Science!

It was raining. It was always raining or dismal in one way or another this far north in Mordania. Not that it made things any better. Sometimes, Gavril Kazarian felt that the first Mordanian Emperor had chosen this gloomy place to be the capitol to quash the will of the citizens. Of course, that was a morbid and incorrect opinion. Helmberg had simply been founded on top of several valuable metal mines and built high in the mountains for protection. That was it. The rain and sleet and damp wind were a result of geography and coincidence, not the malicious will of an old king. Still, Gavril sometimes wondered.

The sky was still pissing rain thirty minutes later when he tromped out of his house and onto the streets. People shuffled past, collars turned up, clutching umbrellas closely to themselves. They moved quickly to wherever their destinations were. The constant smell of smoke and asphalt was only slightly masked by the rain. Gavril sniffed and stepped into the usual waiting car. The commute to work took ten minutes, and Gavril read the paper in the backseat of the car while the driver remained dutifully silent. Idiocy was not something Gavril wanted to ever deal with, least of all in the morning.

Ten minutes later the car purred to a halt in front of the towering white bulk of the National Science Center. Gavril pushed his way out of the car without saying anything to the driver and hurried on in. His wet shoes squeaked against the polished floor as he made his way to his labs. Some of the other scientists and researchers called out greetings to him, good mornings and the rest. Gavril nodded curtly to some of them and ignored the rest. The student researchers he ignored entirely.

In the comfort of his lab he slipped on his long white coat. It was a large room, far larger than any of the other research labs in the National Science Center, except for the ones devoted to Operation: Skylight. That one was top secret. In here, several long tables filled the sterile room, each one covered with the bits and pieces of projects abandoned and picked up again, each in turn forgotten for another newer one. Stacks of papers covered in scribbled notes lay next to each project and multiple slate boards stood sentry at the back wall, each covered in equations and figures drawn in chalk with 'Do not erase!' in the corner. It looked, frankly, like a huge mess, but Gavril knew where everything was and what everything was for. Anyone who dared try and clean it up would face a severe tongue-lashing from Dr. Kazarian, and no one wanted that.

Gavril stood in front of the newest of his line of blackboards and frowned at his scribbled notes, hands in his lab coat pockets. “Elementary Particles” was written at the top of the board, followed by indecipherable scrawl, and then “Harnessing Device,” which had been circled several times with such force that the chalk had broken. One of the chalk stubs lay somewhere in the corner of the room, sad and forgotten. This, Gavril had decided, was necessary, nay, vital, to figure out. The First Union had figured out how to do it almost a decade ago and had refused to yield their secrets, as any sane nation would do. That the damn thing worked was worse. Some people had thought it a fraud, just a fancy and elaborate device cooked up to scare the rest of the world into submission, but when it had blasted a city block to so much rubble...

“Deathrays,” he muttered to himself before turning to one of the tables, the notes and papers still spread across it from last night's work. “What's the world coming to these days?” When one country went mad the others had to follow suit or be buried in the dust. Mordania of old had been mad, so the First Union had followed suit. And now Emperor Varak I was upping the ante to match the insanity of deathrays and the Mighty Men. “Damn Union.” There could be no going back now, of course. One could only forge on ahead.

With a groan Gavril sat himself down, pulled a beaten and much-chewed pencil out of his pocket and pulled the bunches of papers towards him. The basic process of the deathray was simple enough: the division of elementary particles led to an explosion exponentially proportional to the mass of said particle. The hard part was determining the exact magical process by which the particles could be safely divided and, more importantly, how to propel the force of the particles into a beam. Creating an explosion was one thing, but it was quite another to focus that explosion on a point many miles away, across borderlines and oceans. Gavril set to scribbling. He called for coffee mid-morning, which was brought to him in a tiny cup by a student. The doctor accepted it with a grunt and downed the hot, heady brew in one. His hand took to shaking as he continued his equations.

“Dr. Kazarian?” the student said, hesitantly. He held the empty coffee cup in one hand.

“What?” he snapped, not looking up.

“You have a message. Urgent.” The cup rattled against its saucer in the student's hand.

“Why is it just coming to me now, then?” he asked. 

“I didn't think you'd want to be disturbed-”

“Give me the message and stop wasting my time.”

The student swallowed. “Yes. Sir.” He pulled a small envelope out of his pocket and handed it over. Gavril glanced at it and felt himself freeze when he saw the emblem of the Imperial House stamped on the back of the envelope, an eagle clutching a sword in one claw and a thunderbolt in the other. He tore the envelope open.

“This message is from His Excellency and you didn't bring it to me straightaway?”

“I'm sorry, sir, but-”

“Leave.” Gavril pointed to the door as he began to read. “Get out.” The student lost no time in obeying the order. Idiot.

Dr. Gavril Kazarian, the letter began, I have personally taken note of your work as of late. Your devotion and contributions to this country have all been exceptional. I am aware that you have been working on the theories behind Deathrays. However, I have a personal project that I wish to commission to you. Gavril put the letter down. “God in Heaven.” A request from the Emperor himself...Gavril took a moment to compose himself before picking up the letter again. The letter quivered in his unsteady hand, from caffeine or nerves he couldn't tell. I cannot divulge any details in this letter for security reasons, but let it be known that you will receive your orders soon. The prestige and recognition you would receive for the successful completion of this project would be beyond compare. An escort will deliver you to Government Center later today for discussion on the matter. The letter ended with the small, tight signature of His Excellency and Supreme Ruler Varaz I of House Rorian, Emperor of Mordania and Protector of the colonies.

At three o'clock that afternoon a sleek black car pulled up in front of the labs and Gavril was escorted in. The car moved swiftly through the bad traffic in Government Center, past the official-looking marble buildings. Many of the buildings had been constructed during the height of the empire's power, and the elaborate antiquated architecture with their soaring towers and high, narrow windows showed it. The most elaborate of the buildings in the Center was the Imperial Palace and the car had to go through three gates in three walls to reach it. Within the décor was all white marble, gold leaf and dark naked iron. Everything was built in harsh right angles with flowing designs on the ceilings and walls. Through elaborate doors and past guards, most with rifles or halberds, a rare few in the long, flared coats and high boots of the mages. In a small, tastefully decorated room off of one hall sat the Emperor. He was a young man, dark hair cut short, with high cheekbones and a narrow mouth. His clothes were simple; a clean white shirt and a dark coat of modern cut with a medal pinned to the lapel.

“Dr. Kazarian.” The Emperor rose and indicated a chair in the corner of the room. “Please, take a seat.”

“Your Excellency.” Gavril bowed before sitting. He kept his hands clasped tightly across his belly. He'd seen footage and photographs of the Emperor before, but in person he looked very different. Normal, almost, in his modest garb. If Gavril had passed the man on the street he wouldn't have given him a second thought.

“I'm glad you could come, Dr. Kazarian. May I call you Gavril? Would you like wine? Cheese? Bring us a bottle of the Gorian red,” he called out to one of the guards.

“I don't drink,” Gavril said.

“No? Pity. Wine from the Gorian region is the finest around, and this,” he said, indicating the bottle as a guard arrived with it, “is a particularly fine vintage.” The guard poured the deep red wine into a wide-mouthed crystal glass. Emperor Varaz sniffed the wine before taking a quick sallow. “Exquisite.” He set the glass down on a small table and looked straight at Gavril. “Let me cut to the chase. Mordania has suffered in recent years. We've never been able to recapture the glory of the old empire. Where we once controlled half the world we now control a handful of tiny islands.”

Gavril nodded. Had he not been speaking to the Emperor he would have asked him to hurry up.

“My campaigns to re-establish Mordania as a world power have been less successful than I would have hoped. The elven savages are resisting us and the Mighty Men stop all our attempts to bring other places into our fold.” He took another sip of his wine. “Therein lies our problem. No national mage program. We are forever driven back by the same small group of mages playing at world police in the First Union's name.”

“Then what do you want?” Gavril asked.

“Mages, Gavril. An army of mages to challenge the Mighty Men.”

Gavril digested this request for a second. “You want me to make mages.”

“Correct.”

“You want me to find a way to give magic to people not born with it.” The Emperor nodded. “It cannot be done.”

“If anyone can do it, it's you, Gavril. You've studied magic before and your research on the nature of elementary particles is renowned. The studies you've been doing on deathrays shows great promise, too.”

“I haven't studied magic extensively, but-”

“Don't be so modest. You're the one to do this. I insist,” he said as Gavril frowned. “You will be compensated, of course. I will ensure you have whatever funding and resources you need to complete the project. If you need a new lab, new research assistants, you shall have it. I'll expect weekly progress reports from you.”

“What if I refuse your offer, Your Excellency?”

The Emperor chuckled. “I really don't hope you'd refuse me. You'll never get an opportunity like this again and you'd be doing Mordania an incredible service. It would be foolish to refuse.” He took another swallow of wine, set the glass down, and regarded Gavril over steepled fingers. “Send the government a list of what you will need to carry out the experiments. My advisor Pjeter Barrian will process the requests.”

The decision, then, had already been made, and it was clear that whatever Gavril said would do nothing. Besides, government funding was nothing to balk at, particularly when the bills were footed by the Emperor himself. “I shall do that,” Gavril said. He rose. “With your permission, I'd like to return to my labs and begin the research.”

The Emperor clapped his hands together and smiled. “Wonderful. Speak to Chancellor Pjeter before you leave.”

So Gavril bowed to the Emperor and left the side chamber, where he was greeted by a man of middling height slightly doughy around the middle, dressed in a rich clothing; maroon and gold velvet coat over a waistcoat and neat trousers. His hair was gray and hung just past his ears, and a trim goatee framed his lined mouth. All in all, an ordinary looking man in elaborate clothing. But his eyes were young-looking, bright and clever and so light a brown they were almost gold. “You're Pjeter?”

“Chancellor Pjeter,” he corrected Gavril grunted. “I will be His Excellency's representative on this endeavor. I will speak with the Emperor's voice, and all requests I make should be taken with as much gravity as if spoken by his mouth.” Gavril waved his hand, hurrying the advisor along. “Stay in contact with me through letters, or by voiceline, if you can. I will fill your requests and provide my own.” He talked on, but he didn't say much more and Gavril was soon dismissed and the black car brought him back to his lab where Gavril cleared off a stretch of table, took a fresh bundle of papers, and set to work on the certainly impossible task of creating mages.