Super Genetics

He was too emotionally drained to do much of anything, even delegate. With a wave, he let Tania take charge, his thoughts turned to the one issue he felt he could address.

“Vlad.” He called the C-ranker’s name with a hint of worry. The man was prickly at the best of times and Flore’s influence had been one of the few things capable of tamping down his ego.

Vladimir stopped in surprise, then narrowed his eyes as he hung back. The others left the office, casting questioning glances toward the two of them, but Terry ignored their looks.

The man crossed his arms, wrinkling his nose before speaking.

“I wasn’t wrong.” His tone was defensive. “This doesn’t work without Flore, you know that.”

Terry sighed, nodding wearily. “Perhaps. Should we give up, then?”

He shrugged indifferently. “Why not? No one’s expecting us to feed the city.” His eyes were sharp now, cutting into Terry. “Because they don’t know, do they?”

Terry didn’t try to play the question off or deflect. He simply nodded.

“That’s right. We’re on our own.” Vlad whirled away, turning his back on Terry. He didn’t let that stop him though. “So what, Vlad? Do you need the Emperor’s sanction to want to do good? Do you need his permission?”

Vlad flipped back, his face tight. “It would be nice, yes! Maybe you don’t understand this, Prince Terry. But the rest of us snuck into this hell hole! We’re unregistered foreign supers on an evil dictator’s turf!” He pointed out in the direction of the warehouse. “Maybe tomorrow, it’s my body drained in an alley!” He scoffed. “Maybe you could live with that, but what if it was Katie? Tristan?” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering. You’re obviously not intending to stop.” His eyebrows rose suggestively. “You can’t, can you?”

Terry felt too stunned to speak. It wasn’t Vladimir’s anger that shocked him, but the ring of truth that underpinned them. The man was right, Terry had snuck them into Wichita and one of them was now dead. Flore’s death was on him. And if Katie died next or Tristan or even Vladimir, those deaths would be on him, too.

When Terry didn’t immediately reply, Vladimir nodded—not in smug satisfaction, but as a sort of confirmation. He opened his mouth to say something, but Terry cut across him.

“You’re right about some things, Vlad.” Terry locked eyes with him. “Flore’s death is my responsibility. All of you are. I’m sorry I wasn’t taking that responsibility seriously enough.” Vladimir squinted in confusion, but Terry pushed on. “But you’re dead wrong about something, too. I’m not living with anything. The things that killed Flore are gonna pay. That’s a promise. And no, even though you can be a pain in my ass, I would never be okay with you dying.” He chuckled as Vladimir rolled his eyes. “But I meant what I said, Vlad. This is too important to let die. It was always about Wichita, nothing more, nothing less. I hope you can believe that.”

He held Vladimir’s gaze, willing the man to feel his conviction, hear the truth in his words the way Terry had heard the truth in his.

After a few tense moments, Vladimir sighed.

“I know you’re a good person, even if I didn’t want to see it.” He moved to the couch and collapsed into it. “But dammit, Terry, there’s a good chance that before this is over, one or more of us will be dead—and it probably won’t be you.”

“I won’t let that happen!”

Vladimir chuckled dryly. “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

Terry moved to sit on the coffee table across from Vlad, locking eyes with him.

“We’re not ordinary men, Vlad. We’ve got superpowers to back us up.”

His smile was sad as he looked back at Terry. “So do our enemies…”

Terry sat back, feeling the resignation in Vlad’s soul. Something his father had said to him shortly after his Awakening suddenly flash into his mind.

“We may be pawns, Vlad.” Terry stood, feeling invigorated as the memory consumed his thoughts. “But even a pawn can put the king in checkmate.” He took some pleasure in Vlad’s thoughtful expression as he turned and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” Vlad called after him.

“Not me,” he replied. “Us.” He looked back, waving for Vlad to follow. “Come on, it’s about time we returned to the Market.”

The journey back to Terraform’s Market was a quiet affair. Tania had wanted to come with Vlad and Terry, but he had eventually convinced the girl that she was needed in the warehouse.

So Terry found himself with nothing to do for the next few hours as Vlad ferried them a thousand miles through the earth. He turned to his mother’s rose, feeling for weeks that he was on the cusp of unlocking its magic.

Drawing out the strand of hair he always kept on him, he continued meshing the genetic material with the metaphysical mold he had created. It was mind-numbing work, but he found it almost meditative after months of practice.

So he was caught by surprise when Vlad announced their arrival.

“Terraform has us now,” the man declared, settling back on his heels as he released his magic.

Terry put the rose away, rising to his feet. “Thanks, Vlad.”

A golem of pure glass rose up from the stone platform.

“Terry. Vladimir.” The glass tinkled lightly as it spoke. “Nice to see you both again. What brings you to the Market?”

Terry pursed his lips, not entirely surprised that Terraform hadn’t heard, but still hoping he wouldn’t have to have this conversation. Taking a breath, he simply dived in.

“Fluorescent is dead.”

The glass didn’t move, its blank face unreadable. A handful of breaths passed before the golem broke the silence.

“I see. Let’s discuss more in person.” The tunnel spread wide, revealing open space before them. “Be welcome in the Market.”

The stone platform seemed to travel into midair over the lava pit hundreds of feet below. But the stability never changed and the two of them stood steady as the platform angled toward Terraform’s office overlooking the Market.

A piece of solid glass extended out from the floor-to-ceiling windows, creating a connection to the platform. The glass shifted under their feet while the stone pulled away, returning to its place among the tunnel they’d left. See-through glass took them the last fifty feet—a disconcerting sensation, to say the least, but not one that elicited panic.

As the glass pulled them into Terraform’s office, the man himself reclined in his liquid-stone chair, regarding them with a mournful expression.

“How did it happen?” the man asked, cutting straight to the chase.

Terry stepped from the glass onto solid stone, stumbling a bit at the change in texture. Vlad, being an Earth Elementalist himself, had no such issues.

Once Terry had his footing back, he looked to Terraform.

“Evidence suggests she was killed by the sanguine.” The man’s eyes darkened, containing an obvious fury masked well. “However, when I visited them, they claimed to be ignorant of her death. I…I believed them.”

“And why is that?” he asked gently. “I’ve never dealt with their ilk personally, but they aren’t known for their honesty or honor.”

Terry nodded. “I believed them…because I held the elder at silver point—” Vladimir’s head whipped toward Terry in surprise. “—and then I stole the meal he’d been preparing for three days. And he let me.”

“You what?” Vlad uttered in surprise, then quickly bit his lip as he realized he’d spoken over Terraform.

The Market purveyor kept his face completely flat, no evidence of that earlier anger or any surprise showing through. But after a few moments, he blinked, glancing down at his desk. On a hunch, Terry opened his aura senses and wasn’t surprised to note Terraform was sending out pulses of energy along his webs of power.

When the pulses stopped a few breaths later, Terraform looked up at Terry.

“I will be doing my own investigation, of course. Flore was one of mine and as much as I trust your word, I cannot leave such transgressions unanswered.”

“I understand,” Terry replied with a nod.

Terraform pursed his lips in thought. “I doubt you came all this way just to pass along this news—though I do appreciate the gesture. Am I right in assuming you’ve come to ask for another Light Elementalist?”

Terry shook his head. “No.”

“No?” The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Terry shrugged casually. “I certainly wouldn’t say no if you had another one in the wings. But judging from our last conversation, you made it pretty clear that Light Elementalists are in short supply. No, I came to see Marlon actually. His anti-fall pottery gave me an idea and I think I can integrate it with one of my own Skills to recreate Flore’s light effect.”

“But you’re an Alterant!” Vlad burst out. Then he blanched, realizing he’d done it again. “Apologies, sir. Flore’s death has affected me more than I realized.”

Terraform waved away his concern, his eyes still locked on Terry.

“In that case, you have my writ of passage—you know that.” A pulse of power washed out from the man, a glass bridge forming out above the Pit. “Is there anything else you require while you’re here?”

Terry bowed slightly. “No, sir.” Then he remembered his identity and an gave an embarrassed smile. “Uh, actually…could I borrow a mask and robe.”

“On the rack over there.”

Terry gratefully donned the clothing items, then moved toward the glass bridge. As Vlad turned to follow, Terraform stopped him.

“Keep me company, Vlad.” To Terry, he said, “I’ll return him to you when you’re ready to leave.”

The C-ranker looked surprised for a split second, but his face smoothed quickly as he bowed.

“As you wish, sir.”

Terry nodded once, then took the path down to the main thoroughfare below. Pedestrian traffic was just as congested as the last time he’d been here and the looks were more pointed now that he traveled from Terraform’s office alone.

Despite the stares, no one accosted him or otherwise bothered him, for which he was thankful. He had to admit, Terraform’s Market upheld its reputation as safe and well-managed—a single Traveler-related incident notwithstanding.

Though he knew there was no time to dawdle, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed out the last time he’d visited the Market. The urge to explore pulled at him, but he reminded himself of his mission.

This is for Wichita. Focus!

Drawing himself away from the casual displays of magic and the fantastical sights lining the Services Sector, he approached the back alley where Marlon’s shop lay.

A cat slinked across the ground, racing back into the shop when Terry rounded the corner. As he approached the entrance, a new sign lay taped below the old one.

IF YOU ASK ME ABOUT LEAVING THE MARKET, I’LL PORTAL YOU INTO THE PIT!

Terry chuckled to himself as he entered. The shop was much the same as it had been before—a maze of shelves in a haphazard arrangement, covered in pottery of dubious aesthetic sense. Above, cats roamed the rafters and makeshift hammocks, and Terry could have sworn their population had doubled.

Stepping toward the nearest shelf, he let his analysis ability engage as he shoved one of the vases off its perch. Straining his senses, he watched as the vase fell through the air, split space with an ease that made Terry envious, then reappeared back where it had originally stood.

His aura was wrapped around the vase, feeling for the power that must have been infused into it through some enchantment or anchor.

Space suddenly snapped apart beneath his feet—he felt it with his senses before he saw it. He was sliding into the void now, panic clutching his heart. Frantic hands grasped at the shelving, ripping it down as he was pulled deeper into the void. A hundred pieces of pottery fell with the shelves, then tried to portal back to its surface, only to find the entire structure off-kilter.

The sound of shattering pottery accompanied his complete submergence in the void and all he could think was: please not the pit of lava, please not the pit of lava!

Then, his feet touched solid ground once more. The hungry void between space began to retreat. With a voiceless scream, he returned to reality, the silent terror turning loud as his head left the portal and he found himself yelling his throat hoarse.

He cut off the scream, clearing his throat in embarrassment as he found himself only twenty feet from the shop entrance, face to face with an unimpressed Marlon.

“Uh, hi.” He felt discombobulated, convinced just a moment earlier that he was being deposited into the Pit—or worse, that terrifying void between space.

“You broke my pottery.” Marlon’s tone was flat, no hint of anger or annoyance in his voice. But the curling of his lip indicated otherwise.

“And you portaled me without my consent!” Terry fired back. “I thought I was gonna die!”

He shrugged, turning to settle back into his familiar wicker chair.

“Thought I’d save you the trip.” He nodded toward the pottery maze. Terry blinked slowly, not quite comprehending what the Traveler was saying. “Didn’t want to go, you shoulda just declined the portal.”

“De-declined!” Terry spluttered. “I don’t know how to do that!”

Marlon didn’t even glance up, his hands back on some misshapen monstrosity that could generously be called a vase in progress.

“It’s been years. Shoulda figured that out ages ago. What’ve you been doing?”

Terry groaned, looking up at the ceiling, only to spot a dozen pairs of eyes staring back. He flinched away, then shook his head at the absurdity of the situation.

“No, Marlon. It’s been eight months. And I’ve been busy.”

He stomped over to what he could only assume was a closet and pulled it open. Inside was a second wicker chair and he carried it over.

When he plopped down into it, the Traveler was silent, his hands sliding across the moving clay in a surprisingly dexterous dance.

That wasn’t to say the clay was taking shape into something that could be called pretty. But Marlon did seem to move with confidence at least.

He watched in silence for a minute, wondering if he would get a chance to watch the man add his magical anchoring. But the vase’s shape was slow to materialize and Terry grew impatient, the thought of his dying farm lingering heavy in the back of his mind—and with it the death of Wichita.

“Marlon, how do you anchor your anti-fall magic to the pottery?”

He grunted, never taking his eyes off the pottery.

“What rank is it?”

Terry furrowed his brow in confusion, then realized what he must’ve been talking about. A flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks.

“It’s still F,” he admitted.

A harsh snort of air left Marlon’s nostrils.

“Get it to D, then we’ll talk.”

Heat filled his chest, but he kept the anger in check, a low simmer rather than a boiling explosion.

“Marlon, this is life or death. Please.”

The Traveler shrugged. “Can’t do nothin’ about it, uh—” He shook his head. “—whatever your name is. Tammy? Trent? Anyways, System don’t think you’re ready, so you ain’t. Simple as that.”

“How do I upgrade it, then? I use it all the time!”

“It’s in the damn Skill description, Tommy. Look it up yourself. I’m busy.”

With that, Marlon released the pedal, letting the wheel come to a halt. He dipped his hands in a bucket of water, then began easing the vase off the wheel with a wire.

Terry turned away, afraid he would say or do something he might regret. With a sigh, he pulled up the Skill description.

Affixed Skill: High-Efficiency Matter Transportation (F — Upgradeable)

Use aura to part space and create a bridge to another location. Distance and duration of the bridge are dependent on the mass of the entrants and the caster’s mastery of space and aura manipulation.

Note: This is an upgradeable Skill. As caster’s rank, understanding, and aura control increase, so can this Skill.

He couldn’t fault the man; it was right there in the description. But he had been increasing his aura control and manipulation. It was in the Ds, for Emperor’s sake. Maybe it was the mastery of space part he was missing.

A flash of aura behind him made him turn in surprise. The newly-shaped vase was sitting inside a makeshift kiln. But it was clear at first glance that there was no heating element, fire, or other form of heat inside to bake the vase. And yet, there was heat emanating from somewhere. He felt, rather than saw, a portal positioned above the vase. The heat was transmitting through the portal! And not only that.

Reddish-yellow light flickered down upon the vase, casting it in a strange light.

“What the…”

He came around the pottery wheel, his senses extended toward the portal. Marlon was back in his wicker chair, slapping another glob of clay on the wheel, oblivious to Terry’s curiosity.

As he approached the kiln, his aura began to wrap around the portal. His senses were telling him that this was a bridge between space just like his own Skill he had already learned from Marlon. But that wasn’t possible for two reasons.

One, Marlon wasn’t actively engaging the Skill with his aura—it simply hung there in space as if it had no owner.

But two—and more importantly—the portal was transferring heat and light. Which defied everything he understood about the Skill. Heat didn’t transfer through Terry’s portal, the same way light didn’t. He had tried. Every portal he’d ever created—or seen other Traveler’s create—had been opaque cuts through space. He’d never been able to see through to the other side. Never felt a breeze enter one side and blow out the other.

And he’d damn sure never felt heat coming through a portal!

Objects required force to enter the portals; they didn’t just slide through. He didn’t quite understand the science behind the magic of it all, but he did know that opening a portal into the vacuum of space would drain the entire planet’s atmosphere if that weren’t the case. There was some sort of intentionality required, maybe? A certain weight or force necessary. Some sort of…threshold.

“How…how are you doing this?” he muttered.

Marlon grunted casually. “The clay dries in the heat, Tammy. Simple pottery, really.”

Terry was too fascinated to be annoyed by Marlon’s ridiculousness.

“Not that.” He held his hand out, feeling the unmistakable heat emanating from the portal inside the kiln. “How are you getting the heat to pass through the portal?”

He looked back to see Marlon preoccupied with his new vase-in-progress. With a nod, he indicated outside of the shop.

“There’s a whole pit o’ lava right over there, Timmy. Just creating a small connection between space.” Marlon shook his head in disappointment. “The hot gases rise, you know?”

“And the light?”

Marlon flicked his hand toward Terry, bits of wet clay splashing on his shoes.

“You want instruction, it’ll cost another thirty minutes with the Prime.”

Dismay filled Terry and for the hundredth time, he hoped Silver was alive.

“He…he’s busy,” Terry replied softly.

“Then sit back and watch.” Marlon’s glanced up through bushy eyebrows. “You got eyes and an aura, don’t ya?”

The smile on Terry’s face made the man groan and roll his eyes, but Terry was too giddy to care. He turned back to the portal transmitting heat and light in an inexplicable display of mastery.

And he began to study it like the fate of Wichita depended on it.