Zan’s Prehistoric World Narrative: “Mr. Malice, please sit up and pay attention in my science class,” the teacher suddenly interjected into his lecture. “I am paying attention,” Zan protested. “There are four fundamental forces in the universe that are made up of gravity, electromagnetism, and the weak and strong nuclear forces and of which these are produced by fundamental particles that act as carries of the force.” “Mr. Malice,” the teacher interrupted, his brow furrowed in slight annoyance. “The ability to memorize your text book does not indicate an understanding of the concept involved. Zan’s eyes narrowed and blazed red, he knew the other students were now staring at him and snickering because he was getting in trouble, again. The teacher turned back around and was using the teaching console to change the display screen to show a view of the triple star system in Cygnus, some 149 light years away. “And don’t you blaze your eyes at me, young demon Spirit,” the teacher warned without turning around. “Do we need to have another talk with your father?” Zan just couldn’t help himself and had to press his luck. “Why do we have to call ourselves Spirits? That’s the humans name for us, can’t we just call ourselves what we are?” “Mr. Malice,” the teacher replied, still facing away from Zan and fiddling with the display controls, “Do you think that prehistoric age humans are going to understand what Genetic Social Engineers are?” Zan’s eyes narrowed and his hand brushed over his left wrist, activating the control panel buried under his skin. The chair behind the teacher began to bend and warp and then suddenly Zan yelped, “Ouch!” A shock ran up his arm leaving his arm numb from the shoulder down; his arm fell limply to his side. “Mr. Malice, what have you been told about using your personal matter inverter in the classroom?” the teacher turned and asked. Zan decided to just stay silent. “You will remain after class and repair that chair, young demon,” the teacher stated. “But my arm will be numb for at least two hours, and class is over in fifteen minutes,” Zan whined, “I won’t be able to work the controls.” The teacher smiled, “Then you will sit here silently after class until you can.” Zan realized he had just been corned into a two hour detention. “Now sit up and pay attention, Mr. Malice,” the teacher said.