Scene 1 - October 14th

Interior Classroom, Late Afternoon

Quinn Kaufman

“...Aaron Atwick proposed a single metagene,” said Professor Marigold, “but we now know that there are over a hundred genes that can grant superpowers. Some of them activate during puberty, triggered by changing hormones, as Ms. Kennethson’s did,” She gestured to Nellie Kennethson, our class’s representative of the 15 percent of the population who had superpowers - Nellie’s hair and eyes could change color at her whim. “Many others activate during adrenaline rushes. Some are activated by radiation. A few are even active from birth. It’s part of why powers are unlikely to ever reach past 15 percent of the population - only around 15 percent of people are ever in a position where their metagene is activated, even though almost 85 percent of people now possess at least one metagene. Does anyone know if they have a metagene?”

I dutifully raised my hand. “I was tested once,” I said. “I’m one of the 15 percent that don’t have any documented metagenes.” Learning that when I had had the opportunity to take a test that detected them a few years ago had been a bit of a blow - like most people, I had harbored a childhood dream of having incredible superpowers and becoming a great hero. My drive to become a doctor was, perhaps, borne of that childish desire to help, now with a goal I could actually attain.

“I have one that can activate from adrenaline!” volunteered Todd Brickler. “That’s why I got into skydiving - I hoped it would give me powers. No luck yet though.”

“I have three!” Sarah Finely said proudly. “One of them is from radiation, but no one knows what would trigger the other two for sure!”

Professor Marigold held up a hand to forestall anyone else from volunteering. “I hope I’ve made my point - dormant metagenes are more common than active ones. Not to mention the relative scarcity of magical and cosmic powers, which aren’t granted by metagenes.

“Now, like most things relating to superpowers, these categories are approximate. There are those who argue that metagenes simply allow one to instinctually channel magic, thus breaking the laws of physics. There are those who suggest that cosmic sources actually just activate dormant metagenes - perhaps unidentified ones, but still the same type of power. There are even arguments that magic is simply sufficiently advanced technology, and that magic should therefore fall under cosmic - or that all three sources should be merged, as there’s little meaningful distinction between them. After all, there are magical metahumans with no need for chants or signs, natural metahumans who must interface with technology, and cosmic metahumans who use hand gestures or mantras to help focus their power.

“Your homework, then...” Marigold paused to let us all groan, grinning, then continued, “your homework is to write a short paper - three to five pages, due next week - explaining why you believe two of the three sources are the same or why you believe they’re different. Everyone got that?”

That shouldn’t be too hard, thankfully. My mother had studied metahumans, after all - I was sure I could find something in her old papers that would help.

The professor glanced at her watch as we wrote our homework down. “And that’s four o’clock, so I’ll see you all next week. Make sure you write those papers!” Typically she strode out of the room at that point, but this time she stayed, allowing the students to vacate instead. “Mx. Kaufman, would you mind staying behind a moment?”

I furrowed my brow as the rest of the class began to leave. What did she want to talk to me about? I didn’t think I had screwed up during the class. I had spoke up once before being called on, but she had asked for input from the class and I hadn’t been the only one. I had even been engrossed enough in today’s lecture that I hadn’t doodled in my notebook today, although I usually did. We hadn’t had any homework due to her today, and -

“Quinn,” Marigold said to me with a somewhat sad smile. “I heard about your father. I just wanted to express my sympathies.”

“Oh,” I blinked up at her, then laughed, running a hand through my hair. “Thank you, professor, but he’s fine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He’s in the hospital again, isn’t he? I know I’m not incredibly close to David,” she said with perhaps a slight pang of bitterness in her voice, “but he is a co-worker, and I don’t think the inter-departmental gossip is that inaccurate. We do work in the same building, after all”

I shrugged dismissively, starting to pack up my things. “I mean, yeah, he’s in the hospital again, but, well... it happens from time to time. Chronic illnesses will do that to you.”

“You’re not worried?”

“Not especially,” I told her. “Dad’s beaten it back before and he’ll do it again. It’s not even the worst relapse he’s had. He’ll be out in a few days, I’m sure.”

She examined my face, obviously still concerned, so I made sure to smile reassuringly. I didn’t know what she was so worried about - Dad had been in and out of the hospital for years, and his current relapse wasn’t anything new. “Well, if you’re sure,” she finally said. “Still, please pass on my sympathies to him. If you need an extension on that paper, just ask.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got it covered, professor. I was able to keep up in your class during midterms for Organic Chemistry and Abnormal Anatomy, I think I can handle one week without my dad to interrupt me when I’m doing homework,” I joked. “I’ll be fine.” I gave her a smile and left. As I went, I gave a nod to Todd Brickler, who had been standing by the door.