Technocracy: EARTH, Part 1

Terry smiled. “Happy birthday, man.”

Ardo grinned at him. “Thanks, dude!” It was April 1st, and Ardo was fifteen years old today. They were walking away from the curb, where Ardo’s aunts’ car was just pulling back into the street. Ardo stuffed his hands into his pockets. The day was warm, and breezy; Spring was in full bloom, flower petals drifting on the air. Ardo twitched his gaze at Terry, then, ruby red eyes sparkling. “How have you been? I know you didn’t want us to come last weekend.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Terry grimaced, eyes doing that shift from copper to bronze that always meant something was afoot. “My dad got particularly drunk, I didn’t want you guys to bother with him.”

“Man,” said Ardo, gripping Terry’s bicep tightly. “Man, he doesn’t hurt you, does he? You know I’ve always wanted you to tell me if he does.”

“No, no,” said Terry. “It’s just… unpleasant. I didn’t want you guys to put up with that. He’s asleep right now, so it’s fine.”

Ardo growled beneath his breath, his eyes ablaze with light:

That bright neon red glow, with its burning neon flames.

“If I he ever fucks with you, you let me know, okay?

I’d make sure that—” “I don’t want that!” Terry sharply said,

And as he did so his own eyes shone a neon bright,

Shone bright neon copper, gleamed a ruddy brownish hue.

As he did so one more chunk of his hair changed its shade,

Becoming metallic, and it glimmered in the light,

Becoming metallic brown, like copper or like bronze.

Ardo cooled his heat on seeing Terry’s reaction. He brushed a lock of his crimson hair out of his face, and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to defend him.”

“He’s my father,” said Terry. Terry shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know he’s bad, but… he’s my dad.” Terry smiled in a sad way. “I’ve got to be loyal to him, right?”

“I don’t know,” said Ardo. “I don’t think you have to. Not if he’s shitty. But that’s just me.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way, past the house, across the field, towards where the trees loomed overhead, the start of the wood and the ravine and the forest and the stream. The breeze was blowing, and as the two boys looked up, there were flower petals swirling on the air.

Marin stood and bounced a stream of water through her hands,

Swirling, rolling it into a wet and splashing ball

That went rolling round her sallow fingertips, and then

Flicked it in wet arcs that caught the sun and glimmered bright.

Then she looked above her head and smiled, smiled up

Up at Saera, who was hovering above the ground,

Drifting overhead, her short white hair billowed about

By the breeze—the breeze that she commanded and controlled.

And with swirlings of her wrist the flower petals blew,

Blew and swirled around her and about her in the air,

Forming almost rings about her, rings like Saturn’s rings,

And she smiled, lovely, everything about her pale:

Pale her skin and white her hair and silver-white her eyes.

Terry smiled. He could feel the feathering softness of the breezes and the wind, as he and Ardo walked closer to Saera. Soon they were right below her, and she glanced down at him. “Hello!” she said from above, turning to wave.

She was wearing a skirt, and the swirl and billow of it was more than a little dramatic. “Oh, uh,” said Terry, glancing awkwardly downward and to the side. “Uh, hey!” he said, trying his hardest not to look.

Ardo was not similarly restrained. “Hey, I can see your panties, you know,” he said.

“Eep!” said Saera, tugging her skirt about herself. She hastily descended, landing on her tennis-shoe-clad feet. “So sorry,” she said to Ardo. A slight blush was on her pale face. “I shall have to remember to wear pants, if I am going to be flying over people’s heads.”

“It’s so cool that you can fly,” said Ardo.

“Oh, believe me, I cannot tell you how amazing it feels,” said Saera. “It feels… like I am totally weightless. Like I’m part of the air! It is the most incredible feeling I have ever felt.” She smiled. “And I can feel it any time I want.”

Terry sighed.

And Saera noticed. “Oh, Terry, we have to work on you now,” said Saera, brushing a strand of her white hair out of her face. “All the rest of us have made the jump. Now it is your turn.”

“I know, I know, but… I can’t!” said Terry. He snapped his fingers,

And beneath their feet the earth began to rock and shake.

Terry could feel the rock cracking far beneath them all.

He jumped to the side as the earth split beneath his feet,

And from it shot out a craggy spike of hardened rock.

“Dang,” said Ardo, tapping his fingers on the rock spike. “I’m surprised how sharp this is. You could kill somebody with one of these.”

“Ardo!” snapped Terry.

“What?”

“Ngh,” growled Terry, stuffing his hands in his pockets and spinning away from them all.

“See?” said Marin, swirling her wrists and causing the water around her to dissolve into the air. “See, you can do it! It’s not impossible. You just need to figure it out.”

“Yes,” said Saera. She came alongside Terry, white hair shimmering starkly in the light of the Springtime sun. “It is more a change of… attitude, than anything. A sensation. You must sense appropriately, more than any movement of your thoughts.”

“But I don’t know how to do that!” said Terry. “You all… I’ve watched you three.” Terry turned, and stared hard at Saera, Marin, and Ardo, as they all gazed at him. Terry could not help but marvel at how strange they all looked, with their hair colors of snow white, of navy blue, of crimson red. He ran his fingers through his own hair, causing the flecks of metallic bronze brown in it to catch the light and glint. Much like that dull metal, it did not always glint, but when the light hit it the right way, it would indeed sparkle. It was very strange to see, in his bathroom late at night. Terry sighed. “I’ve watched you three,” he said again. “And I’ve heard all your talk. But I can’t…” he snapped his head to the side. “I can’t make my brain work that way!”

“Yes, you can,” said Marin. She smiled gently at him. “We already know you do have this connection. You just made a big spike of rock come out of the ground! If all of us were able to do it, you are too.”

“Maybe you’re just trying to do it the wrong way,” said Ardo. “Maybe you are different.”

Ardo snapped his fingers and his hand burst into flame,

Orange-red fire that burned quickly on his fingertips.

“What worked for me and for the girls might not work for you.

You might need to come at the problem another way.”

“Yes,” said Saera, hovering just barely off the ground,

Just a foot or two. “You may need a diff’rent approach.

If you really have had trouble thinking as we’ve said,

Then you will need to find your OWN way to think,” said she.

And Terry glanced into the sky, and sighed, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure how,” he said.

Later that evening, Terry sat in his room, reading. Or, trying to read. In reality the frustrations of the day stewed in his mind, sifting and glopping like mud. He tried to focus, focus on the poem he was supposed to be reading for class. But the words blurred, and he tossed his phone aside at length, the bright screen gleaming upwards into the overall gloom of the room.

Tremors rose a little in the quiet, clean, neat space,

Just a hint of vibration from deep within the earth.

Terry felt it, but ‘twas gone as soon as it had come.

“Ugh!” growled Terry. “Why can’t I do it? They all can.”

A noise came from somewhere in the house. Terry knew what it was, who it was. He sighed again, and hurried out into the living room. His father had knocked over a lamp; he swayed there, one hand against the wall, the other clutching the dark brown bottle containing his latest drink. The lamp’s shade had been knocked off, but, mercifully, it did not seem to have broken.

“I’ll get that,” he said, leaning down.

“You little shit!” roared his father. “That was your fault.”

“Whatever,” said Terry, not fazed by the cursing.

“It’s always been your fault. All this. You’re the reason everything goes wrong. You’re a good for nothing fucking shit.”

“Calm down,” said Terry. He set the lamp back upright; it was a floor lamp.

“It’s always been shit, ever since your mother died. That was your fault too—”

“NO,” growled Terry, and he stood upright to his full height,

And his eyes shone brilliantly, bright neon copper brown,

And the house SHOOK, knocking Terry’s father off his feet,

And a crack ran up the wall in front of both of them.

Terry gasped, and the spell was broken: his eyes lost their glow, and the earthquake stopped. His father looked up at him. There was fear in his weak, drunken eyes. Terry glanced to the side. The lamp had fallen over again, in the shaking. He bent to pick it up once more. “Go to bed,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re too drunk. You need to sleep.”

“Y-You…”

“Do it,” said Terry, turning around and glaring down at him. Thrills like lightning ran up his spine, yet his stomach churned from nerves. He turned, and left the room, walking as fast as he could. He ran to his room and he shut the door and he curled into a ball on his bed, breathing hard and ragged.

Terry did not sleep well that night. He paid for it in school the next day, blinking wearily through his first few classes. He blinked, his copper eyes feeling tired and worn.

Saera, sitting next to him, glanced to the side. He glanced at her, in turn, as her silver eyes met his sight. She sat in a shaft of Spring sunshine, only making her pale skin and white hair that much brighter, that much more radiant. She saw him. She looked at him. And she typed on her desk.

The message came shortly:

>Is everything all right?

Terry typed:

>Didn’t sleep well. Tired.

The message that came back was easy to guess:

>I’m sorry.

Terry sat and wondered there, and whispered in his head,

Wondered, as the artificial lighting overhead

Made the streaks of brown bronze in his hair catch up the light

And give off a sheen that could be seen by all around,

Making them wonder about him, more than they had done

Before, ‘specially because they now knew that he was

Friends with Saera, Marin, Ardo, all of whom possessed

Such strange hair colors these days, for no reason at all.

Terry sighed, and bent his head, and leaned his chin upon

His chest and his field jacket. But suddenly he felt

Cooling, gentle breezes fanning up against his head,

Fawning at his forehead, like a lovely Springtime wind.

Terry breathed. The air about him pleasantly was cool,

Comforting and soothing on his tir’d and clammy skin.

Terry sighed, and felt his body slowly more relax,

Tension in his limbs and back release with gentleness.

He turned to the left and saw Saera staring at him,

Concentrating on him. And she smiled when he saw.

The breezes died, and the air in the classroom was still again, as their History teacher continued to speak in the lecture. Terry glanced at Saera again. She was once more staring straight ahead. Hastily he typed a message:>That was you, right?

The message was accepted. Then Saera sent a message back:

>Yes. Do you feel better?

Terry typed:

>Yeah, I do. I feel kind of refreshed.

And Saera responded:

>:)

When class was over, Terry and Saera exited the room together, and moved out into the hall, both of them heading for the cafeteria. Terry turned to Saera. “Thanks for doing that. I actually really do appreciate it.” He yawned, a thing he could not hide.

Saera smiled smally at him. “Don’t mention it. We must look after each other, musn’t we? We must take care of each other. We are friends, and this is what friends should do.”

Terry smiled at her. It was a small smile at first, then a wave of joy washed over him and he smiled much bigger. “Yeah. Yeah. Definitely. We should take care of each other.” Saera gave him one of her small, careful smiles in return.

They made their way to the cafeteria and got their food in the line. It was a pizza day. Terry got pepperoni. Saera got meat lover’s. As they exited the line, they saw Ardo heading for their usual table.

“Hey!” cried Terry.

Ardo glanced over his shoulder, crimson hair fanning about his face as he turned his head. “Yo!” he said. “What is up, dudes?”

“Hello,” said Saera, coming alongside him. She glanced up to the upper levels. “I believe Marin is already at the table.”

Terry yawned. Ardo saw. “You tired?” he asked.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Why?” asked Ardo.

The image of his father, sprawled on the floor, flashed before his eyes. He abruptly shook his head. “I just didn’t. It doesn’t matter.” He sped up his pace, moving faster up the steps towards where their table was. Saera and Ardo exchanged long glances with each other.

“Hey!” said Marin, as Terry sat down next to her. “How you feeling?” Terry yawned before he could speak. Marin’s sapphire blue eyes bulged. “Tired?”

“Y-Yeah,” he said, the ghost of his old nervous stutter reemerging.

Marin’s sallow-skinned face twitched a bit, the hint of a wince. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

And with Marin, this time, he said: “Kind of.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Ardo slammed his tray down on the table across from Terry, jolting the pale-skinned boy from his inner thoughts and jerking his head upright. “So,” he said, picking up his sausage pizza and tearing into it. With a full mouth he said, “So, we need to make sure Terry makes the connection with Earth, right?”

“That, I think, should be the plan,” said Saera, sitting down silently next to Ardo. “He is the last. You are the last, Terry. We can all help.” She smiled at him. “In theory, you should have an easier time than any of the rest of us did, because you can rely on us for advice.” Before Terry could open his mouth, Saera raised an index finger. “But, as I mentioned this past Sunday: you still must find your own way.”

“I know,” said Terry. “I’ve been thinking about that, what happened the other day.” He thought of his father again and gritted his teeth and shook his head. “It feels like…” he blinked, and his eyes did that shift from copper to bronze that the other three were very familiar with, by now. It meant something big was coming. And sure enough, he said: “Like, I have been thinking. And I was there for all three of you. And it feels like, you know, each of you were the same, but also different. Does that make any sense?”

“I can see it,” said Marin. “Me, Saera, Ardo. We all got to the same place, but when I think about what happened to me,” her eyes briefly glinted neon blue, and the water in her cup sloshed. “When I think about what happened to me, and what I heard Ardo say, and what I heard Saera say, it is all kinda different. It’s like…” Marin waved a hand around her head. “It’s like we all got to the same place, but we took different roads to get to it. Like hiking up different trails to get to the top of the same mountain.”

“Yeah,” said Terry. He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I mean, it makes sense. Or I think it does. Water is different than Earth, Air, and Fire. Fire is different than Water, Earth, and Air. Air is different than Earth, Fire, and Water.” Marin idly tapped the surface of her cheese pizza. “So it makes sense that Earth is different than Water, Air, and Fire. You’re gonna have to find your own way.”

“I mean, that seems pretty obvious, right?” said Terry.

“But we’ve definitely got to still be able to help,” said Ardo. “At least we can all tell you what it feels like.”

“Feels,” muttered Terry. He sharply crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why I’m having so much trouble. Feels. Feels have never been a thing I’m good at.”

“I do notice you are a tad… cerebral,” said Saera. “You are a bit reserved, and somewhat distant.” Terry turned abruptly to her, copper brown eyes wide. Saera smiled, and twitched her head to the side. “It is an observation I have made about you.”

“Do you make observations about all of us?” asked Terry.

“Yes,” said Saera. “I find it prudent.” The other three stared at her for a few seconds.

“Okay,” said Marin. “So you’re not really touchy-feely.” She waggled her fingers at him as she said this. “But, you know, neither is Saera!”

“This is true,” said Saera.

“Saera,” said Terry, “what did you do?”

Saera gently, slowly turned her head off to the side.

She put her pale fist against her chin, and her white hair

Wavered slightly, with its short cut, in a sudden gust

Of the breeze that swirled about them, as they sat in place.

“I realized…” Saera said, softly, her voice almost like a gust of wind itself. She did not look at them, but looked off to the side, her silver eyes not trained their way. “I realized I had to open my heart. This was a fear of mine. I was afraid to be open. But I had to open. I had to learn to trust, and be open, to this thing, this thing of mine, that was always there, I realized…”

Just a moment, her eyes shone a blazing neon white,

And around them swirled the neon white lines of the air

Neon lines of air currents, they swirled around her eyes.

Just a moment, though in that moment it seemed that a great motion was in the air, the space around Marin, Ardo, and Terry, a great moving, something that could have been huge. But only for a moment, and then it was gone.

“You must be open, Terry,” said Saera. “You must let things in. You need to let things into your heart. I understand, with all that’s to do with you, you know…” Saera’s silver eyes contorted in a pained expression.

“You mean my dad,” said Terry. “Yeah, I know.”

“But, but!” said Marin, navy blue eyebrows rising. “Maybe that’s the key. I mean, Terry we all know your dad, he’s, you know…”

“He’s a fucking piece of shit,” said Ardo with a snarl.

“Ardo,” said Saera, softly.

“No,” said Terry, his voice hard and firm. “No, he’s right. I… I don’t really love my dad.” Terry snarled, growling, curling his lip, slapping an elbow down on the table as he angrily rested his chin in his palm. “I don’t like him. It’s bad. I know it. You all do, too.”

“I kinda feel like that might be the problem,” said Marin. “The big one. It… makes sense, though I can’t really explain why.” Marin tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You and your dad… I think it’s a block. Something you’ll have to get through. I think it’s holding you up.”

“That does feel right,” said Saera. She looked at Terry, and her face was soft and kind. “We shall help you, if we can. You know we are here for you.”

Terry looked from Marin to Ardo to Saera. He saw them looking at him, with their gazes of sapphire blue, of ruby red, of silver white, with their hair of navy blue, of crimson red, of snow white. He looked, and looked, and

Reached for his utensils that were sitting next to him,

At his sides upon the table. He picked up a knife,

Stared at it, could see his face reflected in the side

Of the knife. He stared at it. “My father,” Terry said.

“Ugh,” he growled, his anger and frustration setting in,

Mingling with his tiredness and with his big unease.

“My father,” said Terry, growling, “I wish he would GO.”

And inside him something twitched and flexed itself apart,

And his eyes blazed neon copper, neon copper brown,

And the knife BENT. Shiny metal warped within his hand,

The blade bending, like a wilting flower in his hand.

Terry gasped; his eyes then ceased to glow, and with a cry

He dropped the bent knife, which clattered to the tabletop.

“Oh, hey, shit!” said Ardo, red eyes bulging.

“Oh!” said Marin. “Huh!”

“I… did I do that?” said Terry.

“I did not,” said Saera. “I would not have been able to anyway, by the logic of things. Being in control of the element of Air certainly does not give me control over metal knives.”

“Metal… metal,” said Marin. “Oh, hey, that makes total sense. Metal is part of the element of Earth. It’s dug up out of the ground, right? It comes from the earth. From the dirt and the rock. It makes total sense that you can control metal, Terry.”

“Really?” Terry’s eyebrows, which by now had his old flat brown mixed with metallic bronze brown, shot up. “Metal? I can control metal?”

“It is rather logical,” said Saera. “What constitutes the earth, after all? Rock. Dirt. Dust. Mud. Sand. All these things that are part of the ground beneath our feet. But metal is part of that too. So if you can control all the other things… why can you not control metal, too?”

Terry jolted back. He glanced upwards. He could see the upper rafters of the cafeteria, the big steel framings of the huge roof. Could he control those, too? Could he bend them? Warp them? Make them do whatever he wanted? What about the metal in skyscrapers or bridges? It made his eyes bulge. He sighed, and blinked hard.

“Cool as hell, man,” said Ardo. He bit into his second piece of pizza. “Ungh,” he groaned, pulling it out of his mouth. “It’s already cold. Stupid piece of shit school ovens.”

Ardo snapped his fingers and a spark of flame emerged

From his fingertips and soon his whole hand was aflame.

“I’ll just heat it up,” said Ardo, bending the flame down

Over the piece of the pizza, on the paper plate.

“Hey, be careful!” Marin said and jumped up from her seat.

“You’re gonna set the plate on fire!” she cried aloud.

“I’ll be fine,” said Ardo, and he bent the flames upon

The cool piece of pizza, as Marin watched awkwardly.

Terry saw none of this, for his head was turned aside,

And his copper eyes were distant. He was lost in thought.