Karana paused, just outside the testing hall. She pulled down the ragged hem of her shirt, stained, ripped, and sun-bleached as it was, it was the best of what she had left. This was it, her initiation test.

She reached for the door, then hesitated. Her fingers found occupation tucking her hair, white again from the quick bath she'd paid for before arrival, back and adjusting her glasses. The blue tinted lenses being about the only part of her wardrobe that didn't show wear and tear.

She was nervous, she finally admitted to herself. This was it, her first testing. Her mouth twitched upward as she corrected herself, her first official testing. What her parents had done didn't count, particularly as they wouldn't tell her how she did.

A deep breath, a straightened back, and she knocked firmly on the door with the edge of her book. Her fingers wouldn't be up for that duty until the sunburn faded.

The door opened promptly and professionally by itself. This wasn't magic, but it was clearly meant to seem like it; faintly, Karana could hear the sound of gears grinding deep within the stone floor, and the faraway hiss of a pneumatic pump. As the doors met the cork bumpers near the walls, Karana could see a fat man in a tweed suit hurriedly attempting to hide a lever behind a curtain. It was all for appearances, naturally; the galdori tried never to use magic frivolously, but it didn't hurt to give the young children a show on their first day.

The line of scientists near the door greeted Karana warmly. This was not an atmosphere that felt oppressive or nerve-wracking; indeed, the large room seemed quite cozy, even with a ceiling that could have housed birds and low-lying clouds, tall glass window that let in entirely too much sunlight, and a stone floor that looked more ancient than the gods themselves, worn down by the shuffled feet of generations of young, jittery first-form students.

The nearest man grasped her hands warmly, even as he raised an eyebrow at her unusual attire.

"Ah, Miss Lutker," he said. "We were so grateful to see you arrive here safely. I am the Chair of Induction, Pleasis Meringue. If you'd just step into the circle, we can get this over with quickly."

The other testers seemed a little miffed by Meringue's attitude; he was no theorist, but a bureaucrat. He wanted to "get things over with quickly" rather than savor the ritual. He felt none of the thrill of discovery, but treated answers like commodities, something to be traded and sold and acquired quickly and with as little trouble as possible. It was quite clear that no one in the room liked the flat little man. They seemed relatively indifferent to Karana.

The Chair led her to a circle in the center of the room. There was a comfy chair in it. With a sausage-like hand, he gestured for her to sit.

Magic or not, Karana appreciated the theater of the doors, and her nerves appreciated the soothing comfort of the room and the welcoming expressions.

Seeing the array of scientists, Karana bobbed her head to them before her hand was taken. She smiled and nodded in response to Meringue, disconcerted, but going with the flow. She would try to remember to ask someone, soon. She'd thought she was to bow. Foreign manners were so confusing!

"Thank you, sirs. I am sorry for the delay, and the extra effort." She spoke her apology sincerely, aiming it at all of them. As Meringue's comment implied impatience, she ducked her head again, smiled apologetically at the other scientists, and let herself be led to the chair.

Smoothing her skirt under her, Karana settled into the offered seat, and looked attentively up at the Chair and the scientists, ready for instruction.

As Karana sat down, the Chair, seemingly distracted by paperwork, merely smiled benignly at her and moved to a seat behind the long, oaken table.

The nearest scientist, a man with a long, almost comically limp mustache approached Karana's chair to slip a very heavy cloth over her torso.

"This is leaden-" he began, ready to explain that the cloth would help concentrate the monic patterns, when his mustache twitched like a limp animal brought to life by electricity.

"You have a field," he commented, matter-of-factly, and then added "she has a field," to his fellow scientists. They hustled over, eyebrows creased and various pieces of facial hair moving in interesting ways.

"Indeed she does," said one of them, a red-headed man with a lionlike mane of wispy hair. "Young lady, have you been practicing magic before your initiation? That is very dangerous indeed."

"Very dangerous," agreed the first scientist, though he seemed less stern and more concerned with Karana's well-being. She felt, faintly, his field mingling with hers in an inquisitive way. "Have you had any accidents? Backlash? Brailing?"

It took Karana a moment, sorting the questions in her head, before she could respond. She occupied the time with a wriggle to let the leaden garment settle.

"Yes, sir, I know, but I did something accidentally, so Mom and Dad taught me a little to keep it from repeating. It was months before time to come here." If she blushed, one could hardly tell, but she looked at the first, more concerned scientist as she finished answering the barrage, "Yes, yes, and no. I think the worst i ever ended up with was a headache for two days." She paused again, thinking, the jerked her head firmly. "A headache for a pair of days."

As their fields began to overlap, she shivered, a small pulse running through her field as well.

The scientist smiled, relieved. "Just an early bloomer, then," he said, patting his forehead. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Would you get on with it?" barked the previously cheerful Chair of Induction, who apparently had somewhere rather important to be; he kept checking his watch nervously. The scientists exchanged glances with each other, some rolling their eyes subtly.

"All right, Miss Lutker, this should be easy. Your parents taught you basic Push, I assume? Do you remember the syllable?"

Karana almost jumped at the Chair's interruption, the tone joltingly different from the man before her. He was beginning to give her a bad impression of him. She reminded herself that the timing, which made him so impatient, was her own fault. A part of her mind quibbled that it was the pirates' fault, not her own, but she squelched that, and answered in the affirmative.

"Yes, Sir." One finger traced the symbol(s) in the air, right to left in confirmation. "Would you like me to ask for something moved?" She looked about her, wondering what she was to lift.

"That would be lovely," said the scientist politely, handing her a small marble. On close inspection she thought she saw some glints of iridescence in it; it was made of some unusual type of crystal. "Just move this around in the air for as long as you can."

The other scientists had already scurried to their machines, large and intimidating; they moved them close to the chair. One had a glass eye that seemed to stare down at her; another was covered in levers and tubes.

"These are for recording the reactions to your casting," said the first scientist. "Just relax. It doesn't matter how well you perform the spell, it won't affect the outcome."

His words didn't quite calm Karana. Even if it didn't affect her score, it might affect their opinion of her, and one of them was a Chair! Still, she knew she was only one of thousands. And it was only a single syllable, and one she'd used before. She shouldn't be concerned, she knew. Which didn't do anything to quell the concern that his reassurance awakened. She decided to do as he asked before she could dwell further on the irony.

She gently closed her hand, speaking the spell-word that was push, asking the mona to lift the marble into the air. She didn't intend anything fancy, just a lift, and a metronomic sway from side to side.

As it always was with Push, Karana barely felt anything, no more than a brief tug at her heart. It was fainter than it had been the first time she cast the spell; perhaps soon it would be gone altogether. The accustomed feeling caused the marble to lift delicately into the air and sway, as she had directed.

If the scientists noticed that Karana's spell had more motor skills than most first years', they didn't say anything. They immediately bent over the machines, pulling levers and muttering incantations too complex to repeat. The air began to feel cooler, and there was a sharp taste of sour sugar in Karana's mouth.

"Fourteen over two carry the five," muttered one scientist.

"Halfway, just past the Levintian bracket," murmured another.

"Minus one-third for compensation rate," said the first scientist, still bent over Karana with his gloved hands making deft movements in the air as he cast silently. His field was strong enough for him to be a magister, and she supposed that he was.

The closest machine began to click and whir, and a needle began racing across a long sheet of paper, which inched twitching to the ground as it was fed by a crank. Karana could see spidery red lines etched across it in odd patterns.

"We're getting the printout now," whispered the scientist who had been concerned with brackets. He began making small pen-marks on the sheet as it passed him.

"Karana, you can let it go now," said the magister kindly. "Thank you, that was very good."

Karana was grateful she had practiced, because if she hadn't, she was certain she'd have lost concentration for all the activity about her. Some of it was familiar, she'd seen similar machines in her parents' workrooms, albeit none as complicated, nor as well-crafted as those about her. The spells, silent and aloud, were far less so, she wasn't allowed in the room when they were experimenting. Regardless, all of it was new enough to claim interest, the clicking, and whirring, the murmurring and scritching of a pen, each noise made Karana's eyes dart to follow it like a magpie in a jewelry store, with too many choices to remain still.

With a small smile, Karana plucked the marble from the air, and released the spell. "Thank you, sir," she answered the magister, "sirs," she added, nodding at the others, "your part seemed much more interesting than mine." The small smile grew, as she looked back to the magister, almost bouncing in her seat. "Do you know how I did?"

"Five point five," announced the scientist who was bent over the needle-machine. "No, wait. Five point six."

"Well done!" said the scientist near the chair, smiling at Karana. He seemed to enjoy the ritual more than the others. "You have a bright future ahead of you, miss. It seems only yesterday that Bentle over there was taking his test. How the years fly by, eh, Bentle?"

Bentle (who was indeed quite young, possibly just out of school) grinned cheekily at Karana and tipped his bowler hat at her.

"You're free to go," said the scientist, pulling up the lead cloth and wheeling away the nearest machine. "The Student Affairs office should take care of your dormitory and your paperwork."

Average, or a sliver above. It wasn't what she'd hoped, but it was a far cry above what she'd feared. She slipped her glasses back into place, the cloth had dislodged them, and jumped off the chair. "Thank you!" Her chirped gratitude was aimed for all of them.

She gave a bob of her head to everyone, winked at Bentle, and headed for the door, her gait far lighter than what it had been as she entered. The marble in one fist was forgotten, as she decided where she needed to go next. Brunnhold was huge!