by Danika Stone
Katherine stood from the table, buttoning her coat and pulling on her mittens.
“Find the right one?” she asked.
“Not sure.”
“Well, we should get going. Don’t want to be late to the movie.”
Liv stared at the fortune in her hand. “You guys have fun,” she said in a distracted voice. “I’ll get the dishes.”
“But aren’t you coming along?”
“I’m not feeling up to it.”
“You’re not still going on about the ending of that Star Trek movie, are you?” Gary said.
Liv’s chin jerked up in surprise. Gary rarely acknowledged her presence, never mind spoke directly to her.
“I-it’s Starveil … and I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, your mother told me all about it.”
“She what?” Liv spun back to her mother, who was studiously avoiding eye contact.
“Hiding in your room all day. Reading fan-fic. Not giving a bit of attention to the world going on around you.” Gary Blodgett wasn’t known for his talking, and Liv wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not. He never intervened. Rarely acknowledged her presence at all. “You’ve been carrying on like a spoiled kid,” he added.
“I have not!”
“Sounds to me like you need a good swift kick in the—”
“Gary!” Katherine gasped. She turned to Liv. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am! But I wish you’d brought this up with me. Gary has no business—”
He jabbed a stubby finger at Liv. “You need to stop moping!”
“I—I’m not. I’m just busy. I—I—” She felt her throat close. There was no way she could explain to him—someone with absolutely no imagination—what it was like to lose Spartan. A man like Gary would never understand her love of the Starveil series. “I—I’m fine,” she said. “And it’s hardly your place to—”
“Your mother asked my opinion, and I’m giving it.”
“Gary, please,” Katherine pleaded. “We’re going to be late to the movie.”
He muttered something about “warming up the car” and headed to the front door. It closed with a bang that rattled the pictures. Liv went to leave, but her mother stepped in her way, putting her hands on her shoulders.
“All I said to Gary was that you’d been really quiet the last few days. And you have been.” She squeezed gently. “I was worried about you, Liv. That’s all.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“Please, sweetie. Come along … for me.”
“Not today. Okay? I’m not in the mood.”
Her mother’s smile faded into something careworn, and she let go of Liv’s shoulders. “Another time then? Just the two of us?”
“Definitely.”
When the door closed behind her mother, Liv unclenched her fists, staring down at the crumpled fortune in her palm: It’s up to you to make your happy ending.
With those words, an idea flickered in the recesses of her mind. She smiled. Liv tucked the paper into her pocket, swept the broken pieces of cookie into the wrinkled brown bag, and brushed her hands over the sink. She grabbed her phone and tapped in a text.
* * *
Xander was waiting outside Cup O’ Joe when Liv arrived. Icy fingers of wind dug under her coat as she trudged up the street, whereas Xander, with his long wool cloak and knee-high riding boots, was much better dressed for the weather.
Catching sight of her, he waved his walking stick. “Liv! Over here, dearest!” (As if she’d assume the Jonathan Harker look-alike was anyone but him.) Dracula was set nowhere near Boulder, she thought, but she’d be willing to bet she could match it for mood.
“I thought you would’ve grabbed us a table,” Liv said, her breath clouding the frosty air. “It’s freezing out.”
Snow swirled around the streetlights, catching on Xander’s hair and peppering his top hat, giving the scene a postcard appeal.
“Joe’s is packed,” he said. “I tried, believe me. We’ll have to—” Xander’s dashing grin backflipped into a look of concern as he saw her face. “Christ, Liv, you look terrible!” he said, giving her a once-over. “Whatever happened?”
Liv burrowed her nose into her scarf. “Nice to see you, too, Xander.”
“I’m sorry for saying so, but you really do look dreadful.”
“That is not an apology.” She glowered at him. “You are a terrible best friend.”
Xander groaned. “Oh come now, Liv. You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
He waved a hand toward her mismatched ensemble. “Your hair isn’t washed, your clothes are wrinkled, your shoes—”
“Not all of us live in a state of constant cosplay,” Liv interrupted. Her voice dropped. “Or perfection,” she muttered, thinking of Arden’s long blond hair, pert body, and designer clothes.
Xander’s gloved hand brushed her elbow, and he gave her a gentle smile. “But you don’t look like you, dearest, and that worries me.”
Liv knew it was true, because his words were growing into that strange hybrid of modern American and fake British upper crust. The first week of classes, Xander had gotten into an argument with their professor in the middle of class, and that same BBC-approved accent had come through. He was concerned.
Liv glanced over his shoulder to the window of Cup O’ Joe. Xander was right. Every seat was taken. “So where do you want to go?” she sighed. “’Cause I’m turning into a Popsicle out here.”
“Is Mickey Dee’s to your liking, m’lady?”
“Perfect.”
“Then your carriage awaits.” He did a half bow, waiting for Liv to pass in front of him. “Just give me a minute to text Arden.”
Liv headed down the street, snow crunching beneath her boots. She was annoyed again, and she couldn’t explain why. She waited next to his car—a rusting orange Mazda—until Xander caught up.
“So what’s going on?” he asked. “You’ve been radio silent for days. I thought you’d joined a nunnery or something.”
“I’m actually doing a little better. That’s why I’m here.”
“Oh?”
“I have an idea, but I’m going to need your help.”
Xander unlocked the car door and pulled it open with a flourish, his cape swinging wide. “You know I could never deny a damsel in distress.”
Liv bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. “Is that what I am to you?”
“Not saying I mind. It lets me play hero.” He winked. “So what’s this idea of yours?”
Liv settled inside the car and smiled up at him.
“I’m bringing Spartan back from the dead.”
* * *
They sat in the parking lot, large fries and two drinks in the carousel between the front seats of Xander’s car. For someone who dressed like a nineteenth-century gentleman, Xander Hall had a distinct love of processed food.
“Tom Grander is very much alive,” Xander said for the third time. “I saw him in the Atlanta airport once. The man dresses like a slob.”
“Yes, Tom’s alive, but Spartan is dead,” Liv said. “And that’s just wrong.”
Xander sipped his iced tea. “You talk to the coven about it?”
“You know I don’t like it when you call us that.”
“Sorry. I’ll come up with a better sobriquet.”
“Or don’t. I’m fine without one, thanks.”
Xander tapped his lip with his forefinger, his gaze drifting over her as if searching for clues. Liv squirmed under his inspection.
“Hmm … How about the posse?”
“We’re not cowboys.”
His eyes widened. “The ton?”
She grabbed another fry. “I don’t even know what that means, Xander. But no.”
“Inner sanctum,” he breathed.
Liv snorted. “That one sounds illegal.”
“I’ve got it!” He plucked the french fry from her waiting fingers. “The coterie!”
Laughing, she stole the french fry back before he could put it into his mouth. “How about the Starveil fandom? It’s self-explanatory, and it doesn’t sound like I’ve joined a cult.”
“Well, yes. That’s a bonus,” Xander said. “But it’s too blasé, dearest.” His hands swung up, knocking the complicated knot of his cravat askew. “You deserve something that captures your essence!”
Liv reached out, straightening Xander’s necktie. “Essence, hmmm?”
His face flushed, and he looked away, smoothing the tie’s folds. “Exactly.”
Outside it was snowing again. Flakes dotted the dark windows like a star field. Liv picked up another fry, twirling it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth.
“Xander,” she said after a moment. “I was hoping you’d help me with something.”
“Aha!” He brushed off his hands. “Now we’re getting to the heart of it. What nefarious escapades have the cov—” he cleared his throat “—have the fandom been up to?”
“Nothing yet, but I want you to help me with a little project.”
“I’m all ears.”
“In the last movie, Spartan dies.” Liv took another fry. “But I’m going to change it.”
“The film’s already released. You can’t change it now.”
“I think I can.”
“But … it’s canon.” He took another sip of iced tea. “The countdown clock was on.”
“Screw the clock,” Liv said. “I’m changing it.”
“How?”
Liv rubbed greasy fingers on the side of her jeans. “I’m not a writer, Xander, but I’ve been in fandom long enough to know how much influence the fans have. It’s way more than most people realize.”
Xander smothered laughter behind his hand.
“They do!” Liv insisted.
“Give me one example.”
“In the second Starveil movie, there was a mention of the colony on Io. Two seconds of film, max. But the fan-writers picked up the idea and ran with it. When the third Starveil came out, Io was one of the key destinations in Darthku’s plan for domination. It was the writers who influenced the plot of the movie; they made it what it became.”
“That seems like a vague reference to me. I mean, how many other fics were out there, besides the ones about Io?”
“Fine. Then how about the relationship with Tekla? There wasn’t even a hint of romance in the first two movies, but the SparTek ship became so popular, they added it.”
He smirked. “Perhaps, Liv, but I doubt that—”
“For goodness’ sake.” She laughed. “They practically used the same ‘pretending to be married’ setup that appeared in one of SpartanGrrl’s fics!”
A grin tugged the corners of his lips.
“They did, Xander. I know they did, because I read that story first.” She reached for another fry. “I’ve been part of the Starveil fandom since day one. You haven’t.”
“All right then, so what’s your plan to revive our dear Mr. Spartan?”
“You’re an actor, right?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Among other things.”
“I need to build a character. A persona.” Liv opened the online forum on her phone. “I need someone to act for me.”
Xander’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to require a degree of embarrassment?”
“It might, but only a little bit. I’ll pay you back.”
He set his cup back into the holder and crossed his arms. “How? I want details before I agree to anything.”
“God, I’m not asking you to sell your soul to the devil.” Liv laughed. “Besides, I’ll help you sew your new outfit. You need a sewing machine to finish the last piece of your cosplay, right?”
“Cosplay. Why, you just said the magic word,” he drawled. “Count me in. So what kind of acting do you need?”
Liv tapped in a username and hit Find.
“I need an actor, a voice for the revolution. Someone to say ‘the fans haven’t given up, and neither should you.’ You’ll be the star, Xander, and I’ll be the director who brings it all together.”
On her phone’s screen, a reply appeared: Username AVAILABLE.
Liv hit Accept. When she looked back up, Xander was grinning, and suddenly she was, too. He lifted the fry box, offering her the last one.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.” Liv pointed at him with the end of the fry. “So are you in or not? The revolution can’t start without you.”
He winked. “I always had a soft spot for Che Guevara.”
* * *
Spartan Forum, 2:15 a.m.
New thread, topic: Spartan Rescue Mission
@SpartanSurvived:
ATTN: All members of the Starveil Rebellion. Many of you have heard that Captain Matt Spartan, commander of the Star Freighter Elysium, has been reported missing in action. Surveillance footage from the final escape pod shows the Elysium being destroyed, but in the last hours, there have been multiple reports of an unidentified transceiver messaging in the Omega Quadrant.
We need you, soldiers. Spartan needs you. Look for evidence. Find reports, word-of-mouth testimony, footage if you can. If we have any hope of finding Spartan alive, it will come down to your ingenuity and determination. This rescue message must spread far and wide. Post your findings on all fandom platforms using the hashtag: #SpartanSurvived
THIS IS YOUR CALL TO ACTION.
@SpartanSurvived
Liv chewed her lower lip, rereading the text once and again. Leaving a post like this on one of the busiest Starveil forums was a call to arms. It was so outrageous—so arrogant—she couldn’t doubt the potential for ridicule. Trolls loved tearing apart things like this. And if they decided to start flaming her post, they’d burn her idea down to the ground. But if she didn’t post it, she’d never know.
Her fingers drummed on the armrest. Post or not. That was the big question.
Liv lifted her phone, scrolling through her texts. There was one from Joanne. It had arrived while she was out with Xander.
@JoesWoes: So upset over that stupid ending, Liv. How do you get over losing a character you love? Spartan’s REAL to me. He’s my baby, you know?:(
Liv did know. He was her baby, too. He was everyone’s! And by killing off the character, the creators had wounded an entire community of fans. She reread Joe’s text, her finger hovering over Reply for a long moment.
She set the phone down again.
Her gaze darted back to the computer screen. THIS IS YOUR CALL TO ACTION. If she posted this, it needed to be real. She needed people to believe Spartan could come back. They needed to trust that he’d made it out of the ship. It couldn’t just be fangirl to fangirl, writing Starveil AUs that never really happened. This would be the guerrilla warfare of character ships. The fans would have to reweave the details they had into a new explanation of those last seconds of film. They’d take no prisoners, leave no wounded fans behind. But, as in any war, that meant the intel behind the revolution had to stay secret for as long as possible.
Fandom had to believe.
Liv released her breath, heart beating in her temple. It’s up to you to make your happy ending.
She hit Post.
3
“I SOLEMNLY SWEAR THAT I AM UP TO NO GOOD.”
(HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN)
Saturday morning Liv woke to the sound of the garage door closing. Her mother had the day off, but she went in for a few hours each weekend and had done so for as long as Liv could remember. The house was cold, and an icy wind rattled the bedroom windows. Liv rolled over and pulled the covers over her head, waiting for sleep to retake her.
Heady warmth spread through her limbs. Behind closed lids, images flickered: the video she’d done for her final project last semester, the girl in the audio lab who always asked Liv for help with the anticrackle effect, Xander dragging her through fabric stores so he could pick out “the ri
ght brocade,” the new ONLY ONE MAN CALLS ME DARLIN’ T-shirt Liv wanted to buy.
“You ready, darlin’?”
The alien bug crouched, ready to attack.
“G’bye, Spartan.”
Liv’s eyes snapped open. With a groan, she whipped off the covers and swung her legs off the bed. No point in sleeping if that was what she’d dream about. Twenty minutes later, she was back in bed, albeit showered and dressed, with a cup of tea on the bedside table and her laptop balanced on her knees. Out of habit, she opened her e-mail.
Three hundred eighty-seven messages.
Liv blinked in confusion. “What the…?”
The hundreds of messages had one source: her Spartan post from the previous night. With shaking fingers, she scrolled through them. Tweets, replies, likes, and, most exciting of all, “evidence posts”—at least fifty of them—filled the screen. These were getting their own reposts and replies, too. She leaned back against her pillow, heart pounding.
#SpartanSurvived had taken off.
Liv fumbled for her phone and flicked off airplane mode. It began to vibrate in her hand, four separate tweets from Joe, Brian, and two other fangirls appearing.
@JoesWoes: @LivOutLoud OMG Liv-GET ONLINE! Something’s going on with Starveil. O_O
@StarVeilBrian1981: @LivOutLoud Check out the new manip I just posted:
New Spartan post, btw. You should do a vid or something.
@SpartanGrrl: @LivOutLoud Liv! LIV! LIIIIIIIVVVVVVVV!!!! Where ARE you??? There’s a Spartan revolution about to begin!
@VeilMeister: @LivOutLoud Check out this post, bb. http://tinyurl.com/Starveil3
“Oh my God!” Liv gasped as the realization hit her. “I’m trending.”
Liv started to type an answer to Joe’s tweet, then stopped and deleted it. It felt important she keep anonymous, at least for now. It wasn’t supposed to be a joke. It was a call for action. She flicked back to VeilMeister’s tweet. Not just a call to arms, a Spartan revolution.
Grinning, she finally decided on Xander. Besides being her friend, he had absolutely no connection to the Starveil fandom. Even if he accidentally said something online, it wouldn’t matter. The only people who really knew him were the steampunk crowd. Besides, he needed to be in the know, since they had a vid to film. She wrote half a page of text, then deleted it after all, calling instead. The phone rang three times before a sleep-laden voice answered.