Touch of Ages - Reflections
a story by Tal Greywolf

---

   It's funny the way things in life tend to turn out when you least
expect it.

   I mean, I never really imagined the kind of life and events that
have happened to me when I was 16.  Three years living elsewhere has an
odd way of changing your perspective, and I certainly have changed a lot
since those days.  I wouldn't have thought of myself as a top student
and a powerful talent, nor having a fiance who was a lot like me in more
ways than one.  Then again, I didn't expect the kind of changes in my
life that happened when I was seven, the day when I lost my parents from
a car accident.

   The memory of that night is still fresh in my mind, even after all
these years.  The knock on my grandparents' door, the Iowa state trooper
standing there giving the terrible news, my grandmother breaking down
from the shock, my own long hours of crying and screaming for my parents
again.  That terrible, gray day standing in a cemetery as the two
caskets were laid to rest, and wishing I was there instead.

   But time heals all wounds, even the emotional ones.  The ones I
suffered faded slowly over the years.  Luckier than some, I had my
grandparents who raised me, giving me the best that they could.  I was
forced to grow up fast, perhaps a little faster than I should.  Most of
my childhood dreams were put away, forgotten and lost from that night.
Dreams of what could be, what might have been.  Time to face reality.

--

   It was my second year at Storm Lake High.  I was looking forward to
the year, ready to face the challenges of learning.  The last year had
been good for me, with high marks in all my classes and I was already
making plans to try for a scholarship to one of the state universities.

   This was usually the time when your talent began to manifest itself.
Many kids were beginning to show some signs of their abilities, and the
school scheduled tests to see how strong you were.  By state law, if you
were above an L you were placed in a special set of classes to learn
about your talent.  If you were a G or higher, you'd have to transfer to
one of the state run transformation schools.  And if you had a rare
talent, you usually ended up in an academy outside of the state, one of
those schools that specialized in the more unusual gifts.

   A few had already discovered their abilities, be it just a skinner
or sometimes a tool.  Depending on the person, they might keep it quiet,
or they might use their talent on others.  But such incidents were
quickly brought under control as the teachers kept a sharp eye out for
such things.

   None of that really mattered to me.  For the longest time now I
hadn't thought about what my talent could have been.  All I had cared
about was just getting my education, a diploma and college.  After that,
I'd worry about what I'd do with my life.  Having a talent, especially a
strong talent, was the furthest thing from my mind.

   It was still early in the school year, and I had been in classes for
only two days.  Things were still chaotic, with teachers getting lesson
plans established, and students still finding out what classes they'd be
taking.  So it wasn't surprising that part of my day was just standing
around, waiting for the bell.

   This day, I found myself between classes, just before lunchtime.
Standing at my locker, I had placed my schoolbooks inside and closed the
door when a commotion nearby caught my attention.  Looking up, I could
see a small group of boys standing around, some of which were familiar
to me.  There was also a girl with them, Tia Carlson, who I recognized
from two of my classes from last year.  She was a nice girl, we had
chatted a few times in the past.

   Normally I wouldn't pay attention, but it was clear something was
wrong.  Someone had skinned her, deciding that she needed some more...
attributes.  They had doubled her breast size, and her clothes were
straining to hold things in place.  The expression that I could see on
her face was distraught, upset at what's happened to her.

   Somehow I knew who had skinner her without consciously thinking
about it.  Matt Atkins was the one who skinner her as a joke, and was
laughing along with the other boys at her reaction.  Why anyone would do
that was beyond my understanding.

   Without thinking about what I was doing, I went straight towards
Matt, angry at the scene.

   "Hey!" I shouted, heads turning around in the hall towards me.  "How
would you like that happening to you?"

   Matt gave me a sneering look.  "Mind your own business, Kyle.  Or I
might do something worse to you."

   "You and what army?" I shot back.  The anger raged inside of me, an
unfamiliar heat and power rising up.  I kept my eyes level, and he could
see that I wasn't about to back down.

   Matt grabbed my shoulder, then let out a yell as a massive surge
of... power passed from my body into his.  The anger erupted, and before
anyone could move a pair of breasts sprouted on his chest, growing
quickly to match the pair on Tia.  My own emotions seemed unfamiliar as
I watched him reach up in despair.

   "Change her back," I said in an ice-cold voice.  "Now."

   "All right, all right!"  Matt didn't hesitate, reaching out to touch
Tia.  She let out a sigh as she returned to normal, then quickly
disappeared into the crowd around us.  Once she was gone, I turned my
gaze back at Matt, and the breasts on his chest vanished from sight.

   "If I ever find out that you're..."

   I didn't get the chance to finish my words.  A new voice cut in,
authoritative and clearly demanding attention.  Turning my head, I saw
Principal Sinclair standing there, kids vanishing quickly from sight.

   "Mr. Martin, I believe that's enough for now."

--

   I sat silently in front of Principal Sinclair's desk as he worked,
examining some papers and typing on his computer.  After a few minutes,
he set the papers down and looked at me.

   "Kyle, let me start by saying that I know you're not a troublemaker.
You've been a fairly bright student, if quiet and reserved in your
behavior.  Your teachers have always commented about how serious you
take your classes, and are always prepared for the day."  He tilted his
head slightly as he gazed at me.  "I also know about your family
history, and that you've not had the best life around here."  A
sympathetic look cross his face.  "A lot of folks were sad when your
parents died, they were very well known in the community."

   He turned serious once again.  "Normally I don't condone the sort of
behavior that you displayed earlier today.  Yet I did find an odd sort
of symmetry in how you handled Mr. Atkins.  He will be dealt with,
according to school regulations." He paused a moment, then continued.
"Mr Atkins will be suspended from school for three days for violating
the rules concerning skinning another student involuntarily.

   "However, I cannot formally approve of your actions, and have to
apply the same regulations against you."  Once again he paused, then
went on.  "As such, I'm letting you know that you will be suspended from
school for three days, and this action placed in your records.  Your
guardians will be informed of this.  Any questions?"

   "No sir," I replied.  "I understand."

   Principal Sinclair looked closely at me.  "This isn't the end of it.
While you are suspended, you are still to report to my office every
morning."  His words startled me, and I stared at him.  "We need to have
you tested so that we can discover what sort of talent you have, as well
as just how powerful you are.  I suspect you're at least a C given your
display, but an expert will determine that."  He picked up a sheet of
paper.  "I've already contacted state offices in Des Moines, and they
are sending someone out who's experienced in such situations."  He
smiled just a little.  "Meanwhile, you can use the time between testing
to continue your classes, if by yourself.  I'll make sure that your
teachers provide the day's lessons every morning for you."

--

   What's the old Chinese saying, 'May you live in interesting times?'
That certainly summed up the next few days in my life.  I spent most of
them in a blur, reporting to Principal Sinclair, being used as a
messenger to teachers as well as being tested for talent by the few
teachers who were rated above a G.  The highest one was a D, and just
from the first touch it was clear to him that I was higher rated than
that.  He was a tool and our shop teacher, and I had been looking
forward to working with him.

   Touching him was odd as well, as I could feel a strange sort of
sensation inside of me when I shook his hand.  The sensation didn't fade
away, and as I was fiddling with a pen, I must have been thinking of
something else, for the pen altered into a small plastic toy in my hand.
Blinking at it, I desperately tried to think of having the pen back, and
the toy reshaped back into it's original shape.

   That started me to wondering and worrying.  From what I remembered
from my classes, a person could be a skinner or a tool but not both.
Yet I was able to do both, despite the lessons I recalled.  Was I some
kind of freak talent, then?

   Thursday finally arrived, and I woke up full of fear and worry.
Fear of what I'd be told, worry about what I had to face.  Catching the
bus, I went to school to report in.  Principal Sinclair met me at the
office door before I could go back.

   "Good luck," he said to me, and ushered me to his office, then left.
I took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.  From inside, a voice
answered back.

   "Come on in, Mr. Martin.  I've been waiting for you."

   Slipping into the office I saw a woman seated at the desk.  She
looked perhaps in her mid-30's, with a very conservative style dress on.
Something dark blue, I think.  She looked up at me, and smiled, holding
out her hand in greeting.

   "I'm Cynthia Watson, from the state board of education.  I'll be
evaluating you this morning."

   Automatically I shook her hand, and felt a different sort of
sensation come from her.  It was almost like a flow of energy going back
and forth from me to her and back again.  I shook my head as I tried to
figure out what had happened, and her lips twitched in amusement.

   "It's quite all right, Mr. Martin," she said, her tone warm.  "It's
the first time you've ever met another person who's the same level as
you.  I happen to be a B, and from the feel it's clear to me that you're
the same."

   She nodded towards the chair, and I sat down.  "As you probably been
told," she began, "I was sent from the state to assess your talent and
make a determination on what approach would be best for you.  Normally I
end up dealing with C's and D's who are deuces or tools or something
unusual but not rare."  She gave a warm smile.  "But in your case,
things are going to be a little different.  That's because you are a
most unique talent."

   I blinked as I understood what she was saying.  "You could tell all
that just from a touch?" I asked.  "What talent I am?"

   She nodded.  "That's just one of my abilities, yes.  I can tell a
person's ability from just a touch, but only those who are B class and
lower.  It's not a common ability, but like a sniffer we are useful when
it comes to finding people like yourself."

   She gave a warm smile and continued.  "To tell you the truth, I
wasn't expecting to find someone like you out here in the rural areas,
but it's a nice surprise.  And I'm impressed at the fact that you're
much more mature than your peers.  You should be able to handle your
ability, or rather, abilities, without too much trouble."

   I frowned a bit and sighed.  "So what am I, some kind of freak?"

   She snorted softly.  "Hardly a freak, Kyle.  Unique, yes.  Rare,
very much so.  The fact that you're a B makes it more rare.  But don't
think of yourself as a freak.  Someone like yourself is extraordinarily
blessed.  The possibilities for you are much more unlimited than just a
normal talent."

   Making some notes on the paper, she continued on.  "What I can tell
is that your original ability is similar to being a were, perhaps even a
stylist."  Neither term was instantly recognizable to me, but before I
could say anything she held up a hand.  "You demonstrated a straight
skinning talent when you had the incident with Mr. Atkins, as well as
the incident after you were tested by Mr. Bryan, your shop teacher."

   "I didn't mention that to anyone," I blurted out, then blushed.  She
gave me a warm look, and laughed gently.

   "Don't worry, Kyle.  I'm not going to say anything about that to
your teachers.  But here's something to think about, before you ask
anything else.  How do you feel right now, inside?  Like you're not
quite solid, a feeling of wanting to be something else for a while?"

   I sat back in my chair, considering her question.  There was a
different sort of feeling inside of me, like an itch that I can't quite
scratch at the moment.  But it was there, like she said it would be.
With eyes widening a bit, I nodded slowly.

   "I'm an auto," she said, making my eyes wider still.  "And from that
one touch, you've become an auto as well.  This is why you're going to
have to transfer to one of the special schools as soon as possible."

   "Whoa, hold it.  I just started school here," I said quickly, panic
setting in.  "I'll have to leave already?"

   Ms. Watson nodded.  "There's still a few academies that haven't
started their school year.  If you decide on one quickly enough, we can
make arrangements to have you go there.  The state has always had a
special scholarship program for students like yourself, who don't have
the funds to attend otherwise.  Once you decide which school you want to
attend, I'll have my office make all the arrangements."

   She handed me several pamphlets.  "I brought a few recommendations
with me, just in case this was the case.  Look them over, and let Mr.
Sinclair know which school you want to attend.  He'll notify my office,
and we should be able to get you in before the classes officially
start." Standing up, she smiled once more.  "It's been a pleasure to
meet you, Mr.  Martin.  I wish you the best.

   Before she left the office, she turned around and looked at me.
"Oh, yes.  You wanted to know what sort of talent you were." She gave an
impish grin.  "You're what we call a chameleon."