Behind Distant Stars

by David Reiss

  “Sir, I really do believe that it’s in your best interests to—”

  “I am aware of my rights,” I informed him, apologetic but firm. “You haven’t mentioned any injury that requires you to render immediate treatment, and I’m of sound mind.”

  He stared at me intently, judging if there was a case to be made for diminished capacity. He frowned but nodded anyway. “Stitches and bandages only. We’ll need you to sign a release form.”

  “Of course.”

  “If we find any life-threatening injuries, we’re keeping you anyway,” the Doctor informed me, seriously.

  “I’d expect nothing less,” I chuckled. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he grunted, annoyed. “You’re being an idiot.”

  By any objective measure, I counted as one of the most intelligent people on the planet. I was, however, quite cognizant of the fact that being intelligent did not necessarily imply that one always made intelligent choices. Case in point: My first five years as Doctor Fid.

  “If there are any complications, I’ll accept your ‘I told you so’.”

  Refusing advanced medical care may not have been wise, but it was necessary. Any detailed testing would certainly discover the physical and chemical alterations my body has undergone. Explaining away those changes would be challenging; I could claim self-experimentation for the marvels that AH Biotech creates, but that would be calamitous for the company’s future.

  And besides, even if concealing my dual identity was not an issue…maintaining secrecy regarding health issues was a valid concern for someone in my position. When the CEO of AstraTech was diagnosed with cancer, his company’s stock price plummeted. His prognosis had been good and there’d been no risk that the company would be left leaderless. The business, however, never truly recovered.

  The doctors and nurses provided stitches and bandages, and I maintained polite cheer through all of their efforts. It was dark by the time that I arrived home to meet with Whisper but the hug was worth the wait.

  At the end of the day, bearing this discomfort was a required sacrifice; the actions of heroes had stolen more options from me than had my kidnappers. Unsurprising.

  ◊◊◊

  There’s an orchard near my Mom and Dad’s house with apple trees that grow near to the sidewalk; it’s fenced off with signs to let the public know that the trees and their fruit are privately owned but that does little to discourage opportunistic harvesting. Low hanging fruit along the sidewalk’s edge can be plucked by every person passing by, so the rate at which the trees are depleted is predictable.

  Apples that grow higher into the canopy are left alone…until a particularly adventurous fruit thief decides that he or she really wants that snack. Then trees are climbed, or rocks thrown, or branches shook to dislodge the less-easily obtained bounty.

  Sooner or later every apple falls; the only question is, how much injury is done to the tree beforehand? More damage occurs during the acquisition of that final apple than during the process of completely denuding the lower branches. The behavior patterns of a casual scrounger are different from those of a determined plunderer. If trees were intelligent, then surely they would produce all their fruit within easy reach.

  If I run, some of my pursuers might give up their efforts. I’m skinny and awkward, but also fast; only the most tenacious will catch me. But those stubborn predators will be more vicious as punishment for making them work. I could fight, I could tattle or let my Mom call the school again…all these strategies would deter many assailants, but not all. The ones who aren’t afraid or the ones who have something to prove will find a way. They won’t be gentle. The only aspect of control within my grasp, then, is influencing how and when the violence occurs.

  “Hi, Kenny,” I say, and I think that I’m beginning to understand hatred after all. “Did you have a question about the physics test?”

  Kenny is four years older than me and isn’t scholastically inclined. I’m not the only ‘nerd’ he picks on; I’m just the smallest and weakest, with the fewest friends to protect me. He looks at me and scowls, hands clenching into fists.

  It’s safer to be the low hanging fruit. More predictable. Deciding to dangle within reach is a choice, and the opportunity to make one’s own choices are rare. And if you know you’re going to lose, make the loss as painless as possible.

  ◊◊◊

  After Whisper had been settled in her room, I used the teleportation platform hidden in my home office to visit the lab where the Mk 36b was stored; inside the armor, I could use my neural tap to completely turn off my pain receptors. There were chores to be done and perhaps a rescue or two to be performed before I turned in for the night.

  Already, AH Biotech’s senior staff had been consulted and our press department posted a brief announcement—and statement of gratitude—to the Boston Guardians. Dealing with the now-very-public nature of my injury would be annoying, but it was the latter aspect of the press release that truly rankled.

  I didn’t understand it. I’d faced Titan in dozens of battles, fought him for years. The man had always been arrogant and obnoxious but also professional. If he’d been incompetent, I would have seen to his final defeat long ago. This rescue, however, had been intensely reckless. Terry Markham had escaped with relatively minor trauma, but that was more due to hidden upgrades than to the heroes’ efforts.

  Had it been an accident, I wondered? Titan’s second in command was thorough and meticulous; he would have identified the possibility that the kidnapper’s victim was unsecured in the vehicle. Titan must have disregarded the Red Ghost’s warnings and attacked anyway.

  Being overruled would have explained the Red Ghost’s discontent; he’d obviously been frustrated by his leader’s actions while he was seeing to my injuries.

  The botched ‘rescue’ could have been a mistake, but I worried that it may hint at a more serious issue. If Titan had honestly initiated the assault with the assumption that an innocent victim was an acceptable loss, then he’d fallen too far. Accounts with the heroine Sphinx had been settled only a few months prior; in the name of what she perceived as being the greater good, she’d committed horrors. Nothing was so deadly as misplaced righteousness…nor was anything quite so repugnant.

  I initiated a few experiments and performed a few maintenance tasks before slipping out of the laboratory to launch myself into the sky. A radio-monitoring program notified me that there was a fishing boat in distress a few dozen miles off from Rockport, and the Mk 36b would be able to reach the sinking vessel faster than the coast guard.

  Skullface’s kidnapping attempt had forged a discomfiting link between my two personas. If Doctor Fid’s philanthropic efforts continued without pause despite Terrance Markham’s injuries, one more wedge would form to separate the two identities in the eyes of any investigators.

  With shaped force-fields and anti-grav, I was able to keep the boat afloat long enough to tow the ship into harbor and then finally disappeared into the night. I dared not push my system too hard; all eyes would be upon Terrance Markham on the next day.

  ◊◊◊

  The door to my office was open, but my visitor still knocked politely before leaning in.

  “Hey, boss-man,” Willy Natchez greeted; he was tall, dark-skinned and slim without appearing skinny; he had the angular, solid build of a long-distance runner. “You got a moment?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. Willy was one of our newer full-time employees. He’d come to the company as a postdoctoral student working on a project co-sponsored by MIT, but we’d snapped him up as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He was bright. All my own advanced degrees were in the physical sciences, mathematics, and engineering; even so, I’d studied enough of the life-sciences to identify true innovators. William would, I knew, eventually grow into being a valuable asset to AH Biotech.

  He was also refreshingly informal when dealing with upper management. Sometimes, he took advantage of my open-door policy to chat
about interesting academic articles that could have bearing upon our own research or product lines. Other times, he dropped by to discuss local restaurants or obscure science fiction films that he’d recently watched.

  “William. Come in.”

  “Ouch,” he grimaced. “Should you be here today? You don’t look great.”

  “It’s mostly superficial damage,” I reassured him.

  “I saw some pics on the news. Thank God for Titan, yeah?” He grinned in supportive commiseration. “You were damned lucky to walk out of that wreck.”

  “Yes,” I forced a smile. “Lucky.”

  Already, this had been the sixth time in one morning that I’d been forced to express gratitude towards the Guardians, and Titan in particular. It was going to be a long day.

  “So, I wrote up a bunch of movies for you.” Willy grinned helpfully and handed me a few sheets of lined paper. “I labeled the ones that’ll be good for kids, too. Whisper ‘ll like ‘em.”

  “Thank you,” my brows furrowed in confusion. His handwriting was small, but fortunately quite legible; this was not a short list. He’d included brief reviews on each entry and had even recommended viewing order.

  “I figured, if you’re going to have some time…it’d be good to catch up, y’know?” He shrugged as though embarrassed. “Most of these are in my library, I can drop off discs anytime. Just call!”

  “I appreciate the thought. I’m fairly busy these days, though, so it might take some time.” I moved to set the paper in my inbox to be sorted later.

  “Huh? I thought…oh. Yeah, never mind,” his smile grew tight. “I should probably get going.”

  “No reason to rush off,” I looked at him intently. “What’s going on?”

  Willy Natchez was a truly talented microbiologist or else I wouldn’t have pushed to poach him away from his career in academia. He also had secondary traits to recommend him: William was calm in the face of stressful circumstances, and his generosity and pleasantly irreverent manner had made him an important social part of his work environment. Also, he possessed a genuinely supernatural talent for being in the right place to discover useful information for his friends.

  Willy didn’t seem to be aware of this mystic ability; he just wandered through life helping the people around him and smiling a lot. I’d yet to determine when or how he’d acquired this power, but I took advantage of it shamelessly.

  “Oh…My fiance’s best friend works for Pierce Kennelly?” the American-Indian man looked sheepish. “She overheard him ’n Collins talking. I thought you’d have heard.”

  Pierce Kennelly and Henry Collins were executives at the same investment firm, and both were on AH Biotech’s board of directors. If Henry Collins were gathering the BOD, I could imagine only one reason: to appoint an ‘interim CEO’ while I recovered from this ‘trauma’.

  As Doctor Fid, I had drowned my sorrows alongside genuinely psychopathic mass-murderers who were less predictable about taking advantage of others’ misfortune.

  “I haven’t checked my email in a while,” I smiled reassuringly. “It’s no big deal. Thank you again.”

  “No problem, boss-man.” His natural cheer quickly reasserted itself. “Heal up quick, yeah?”

  “I will.”

  He left, and my mind swirled as I used my neural tap to gather information. I hacked the email accounts of members of the board, checked their travel plans and scoured their social media accounts…It took several minutes before I’d gathered enough data to understand my circumstances.

  I had several days before the board convened. Henry Collins was lobbying heavily to bring the other members to his side and opinions were currently split. Collins was trying to portray his decision as a humanitarian effort, but that effort had backfired; none who knew him believed him capable of humanity. The bulk of the board was awaiting confirmation that I was negatively affected by my ordeal.

  The problem was non-trivial. The board was familiar with my history of success but didn’t know me on a personal level. As the chairman, Henry Collins had made an effort to keep me from interacting with other board members directly. The directors would no doubt be heavily influenced by appearance…And I looked like a giant walking bruise.

  Again, I resisted the urge to reprogram the medical nanites coursing through my veins. The Red Ghost had seen my wounds up close; given his anger at his own team leader, it was exceedingly likely that the Ghost would follow up on the case to reassure himself that no further harm had been done. The man was, unfortunately, far too observant to take for granted. He would notice if even a single bandage was out of place. Every wince or stagger was an absolutely necessary sacrifice, yet also risked sabotaging my position with the board.

  Henry Collins could not have chosen a more advantageous moment to attempt his coup d’état. But I was no longer a child, and neither Doctor Fid nor Terrance Markham would ever be considered easy prey. Never again.

  ◊◊◊

  I slam the door behind me and sit on my bed, features pulled tight with the effort not to burst into tears. My room is a chaotic mess of notebooks and texts; a calculus book falls to the floor and falls open on a problem I solved four months ago. There are notes in the margin for a separate project, something that I’d set aside for another time. An intriguing solution springs to mind, another approach that might yield a more elegant proof.

  I kick the book closed in a fit of pique.

  “Terry?” My Dad knocks on the door but doesn’t open it. His voice is muffled only slightly by the thin wood. “You ok in there?”

  “You don’t trust me!” I call back, and saying it aloud hurts.

  “Now, that’s just not true,” he chuckles softly, and I can imagine him shaking his head.

  “You don’t trust my math,” I accuse. “That’s the same thing.”

  “Disagreeing isn’t the same as distrusting, Terr.”

  “How can you disagree with math?” I ask, confused. “It’s…Math!”

  “Ok, I’ve been thinking about how to explain this,” my dad pauses. “In a vacuum, what variables do you need to account for to calculate a ballistic trajectory?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Bear with me, Terr. This is probably the only time in my entire life that I’m going to get to use math to win an argument against you, let me enjoy it.”

  “Fiiiine.” Irritated, I walk to the door and open it. Dad’s expression is playful, but I can see sadness too. He doesn’t like fighting with me. I don’t like fighting with him, either. “Initial height, initial velocity and initial angle.”

  “But if it isn’t a vacuum, there are a lot more variables to consider, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Calculating the theoretical atmospheric drag upon different household objects had become something of a hobby of mine.

  “So, that was the problem that your Mom and I had with your math.” He hugged me a bit tighter. “You had all these graphs and proofs to show that there’re bullies everywhere, ’n that the most predictable thing to do was to maintain the status quo. I’m sure your logic was internally sound…but you forgot that you don’t live in a vacuum, Terry.”

  “…there were other variables I should have taken into account?” I shifted into the hug.

  “You forgot about us. We love you, kid. It doesn’t matter what the math says, it makes us sad if you get hurt.”

  Mathematically, it was a poor argument. The existence of additional variables doesn’t automatically imply that those variables are statistically relevant. Even so, my chest aches with gratitude and love.

  “…Kenny is really gone?”

  “Expelled and moving to Colorado with his Mother.” Dad sounds satisfied.

  “I’m scared,” I admit. “I hate him, but I know what to expect when he’s around. He’s…consistent. What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. But I know you’ll be able to figure it out. Stop worrying about how to manage your losses.” Dad ruffles my
hair and I pretend to be upset. “You don’t have to lose, kid. You’ve got the biggest brain I’ve ever heard of. Maybe you can’t change the entire world, but you can fix your little part of it. Find a way to win.”

  ◊◊◊

  “Welcome to KNN CapeWatch. I’m your host, Stan Morrow.” The aging journalist’s smile was gentle, supportive and friendly. He’d occupied that comfortable-looking leather-upholstered chair for more than a decade now, commenting upon current events related to the superpowered community; he’d had a long career in which to learn the best methods to put his guests at ease.

  “And I’m Pamela Green.” While Pamela had had no reporting background prior to acquiring her current role, she’d grown into her position admirably; over the years, she had developed a tremendous talent for asking insightful questions in a manner that drew out thoughtful responses from her interviewees. She was a team-player that often accepted a supporting function to her cohost, but even a casual study of the pair’s effectiveness highlighted her importance to the show’s success.

  “Joining us today is AH Biotech’s CEO, Dr. Terrance Markham. Welcome!”

  “Thank you, Stan. Pamela.” I donned professional CEO smile #3. My still-healing lip stung, but conveying the proper image was of the utmost importance. I needed to appear strained but not beaten, controlled and upbeat about my situation. “It’s wonderful to be here.”

  “We’re lucky to have you,” Pam commented, smiling tightly. “From what we understand, it was a very near thing.”

  “My co-host is referring to Dr. Markham’s recent ordeal. You were kidnapped, were you not?” Stan leaned forward, brows furrowed in concern.

  “I was.” I grimaced as though pained by the memory. “I was at the beach with my ward when I was attacked from behind and sedated. I don’t remember much about the ordeal, I’m afraid.”

  “As a reminder to our viewers, Dr. Markham’s ward is the first completely artificial sentience recognized as a United States Citizen after the Synthetic American’s Rights Act was signed into law.” Stanley’s voice was warm and supportive, as though personally proud that his country had passed the legislation. I wasn’t surprised; one of his first professional interviews had been with the A.I. superhero known as Cuboid.