The Path of Ascension

Westley Bakerfield had spent his life sharpening his teeth in politics. When he was in elementary school, by dint of his last name being earliest in the alphabet, he was made class president and was responsible for making sure all of the other kids cleaned up at the end of the day. Originally, the position was supposed to be rotated monthly, but after the first cycle, there was an unspoken understanding that Westley was the man for the job.

Even as a child, he understood how best to motivate people. From the most reluctant who never wanted to help clean up, to the perfectionist who spent too much time on one task, Westley was able to get them working with the collective for the greater good.

That was the start, but by no means the limit of his abilities. By the time he was in college, he had already led three debate teams to national victories, and in his sophomore year, he had won an election for student electorate president.

Now, at the tender age of thirty nine, he was the youngest member of the Arbitration Convention by over a decade, but even just his last two years of service to The Joined Provinces of Turistia as their high chancellor had taught him that he still had more to learn.

Westley couldn’t say he was a good man; he had made too many compromises with villains and evildoers during his life, but he always did what he thought was best for the JPT. That sometimes meant crushing the little guy underfoot, but that was simply the cost of progress.

His nation hadn’t carved its place among the giants like the Democratic Republic of Noricum or the Communists of the Greater South Plains by being nice.

That was why he was quite gleeful that the two superpowers had gone to war. The more they weakened each other, the better the JPT’s standing in the international community.

Even now, the two leaders glared at each other as they were made to wait in the great hexagonal room.

Most of the people were watching the two, and Westley was no exception. The two superpowers had been settling in for a long and bitter war before they had an inexplicable cease fire, and the Arbitration Convention flexed its moderate political influence to get every world leader at this meeting. He hadn’t been able to figure out how they had managed it but he was prepared for a AC power play if it came to that.

Westley had done his homework on the flight over, and knew that such a meeting had only happened twice before. And never before at the behest of the AC, who as their name implied, acted as a place of mediation with little power of its own.

The fact they had gotten even the non democratic states to attend, combined with the atmosphere that the other shoe was about to drop, had Westley on edge.

That feeling of static in the air grew until Councilor Jolene and the retired Councilor Samuel walked through one of the side doors gathering everyone's attention to them like a magnet thrown into iron dust.

Councilor Jolene held up a hand and waited for silence. It took almost five minutes, but eventually she got it, and when she did, she started speaking. “I’m sure that everyone is curious as to why I gathered you all. I wish I had better news but to put it simply our planet has been brought under new management. W—”

Her next words were drowned out by the cacophony of shouts and even Westley was opening his mouth to raise an objection, when four people appeared next right behind Councilor Jolene and Councilor Samuel.

Both councilors flinched as did everyone else in the room.

Even as Westley’s mind spun and tried to process four people appearing seemingly out of nowhere, he was caught on their appearances.

People popping out of a trap door in the floor or having some kind of new kind of stealth tech would be impressive in its own right, and could theoretically be used to blackmail the AC, but what made no sense was their skin color.

The two individuals standing in the fore were clearly the leaders, if he was reading the body language of the two behind them correctly. They were paler than anyone he had ever seen in his life. Not to mention their strange robes. They weren’t the fashion anywhere he knew of adding to the strange otherness radiating from the newcomers.

Pale skin combined with hair colors he had never seen outside of a bottle, golden and a red with odd golden under and over tones, respectively. And the man's eyes…if he wasn’t confident in his eyesight, even at 40 years old, he would have doubted his own vision. The golden haired man had what seemed like an extra layer to his pupils, the outer glowing with light and the inner paradoxically absorbing it.

Even the two…personal assistants? Secretaries? Were lighter of skin than what was seen on Soerilia. The woman’s skin was slightly dusky, but the second man's skin was even paler than the first, though that might have been his ink black hair giving a better contrast than the golden haired man’s.

The slitted eyes the man had were almost mundane next to the paradox that was the male leader's eyes.

Westley’s mind ground to a halt before long training forced it to analyze something else.

The two in front, the leaders, were built like his bodyguards more so than politicians.

The man could be considered attractive if one could look past the odd coloring, as his symmetrical facial structure was chiseled in a way that was only seen in exceptional models. But while that was interesting it paled in comparison to his body. The man was at least a head taller than Westley and his wide shoulders and large chest spoke to long hours in a gym.

Or long hours on a battlefield.

The thought bubbled up like water on a sinking ship from Westley’s subconscious, but he didn’t dismiss it.

Instead, he turned his attention to the woman.

The hair like copper was striking and combined with her face– seemingly devoid of makeup or adornment– the women could grace any number of magazines, and even with the oddity that was her coloration, Westley found her moderately attractive. There was something about her that seemed off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it until he realized the woman didn’t have the soft curves that were considered attractive in the JPT, or even the thin limbs that were the beauty standard on the old continent. Like the man, the woman was muscular. She still had curves, but Westley would put all of his wealth on the woman having almost no fat except for her chest and posterior.

Westley was about to speak out when a presence descended over the room.

It was like being woken up by a wet blanket being thrown over his face and body, and almost immediately, all sound in the room stopped.

Even the chairs didn’t make a squeak as every leader shifted and checked why their voices had suddenly stopped.

Councilor Jolene spoke in the silence. “There is no easier way to put it. A folder of information is on your desk. Please spend a few minutes going over it and then I will answer questions. To answer the main question that I am sure is on everyone's tongue, these are our new overlords. Duke and Duchess Matthew and Elizabeth Moore. Please read the packet, it will answer most of your questions.”

Westley tried to speak but his voice was still muted, and he saw several of his fellows trying to not just speak but get up, however they seemed to be trapped in a space around their desks.

Westley reached out trying to feel the barrier that was barring the others from storming the floor, but he felt nothing. The bird on the woman's shoulder that he somehow hadn’t noticed before this seemed to catch his movement and smiled.

How a bird smiled, Westly couldn’t put words to, but the expression was clear. And right in front of his fingertips appeared what looked like a heatwave of an open flame, or a not so clear piece of glass.

Except there was no heat, and as his finger touched it, he felt like he was pushing up against what he could only describe as hardened air. It wasn’t cool to the touch like metal or wet like the shimmer might have implied. It felt like the air that was always around him.

Looking at the still smiling bird he took a better look. He was pretty sure the bird was on fire. Not a regular fire like you saw from wood or gas burning. No, it was a liquid kind of fire that crackled over the sleek feathers of the raptors compact body. A body that radiated danger to things probably larger than rabbits and field mice.

A shiver ran down Westley’s spine and he turned his attention to the packet of information in front of him.

It was short, only five pages long, but if not for the demonstration of magic before him, he would have never believed a word he read. It was too fantastical for reality.

Magic people, called cultivators, who had unimaginable powers, who lived forever, and who owned millions of planets like Soerilia.

That might have been the hardest pill to swallow.

Their planet had been part of one of these Great Powers before their planet had been a part of a treaty that saw them ceded to The Empire.

The fact their new rulers were monarchist was less than reassuring. The few monarchies on Soerilia were seldom better than the petty dictators who turned their countries into fascist dumpster fires.

And what was with the names? The Sophron Empire, the Everlasting Republic, the United Clans, The Hierarchy of Sects, the Nixi Federation, the Monster Collective, the Conglomerate of Guilds, the Assembly of Corporations. Most lacked any of the personalization that he was used to seeing in governments but then the reason hit him. They didn’t need identifiers beyond their governmental type because they were the only ones, and therefore there could be no confusion.

That thought was like a lead weight that settled into his stomach.

The size of their respective entities seemed beyond belief. Millions of planets connected through magical tethers in some higher level of reality? Westley had trouble getting his more distant governors to listen to him, and they were all within the same planet. How did anyone govern millions of planets?

The packet had the answer, but Westley wasn’t sure he actually believed it.

The Emperor was apparently one of the eight strongest beings in the realm and, therefore, ruled via his overwhelming power.

Westley had the thought to ask if they could be given back to the Republic, a place that seemed more inline with their ideals, but quickly realized if they had been given away by agreement of the highest powers, there was nothing any amount of begging would do.

The gods had decided, and the mortals had little choice but to obey.

Westley did see some good in the destruction of his world.

It was clear that the two people in front of him were the lords the document talked about, but if that document was to be believed, there were benefits to be had. New technologies, magical healing the likes of which could only be seen on the silver screen, and magical powers.

Westley could see that his position as Chancellor would be the last or possibly second to last, but he saw an opportunity here to improve the lives of his people. Clean energy that every person produced just by existing?

It all seemed too good to be true.

And it was.

Or at least, it seemed that way.

There were magical portals in space filled with monsters that if not entered and cleared regularly would spill ravenous monsters out to kill anyone nearby.

There were cultivators living among them currently who ‘delved’ but their new rulers seemed intent on allowing anyone to delve those rifts.

His packet came with a list of locations in his own country, and Westley had to suck in a deep breath at the list. He didn’t know every location, but several of them were known to him for their danger.

Westley’s rational mind said that if there hadn't been any monster breaks in the last however long, there shouldn't be any going forward.

Instead, his mind kept going to the list of technology that the Empire would bring.

Even if his country didn’t survive this integration, he could ensure that his people were well established in this new world order, and he wondered if they needed to be producers of goods, content, or of services. What would serve his people best?

His attention was brought out of his musings by a voice he didn’t want to hear.

***

Tara Felgrave, President of the Vimar Republic, felt her age in her back and hips, but all of that was washed away at the news of magic.

She wasn’t so much excited as deeply fearful of what was apparently coming.

“We will happily take control of Soerilia for you, my lords.” Victory Rahpesh was the king of the Rahpesh kingdom, and had been a thorn in her side just like his father for the last three decades as they constantly expanded.

It had only been a defensive coalition of all their surrounding neighbors that had finally stopped their aggressive streak, and the thought that they might take over their entire planet made her want to vomit. Her knuckles remind her of her age as she squeezed her hand into a fist.

She tried to speak, as did a dozen others, but once more their voices didn’t seem to leave their throats.

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Instead, the woman spoke, “While we appreciate your willingness to serve, we will not be placing a local leader in command of Soerilia. We will be personally overseeing the integration, and eventually a candidate from the Empire proper will be given lordship over Soerilia.”

Tara tried to raise her objection and was surprised to find her voice worked.

As everyone turned to her, Tara stood on shaky legs. “Are we to be given no say over who will rule us?”

The young man nodded, but it was clearly only in acknowledgment of her question and not agreement. “As we further the integration, you will find that many of your positions will turn into governors, which even in the Empire are elected officials. We are willing to take feedback on our possible candidates, but I assure each and every one of you that the Baron who takes over Soerilia will be competent and compassionate.”

Feeling all of her and her ancestors' work slipping away from them, Tara tried one more time. “Is there truly no way for us to rule ourselves?”

The man blinked at her, and Tara was reminded of the eyes of killers she had encountered in her life. Eyes not quite dead, but that had seen more than anyone ever should in a single lifetime. “That is not within the purview we have been given. Local populations must be brought up to Empire standards as quickly as possible.”

The man gestured around the room. “Something as simple as language is a barrier for you all, but no matter which of the many worlds in the Empire that you travel to you will be able to communicate without issue. That is just one example of what is needed in an integration. Do you believe that a leader chosen from among you with your varied and tumultuous histories will be able to refrain from the squabbles of the past?”

Tara wanted to refute the man. She acknowledged that there was a thread of logic in bringing in someone from the outside, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She also didn’t like the idea that her people would be forced to learn some foreign language.

Language was life.

He was correct in that it was how people communicated, but it was so much more. A language was a growing thing that changed as people did. Its very essence was seeped in the history of its people, and no matter how good any translation was, it could never do justice to the original, for those who had been born in the language and understood its nuances and intricacies.

The kid might put flowers on the idea, but everyone speaking the same tongue across even a single planet would lead to homogenization and eventual stagnation as the rigid constraints of the language, unchanging and unbending, forced their thoughts into rigid predefined patterns.

These invaders from another reality might couch it as a good thing, but Tara could see this for what it was.

The death of Soerilia.

Tara just didn’t know what she could do to prevent it.

If even half of what the folder said was true, these people were like gods.

That thought had her looking over to the Grand Secretary of the Palkar Union. Gerard seemed genuinely apoplectic, and based on their almost religious belief in everyone being born equal and remaining equal throughout their life, with no person having more rights than another, it wasn’t surprising to see him reacting badly to the idea of real tangible differences in power between individuals.

He was screaming his head off in silence, and Tara doubted that he would be given any amount of vocal freedom any time soon.

Tara hated everything she had heard today, but the ability to silence people like that would be a power she would find hard to decline.

Westley Bakerfield stood and was given leave to speak by the raptor on the woman's shoulder, and Tara winced when she heard the young man's excitement. “You noted that you wanted to ease the common people into the idea of magic, but you will be giving technologies for us to integrate with. Is there any way to see examples of them? As well as magic in general? And these rifts? What about awakening, how does it work?”

The two lords shared a look which only reinforced that they were an old couple to Tara. It was short, and a million words seemed to pass between them in that instant.

If they were a couple walking down the street, Tara would have smiled at young love, but the packet said these people were hundreds of years old. And then as if that wasn’t absurd enough, it implied that people of their age were considered young.

The woman spoke, and Tara swore the bird was watching her with uncanny intelligence. “We can tell that many of you don’t fully believe us, which we acknowledge is understandable. We can take you to the nearby world that is typical of an Empire planet. While there, we can awaken anyone who wishes to undergo the procedure, and we can show you what a rift looks like and what your people will be dealing with.”

One of the dictators spoke, but Tara didn’t recognize them from their voice alone. They changed leaders so quickly, she could hardly keep up. “Must we go through this procedure?”

The man shook his head before pointing at Westley. “By Empire law, all peoples must awaken. However, there is an exception dating back to when mandatory awakening was first introduced that those above the age of 45 can decline. While no longer relevant in the Empire proper, as none can reach that age without being in breach of mandatory awakening laws, it still applies to newly integrated worlds such as your own. That said, while all but one of you are old enough to decline, be aware we will require you to not run for another term, step down, or otherwise remove yourself from your current position if you choose to exercise that right. You will be who the common citizen will look to in the coming years. We don’t want to set a bad example.”

Westley, the foolish child, looked positively giddy at the rule that should have any reputable leader of a democratic country weeping for the loss of freedom. He seemed seduced with power and new shiny toys, ignoring the noose he was tightening around his neck.

The man waved and an oval of blue light appeared on the AC speakers floor. “This will take us to the teleporter where we can visit the nearby planet. Please proceed through the portal and then clear the terminus location so others can go through.”

Tara looked around, and despite the man implying they wouldn’t force anyone, no one believed they wouldn’t be thrown through the portal should they try to sit this one out.

As she shuffled down the steps, Tara wished her guards had been allowed in the meeting, as their assistance would have been helpful.

Just as she was thinking that, the secretary man who stood behind the two appeared next to her side.

“Would you like some assistance, madam?”

Tara looked at him and shook her head vehemently. She wanted no part in their magic and said so.

The man blinked at her, and she realized he had slitted eyes like a predator. “I was offering help of the more mundane variety. But I could also cast a healing spell on you that, while it won’t change your age, will relieve some of the rigors of old age you are experiencing.”

Tara nearly fell over at the idea of magical healing. It seemed unnatural. Old age was a part of life and death, both of which were perfectly normal. This whole immortality business went against the fundamental truths of nature. It might not be fun or pleasant, as she well knew, but it was part of the cycle that returned to the planet which had birthed them.

Not that she could say that outloud here and now. The man had crossed the twenty foot distance in a blur, and if that speed translated to power, he could break her with a thought. A part of her wished he would do so and show those foolish enough to be agreeing that these monsters were here to end their way of life so completely, they wouldn’t even know their histories in a generation or two.

No, it was better to be polite, at least on the surface. “No, thank you. I have managed for the last eighty two years. I can manage for one more.”

The man nodded before blurring back to his place beside the golden haired one.

Marcus Daltor, an older man with a missing finger he covered with a glove with an insert, stepped out of the line to the portal and removed his glove. “You mentioned healing. Is it possible to heal a severed appendage?”

The woman nodded. “It is possible, and I am technically able to do so, but I would prefer it if you wait a few moments. Magical healing is as much a specialized discipline as non-magical medicine. While we are on the other planet, we can have a true specialist come over during our tour and get that taken care of.”

“And the cost?”

Tara had to nod at the man's good sense finally showing through, even if he trembled with excitement. Fell bargains always had a price to be paid.

“All healing is free for civilians in the Empire.” The woman seemed to believe it, but Tara was sure that no monarchy could be so enlightened to have something like free healthcare. There was the caveat about civilians, and Tara expected that the moment the fools accepted the magic power stuff they were talking about they would no longer qualify.

She had seen similar tactics played out before.

Tara braced herself as she stepped through the blue disk expecting to trip and fall or something similar, but instead she found herself in a train station. As she stepped away from the magical portal thing, she saw that the wall in front of them seemed transparent and showed the busy floor of people walking around in what she recognized as the Grand Central Station of Noricum.

Turning around, she got a fright, as a massive circular platform of metal sat there in what felt like plain sight.

The copper haired woman gestured for everyone to stand on the platform, and Tara acutely felt the absence of her guards as people filed in.

The golden haired man was the last through the portal,and as he stepped onto the platform, a sphere of blue appeared to trap them in.

An instant of vertigo nearly caused Tara to pass out, but a few deep breaths steadied her, and through watery eyes she looked up to find herself in a new room filled with more pale people.

She corrected herself as she squinted. Not everyone was as pale as a fish's underbelly, and a few people had a proper coloration to them.

That was the only bit of familiarity as they exited the room they were in. The man and woman both said a few things, their voices traveling to Tara’s ear like they were standing right next to her, but she ignored it all, her attention on the alien city.

On a surface level it looked normal enough but there was a stark absence of vehicles. What she thought was a bus tumbled past silently, and the same was true for a lone car with a slogan stenciled on its side.

The fact that the car looked strikingly similar, but just alien enough to register as different was a bit of a shock, but what really caught her attention was the air. It smelled almost right. There were the smells of people, of steel and glass, but there was the absence of fumes from combustion engines and burning petrol whose lack made everything else smell weird.

Tara took the time to inspect the people they passed on the large sidewalks on their short trip. The people looked normal, people in what she thought were the equivalents of suits chatting to the air as they walked briskly, a mother trying to wrangle two children who seemed more interested in exploring the flowerbeds that lined the sidewalks than walking.

It all seemed normal until a man flew down above to land in front of their group.

After a deep nod, or shallow bow, to the two nobles, the man in robes of blue and white moved to Marcus and Tara stopped with everyone else who craned their necks to watch.

The nub that was his missing finger seemed to pulse with the blue color she was starting to recognize as magic. In seconds, the man's finger grew out until it was indistinguishable from the others.

Even as Marcus was ecstatic, Tara couldn’t help but fear what she had watched.

If they can shape the body like that, what else could they do to it, if they have less than good intentions?

The healing man moved around at the request of some of the world leaders, healing various ailments, but Tara waved him off and was thankful that it wasn’t forced upon her.

That thought occupied her as they entered a nearby building where a number of Soerilia’s world leaders sold themselves to the enemy.

Those that sat in the chair all seemed excited as they stood up. One of the dictator's skin turned a metallic sheen for a moment, and his laugh boomed out.

Monsters giving power to future monsters. Tara was sure the man would be going on a rampage as soon as they returned.

How many would suffer now that power to lord above those weaker was at anyone's fingertips?

As they were led to what they called a rift, Tara had seen enough to make a commitment to create as much of a resistance as she could when they got back. It might be hard, impossible even, but she would prepare her people to survive the inevitable degradation of their beliefs and histories.

It was clear they couldn't stop this, but she could set her people up for the long fight of resisting being turned into little more than cogs in this massive machine.

Looking around, she noticed that the fight wouldn’t just be against this Empire, but her fellow Soerilians.

As she noticed the line of leaders not yet awakened become shorter and shorter, she made a decision. It was a hard one, and her plans might be easier if she could keep her current position, but someone had to make a stand. Even if it took years before the people realized what she had done, she was old. If taking a stand got her killed, better her than someone younger who never expected the blade to fall.

As she ignored the pointed glances of her homes new tyrants, she started to consider what her resignation speech would look like. Wouldn't do to give them an excuse to remove her more…completely, after all.

She still had two more years before her reelection, she just hoped it would be enough time to do everything that needed to be done. And as she crossed eyes with Grand Secretary Gerald, standing just as unmoving as her, she realized she might not be quite as alone in this as she first thought.

Strange times made for strange bedfellows.

***

Fabian Lacor, newly risen president of the Yukat Islands, looked at the shimmering haze of energy in front of him. It screamed evil and danger, but after his Awakening, as the new lords called it, he felt powerful and like he could take on anything.

Not that he would. If his life had taught him anything, it was that you never wanted to stand out too far until it was time to strike, and his Talent seemed to reflect that.

Tier 1 Talent: When you concentrate you may fade or amplify your presence. Fading can allow you to slip under people’s notice while amplifying enough can act as a mental attack.

The power was like a limb he had never known he had, and it had been instinctual to fade into the crowd.

He had some political enemies back home that he could test the other effect on, but that would need to wait. They were being shown what monsters there were to face in this brave new world.

Fabian didn’t expect much, but as they walked through the portal, he joined another group who inspected a pair of small green humanoids in the next room.

Someone asked about guns, and Fabian listened as Matthew answered. “Guns are viable to use to delve, but their main advantage, mass production, falls off fairly hard as you Tier up and Tiered materials become rarer. Guns also don't directly take advantage of physical or magical cultivation. These Tier 1 goblins would die to a simple well placed handgun shot, but a Tier 2 or 3 variant would be much harder to damage. And by Tier 4, they would be nearly bulletproof to mundane firearms. I would suggest picking up a weapon or a spell.”

Fabian had a million and one questions, but asked none of them as they took what felt like a tour of a mineshaft as the monsters just exploded after attacking their group.

He didn’t disregard the danger of doing this himself, but Fabian had never shied away from getting a little blood on his hands. Power was right there for the taking if he could reach out and grab it.

He would need to be careful, but he intended to enter these spaces as often as he could until he reached the power limit.

Then he would leverage his position as a world leader to accumulate more power until he was eventually strong enough to do anything he wanted.

He had clawed his way from nothing through the corrupt political landscape of his home, but that was where he learned a fundamental truth of the world. It was the flexible who survived. He had bent, twisted, and stabbed every opportunity he came across until he reached the highest level of power.

Or so he thought.

Just when he thought he reached the peak of possible worldly power, the heavens opened and showed him just how much further there was to climb.

Fabian could see the lesser men and women around him who considered this a calamity bearing down on their homes. They only saw the destruction, but he saw the clear blue sky that had been hidden from him his whole life.

This was what he was meant to do in life. Gather power, not just political power but real, tangible power that he could use to whatever he desired. Many, many people, institutions, and even the planet itself had slighted him too many times to count and he would have his reckoning.

There were a lot of wrongs to be righted, and he would get to them soon enough.

However, doing so would be a lot easier if he could slow this unveiling business down, and his mind went to the best ways to run subtle interference. There was no reason they should be giving power to the commoners.

Or were they peasants now?

That was the term the monarchies used, and Fabian found it rolled off the tongue well. The words' simplistic conjunction fit their simple lives and lots in life better than something like civilian or commoner.

One of the new lords, Matthew, had already mentioned delivering magical tools that could heal. He stated they were to be given to hospitals, but Fabian had no intention of doing that.

No, they would go to his loyal people. He would have them monopolize the so-called rifts and then, as he grew in power, he could strangle his enemies before they could even get started, ensuring he had enough time to get ahead of the curve.

His breathing quickened as he could almost taste their pleas and cries as they realized they had lost the race even before it had started.

Sadly, Fabian knew he couldn’t do it alone, but thankfully, a good portion of the other countries' leaders could be convinced to drag their feet on whatever plans these lordlings tried to push. Bureaucracy was slow, and he suspected so-called immortal bureaucracy would be even slower.

A delay here, a failed plan there, and the world leaders could double or triple whatever time frame these people wanted to hit without too much interference.

A decade or two should be more than enough time.

The two nobles talked a lot more about things like technology and ensuring food was distributed to the poorest regions of the planet, but Fabian relegated only a portion of his mind to listening. The majority was instead making plans.

Ah the naivety of youth. Thinking to give out food. As if the production lines needed to facilitate such actions wouldn’t strip anything of value out of whatever altruistic deal they were putting together, leaving nothing but a hollow shell to arrive at the people in ‘need’.

If these were their priorities, these children were going to be eaten alive as they dealt with real politics for the first time.

Fabian just needed to ensure he pushed the right people forward at the right time to keep both his hands clean, and himself out of the spotline until it was time to wrest control.

He couldn't help but smile as he thought about to the little Talent reader thing that supposedly told him what he was best at.

How fitting.

Maybe there was something to this magic stuff after all.

An interesting thought, and he’d need to get someone he trusted to try tinkering with those Talent reader things. They could be a good way to cut out any issues before they could take root and grow in their fertile new world.

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