Superluminary

by Olivia Rising

  Mr. Romero echoed fake Dad’s laugh. “The truth is stranger than fiction, I often say.”

  “Well, from what I could tell, she would have done well on it. But I’ll see to it that she does it again. That is, if I could meet you at the school to pick up an extra copy of the question sheet?”

  Emily felt her math teacher’s apathy over the phone. The first week back at school after summer break had been exhausting for him, and the last thing he wanted to do was think about his students over the weekend.

  “No, that’s fine,” Mr. Romero replied. “If you say she understands the material, I’ll take your word for it. But thank you for letting me know, Mr. Bell. That’s one for the books.”

  Emily belted out her dad’s laugh again. “Yes, I suppose it is. Thank you for your understanding. Have a good weekend, Mr. Romero. You’ve earned it!”

  She heard a mewing sound as she hung up so she glanced at the window to see Mr. Tibbs perched on the window sill, his fuzzy orange tail twitching in disapproval.

  “Don’t give me the evil cat eye,” she said. “Besides, who’s got time for stupid math homework when there’s a sleepover to go to?”

  ***

  Forty minutes and a plate of lasagna later, Emily lounged on her chestnut sleigh bed with the TV remote in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. The evening wasn’t turning out to be quite as much fun as she had anticipated. The only shows on TV were boring news programs or cartoons for babies, and the babysitter was occupied on the phone, talking to her boyfriend as usual.

  As if to defy her, Mr. Tibbs smugly looked up at her, as only a cat could, from the crook of her left arm. Her parents never allowed Mr. Tibbs onto the beds, but Emily indulged him this time. She enjoyed the feel of his purr, a faint quiver against her skin. When she reached down to stroke his orange fur, the quiver intensified.

  “You’re like the cat in Alice in Wonderland, grinning all the time,” she said. “Think I could make my parents as happy as you are someday? Maybe then they would stop leaving their emo poop all over the house.”

  Mr. Tibbs’ only response was a twitch of his pointy ears.

  Emily took that as a no. If she wanted to understand how cats managed to be happy all the time, she would have to figure it out on her own.

  She put the remote down on her pillow and hugged her knees to her chest, allowing the cat to nuzzle his nose into her neck. She tapped her fingers on her pant leg until her mind submerged into the cat’s consciousness. Three short taps to focus, a pause to absorb what it felt like to be feline and experience the surge of cat memories, and a stroke of the thumb to remember her own body.

  When she saw the cat’s contentment, she let herself drift away into a newfound awareness of warmth, safety, and playfulness, sinking deeper and deeper until a satisfied purr filled her throat.

  Mr. Tibbs sat up, curious, and leaned in nose to nose so they could explore each other’s scent. They were different, but friendly. Familiar. Satisfied, Mr. Tibbs lay back down and stretched out beside her, willing to share his territory.

  A human voice drifted from downstairs with an inquisitive pitch. A friendly Hairless, she deduced, but not a feeder. The cat didn’t understand what was being communicated so she ignored it. She licked a hand.

  When the voice came again, it had a sharper edge to it. The cat lifted her head in unison with Mr. Tibbs, pondering whether they had been spotted in this soft, forbidden place. The distinctive thuds of an approaching Hairless came through the door. Both cats leaped off the cushy warmth onto the carpeting. But while Mr. Tibbs landed gracefully on all fours, Emily-cat hit the ground with a startling clumsiness. She voiced a mew of dismay and padded to the doorway with her head low.

  The Hairless blocked the way, making more inquisitive sounds with increasing disapproval. The cat rubbed herself against the Hairless’s legs and purred to elicit approval. Perhaps even petting. But to her confusion and dismay, there was no petting. Only additional harsh words.

  Negative feelings rushed into the bedroom like a black thundercloud. As fast as she could, Emily-cat scratched the Hairless across the leg to express her disapproval of the treatment she was given.

  The Hairless screamed.

  San Francisco, USA

  Monday, the 28th of May, 2012

  11:03 a.m.

  Emily sat quietly on her chair, eyeing the girl in the gray hoodie on the closed-circuit television screen. Mr. Turner and another government official were discussing the teenage detainee as if they knew her personally. They didn’t, though. Emily knew the reports as well as any of the adults in the room. Those reports contained hundreds of pages of assumptions about what Christina Chung might or might not do in the future.

  People were more complex than that, and Emily knew this better than anyone.

  Athena stayed out of the discussion for the most part, listening and making notes on her laptop. She didn’t argue or make any judgments. She assumed nothing.

  That, among other things, was why Emily liked the Covenant heroine better than all the rest of the government people in the room. She didn’t radiate any of that holier-than-thou attitude that polluted the office, threatening to make Emily gag.

  A woman’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to.”

  Emily looked up to see that Mrs. Clarence, the Wardens therapist, had scooted her chair next to hers. The rest of the decision-makers swarmed Mr. Turner’s desk, tossing circuitous arguments around.

  “I’ll be fine,” Emily assured her. “Just spiffy. Don’t worry, Mrs. Clarence. I can do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Clarence radiated enough concern to compensate for all those nameless government suits who didn’t give two hoots about Emily or the teenage detainee.

  Mr. Turner cared, sort of. And Athena did, too. She was as worried about this whole situation as Mrs. Clarence was, though for different reasons.

  Athena thinks we need this antisocial girl because she’s a Guardian and the world is going to end.

  Emily looked up to give Mrs. Clarence the smile she had spent hours and hours practicing it in front of a mirror. She’d named it ‘Kidtastic Sunrise’ because when she got it just right, it improved the mood of anyone who saw it.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Clarence.” Emily assembled her words with the same amount of care she applied to her facial expression. “Everything’s going to be fun-tastic.” She wasn’t a baby, but she discovered early on that teens and adults responded positively to little bits and pieces of baby talk.

  As expected, Mrs. Clarence rewarded her with a smile.

  “Besides, it’s nice when I can do my hero thing to help someone out,” Emily added.

  “Is Emily ready?” Mr. Turner asked from his desk.

  As if on cue, all the government bigwigs turned their heads to look at her, reminding her of sparrows on a windowsill. She gave the therapist’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “Yes, I suppose she is,” Mrs. Clarence replied. “But I can and will put an end to this if I get the slightest idea the child is uncomfortable.”

  “Do we have approval from the Bell family?” one of the bossmen standing beside the desk wanted to know. He radiated concern about bad press and some additional documents everyone else didn’t know about.

  I know you’re all just using me, Emily thought. But it’s for a good cause, right?

  “Yes, I have Mr. and Mrs. Bell’s signatures right here.” Mrs. Clarence held up a briefcase.

  “All right, then.” Mr. Turner turned to look at Emily for the first time all morning. “Emily, we need your help in determining whether this young woman might be dangerous or if it’s safe to introduce her to the Wardens.” His voice was sickly sweet.

  “Okay.” Emily hid her distaste behind a Kidtastic Sunrise.

  “You ready?” Mrs. Clarence asked.

  Emily nodded before accepting the envelope Mr. Turner held out to her. Inside were various school pictures of the Guardian girl as well as
snapshots of her room in the Chung residence. The look of the room surprised Emily. It was neat and orderly without any of the boy band posters that teenage girls usually plastered along their bedroom walls. The only art on the white walls was a single picture of an ocean coastline illuminated by a rising sun.

  She doesn’t like spending much time at home, Emily realized.

  By now the process of submerging into another mind had become almost as easy as slipping on a glove. Her fingers drummed against her leg without thought or effort. She knew how to pace herself since she learned how to withdraw just in time to keep from losing herself in the target consciousness. Regardless, Christina Chung proved to be a new kind of challenge. The girl’s mind felt as unyielding and defiant as a wall of moody bricks. Emily recoiled, the drumming rhythm of her fingers interrupted.

  “Wow.” She sank back into her chair. “That’s weird. She’s all closed off.”

  “Does this make you uncomfortable, Emily?” Mrs. Clarence asked in comforting tones. “You don’t need to keep trying if it’s too hard.”

  Mr. Turner radiated annoyance. “Do you think she noticed something before deliberately shutting you out?”

  “No, that’s not what it feels like,” Emily said. “It’s like all her thoughts and feelings are inside a bottle and she’s not letting them out.” She glanced over at Athena, whose frown had deepened at Emily’s words.

  “I can try again, though,” Emily offered, knowing all too well why they had brought her here. She didn’t want to disappoint them. If the world really was ending, then this was important.

  Mr. Turner surprised her. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve already been a big help.”

  “What are you going to do with her?” Now it was Emily’s turn to frown. “You’re not gonna kill her, are you?”

  “No,” Athena said. “Unlike some other Evolved, we believe she can be confined, and she may be able to save lives. Although I would prefer if we knew if we could trust her.”

  Emily knew she could trust Athena’s words. Even if they weren’t planning on killing the girl, keeping her locked up in that little cell for so long had to be pretty horrible, too. Determined to help, she looked at the pictures of Christina Chung scattered across her lap. In all of the snapshots, the girl looked off into the distance away from the camera’s lens. It was like she thought no one understood her.

  “I’m trying again,” Emily declared.

  This time she forced herself to sink deeper and deeper, letting the ocean of Christina’s negative emotions engulf her. The deeper she went, the more tangible those emotions felt. But when she thought the sadness and isolation were going to choke her, she broke through the wall. Everything after that was a blur.

  She remembered the bad words, though. There were a lot of them, and they came out of her own mouth. There was a moment of near brightness and clarity when someone grabbed her and yelled her name, over and over again.

  “Emily. Emily. Emily!”

  When she came to, pain pulsed through her right hand. She opened her eyes to find herself in a brightly lit room with pretty flowers on a windowsill. Her cheeks felt raw and wet as if she’d been crying. Understanding bloomed in her mind as she remembered the sadness she felt in Christina’s mind.

  Though fading fast, fragments of the older girl’s memories still drifted through her consciousness. The strict father who was so different from her own. The guys at school who didn’t know the first thing about her, and who didn’t care to find out because she was so weird. How she drifted away from her sister over the years, being unable to keep up no matter how fast she ran. The most painful memory of all was her inability to do anything to prevent her sister’s death just like she failed to save her baby brother, and the look on her only real friend’s face when he finally understood it all.

  I’ll be your friend, Christina, Emily decided, her eyes already tearing up again.

  “She hates being trapped in that tiny cell,” she murmured.

  “Emily? Emily! You’re awake!” her dad shouted from somewhere in the room.

  “Hi, Daddy.” Emily lifted her hand from the bed to give him a little wave. Her knuckles still hurt a bit, but she was okay. She struggled, but managed to sit up.

  She had a friend to make, and she knew exactly how to pull that off.

  7.1 Beacon

  In the air above Morristown, NJ, USA

  Tuesday, the 12th of June, 2012

  11:05 a.m.

  “Athena. Athena. Update 11:04 by WABC, New York. Broadcast stored. Mascot. Mascot. Update 11:04 by WABC, New York….”

  Iris had rattled her list of keyword-triggered news broadcasts through Radiant’s helmet for the past hour. The UNEOA’s upcoming press conference had worked every international news channel into a frenzy which meant the information barrage never let up.

  Queenie’s name hadn’t been mentioned for over twenty minutes. The broadcasts about her fate had stopped shortly after the news of her being shot and transported to an unnamed hospital, and the radio silence had lasted long enough to hint at a UNEOA-enforced news embargo. No news meant bad news more often than not, Radiant knew.

  I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Sarah. If I had been, maybe you’d still be alive.

  His brooding moods over the past hours had filled him up with thoughts of grief and regret. He had never felt more removed from his former friends than he did right now, and he didn’t see a way to reconnect with them in the near future. What he saw were the streets and buildings of the town below him and the steady flow of cars headed east to New York City. Part of him wanted nothing more than to head over there and check on his former teammates. But since his various communication attempts had been ignored, he didn’t expect to receive a warm welcome if he showed up in person.

  What frustrated him the most was his ignorance about what was happening. None of his former teammates had spoken to him since their last get-together at Paladin’s apartment three days ago. It wasn’t hard to imagine Samael rallying for a complete radio silence, but Athena didn’t usually give in so easily.

  There had to be more to it. The silence was too absolute.

  Radiant relaxed the fingers of his right fist before opening his eyes. He made out the grayish haze of smog hovering far to the southeast above the city of New York. Seen from this aerial vantage point, the metropolis appeared to be little more than a blemish on the landscape next to the Atlantic Ocean.

  He knew better than to try to make contact again, but he couldn’t help himself. “Iris. Establish a connection with Athena.”

  The sound of his voice prompted the AI to cease its information barrage, giving him a moment of peace.

  “Attempting to establish a connection with Athena,” Iris echoed, followed by, “Error. Connection failed.”

  He sighed. Whenever his tech acted up he usually went straight to Athena, who fixed it in a matter of minutes. Since Athena was giving him the silent treatment, he would rely on Kathy, the Covenant’s IT systems manager. Though Kathy was a civilian and a friend, she had a super-powered drive to hit on him whenever their paths crossed. He sighed again.

  “Iris, please try again,” he said into his headset.

  “Reattempting to establish a connection with Athena.” As Radiant feared, the AI repeated the previous error message, adding “No port detected.”

  He clenched his teeth in frustration. Connection refused? No port detected? Something was going on, something beyond a mere blip in the operating system. Athena must have cut him off on purpose.

  He decided to worry about it later and try a different approach. “Iris, record a message and send it when a port opens.”

  “Affirmative. Recording begins now.” The AI’s voice was replaced with a beeping tone.

  Raising his voice to be heard over the howl of the wind, he said, “Alexa, it’s me. I know you’ve decided not to talk to me, but this is an emergency. I heard how Queenie was shot, probably even killed, and Calavera told me what happened to Saint. I know
how vulnerable you are without Saint’s protection. Please, let me help you.” His voice cracked on the last words. “I need to help you.”

  Once the words were out, he informed Iris that he was done.

  The AI returned a confirmation after a second. “Recording stored.” Having fulfilled her task, she switched back to its standard routine, oblivious to the human drama it had witnessed. “Paladin. Paladin. Update 11:07 by Fox News, New York—”

  “Replay the broadcast,” he commanded, interrupting the prattling sequence. “Fox News, 11:07.”

  There was brief upward shift in the volume of the background static in his headset. “Replaying broadcast,” Iris informed. Her artificial female voice was replaced by the male news anchor whose broadcast script had triggered her keyword detection. “Two of the Covenant heroes, Athena and Paladin, have secured the Kingston Business Hotel. According to inside sources, the UN Secretary General will stay there for the duration of the event. A live transmission of his speech will be transmitted to the Citi Field baseball park, where over forty thousand—”

  The transmission cut off abruptly. Only the faint buzz of background static remained, the sole indicator that his helmet’s communication tech was powered on.

  Radiant clenched his jaw. “Status report.”

  Nothing happened. The helmet projected his current position onto his visor grid, but Iris and all of the AI’s sub-programs had gone silent.

  They’ve disconnected me. My old teammates don’t want me.

  Bile rose up in his throat. In less than an hour, the UNEOA would hold its big press conference—its public apology for his execution of Shanti. And now his former teammates were cutting him off as though he was a stranger. Or worse, a traitor.

  Fine. I’ll listen to the news on TV.

  Radiant dismissed the visor overlay when scanning the horizon beyond New York City, across the Atlantic to his old civilian home. In an instant he traversed the sky as a brilliant beam of light, shooting across the Atlantic and Europe within the blink of an eye. He didn’t need tech support to guide him to his destination because he had made the trip there often enough to navigate from memory. After three short distance jumps, he hovered above his Moscow residence.