Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  The looks on their faces was grim, all humor disappearing in a moment. They stepped a little closer to me so we were huddled together, and Wanda spoke in a hush, as though she was afraid of being overheard. 'The Cheka hold random raids, looking for foreign spies.'

  'The Cheka?' I repeated, bewildered. We watched the scene unfold before us; a man and a woman came out after the guards, their arms raised in supplication, begging and pleading. Even from here, I could see tears.

  'The secret police,' Pietro whispered against the back of my head. I could feel how tense he was behind me, like he was ready to run at any moment. 'A Chekist work for the Respublika. We have to go, before they try to arrest us, too.'

  'Arrest us? We're not doing anything wrong!' I said, deciding to ignore the irony of the stolen food in our hands. Not that anyone could tell, which was the point. We were just witnesses, what was wrong with that?

  We weren't doing anything. For that matter, neither was anyone else. Everyone else on the street seemed to be on Pietro's line of thinking, quickly clearing the area. It was just like in the square yesterday, with Wanda and those agents. It was like the citizens had a nose for trouble, and instead of gathering and ogling the scene like a New Yorker would, they turned their heads and darted out of sight without a word, pretending as if nothing was wrong.

  There was just something not right here, and I had to mentally scramble to keep up with both this new information as well as what I was watching.

  One of the Chekists had just forced the man to his knees, right in the middle of the street, his hands still up; at the same time, the elderly parents were tugging at the sleeves of the second soldier, who just shoved them away.

  The soldier aimed his gun at the man's head, shouting, 'Hands on your head! Hands on your head, American scum!'

  'I'm not American!' The man protested, reluctantly complying while trying to turn his head, to watch even at the threat of the gun. 'You're making a mistake! Please, don't hurt them!'

  'Shouldn't we do something?' The words were out of my mouth before I could even figure out what it meant.

  'What? No! ' Wanda hissed, her hand wrapping around my wrist, trying to pull me back. 'We have to go now. This is not good. We should not be watching.'

  'But they need help —'

  'Touch me again and I'll put a bullet in your head!' The second soldier snapped, the muzzle of his gun mere inches from the old man's scalp. The man was on his knees, hands raised up to protect his head, while his wife clutched at his back, trying to act as a shield. 'Are you a spy, too? How many of there are you?'

  Wanda tugged at my arm when my feet remained planted to the spot. 'Amelia, we need to go. You do not want to cross the Chekists —'

  'Not a spy!' The wife cried. 'Please, they are not spies! We're innocent! You've got the wrong man!'

  'Shut up!'

  'The Cheka do not like witnesses,' Pietro interjected urgently, taking my other arm. But my gaze was focused only on the civilians, the family, looks of utter terror on their faces. And everyone else just turned their eyes away.

  Why isn't anyone doing anything?

  'This happens all the time. The Cheka are always finding dissenters, people who step out of line,' Pietro continued, his voice echoing in the back of my mind. 'Trust us, it is better if we leave while —'

  That's when the second Chekist raised the butt of his rifle and struck the old man across the face. He went down, as his wife cried out.

  The son tried to stand up at the sight of the abuse, only for the first Chekist to kick him in the back, sending the man face-first into the ground.

  'Hey!' I didn't even realize it was me who was shouting until I was suddenly half-way across the road — I'd shaken off the twins so easily it was like their grips were made of paper.

  I didn't even hear their cries of protest, although that may be because everyone else was yelling so loud that I couldn't even understand what was happening anymore.

  'Hey!' I shouted again, gaining the second Chekist's attention as I drew near — the son was already being handcuffed and dragged away, struggling all the while; but it was the bleeding old man I was really worried about. I had my hands up, trying to get between the gunman and the elderly couple. 'Hey, leave them alone!'

  'What?' The Chekist snapped, turning on me with a look of surprise and anger. He gave me a furious scowl, raising his gun a few inches, but it remained trained on the old man. 'Get out of here! This is none of your business, stupid girl!'

  'No!'

  This is nuts. In the back of my mind, I couldn't believe I had just walked up to an angry man with clear lack of moral values holding a gun, acting like I had any reason doing that.

  But the anger I felt blinded me to the fear I should be experiencing. And I wasn't just angry at the Cheka, I was furious that all the other bystanders were just minding their own business. How can you just ignore something like this?

  I couldn't focus on all of that in this moment. I just wanted to stop this. 'Please, put your gun away! They mean no harm! Look at them, they're just old people! How could they hurt you?'

  'We found contraband materials on their property,' the Chekist snapped, shoving my back with one hand. 'If they were true Soviets, they wouldn't read foreign materials!'

  'It was just a magazine!' The old woman protested. 'Our son got it from the post office! It means nothing!'

  'Please, our son is innocent,' the old man begged, literally on his hands and knees. Blood seeped over his eye from the cut on his head, but he made no move to clear it away, too scared to move.

  'I said, shut up!' The Chekist snarled, raising a hand in, ready to strike the woman. But he never got the chance.

  Because before the blow could hand, I grabbed his wrist.

  'Just let them go!' I didn't know what possessed me to do that. I suppose I should've expected the consequences.

  'Don't touch me!' The Chekist ripped his arm away, turning on me completely now. My heart skipped a beat when the black muzzle finally directed itself at me. 'Back off, now! Or I'll have you arrested for assaulting a government agent! You are interfering with official business of the Respublika!'

  'What? I didn't assault you —'

  'I said back off —'

  'Amelia!' Wanda suddenly at my side again — it seemed to have taken her forever to reach me. In reality, less than a full minute had passed since this all started. She demanded, 'What are you doing —'

  'Get away, now!' The Chekist had both hands on his gun now, raised it to his face so I was now in his line of sight.

  I stumbled back, alarmed. Wanda, the old couple, the Chekists, everyone was shouting at once. I didn't know where to look. My hands were up, but it meant nothing.

  Maybe I was saying something, too. But I couldn't even hear my own voice.

  The couple wasn't in front of me anymore. In the blur of the moment, I realized they had somehow gotten behind me, cowering against my back.

  It was then I realized, no, they weren't behind me. I stepped in front of them.

  The Chekist ordered something I didn't catch. I was too busy trying to find the twins. Wanda stood behind the couple, her hands wringing, expression panicked.

  I couldn't tell if she was crying out to me or to the man with the gun at my chest.

  Pietro was nowhere to be seen.

  'Step away now!' The Chekist yelled. He tried to move around me, but I was light on my feet. I remained between him and his target.

  'Leave them alone!' It was a simple refusal. I would not let him touch the couple.

  I both knew the risk, and didn't understand it at all.

  I could see it in his eyes. The fire, the rage. The tensing of his shoulders, the snarl in his face. How his finger twitched over the trigger.

  'I said, now!'

  'Go!' I said to Wanda, to the couple. 'Just go!'

  Behind them, the son was shouting.

  'I can't!' Wanda said, shaking her head fr
antically. Her eyes flashed. Desperate. Afraid. Bright.

  'This is your last chance!' The soldier said at the same time.

  She wouldn't leave me. Why? It wasn't safe.

  There wasn't enough time to convince her.

  My eyes flicked between them. Just a split second. I didn't know where to focus. Should I stand my ground or run?

  The Chekist's mouth moved, a final demand.

  Stay?

  But I heard nothing. My ears rung.

  Run?

  The gun jerked to my head.

  Stay?

  I flinched. Arms up.

  Or run?

  I didn't get the chance to decide.

  He pulled the trigger.

  'No!'He knew the exact time because his StarkPhone lit up like a freaking Christmas tree right next to his face. This was especially unpleasant because not only was the room already pitch-black, but the cheery little ding it made nearly had Peter chucking his new phone at the wall.

  As it was, Peter had been rendered blind by the glare of the screen, and couldn't have thrown it anyways. As he winced and groaned and got up on his elbows, Peter reminded himself not to leave his phone face-up on his bedside table anymore.

  Reaching over, Peter checked the screen, wondering who the hell could be sending him an email at this unholy hour.

  The words were a blur in front of his face, and Peter's eyes watered a bit before the screen automatically turned the brightness down. His StarkPhone, a gift from the man himself, was top of the line, with an AI so intuitive it was practically human. Yes, it had an AI. A fully voiced AI he decided to name Karen, which was now helpfully reading out the alert that Peter just received.

  'Mr. Parker, you've just received a message to your Google account. Would you like me to open it now?'

  'What?' Peter rubbed at his eyes, his voice thick with sleep as he blinked and focused on the screen again. The StarkPhone was made of transparent glass, so he could see through it and the glowing lines making up the interface to the bedspread beneath. 'No, no, it's like... ugh, it's way too early. Who the hell sent it?'

  'One Amelia Fletcher, sir,'

  Amelia...no, there's no way. Peter thought he heard wrong. He slowly pulled his hand away from his face, stared at the phone. 'Uh...say that again?'

  'Amelia Fletcher, Mr. Parker. Should I start a background check? This would be the fourth attempt in the past six months that someone has tried to access your private information online.'

  'What? No, it's fine, it's just…' Peter could only shake his head. This had to be some mistake. It couldn't be Mia. It just wasn't possible. 'She's dead, Karen.'

  A month. A month and ten days since Mia died from tuberculosis. Ruptured pulmonary vein. Massive internal bleeding. Collapsed lung. The ambulance crash.

  It was over so quick. Peter didn't even know she had tuberculosis until afterwards, when the doctor approached them — Peter, Aunt May, Uncle Ben, Aunt Hedy — in the hospital. How he explained there was nothing they could do, that Mia was already gone.

  She never stood a chance.

  'My condolences, sir. Shall I delete the message, then? Since logically it cannot have been sent from Amelia —'

  'No, wait.' Peter interrupted, picking his head up and frowning at the screen. He knew he should be looking into this; it was simply a scammer, an identity thief, using a dead person's email to trick some emotionally compromised teenager. But Peter was an emotionally compromised teenager with an insatiable curiosity.

  'Sir?' Karen asked when Peter didn't follow up right away. His eyes kept scanning Amelia's username. He bit his lip.

  He shouldn't do this.

  He shouldn't look.

  'What does it say?'

  Karen paused before she answered with: 'The message is empty, Mr. Parker.'

  Peter let out a sigh. Of course, it wasn't her, it had to be a hack—

  'But there is an attachment.' Karen's voice interrupted his thoughts. 'My scan indicates no viruses or malicious software. It appears to be a program, made with Linux. It can be made compatible with the current Stark OS system. Would you like me to convert and download it onto your desktop?'

  A program? Now Peter was really curious, far too curious to be going back to bed. He sat up, running a hand through his hair. 'Yeah, sure. I'll check it out.'

  'Now? Mr. Parker, may I remind you that this would interrupt your natural circadian sleep cycle. The average fifteen-year-old adolescent human needs a minimum of eight hours of rest to maintain a healthy lifestyle —'

  'Well, I'm not average, am I?' Peter pointed out. He wouldn't have this phone, his new computer, his suit, any of this rich fancy stuff if he had been normal. No random kid just had Tony Stark's number because they happened to be in the right place in the right time. No, Peter was here because he was at the wrong place at the right time. And he just happened to be the exact opposite of normal. 'And not even completely human anymore, either. Besides, getting less sleep is the least unhealthy thing I've been doing lately.'

  'I apologize. Proceeding with conversion now.'

  He wasn't sure if the health regimen programmed into Karen was just part of her regular function, or if Tony Stark added it because he was worried about Peter. It was hard to say, since Tony himself was hardly a model for healthy living (if the tabloids were anything to go by), and Peter didn't really know the billionaire well enough to tell either way. And Mr. Stark never really seemed the type of guy to be concerned about someone else's daily schedule.

  Well, that wasn't important. Getting up, Peter stifled a yawn before going over to his desk, flopping as quietly as he could into his desk chair. He didn't want to wake up Aunt May, sleeping across the hall; Karen's voice volume was low enough not to travel through the walls.

  Opening up his laptop, Peter had to shield his eyes from the new awful brightness of the larger screen. Karen operated simultaneously from both his phone and computer. She (Peter called it a she, even though he knew the AI was neither male or female, as proven by the gender option in Karen's operating menu. Calling her a she was just easier on his head) was designed after Mr. Stark's personal digital butler J.A.R.V.I.S. — only Peter was pretty sure Mr. Stark was monitoring him through Karen This would be untold amounts of creepy if Stark didn't already know what he knew.

  And besides, Peter liked the idea of having an Avenger behind his back in case he ever needed the help. Karen was the best way Peter could ensure he didn't get himself killed while swinging through the streets of Manhattan.

  'Conversion complete. The program appears to contain a video file, Mr. Parker. Would you like me to play it?'

  A video file? Peter frowned, watching as Karen pulled the program up on his screen, a seemingly unremarkable menu of dates. The first link, which was apparently the video file, was titled 'For Peter'. There was nothing else to explain...any of this. Peter snorted to himself. Fitting. Mia was always one for simple, efficient design.

  Then it hit him.

  Was this it? Was this the program Mia had been working on this whole time? The one she never had the time to show him?

  How could she have known...How could she have sent this?

  The video pop-up loaded, then began to play.

  The first image rendered was a shot of the computer lab at Midtown High, clearly from a computer's webcam, with its low angle. Sunlight shown in from the window on the left, and the other terminals in the background appeared empty, but that wasn't what Peter focused on. No, his eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the frame, where the head and shoulders of a girl sat before the keyboard.

  It was Mia. Tiny Mia, with her big 80's glasses and long braid draped over one shoulder. She was wearing her mom's old purple NYU sweater, too big for her, like pretty much everything she wore.

  'Hey, Peter, i-it's me. Well, I-I guess y-you already knew th-that, since you c-can see my face a-and all...' those were her first words. That quirkier smile, half-embarrassed chuc
kle as she ducked her head, familiar stutter and all. Then, after decomposing herself, Mia looked up again. 'So, uh, anyways, a-as you can see, I'm in the sch-school lab, it's after school; the d-date is, lemme check, April Fifth, T-Two-Thousand-Twelve; I j-just finished Mr. Harrington's Ch-Chapter Twelve Chemistry test, and p-pretty sure I aced it, n-not to brag or-or anything; Today's a-also the day I-I decided to g-get this stupid thing o-over with.

  'I g-guess you p-probably already know what this v-video is now, if f-future me h-hasn't told you.' Mia continued, her voice echoing with a slightly tinny, buzzy sound from the speakers. A frown crossed her face and she glanced down, pushing up her glasses in that way Peter immediately remembered she did whenever she was anxious or upset. He felt something in his throat lock up. 'If you're w-watching this right n-now, wherever you are — if you're g-getting this video, th-then that means I'm d-dead. I will be dead, I-I suppose is the p-proper way to phrase it, a-as of m-making this video I-I am not currently d-dead...er, anyways. I d-designed the message to be s-s-sent after a certain t-time, in which I c-can p-prolong if I'm a-alive t-to change it. This, of course, st-stops happening when I c-c-can't...anymore. I don't kn-know when it's g-going to happen, o-or how, but I-I-I wanted to make sure — I-I wanted you to have this. Of m-me, I guess. I actually l-lied to you, earlier t-today, about this p-program. I had it f-finished for a while, but I d-didn't know how to t-tell you b-because of...well, i-i-it's function. Everything I j-just told you. I knew it w-would u-upset you.'