“Mr. Fulgen, what role do ethics play in your problem-solving process, particularly when working with powerful tools or systems?”

  “I typically save them for the debrief.”

  Most of the interior of the Black Box was unimpressive. The walls were lined with acoustic foam, making the place unnaturally dark and quiet. The main chamber had a single computer terminal, a large rack of memory cards with BB numbers, and a single filing cabinet. There was a shielded case for “bunker fodder”—artifacts too dangerous to use that awaited transportation to an offsite facility for disposal—but it had been empty for months.

  Isabel Marin frowned at the screen, scanning the contents of one of Jett Fulgen’s files in the tomb-like silence. After a few minutes she ejected the memory card and placed it back on the rack. She then sorted through the filing cabinet and found a physical file for Chris Eisner.

  There was a photograph of Chris with several rough-looking men, ostensibly from the Ironwake Consortium. There was a scant amount of other documentation detailing the expedition where Alex Fulgen and Reginald Faxton had discovered Chris clinging to life after his accident. Medical files.

  Most frustratingly, there was a digital tape in a rune-locked case. Attempting to force it open would destroy the tape. There was a note on the label in Alex Fulgen’s hand explaining that the case would self-unlock if conditions were met. “You will know,” said the last words of that note.

  Damnable man. Where did he find the materials for so many of these long lasting conditional locks? Perhaps his class skills had helped him.

  Marin put the file away and just sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Where was all of this headed? Did the Resistance know anything else? Was that psychopath Mantis part of the equation?

  She stood and walked toward the back room. There was no information back here. No secrets. All that was back here was a crate-sized box about waist height. And the other room.

  She looked through the observation window in the heavy security door. It was unlocked, but she always felt uncomfortable going inside.

  The table still waited there, its many restraints open, unlocked, and gleaming new. The equipment surrounding the table was equally immaculate. It had never been used, but it was inspected regularly, and occasionally parts were replaced.

  She sincerely hoped they’d never have to use it. That it was an unnecessary precaution. Because if they did, that led immediately to the other worry.

  That it wouldn’t be enough.

  Marin suddenly felt a vibration in the floor, and the box shifted slightly. She looked around, feeling panic swelling in her. But none of the alarms were going off. The position fluctuation was within the reasonable limits of the artifacts and runes that kept the Black Box afloat. What, then?

  She did a lockdown sweep of the first chamber, entered the airlock, and opened the exterior door leading out into the workshop. As she stepped out onto the catwalk she could see activity far below in the pit.

  Were those… speakers?

  “Can I ask what all of this is for?” said Wally.

  Fushigi was running around connecting wires and making adjustments to a soundboard. It was very late at night, and by design only a few other scientists and engineers were in the workshop.

  “Whaddaya know about cantorium, Sab?”

  “Th-that it’s a crazy metal? That no one really knows its atomic number? Sometimes a mass spectrometer will show it as forty-seven, just like silver, but it usually just confuses any machine that tries to measure it.”

  “Cantorium isn’t made of matter,” Fushigi said matter-of-factly.

  Wally blinked.

  “Not as we know it, at least. It’s what they call an ‘aether-forged’ material. It acts like matter. It has mass and other properties. But it also defies those conventions. Those properties can vary, and not like any normal material does. For example, what temp does it melt at?”

  “I can’t remember. Something ridiculous.”

  “Yeah.” Fushigi gestured at her setup. “Unless it hears music.”

  Over the past day they had assembled and connected, essentially, enough sound equipment to power a rock concert. All of the speakers were pointed at an industrial smelting kiln that looked diminutive by comparison.

  “Music,” Wally said flatly. If this was one of Fushigi’s jokes then it was her most elaborate one to date.

  “If you believe the Anteschismatic records—which, hell, do what you want, more power to ya—” Fushigi pitched her voice high and snooty as she rummaged around in a case, “—there were once elves who were masters at smelting and shaping cantorium. They crafted blades of exquisite quality and armor that naught could pierce, but thanks to their lilting songs, the metal could be forged with no more difficulty than ordinary steel.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Fushigi resumed her normal timbre. “But we don’t have that, so I’m gonna try heavy metal.” She produced an electric guitar, leapt up on top of one of the oversized speakers, and played a long and intricate riff that reverberated through the entire workshop. Wally had to cover his ears.

  After the last note died down, Fushigi yelled “All the glassware is boxed up, right?”

  “Nice of you to ask!” someone yelled from above.

  “Listen, Fu?” said Wally. “Um, nice chops.”

  “Aww, thanks Sabaton!”

  Fushigi actually smiled a bit sheepishly as she ran a hand through her hair, and Wally’s brain almost broke. It was the first time he’d seen her even remotely flustered.

  “So, yeah,” Wally continued, “that having been said—not to question your methods or anything—but are you really going to make me do the delicate work while you shred guitar?”

  “Oh, hell no,” she chuckled. She set the guitar down and set out two sets of earmuffs. “That was just for effect, dude. I’ll be playing a recording while we mix and forge the goldsilver. You have everything ready to make the blades?”

  “I think so.”

  Fushigi put on her ear protection and grinned. “Then let’s rock.”

  Did one need to be a rocket scientist to learn the Rocket Thruster skill?

  A little.

  I was able to grind five levels in the Rocketeer class in only three days by doing laps on the roof track, letting Habby micro-optimize my speed and practicing my technique, before progress slowed to a crawl. Then Habby had me sit down, pull up the skill, and click a new button called Analyze. It was time for the hard part.

  It was information overload at first. Just a tangled mass of pulsing lines. I was tempted to close it immediately and take a nap, but Habby started pointing things out.

  [These orange lines are fire aether. See the glowing points where the lines begin? Those are aether conduits. That is where aether enters the physical world carrying matter or energy. Because your domain is fire, you are very high energy and very low substance.]

  ?Well, that’s a bit pointed.?

  [I meant the nature of your aether. Earth elementalists conjure rocks. Your aether produces heat. But since you mentioned it…]

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  ?What about these lighter lines??

  [Hmm. That actually appears to be air aether. There is minimal overlap between your domain and others, but it facilitates some aetherframes.]

  ?What purpose is it serving? Oxygen??

  [Fire aether doesn’t require fuel or oxygen unless you’re trying to ignite something else with it. However… yes, I bet it’s propellant.]

  ?There’s more on the outside though, surrounding everything.?

  [That aether seems to be serving a structural function. I’m afraid I’m learning this along with you, because Issa never took this skill. But I think this is the same variant of air aether used for semisolid wind constructions. Things like wind blade attacks.]

  ?Wait a minute… It’s housing. It’s like a combustion chamber. It contains the fire aether and the regular air aether so it produces thrust and mostly escapes in one direction, like exhaust. But it’s crazy inefficient. Damn it, I need to look this up.?

  [Look it up? This is a process of discovery, Jett. By becoming one with the flow of the aether—]

  ?Screw that. Dude, this thing mimics a real world device. Not just in function but in how it’s shaped. I bet it was originally synthesized by people who knew something about engines. I need to head down to the workshop and pick Wally’s and Fu’s scary brains.? I checked my phone and was surprised at how much time had passed while I was sitting and staring at aether in my mind.

  ?But first it’s time for my appointment with Marin.?

  “Come in.”

  I entered Marin’s office, shutting the door behind me, and watched the woman. She had a pair of glasses on, and she was busy reading through and signing a large stack of papers with her fancy fountain pen.

  “Have a seat,” she said coolly, without looking up. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  So it was going to be like this.

  Some people are surprised to learn this, but I actually can’t read people all that well. Not when it gets hard. Not when they have good poker faces and are determined to use them.

  I read a few of those detective books as a kid. You know the type. The ones where the sleuth can tell volumes about a person at a glance just by picking out tiny, seemingly inconsequential details. That isn’t me. I can’t read people like a book. I can read them like a billboard. If they’re not advertising something I’m liable to miss it. Maybe that’s why I learned to push buttons so well.

  I was already pretty sure Marin would deny any knowledge of whatever Dante was talking about. And with her being cold and stony, I couldn’t just dump his comment on her and watch for a reaction. I needed a tell.

  It was another small skill I’d developed over years of trying to figure out just how pissed adults were at me. I thought of it as my barometer. Not every detail, but just one. Sometimes I was way off base. But sometimes, I nailed it.

  I’d figured out Marin’s barometer. It was her pen.

  It summed her up. From the very first day, when I’d been pardoned at city hall, I’d noticed not only her attachment to that golden fountain pen, but her commitment to perfection in her signature. It was, to her, the true weapon of the CEO. Early on I’d received some paperwork back from HR, and I’d been so struck by how immaculate and identical each of her signatures was I’d pointed it out to Wally. “They have to print the CEO’s signature for her, eh?” I’d said. But no, Wally had shown me a couple of tricks to verify that it was honest-to-the-Shones hand applied ink.

  The pen occupied her breast pocket most of the time, and I slowly noticed a pattern over my interactions with her. The pen was in the pocket? Shit was good. The pen was out and she was using it? Shit was getting done. The pen was out and she had it set down on the desk–or worse, she was fiddling with it? Shit was going down.

  So it was just my luck she was doing paperwork and only half paying attention to me.

  “I’m sorry to bother you again so soon,” I said. “I promise it’s minor this time.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “It’s just that… well, you might know there’s been some grumbling among the sorcerer teams about me being Alex Fulgen’s son. I only know a little about why.”

  “Yes, we’re aware of that. We’ve addressed it with the teams.”

  “I’m still hearing some of it. I hate to sound petty…”

  “No.” Marin’s lips tightened. “Defamation can’t be tolerated, particularly for something your father allegedly did. I suppose you’re not the only sorcerer around here with a childish streak.”

  She signed a sheet with a harsher than normal stroke. Good.

  “What have you heard?”

  “Well, it was Dante Katsuro. Maybe Junpei Lin too, but Dante’s the only one I heard.”

  “Of course it was. That boy. And he thinks he doesn’t belong on Ambassador because they’re too ‘melodramatic.’ Bah, forget I said that. What did he say?”

  “It was name-calling, really. Ugh, maybe it doesn’t mean anything…”

  “You’ve gotten this far, Fulgen. Let’s hear it.”

  I carefully waited until she had just started a new signature. “‘Alex Fulgen’s little breeding experiment.’”

  She paused. Isabel Marin paused mid-signature. It was only for a split second, but I caught it. My heart leapt in my chest. When she continued, there was an almost imperceptible blob of ink where her golden pen had hesitated. She looked at the sheet with distaste as she set it aside.

  Gotcha.

  “I will address that with him,” she said tiredly.

  I leaned back in my chair and put my hands behind my head. “So, what does it mean?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why did he call me a breeding experiment?”

  “Shones only know.”

  “I don’t think only the Shones know,” I said bitingly.

  Marin carefully set her latest sheet aside, capped her golden pen, and set it on the desk in front of her.

  That’s what I freaking thought.

  She took her glasses off and looked up at me. “I’m not sure I should be telling you this.”

  “Who else is gonna tell me? My dad?”

  Marin shook her head. “Goodness. They underestimated you so badly.”

  I added that one to the list of questions. “You knew my dad?”

  “I met him a few times. Most of the Resistance has, if they were around back then.”

  I waited. Surely she didn’t need every question out loud at this point.

  “There is more than one shadow organization at work in all of this. The Resistance is a loose coalition of individuals and organizations formed to oppose the Garrison.”

  “So, G-Tech is part of this… Resistance?”

  “More than just part of it. The company was spearheaded by it. Angel invested by Resistance members. The Licensed Vigilante Sorcerer Act was the product of Resistance lobbyists and sympathetic councilpeople.”

  “My dad?”

  “Also a member, of course. I suppose it goes without saying. He and Reginald Faxton, myself, and a long list of others, are all part of the same generation of Resistance fighters.

  “The Resistance’s cause is good. I say that without hesitation. But as a large and covert organization, it’s subject to internal politics and even occasional corruption. It was from there that the command came down to… treat you as we did. I still agreed to it, so again, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s wild. It really is. But we’re getting off the subject.”

  “The point is, your father was a very prominent member of the Resistance. He had a very rare and valuable sorcerer skill. As a result everyone knew of him, and as a result he was under a lot of scrutiny, so when certain information and rumors… Damn it, I’m still meandering, aren’t I?”

  “You are.”

  “There is some evidence that your father knew your mother was a last generation pre-Guardian before he married her.”

  I sat up at that. “Hold up.”

  [Hold up.]

  “You’re saying,” I continued, feeling icy anger in my stomach, “that my father may have known—”

  “Your mother’s firstborn was likely to be a Fire Guardian candidate. Yes, I am.”

  “How?”

  “Because of your father’s skills. He was a rare class called a Senser. It gave him the extremely coveted ability to determine the aetheric properties and potential of things. Both artifacts and people, and even their compatibility. He also claimed to have come from a long line of warrior sorcerers, though we’ve never been able to verify that. So that… that’s why there’s a rumor in some circles that he chose your mother for that reason.”

  Marin’s face softened. “Mind you though, that’s all we know. Even if he knew that, and even if the thought crossed his mind, it doesn’t mean he didn’t love your mother, or that he didn’t marry her out of love.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I lifted the glowing red jewel on my amulet. “But it does prove he engineered this, doesn’t it? I mean, I only wasn’t sure before because I had no idea how he could’ve known I was a Fire Guardian candidate ahead of time. But his whole power was knowing, wasn’t it? He did this.”

  Marin looked uncomfortable. “I’m afraid there’s no way around that. Yes. He absolutely planted the amulet on you intentionally.”

  And my mom too. She’d been the one to give the locket to me personally, all those years ago. There was no way she wasn’t involved. That haunted look she’d given me that night suddenly took on a whole new meaning. I felt another cold spike of anger tinged with guilt.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about that,” I said.

  Marin shrugged. “I’d be pissed.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Your father… he was a well meaning but complicated man. He’d give his life for you, but at the same time, he’d sacrifice you for a greater good if he thought it best. I’m not sure you want an outsider’s opinion on this.”

  “Please. Blast away. What’s he gonna do about it?”

  “Hiding that amulet on you smacks of the latter. He set you up for power and a great burden long before you could comprehend enough to consent. Believe it or not, I don’t see you as a pawn in some game—though I know and answer to a few people who might. I hate to see you hurt by his machinations. I thought, maybe, we could nudge you in a direction that would relieve you of this.” She smiled ruefully. “You’ve pushed back though, haven’t you, Mr. Fulgen? Against our earlier assumptions, it seems you really want this. That opens up the real possibility that your father was right. It just doesn’t excuse his methods. At least to my mind.”

  I put a hand to my forehead. “Well. Shit.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments. This would take a while to digest for sure. I searched my mind for anything else I could ask the woman while I had her in a cooperative mood. Anything else I dared to wonder.

  I frowned as an odd little detail pricked in my mind. “Wait… something doesn’t make sense. You said my mom’s firstborn was likely to be a Fire Guardian candidate, but I have an older brother.”

  Marin sighed. “That’s something else I should probably tell you about.”

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