Ever The Hero (Book 1): Ever The Hero

by Harn, Darby

  Bloody hell. Typical me. Step out of one mess right into another. “Dr. Piller, I’m just trying to help Valene.”

  Some of his gruffness fades. His eyes fall to his desk. He gazes at a picture of he and Vidette Rizzo, on some winter street in some lost year. He looks happy there. They both do.

  “I used to babysit Val. Me and Vi. That was our idea of a Saturday night. And she'd cry. Val. All night long. We thought it was she wanted her mom and dad, but it was the sound. Even then. I appreciate you want to help Valene. I truly do. But you need to appreciate that we’ve had the best minds in the world working on this her entire life, Ms. Baldwin.”

  “You haven’t had me.”

  He cracks a smile. “God, you remind me of myself. What was your mom? She was Irish, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes…”

  “My mom was from Puerto Rico. Met my dad the day the ship crashed. It’s not easy, Kit. Losing your mom.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “My door is always open.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m fine.”

  “Describe fine for me. Your new assignment.”

  “Dr. Piller, I just need more time.”

  “I need your time. I need your help. This project of yours is noble, it’s also dangerous in ways I don’t think you appreciate. Don’t go looking for alien technology, Ms. Baldwin. And be careful who you talk to at the swap. And your garage.”

  Does he know – don’t think. You’re good at this.

  “You need to think,” he says, tapping his head again. “Think of the big picture. You won’t be any help to Valene, or anyone else, in the unemployment line. Or in jail.”

  “Dr. Piller…”

  “You’re smart. You’re so smart everything seems easy. Believe me, I recognize the type.”

  “Nothing is easy – “

  “You’ve got one of those brains, Ms. Baldwin. Big as the universe, and focused entirely on one single atom. I complain about your focus, but you see things at a resolution no one else does. I’m always looking at the big picture, and you’re never going to see it. That’s not how you work. But I need you to work with me. Take some of this energy you’re investing in Valene and put it into work we can do here. Work for people you can help.”

  “Who are we helping here, Dr. Piller?”

  “You’re too young to realize this, but you can’t help everyone. You can’t fix everything.” He stares into the picture. “Sometimes you go looking for things that are broken, just to prove to yourself that it’s not true. But it is.”

  I was always good at fixing broken things from a young age. Had to be. Before I even knew what I was doing, I became an engineer of stress and hurt, called out whenever necessary, no matter the hour. Broom up the debris. Box away the hurt. Power through the fear and exhaustion to tomorrow. Just keep on.

  “I don’t care about the risks to me,” I say.

  “What about the risks to her? She’s here because of you.”

  If I could take all this trapped power in me. All this disconnected feeling. Patch those gaps in the Myriad. But I can’t convert any of this. Everything shuts down.

  “Consider your great fortune, Kitsie. Follow your own advice, and give some of it back. Let her go.”

  Words form. None of them link up.

  Piller sits forward in his chair. “Ok. Go do something.”

  I leave, but not with any direction. Everything is cloudy, his thoughts draped over mine, knowing what I’m thinking even before I do. What am I thinking? Abi’s eyes bloom with urgency as I come back to my desk – Are you? – I shake my head. She smiles her easy smile and goes back to work. My PEAL buzzes. Everyone stops as dings and hums disrupt the lab. News alert.

  BREAKING: Valene Blackwood Abandoning Break Pointe.

  Seven

  Usually, the tower has this funeral hush to it. Everyone that works there or comes to visit, thousands each day, they hold their breath in the presence of gods. For the sake of Valene. The gala for the fiftieth anniversary of the attack is no different. Glass clinks. Silver pings. Sequins ruffle on gaudy dresses but no one talks in the exhibit hall. Everyone just looks, and waits. For the other shoe, I guess.

  God knows I expect it any second now.

  Ten minutes to the start of the opening ceremony. I move through the exhibit, trying to find cover behind the mannequins. Frankie left me out of her story, but everyone stares at me. Everyone looks, whispering and I know Val can hear. I wish she was here. That’s not true. I wish we were away. Just the two of us. It’s what she wanted. I should have listened to her. We’ll all be listening to her tonight.

  I send Val a quick text. I can’t wait to see you.

  No answer. She’s busy. All the getting ready for her speech. The first public thing she’s done since the story broke. Tonight she’s going to tell the world the truth.

  She’s going to tell her father.

  She has more people in the residence for her hair and makeup than I did at my high school. I scrambled to find makeup to hide the bruises from the garage purpling my hands and arms, but in this dress she lent me, still I look like someone rolled up a dust storm in a red carpet. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. So much food here. Floating islands of champagne. Shoals of hors d'oeuvres. I close my eyes and I beach on clamshell shores. Dunes of fresh shrimp, skinned and waiting. Tide pools of rumtopf, bobbed with cherries, apricots, peaches and Valene, dripping with burgundy, curling her finger for me to come and I bump into a waiter sweeping through the exhibition hall.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  Abi manifests out of the hall, coronal. She hands me one of her two champagne glasses. “Found your glass slipper.”

  I fiddle with the loose strap of my dress. “Sure it fits?”

  “I like my odds,” Abi says, and tugs at the looseness of her blouse, like she’s stretching it out. Everything about her is full. Her wavy cloud of auburn hair. Her smile.

  I look over my shoulder. “Have you seen Piller at all?”

  “No, which is weird because he was all like, we should go,” Abi says. “She’s here, though. What’s her name. The tiny chick.”

  “Vidette?”

  “Is she even five feet tall? I mean, I’m short, but jeez. And she doesn’t look a day over thirty. Which is bullshit, because she’s like fifty or something.”

  “She’s gorgeous,” I say, drifting through the exhibit.

  “They’re not together anymore, right? Piller and Rizzo?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “She quit GP, right? I wonder why.”

  I thumb the strap of my dress. Damn thing. Won’t stay up. “Not sure. She runs a mobile clinic in The Derelicts. I see her all the time, actually. I’ve never met her, though.”

  Abi hooks the strap with her finger and sets it right so quick her fingers are a blur. “Probably some power dynamics there with Piller and Rizzo. She’s strong, he’s smart. You gotta have that balance, you know. Like, I need someone smart.”

  My hand ghosts over my shoulder. “You’re strong?”

  Abi shrugs. “My only superpower is the speed with which I can take down a pint of ice cream.”

  “Ice cream being known for its cat-like reflexes.”

  “You think it just sits there. Frozen. Nope.”

  “It’s when you let it out of the freezer. Starts to run.”

  Abi smiles. Her smile is natural; effortless. Everything about Abi is easy. I struggle to make sense of what people mean or even what they want. So many of the other techs labor as much or more on their appearance and their interactions with the staff in Applied Sciences as they do their work. Abi comes in every day on time. Says hi to everybody. Doesn’t wear flashy clothes. Makeup. She is who she is. Easy. Simple.

  “You’re so pretty,” Abi says. “That dress is great on you.”

  Why did I wear red? All I’ve done is make myself a walking target in the exhibition hall, not to mention draw a big fat line under all my faults. My reflection splits across a pair
of display cases, alien and hero. Somehow I look more haggard.

  “Even with the bags under my eyes?” I say.

  Abi touches my arm. “Not sleeping?”

  “You’d think I’d be on time.”

  “Is it like stress?”

  “My mom,” I say.

  “What?”

  I trace the line of my jaw. All the hard lines of my life in The Derelicts have lost their shape. Metal tools. Spare parts. Ma’s square jaw. Everything now is curves. Valene. The deprivation chamber. The glass bowl of the lab in Applied Sciences. I linger on my features, searching for Ma’s reflection, frequent in the living room window, the television screen, the dreams I always forget right when I wake up.

  My jaw hurts. I don’t know why. “Nothing,” I say.

  “Hey, some of us are going to go get a drink at the Pav after this,” Abi says. “You should come with.”

  “Why would you pay for it somewhere else?”

  Abi shrugs. “Good point. Hard to argue with your sound fiscal sense. But, hey. Want to waste money with us?”

  I shake my head. “I have work.”

  She squints. “Tonight? What are you working on?”

  “Just work.”

  “Is this something for her? Your work?” Abi lowers her voice. “Is this like something to do with sound? I don’t mean to pry, I just – I might have seen a tiny, itty-bitty bit of your computer once. And you know, after the story came out with her and the space station, everyone was talking, and… you don’t want to talk about this. I can tell. You’re making a face.”

  At first, I thought the pressure would be off. Valene was going to stay. That didn’t improve her condition, and it didn’t solve the power problem with the sonic suit. I’m no closer now than I was before. I don’t know why I can’t figure this out.

  Abi touches my arm again. “Kit?”

  “What?”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “If you ever want to talk,” she says. “Like… I know I’m not supposed to know, but like, I know, you know. You guys are dating and stuff. Or whatever. Sometimes, we have things we can’t talk about, that we kind of need to. Like, for instance. There’s someone in the lab who has the biggest crush on you.”

  “Oh. Really?”

  She nods. “They’re nuts for you. Nuts.”

  Who could it be? Dibinsky? Jesus. Ravi? Why. What?

  “I don’t have the bandwidth for this right now.”

  Her smile isn’t as easy this time. “I know.”

  The lights dim. People start to drift toward the auditorium. I want to get out of here as fast as possible, across the river back to work and I want to be there for Valene. I want to look up at her, like the day we met, and see the strong, beautiful, healthy woman I did then.

  “C’mon,” I say, and lead Abi into the auditorium.

  The whole of Applied Sciences presses into the back row of the upper balcony. I lean back in my chair, fingers tapping on the armrest, waiting. A mural depicting Prometheus giving fire to man stretches across the ceiling. My life is trolling me.

  Abi touches my hand. “Do you need help with – oh, shit.”

  She freezes as Piller plops in the aisle seat, right beside her. “Ms. Baldwin, I see you made it on time.”

  Dibinksy laughs somewhere down the line.

  Abi nudges my arm. Her eyes glance sideways in the internationally understood silent code of: He’s drunk.

  “Is Blackwood going to be here tonight?” I say.

  “Fuck if I know,” Piller says, and laughs along with Abi. “Yeah, fuck if I know. Just FYI for you ass-kissers down row here, sucking up to me will get you nowhere. Hey, but open bar, right? You know what I’m talking about, Ms. Fisher.”

  Abi shrugs. “I do, yeah.”

  A telegenic man comes to the podium and the auditorium hushes in quick, expectant silence. Reporters from all around the world line the front row of the balcony, tucked in between a battery of cameras. Frankie smiles at me, but it’s not like Nice to see you, or anything like that. It’s like all her other smiles, sly and sinister. Why can’t this bitch take a night off.

  “Thank you for coming,” the man says. “I’m Mike Dodge, public relations officer for GP and it is my privilege and honor to share this historic occasion with you. We commemorate the anniversary of the attack on Break Pointe, an event that Great Power and the Blackwood Foundation will pay tribute to in a truly outstanding exhibit unveiled for the first time tonight.”

  A massive projection screen lowers behind him.

  “The Blackwoods have given so much to our city. Our world. Time and again over the last fifty years, whenever we’ve needed them, they’ve been there. Some say there should be no cost to their generosity. Some say the price is too high. The Blackwoods have paid a price, too. The cost of their saving the world time and again has been to be exiled from it, from sight, and from sound. But they have never abandoned us. A very special guest has a few words to share for this momentous occasion. This is an honor and privilege. Ladies and gentlemen… Evander Blackwood.”

  People hold their fists across their hearts, recording the moment with their PEALs. For once, I watch other people, anticipating their reaction. Abi’s eyes bug out. Piller winces. Gasps erupt throughout the auditorium as Blackwood’s face manifests within his glass helmet, an auroral cloud only suggestive of dimension. Outside of stock photos, this is the first the public has seen of The Evanescent Man in decades.

  “Hello, my friends,” Blackwood says. “It’s good to see you. Contrary to popular opinion, it’s good to be seen.”

  The audience’s laughter diffuses some of the tension in the room. Though the message was recorded before, Blackwood seems to anticipate the reaction to his appearance.

  “Forgive my indecency,” he says. “I’ve become a little too indoors, as my mother used to say. That was a long time ago. A long time. She didn’t work, my mother. All day, in the house, she wore this tweed coat my father bought from the Pullman shop. Cost him ten dollars. He built rail cars for them. Passenger cars. Grain cars. They built that town. All of it. Houses, shops, libraries… it was an exercise in what happens when you give people the tools to build their lives. They start by taking apart yours. The railroad died. The town died. Pullman died.”

  He pauses in thought.

  “Now, tonight is about honoring the heroes of 1968. The fallen. But it’s also a reminder that our victory came at a staggering price. We forget that sometimes. Fifty years is a lot of water under the bridge. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? We’ve come so far, we’ve come back around to where we started. Our comfort makes us soft. Our memory fuzzy.”

  Prismatic light shimmers across his face.

  “What stands in the way of Great Power coming to the aid of a city in need? Money? I don’t need any more money. The ERA prohibits Great Power from acting outside the sanction of our contract with the city of Break Pointe, a contract that is now void. We have been sidelined, from the moment this irresponsible law was signed by President Kennedy. The Empowered were forced into registration, forced into servitude and yet we remain the scapegoats for the inaction of a failing government.”

  Applause shakes the balcony, but I’m not really paying attention to any of this nonsense. I search the wings of the stage for some sign of Valene. I don’t see her anywhere.

  “Instead of arguing over my responsibilities, those in Washington should consider theirs. They can afford my services. Too many people can’t. Where are the jobs? Where is the media’s calling to account of Washington’s inaction? It would seem GP is responsible for everything. In 1968, we came together. We prevailed, through common strength and purpose. Let us do so again, and let us make the next fifty years even better.”

  A riotous ovation drowns out the last of his words. I’ve never seen such a reaction. The Beatles reunion tour, maybe. Piller claps politely, though his face is riddled with disgust. He looks at me, and his expression turns
to regret. Shame.

  I expect the screen to go dark. The house lights to come up. Valene to come out, and deliver her rebuttal. Whispers arrow at me to sit as I strain to find Valene among the silhouettes just off stage left, behind Mike Dodge, still looking at the screen.

  At Blackwood.

  “Let me start off this next half century with something I’ll admit I’m not perfect at,” Blackwood says. “Transparency.”

  I stay on my feet as the rest of the crowd eases back to their seats. “What is this? Where is she?”

  Piller tugs me back into my seat. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  Blackwood clears his throat, and stares right at me. “It’s come out, somehow, that Valene is not well. This is true. And absent of any kind of cure for the side effects of her incredible gift, a cure I have failed to provide her, the solution is in fact to have her take rest aboard the Laputa.”

  “What’s happening?” I say.

  “This is hopefully only a temporary measure,” Blackwood says, over the cascade of gasps and whispers. “I didn’t want it to get out. I thought we could treat her and have her return healthy, without any invasion of her privacy, and I was wrong. My daughter’s safety is of paramount concern to me. I won’t apologize for that, not after what happened with Molly Swift.”

  Applause rattles through the crowd, building and building until the confused, concerned mood in the auditorium breaks, into one of complete and total support. Leaking that she was leaving was supposed to keep her here. It was supposed to make her father look like the uncaring shit he is. Not a bleeding hero. Molly Swift didn’t even occur to me. I look down at the front row, and Frankie, looking back at me, gamely clapping.

  The fuck did I do.

  “I’m not going to lose my daughter, and neither will you. She’ll return, healthy, ready and when it’s time, she’ll take her place at the head of this company for the next fifty years.”

  I turn to Piller. “Has she left yet?”

  He doesn’t want to tell me. He doesn’t want to give me any hope. “There’s nothing you can do, Ms. Baldwin.”