gave me what I needed to get them in line with the others.  Soon, I had
three pair of shoes marching in place.  I fooled around, made them pace the
room in different directions, walk up the walls and across the light panel
ceiling.  I deliberately forced their steps out of sync with each other to
see if I had the concentration to maintain three different rhythms.  The
effort was similar to what it took to create the `floor' for them to walk
on.  I had to really work to get the new paces set up, but once I had them,
they were easy to maintain.

`Can I keep it up without looking?' I asked me.  I focused on the feedback
I was getting from each individual pair of shoes and shut my eyes.  They
maintained course and speed.  I turned myself toward the glass to face away
from the marching heels and opened my eyes.  The shoes continued to march
while I took in the sight of Bem and Shawn sparring.

Bem was working Shawn hard.  His fists and feet were barely visible as he
attacked.  Shawn did a great job keeping up.  I figured that the
self-defense-training he'd been through must have been intense.  The battle
pitched back and forth with Shawn taking the occasional hit but fending off
many more than he took.  It took me a minute to realize that Shawn never
attacked, he just defended.  That fit with what I'd learned about his
personality.  He would never cause harm.  He would block all day, but never
fight back.

The trouble with that strategy is, eventually it becomes a fight of
attrition.  Whoever runs out of gas last, wins.  Shawn was young and in
great shape, so I assumed he could go all day, but if his opponent had the
same staying power, eventually the attacker would get the upper hand.  I
doubted Shawn considered that.

Bem hopped around, trying to break through Shawn's nearly flawless
defenses.  He bounced and feinted and jabbed.  The two were circling each
other while they fought, working their way across the floor like dancers.
With the grace Shawn displayed, he could have been dancing.  Bem was all
sharp movements; jab, jab, jab.  Shawn was fluid, his every move poetry.

I was getting distracted watching Shawn fight and knew that my distraction
would eventually be Shawn's distraction.  I tried to focus on something
else but struggled to tear myself away.  The fighters moved around until
Bem's back was to me.  His position gave me an irresistible idea.  I opened
the glass door with magic and marched the shoes in without following them.
I floated one behind Bem's head, two behind his knees, hovered my pair off
to the side, and moved one behind his ass.  If Shawn noticed what I was
doing, he didn't let on, but given the intense focus he had on Bem's moves,
it was very possible he didn't notice.  I finished setting my trap and
sprang it.  I clapped the soles of my heels together with a loud smack that
drew Bem's attention, then I booted his ass with one of his own boots.

Bem tried to do too many things at once.  He jerked toward the noise, felt
the kick and jerked harder.  He saw the shoe behind his head in his
peripheral vision.  He tried to swing at it and get his body around to
defend but the shoes behind his knees stopped the lower half of his body
from turning with the rest of it.  He stumbled and started to fall.  I slid
my power under him like a large blanket held taught between two people.  He
fell into it.  I lifted him, set him back on his feet, and marched the
shoes out of the dojo room and into a neat row on my side of the glass.

"I finally figured out how to kick your ass." I called into the room
through the door I still held open with magic.

"What did you do?" Bem asked.  He seemed to have forgotten all about his
match with Shawn and had Christmas morning wonder emblazoned on his
face. "That last thing when you stopped me from falling, what was that?"

I leaned on the glass door jamb.  "I didn't want to catch you directly with
my magic because I'm not that comfortable with it yet.  I was afraid I'd
hurt you."

"So what was that?  Do it again.  Right here." Bem made a square in the air
with his hands. "Set-up that barrier or whatever."

I did as he asked.  He pressed his hands into the magic, and I felt them
through my power.  He pushed on it, leaned his weight against it.  "Can you
make it harder?"

I imagined the magic like a sheet of plywood instead of a blanket.  He
poked and prodded some more, even punched it a few times.  Shawn came to
see what the fuss was about.  He went around the back side of the magic and
tried to touch Bem through it.  He met the same resistance.  "Softer." Bem
ordered.

I pictured something like cellophane plastic.  Bem pressed his hands into
the magic.  I felt it stretch around his fingers.  Shawn moved next to him
and did the same.  "What is it?" Shawn asked.  "I don't know." I said and
went to join them.  I tried to touch the magic to see for myself, but it
seemed to give if I pressed on it.  To me, it felt like a sheet of roofing
rubber.  "It's whatever the stuff is I use to move things around.  Instead
of moving objects, I gathered the stuff together and made whatever this
is."

Bem gave me some more orders.  "Make the second one again, the firm one,
but do it just above the floor...parallel."

I pictured a sheet of plywood three inches off the padded floor.  Bem
stepped onto it gingerly, like a cat on an unfamiliar surface.  My magic
held firm.  He waved Shawn onto the platform.  Shawn stepped onto it and he
and Bem walked around, feeling for the edge of the magic with their
shoeless feet.  Bem was fascinated.  I didn't understand the big deal.  He
waved me to step on it.  I put one foot on and tried to step up, but I
couldn't.  The magic settled to the ground before my other foot would come
off the padded floor.  I stepped off and Shawn and Bem rose back up.

I rubbed my neck.  "I guess I can't pull myself up by my own bootstraps.
Weird."

"Can you move it?" Bem asked.

I floated the platform and its passengers around the room and back again.
Bem jumped, stepped off, and stepped back on.  "How much effort is this
costing you?"  He tapped his foot on the magic.  It made no sound.

I shrugged.  "None really.  It's like a handful of change.  I know I'm
carrying it, but it doesn't take any more effort than keeping my hand
closed."

"What's change?"  Bem asked.  He immediately shook his head and waved his
right hand in the air to dismiss his question.  "Never mind, I don't care
what `change' is.  I assume it's very light." He pointed to the door. "Take
us back to the range.  Stop and pick up the arms and shoes.  See if you can
take us all the way there without setting us down or physically touching
anything."

I did as I was told.  We almost had a `Three Stooges' moment when I tried
to get the platform through the glass door.  The magic was too wide to fit.
It bumped the door jamb and threatened to toss its passengers onto the
floor.  They kept their balance and waited while I narrowed the magic and
tried again.  The second time, it went through easily.  I floated the gun
cases and shoes onto what I started thinking of as a magic flat cart.  I
mentally pushed it out the door, down the hall, into the elevator, out of
the elevator, down another hall, and into the gun range.  I set everyone
and everything down and released the magic.

Bem took my revolver from its case and loaded it.  "If we're going to test
it, may as well test it." He said while he counted eight rounds into the
cylinder.  He snapped it home and pointed down the range.  "Set a barrier
at ten yards, just in front of the targets.  Make it as solid as you can."

I did as I was told.  I thought of a piece of plate steel.  Bem leveled the
gun down range, aimed, and fired.  The gun roared, the bullet hit the
magic, and ricocheted; the high-powered slug bounced around the range.  Bem
dropped flat to the ground.  Shawn and I were quick to follow his example.
The slug pinged around the range but didn't make it back to us.  When the
noise stopped, we waited another minute, then got up and dusted ourselves
off.  "That was dumb." Bem admitted.  He carefully smoothed his rumpled
clothes before making another suggestion. "Church, can you make it like a
set of heavy drapes that's bullet-proof?"

"Bullet-proof drapes." I parroted. "Sure."  I concentrated down range,
picturing something like a Kevlar theater curtain.

Shawn and I crouched back down while Bem fired another round.  It hit the
invisible curtain and didn't come back at us.  He fired the remaining six
rounds, and we all crossed the firing line to see what happened to the
slugs.  Bem felt the curtain I hadn't released yet and nodded at it.  On
the floor were seven dark grey discs, all vaguely round and flattened to
varying degrees.  Bem tossed one to me, one to Shawn, and kept one to
examine.  "This is what makes these rounds effective." Bem explained. "Get
hit in the chest with one of these and you'll have a barely noticeable hole
in front, but your back will look like a salad bowl made of gore."

Shawn visibly recoiled at the idea but didn't say anything.  I appreciated
the benefits of stopping power but hated the idea at the same time.  "Well,
Church, it looks like you can protect us from fire." Bem pawed at the
curtain again, fascinated by what he couldn't see. "And you could keep that
up all day, couldn't you?"

I had to think about a decent comparison that I thought Bem would
understand.  "It's kind of like driving in light traffic.  I have to pay
attention, but not too much."

He leaned his back against the curtain.  His hand kneaded his shoulder
while he thought.  Something clicked in his head, and he pushed off.  "Make
another platform." He pointed to the floor.  I released the curtain and
made the platform.  He stepped onto it and pulled Shawn up as well.  "See
if you can add walls."

One side at a time, I added four walls about a foot taller than Shawn and
Bem stood.  Bem felt each of them.  I almost laughed at his unintentional
mime impression.

"Now a roof." He directed.

I added a flat roof.  As soon as it was in place, something changed.  I
couldn't feel Shawn anymore.  His surprised face looked through the magic
and his mouth said something I couldn't hear.  He was clearly speaking, but
no sound got through the box.  I took one of the walls down and our
connection reestablished.  "Did you feel that?" He asked.

"Yeah, it was weird."

"What was weird?" Bem asked.  Shawn explained and that gave Bem something
else to chew over.  The last test he requested was for me to shoot a blast
of white magic at a target protected by my barrier.  The barrier stopped
the white magic just like it had our connection and Shawn's speech.  "It's
odd that it stops your magic." Bem observed. "I wonder why." We stood in a
row looking down-range at the target.  The only sound was a metallic click
as Bem advanced the cylinder of my revolver one chamber at a time with his
thumb.

"Walls don't discriminate." I offered.

"They don't, do they?"  He said.  I half-expected him to `harrumph,' but he
didn't.  He seemed pleased and a little overwhelmed.

I was getting hungry again and guessed if it wasn't five, it was damn near.
I asked Shawn for the time and made sure I did so with deliberate volume.
I was right, it was five-after-five.  Bem paused his musings to confirm
he'd heard me.  "I can take a hint.  Go ahead, school is out for the day.
Good job, see you tomorrow."