Behind the Mask

by Link, Kelly; Rambo, Cat; Vaughn, Carrie

“I’m not sure Skyball does meetings . . . as such.”

  I sighed. Was I being unreasonable? “Genevieve, you came to me very highly recommended—”

  “I’ll do it now, Ms. Marshal,” she said, turning and scurrying back to her desk.

  The daily report flashed up on my screen. Production was down. Only forty thousand pounds of salt had been delivered to the lunar depot Skyball had damaged the day before, meaning I’d lost the company around three million dollars in a morning. And we’d lose another three million every day until repairs were complete. Clock one up for Skyball, our friendly neighborhood super-dick.

  I hit the comm. “Genevieve, where’s Laura? I have a job for her.”

  “I’m sorry Ms. Marshal, Laura hasn’t come in today.”

  I literally saw red as my blood pressure hit the bell. “Genevieve!” I screamed. “What kind of Mickey Mouse operation are we running here? I mean, how much am I paying that tarted-up scarecrow to decide she’d rather not come to work today? How much? Get her on the phone. No, wait. I’ll get her on the goddamn phone. You just . . . do whatever it was you were doing. Have you managed to get hold of Skyball yet? I mean, he must have a manager or something. How do the police communicate with him?”

  “I’m speaking with the police now, Ms. Marshal,” said Genevieve. “They say he just comes when he pleases.”

  “Comes when he pleases,” I muttered. “Should be his fucking byline!”

  I picked up the phone, intending to ring Laura and fire her on the spot, when I realized I had no idea what her number was.

  It was the last straw. Without thinking, I leaped from my chair and upended my three hundred pound, solid mahogany desk like it was a child’s mattress, shattering my vid-screen and sending files and newsprint flying in the process.

  As paper fluttered down around me, I decided I’d had enough. Skyball owed me an explanation. If he was an alien, and I was pregnant with his child, I damn well wanted to know what kind. But even more importantly, my body was going haywire, and he was going to give me some answers. That, or there was gonna be one hell of a bar fight at the club tonight.

  • • •

  Dark rain fell hard in the lane outside Fuse. Water overflowed from rooftop gutters, tumbling in waterfalls to the sidewalk before gushing furiously into litter-clogged drains. I huddled in the shadows, watching clubgoers hurry in and out of Fuse, grouped under umbrellas or scurrying for cabs, designer label jackets tented over their heads for shelter.

  A cluster of neon signs further down the lane cast an ominous, bloody hue across the shimmering pavement. I waited for forty minutes before finally catching a glimpse of him. Three cabs were backed up outside the entrance, and from the last stepped a young man: athletic build, blond hair, and thick-rimmed glasses.

  While he was paying the cabbie, I abandoned my umbrella and raincoat and skipped across the road. After a few short seconds, my dress clung to my breasts, thighs, and butt. I wiped my eyes, deliberately smudging the eyeliner like a dark, rain-smeared mask.

  Skyball was still leaning into the window of the cab waiting for change or making a joke as I approached from behind.

  He straightened and stepped away from the cab. The collision was firmer than I’d intended. His body was hard—like crashing into concrete—the blow softened only by the sheath of his suit.

  I landed, splay-legged, on my ass. The look of shock on my face only partly feigned.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Skyball, rivulets of rainwater running down his glasses. “Here, let me help you up.”

  His grip on my elbow was gentle as he brought me to my feet. “You’re soaked,” he said, looking me up and down. His eyes lingered on my torso slightly longer than was strictly necessary, but no longer than another man’s would have.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked eventually. He didn’t recognize me at all.

  I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest, hugging my shoulders. “Just wet.”

  A true hero, Skyball drew me close, protecting my frail body from the driving rain. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get inside. I owe you a drink.”

  Fuse was buzzing. Those who’d come early were loath to leave while the rain was so heavy outside, and those who’d come late were cold and wet and in need of a drink. Skyball found us the last corner booth, beside a six-foot-high vid-screen of a raging hearth fire.

  “I’ll get us something,” he said, without asking what I wanted. I liked a man who wasn’t afraid to make decisions. I made decisions all day at the office and didn’t need to be making them after-hours as well.

  Skyball was a smooth operator. He slipped in and out of the crowd around the bar as though they weren’t even there, and returned with a scotch for himself and a shot of luminous yellow liquid for me.

  “To warm you up,” he said. “A shot of Lady Luck.”

  I knew perfectly well what it was, but sometimes it’s nice to let a man think he’s in charge. The drink was irrelevant. I was pregnant. No happy-juice for me. I lifted the glass to my lips and pretended to sip.

  “I’m sorry,” said Skyball. “But in the commotion, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Helen,” I said. “Yours?”

  “Gene,” said Skyball. “Gene Prendergast.”

  “Ah yes,” I said, recognizing the name and kicking myself for not making the connection sooner. “Gene Prendergast, of Prendergast Shipping. Your freighters carry quite a bit of my cargo to the lunar colonies.”

  Skyball looked momentarily confused. “My God, you’re Helen Marshal.” He laughed nervously and took a sip of his scotch. “What are the chances, eh?”

  “Oh, pretty good I’d say,” I replied, a little dryly perhaps.

  Skyball’s eyes narrowed, darting around my face, over my straggly, wet hair. “I’m sorry. Have we met before?” he asked, a little less certain of himself.

  “Three weeks back, yeah.” I replied.

  Skyball’s smile dropped a little but snapped back into place in the blink of an eye. “You must have me confused with someone else. I flew into town on Wednesday three weeks back to meet up with friends here. I left with . . . I left with . . . Oh shit.”

  Cue sardonic smile.

  “Look, Helen,” said Skyball, and I could see him preparing to run. “I’m really sorry I didn’t recognize you, but that was just a one-night thing, right? It was fun. I had an appointment early the next morning. You know how things are . . .”

  I smiled. It was genuinely amusing watching Skyball squirm. “More than you know.”

  His teeth were white, his hair gorgeous. I’d always been a sucker for natural blonds.

  “I hope this won’t affect our business arrangement,” he said. And it was all so chummy, so mundane. Here I was talking to Skyball—a man whose body was literally the most lethal weapon on Earth—and I was discussing business.

  “Skyball, I’m pregnant,” I said, dropping a huge double bomb on him without the slightest misgiving.

  Skyball froze for ten full seconds.

  “Skyball?” I said.

  “Shh!” he snapped. “Stop calling me that. I mean, I know I look a bit like him but Skyball has super vision, right? Why would he wear glasses?”

  “So he can hang out in Fuse and get laid?”

  “I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree, Helen.”

  “Take off your glasses.”

  “I’m getting up and walking away right now.”

  “You do and I’ll tell everyone in this place who you really are.”

  “You think they’ll believe you?”

  “Take off your glasses and we’ll see.”

  Skyball cursed under his breath. Then: “Wait!” he said, gripping my arm, too tightly. “What did you say just now?”

  It was dark in Fuse, but fear glittered in Skyball’s eyes.

  “I said, take off your glasses and—”

  “No!” he hissed. “Before that.”

  I sighed deeply, and without warning there were tears in my
eyes. I didn’t know where they came from, but I wasn’t ashamed of them.

  “Skyball,” I said, and it was hard to breathe. “I’m pregnant.”

  “But, you can’t be,” he said. “I mean, it’s not mine. I’m not even . . . I’m not even human. Crimson Reign said it could never happen.”

  I didn’t dwell on the fact he’d admitted to being Skyball. There were more important matters at hand. “That’s why I need to talk to you. My skin glows blue, I’m breaking everything I touch, and I’m eating like a fucking elephant. What are you? Some kind of alien? Will the child be human? Or . . .”

  Skyball fixed me with ice blue eyes. “I can’t tell you, Helen,” he said. “I’m truly sorry, but my enemies . . . If they knew about this . . . about you . . . and a child, my God. You can’t possibly give birth to it. You’ve got to get rid of it.”

  “What?” I said. “Get rid of it? Are you insane?”

  “It’s a liability.”

  “Screw you, Skyball!” I cried. “Try anything and I’ll go straight to the papers.”

  There was a wild look in Skyball’s eye when he said, “You do realize if Crimson Reign got wind of this, she would tear you apart to get the child. Literally rip you limb from limb.”

  “She can try. I have a few tricks of my own.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he muttered. “My home planet is harsh. A fetus imbues its mother with strength and agility in order to allow her to survive the pregnancy.”

  “Like I said, I can protect myself.”

  “You don’t understand, Helen. You may have developed a few minor abilities, but I know Crimson Reign. We were together for a while. She’s fucking nuts. You saw the scar on my stomach. Who do you think gave me that? My skin’s ten times harder than diamond! You wouldn’t stand a chance. She’s obsessed.”

  “Obsessed with what?”

  Skyball paused ominously. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, grabbing me by the arm. “Jesus, your skin’s glowing. We have to get out of here. The child’s a danger to you, to me, to everyone on this planet. Let’s go.”

  “Don’t touch me, you asshole!” I cried, and pushed him away.

  To my astonishment, my angry shove sent Earth’s mightiest super-hero sailing across the club, crashing through the bar and into a back room. Bottles rained down around the terrified bar staff, who threw themselves under what cover they could find. A moment of silence followed, during which all attention turned to me. I stood unashamed, glowing so brightly some onlookers were forced to cover their eyes.

  Skyball eventually emerged from the wreckage, and with his glasses cast aside, he was instantly recognizable. A few idiots cheered at the sight of him, but the smart ones, knowing a deadly situation when they saw one, grabbed their coats and bolted for the nearest exit.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Helen,” said Skyball.

  “Get over yourself, Skyball,” I replied. The power coursing through my limbs felt incredible, like having an orgasm in every part of my body at once. “You can’t tell me what to do, especially when it comes to my child.”

  Skyball came at me, faster than anything I’d ever seen. Somehow he shot behind me, pinning both my arms.

  “That’s enough,” he said in my ear. “Let’s go for a little trip.” We blasted though the wall of the club and shot high into the night sky. The rain had eased and Salt City glimmered below. We were moving incredibly fast. The city lights whirled around us and for a moment I was too disorientated to fight back.

  “See that down there? That’s my home. Everyone in Salt City knows I’m the good guy, Helen,” Skyball said. “Choosing to fight me makes you the villain.”

  I tried to kick at his legs, but it was no use, and his grip around my arms was vice-like. “No one thinks you’re a good guy, Gene,” I cried above the sound of wind blasting past my ears. “They’re all just too scared of you to tell you to fuck off!”

  Skyball chuckled. “You just don’t get it at all, do you?”

  I’d heard enough. I thrust my head back with everything I had and butted his face with the back of my skull, which had the immediate effect of shutting him the hell up and the secondary effect of suddenly finding myself in free fall.

  Cold air buffeted my face, and I could barely see through my narrowed, watering eyes. I tumbled over and over, arms and legs flailing, reflexively grasping for purchase where there was none. Skyball’s blurry outline rapidly grew smaller, while below, an office tower loomed murderously into view. I pictured myself skewered on one of the antennae jutting from its roof, or crashing through floor after concrete floor until I was nothing but a battered mess of torn flesh and broken bone.

  That wasn’t how Helen Marshal was going to die. I couldn’t let myself down like that, let alone my child. At the thought of my unborn child being killed by its idiot father, my body pulsed so astonishingly brightly I was momentarily blinded.

  When the glare faded, I was no longer falling.

  I was flying.

  • • •

  I scanned the story in the Chronicle with interest the following day while sitting outside a small café far from my usual haunts. I was pregnant, I was financially secure, and I’d just kicked Skyball’s ass in front of hundreds of witnesses. It didn’t get much better than this, which was why I was preparing to resign.

  Tony Marsden wanted my head over the diving production figures, and I was in no position to argue. Shit had happened and I’d allowed myself to become distracted. But distractions didn’t come any bigger than the fulfillment of a dream that for years had seemed out of reach. I hadn’t been distracted by a fling, a better job offer, or some crazy mid-life crisis. I’d been distracted by the next phase of my life, and it was clear to me that to move forward I was going to have to jettison baggage—my job being the first bag out the door.

  I had a billion in cash, property, and shares. I was well placed to be a mother, stay-at-home or otherwise.

  “Excuse me ma’am,” said a very young-looking waitress. “May I take your order?”

  “Yes,” I said. “A skinny latte please.”

  “Won’t be a moment,” she said, turning to go.

  “Oh, and a bowl of summer berries, two Dutch waffles, hash browns, four poached eggs, raisin toast, and a jug of maple syrup on the side.”

  When the waitress failed to respond, I looked up from the newspaper to find her staring at me blankly. “Are you expecting someone to be joining you later, ma’am?”

  “No,” I replied, irritably.

  “Actually, she is expecting someone.” Laura, my personal assistant’s personal assistant, slid her skinny backside onto the chair opposite.

  “Oh, Laura,” I said. “FYI? You’re fired.”

  “Nonsense,” Laura said. “You need me now more than ever.”

  “Hey, do I know you?” the waitress asked Laura.

  “No,” Laura answered, removing her sunglasses and dropping them into her handbag. “But you should go now.”

  Intrigued, I put my paper aside. Laura had not made much of an impression on me when I met her, but looking at her now, she was a striking woman, with wine-dark hair and bright healthy skin.

  “I just fired you,” I said. “Why are you still here?”

  “You fired Martin,” Laura countered. “He’s still around.”

  “I like Martin,” I replied.

  “You’re not the hard-nosed bitch you pretend to be, Helen,” said Laura, cocking an eyebrow. “You met Skyball last night. What did you think?”

  “The man’s a total asshat,” I said—the words were out of my mouth before I could lock them down.

  There was true joy in Laura’s laughter, and it made me realize how long it had been since I’d heard the sound of genuine delight. “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” she said. Her green eyes literally sparkled in the crisp morning sun.

  Everything fell into place. “You’re the ex.”

  Laura gave a curt nod. “Don’t call the cops or do anything stupid.
I don’t want to have to start breaking things. You know they’re calling you Salt City Blue?” she said. “Has a certain ring don’t you think?”

  Despite her reputation as a degenerate supervillain, I felt an instant camaraderie with Crimson Reign. Her enthusiasm was infectious. “Hmm. Three word title, it’s a bit of a mouthful.”

  “At least it doesn’t sound like a euphemism for a heavy period,” she said, lightly touching my wrist. “I mean seriously. Crimson Reign?”

  We both laughed.

  “You know, Skyball told me you were going to tear me limb from limb,” I said.

  “Because you’re pregnant?” said Crimson Reign. “Please. I knew right away when I saw you glowing in the office. Sorry for stalking you like that, but it’s kinda my thing when it comes to Skyball’s partners. Congratulations on your little girl.”

  “How do you—”

  “The color,” she said. “Blue for a girl, red for a boy. It’s how I got my name, actually. Three years ago, Skyball and I . . . Well, I fell pregnant with a boy. Some reporter saw my skin glowing and came up with the name.”

  Her smile faltered and she looked briefly into her lap. “I lost the child.”

  I wasn’t used to offering sympathy to strangers. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t think Crimson Reign would’ve accepted it anyway.

  “Skyball and me,” she said, and I felt she was pushing through a tough moment. “We’re the only ones of our kind who made it to this world. Our planet was roasted by a series of solar flares so intense, nothing could survive. Those who could leave, fled to all corners of the galaxy. There was no time to develop a plan. It was chaos.

  “So you see we aren’t ambassadors for our race, or diplomats, or even very nice people. In fact, we’re so far from the best our planet had to offer, it’s just embarrassing. In the scramble to evacuate, we were forced to leave all traces of our former lives behind. I guess I thought having a child with Skyball would be like regaining a little bit of home.

  “My pregnancy was a surprise, and he wasn’t interested in having a child. Then you come along and BAM, fully knocked-up. From what I read, you’ve already got some badass moves.”

  I shrugged. “I can hold my own.”