Word: Saccade

saccade

[sa-kahd, suh-] / sæˈkɑd, sə- /

noun

1. the act of checking a horse quickly with a single strong pull of the reins.

2. Ophthalmology. the series of small, jerky movements of the eyes when changing focus from one point to another.

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                Dr. Reynolds watched the teenager sit in the chair. The kid looked weirdly nervous. He was used to young children acting like that, but a teenager? The kind should have gone to an optometrist at least once in his life.

                “Something wrong?” He asked.

                “N-no, not really.”

                “Come on, I know the equipment I use looks nasty, but you should know it’s nothing to be scared of.”

                “I…I know that. It’s just…my vision has been kinda, I don’t know, weird, and I don’t know what you’ll think about it. I don’t want to have big glasses or anything.”

                “Oh, is that all? Well, if there’s a problem with your vision and you don’t want glasses, we can look into contacts. But first, let’s see if there’s anything wrong to begin with.”

                Dr. Reynolds began his examination. And it quickly became clear that the kid had nearly perfect vision. But there was something else. Something he could not quite put his finger on. Had the kid responded to the letter chart a little too fast, or was it just because he was young? Could he see the smallest letters perfectly, or was there something else at play?

                He moved the bulky vision testing equipment out of the way and held up a pen. It was another standard test. He had performed it thousands of times. But for this one, he paid extra attention to what was going on.

                “Okay, focus on the top and follow it.” He said.

                Normally, when doing this, there would be small, quick movements of the eye when doing this. Dr. Reynolds looked for them to determine how well the eyes could focus and shift. For the teen currently in the chair though, these movements were wrong. They were, if anything, too fast. He was focusing on the pen almost before it moved. Like he could see where it was going to be instead of where it was.

                Just to make sure he was not seeing things, Dr. Reynolds moved the pen in different directions. Ways he normally would not. The kid could follow them all perfectly. More than perfectly. He sighed and set the writing implement down.

                “How about you tell me what’s going on.” He said. The kid squirmed in his seat. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I won’t share it if you don’t want me to.”

                “I…I don’t know what’s going on. My vision goes weird sometimes. It’s like I’m seeing two things at once, but only one of them is real. The other is what’s going to happen. At least, I think that’s what it is. Like an afterimage, but forward? I think? I don’t know.”

                Dr. Reynolds stood by, silent. That sounded crazy. To be able to see the future, even just by a second or so, was beyond anything anyone could understand. He needed to confirm whether the kid was telling the truth or just very good at guessing.

                “I’m going to hold up a few fingers. How about you tell me how many.”

                “Three.” The kid said immediately. Right before Dr. Reynolds was indeed going to raise three fingers.

                “That’s…quite the thing.”

                “I don’t know how it happened. It just kind of started one day. I don’t know how to turn it on or off. It just happens.”

                “Well, I’m afraid this is well beyond my expertise. I don’t know who’s expertise it would be under either.” He watched his young patient wring his hands nervously.  “But if it helps, you don’t need glasses.”

                The teenager did not respond to his, admittedly poor, attempt at a joke. “So, uh, what do I do now?”

                “I have no idea. I’m sure someone out there can help you though. I don’t know who, but there’s all kinds of people out there with knowledge on all kinds of strange things. Maybe try and find one that matches your…” He hesitated. Calling it a condition did not seem right. “Talents.”

                “I…guess so?”

                “Great. Now, let’s go. You can tell your parents you have 20/20 vision. They’ll be thrilled they don’t have to get you glasses.”

                Dr. Reynolds showed the boy out of the examination room. He had some time before his next patient, and a lot of things to think about.

Word: Argus-eyed

Argus-eyed

[ahr-guhs-ahyd] / ˈɑr gəsˌaɪd /

adjective

1. having keen eyes; vigilant; watchful.

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                Andy supposed it was normal for the soldiers to be vigilant. He couldn’t even blame them for taking his weapons, even if they were just common rarity and didn’t even have a single enchantment on them. Nor could he blame them for “escorting” him to the meeting. The fact that they all had weapons drawn was a bit insulting, but understandable. Even so, they all knew he was a Merchant, so maybe the security was a little much.

                He eyes the walls. Good stone and metal, lined with guards, all standing and patrolling. Actually doing their jobs. Other towns had wall guards that slacked off as much as they did their job. It was actually quite respectable. It was a bit odd that there was only a single watchtower though. That seemed like a security oversight.

                “Do you mind my asking why there’s only one watchtower?” He asked. “I mean, you guys clearly run a tight ship. I would think having at least one tower on each all would be a must.”

                He thought the soldiers would ignore the question, even as he asked it. These did not seem like the friendly sort of people. To his surprise, one of them did.

                “That’s because we only need one.”

                “Why? Do you have some kind of enchanted item or something?”

                “Better. We have Argus.”

                The rest of the soldiers stood a little straighter at the mention of this Argus fellow. It seemed like they all took a great deal of pride in him.

                “Argus?”

                The talkative soldier nodded. “He’s an Original.”

                Andy let out a small, surprised gasp. An Original? Here? He knew his Merchant’s Instincts skill had brought him to a big potential windfall in this fort, but this was beyond him. If he played his cards right and got into Argus’ good graces, the profits would be huge. And he was not just talking coin.

                “Really? What’s an Original doing out here?”

                “No idea. He just showed up one day, used some weird magic to build the watchtower in one day, and got to work. He never leaves it. Never talks. We bring him his food twice a day and he seems perfectly fine. And he never stops watching. He has some skill that lets him see everything for miles around, even with the fort walls in the way. Even a person using a stealth skill won’t be able to sneak up on him.”

                Andy let out a low whistle. Those were some impressive perception skills. It also meant he was probably not going to conduct business with Argus himself. He knew enough not to bother an Original that did not want to be bothered. He valued his life far too much for that. Still, any place where someone like that was, was bound to be rich enough to be worth trading with. The soldiers watched him for a moment. Then the talker kept going.

                “Not going to try and meet with him, are you Merchant?”

                “No. If you fellows can’t talk with him freely, then there’s no way a stranger like me will get anywhere close to him. I don’t doubt he could put any number of sharp objects through my head from where he is now.”

                The soldiers nodded their agreement.

                “I’ll be content to do business with whoever handles that sort of thing. The quartermaster, I assume?”

                “That’s right. And that’s where we’re going now.”

                Andy took one last look at the watchtower. He did not have the stats to see the person at the top of it, but if the soldiers said Argus was there, then he was there. He turned back around as he walked with the men. If he played his cards right, this was going to be a very lucrative venture. And he could not wait to see how much he could gain out of it.

                 

Word: False Nine

false nine

[fawls nahyn] / ˈfɔls ˈnaɪn /

Or false 9

noun

false nines

1. Soccer. a center forward player who drops back into the midfield to receive the ball, creating space and opportunity for teammates further up the field by drawing the opposing team’s defense out of their positions.

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                It was always amazing how much propaganda could influence a person’s view on something. In this case, that something was war. All the recordings and broadcasts painted the war as something grand. Something glorious. Something that a man could be proud of. Naturally, the reality of it was quite a bit different.

                Case in point, the current situation. The squad, once a full platoon, were huddled behind a wall. Or what was left of the wall. And even that would likely not last much longer. The enemy pulse shots were slowly weakening the otherwise very strong, reinforced steel. Each shot put another dent in the side and warmed it up just a little bit, making it easier for the next shot to do more damage.

                “Well, fellas, I’d say it’s been nice knowing you, but given the circumstances I’d rather have never met any of you.” Jones said. The others chuckled and agreed.

                The sound of explosives rang out in the distance. Some other poor saps were being hit by artillery fire. It was made all the more potent because the enemy bombs had a distinct red color when they detonated. It was only a matter of time before their little group was targeted by those rounds. That is, if the standard infantry fire didn’t get to them first.

                “We’re not done yet.” Benson said. The others looked at him.

                “No, I’m pretty sure we’re all going to die here.” Jones replied. The others nodded.

                “We can make it. I’m sure we can win. At least against the troops pinning us down.”

                “How?” Smith asked. The big man ran his hands along the stock of his rifle. The man was clearly itching to use it.

                “Not easily, for sure. We run something called a false nine.” Benson said. He got nothing in response. “Really? Do none of you know anything about football? Oh, sorry, soccer for you yanks.”

                “You want us to run a play from a game?” Jones asked, raising an eyebrow.

                “With a few modifications, yes.”

                “What’s the play?” Smith asked.

                “A distraction play. One of us runs forward and gets their attention. Then he runs backwards. The rest move up along the outsides so they can circle around. In the game, this draws the defenders away from the goal, allowing the rest of the team to score. Here? It allows everyone but the distraction to get behind their positions and fill them with hot plasma.”

                The rest of the squad was quiet. They all knew what that meant. What it meant for the person doing the pulling.

                “So, who’s it going to be?” Jones asked.

                “Well, that’s obvious.” Benson said. “It’s me. I’m the only one who can.”

                “You sure?”

                “Yeah, I am. I’m the only one with intact shielding and armor, for one.” The Englishman said. He looked down at his mostly intact defensive gear. The others sported armor in much worse states of repair, and their shield cells were completely drained. Benson did not have much left in his, but any was better than none.

                “But that’s…” Jones began.

                “Yeah, I know what it is.” Benson cracked his neck and prepped his weapon. “Just make sure to hit them hard while I’m still alive enough to see it.”

                Before anyone could say anything else, Benson vaulted over the barrier. The rest of the squad moved only a few seconds later, years of military experience taking over. Live or die, they would do what they could.

                And maybe their faces would appear on the next propaganda film to catch the next group of potential sacrificial soldiers for the war machine.