by J Bennett
“Turn off Band,” I subvocalize.
My Band produces a holo-screen that washes across my forearm. Bob’s scruffy face appears. “You sure you want to do that?” he asks. “It looks like you’re doing something nefarious. That could be good for your Iron Stream when it goes live.”
“Turn off,” I say again.
Bob sighs and burps a little. “My command structure requires me to ask one more time. You wanna turn off your Band?”
“Off!” I hiss and think up a nice and colorful curse for The Compendium, the company that makes the Stream software that powers all Bands. Finally, the holo-screen disappears, and the soft glow emanating from my Band extinguishes.
I suck in a deep breath and step up to the retinal scanner next to the door furthest to the left. This sloppy plan of mine can go wrong in so many ways. Leo and The Professor will receive a notification as soon as I enter the room. My hope is that both are asleep and won’t notice my unauthorized visit until morning.
The door to the room whooshes open and the lights turn on.
A figure lying on a small bed at the back of the cell snaps awake. He tries to jump to his feet, but the shackles clamped to his wrists and ankles have retracted at my entrance, and they whip him back onto the bed. His costume flashes gold in the light.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say as the door closes behind me.
Shine, the world’s most beloved sidekick, assesses me as he gains his bearings. “An illicit nighttime visit,” he muses. “Have you recognized the error of your ways and decided to free me?” He flashes the famous smile that melts teen hearts. “Or were you just unable to help yourself?”
In his blog, The Henchman’s Survival Guide, Tickles the Elf is very clear about the dangers of henchmen falling for captured capes. Apparently, this is a common occurrence. There’s absolutely no risk of that happening in this case. Adan, the man behind the mask, may be as hot as a summer day in Riyadh, but his ego is just as sweltering. In fact, that arrogant smile of his makes me feel a little less guilty for capturing him in the first place.
“You’re wasting good lines,” I tell him as I turn toward the door. Perched above it, a small cam records our prisoner night and day, partly for security purposes but also to gather useful b-roll for what I assume will be future prison cell montages. I reach for it, standing on my tip toes, and just barely manage to swat the power button with my fingertip, turning off the cam.
Next to the cam, a round, black device emits a continuous jamming signal. Shine’s Wyvern model Band includes a state-of-the-art locking mechanism. We wouldn’t be able to pry it from his wrist unless we hacked off his arm. The jammer ensures that he can’t get any messages out or that any tracking devices embedded in his costume can’t report his location.
I leave the jammer on.
When I turn around to face our prisoner once again, I see that he’s stretched out on the bed, hands folded behind his head. In this small, bland room with its simple bed and dry flush toilet in the corner, Shine is a brilliant splash of gold and orange hues. His helmet gleams. I know The Professor would give just about anything to be able to wrench it off Shine’s head, but it uses the same locking technology as his Band.
I take a deep breath. “I need your help.”
Shine chuckles. “I’m not exactly in the mood to grant favors, especially to you. Though these shackles are awfully itchy. Perhaps you’d care to loosen them?”
“I’m not letting you escape,” I tell him flatly.
“Escape? Who said anything about escape? I’ve grown rather fond of this place. Helps me work on my meditation.”
See, these are good lines. Witty and endearing. Lines that will make tween hearts throb for poor, gallant Shine, trapped deep in The Professor’s lair. I ignore a twinge of jealousy at his superior media savvy.
“There are no cams running. Stop flaunting,” I tell him.
In response, Shine closes his eyes.
“You knew where The Professor’s mansion was. You knew there was a secret elevator in the sitting room,” I accuse. I’d found him trying to figure out the key code just before I captured him. “Someone fed you that information. Who was it?” My voice climbs in desperation. “Who is the mole?”
Shine stares at me, his bright green eyes as sharp as ever behind his mask. “Your neck is bruised,” he says. “Looks painful.”
“It is.”
“Show me your Band.”
I hold it up so he can see that its lights are dark. “It’s off. Not recording.”
He gazes up at the ceiling. “You should have sparred with me when I offered, Alice. I could have taught you a thing or two about fighting.” He uses my real name on purpose, reminding me that he holds my true identity in his hands.
“I was good enough to beat you,” I point out.
“Through treachery,” he replies.
“I’m a henchman, not a hero.” The words feel dirty as I speak them. Adan is right. I did trick him. I used our friendship–if that’s what it is–against him to grab this henchman spot.
“So you’ll excuse me if I’m not exactly inclined to further your career,” he says. He turns his back to me. “Now run along. I can’t sleep with the lights on.”
A part of me appreciates his bravado but most of me is pissed by it. I stare at the curve of his back, at those well-defined shoulders and that perfect ass.
Well, two can play at this game.
I lean against the door of his cell. “You missed a chem test last week. Ollie is worried about you. A few of the girls in class are equally distressed.” I click my tongue sadly. “Oh, and I almost forgot, the midterm is next week. Pret-ty important.”
Shine doesn’t respond. It was a poor gambit. I slide to the floor and prop my back against the wall next to the door. “Why does a famous sidekick need a college degree anyway?” I ask. It’s a question I’ve pondered a lot over the last two weeks.
“It’s a good way to meet women,” he says, his voice muffled by his pillow.
“I think it gives you a chance to feel normal,” I say. “You live your whole life in this heroic fantasy. Flashy costume. Risky missions…”
“Adoring fans,” he adds.
“Mobs of fans who don’t even know a true thing about you,” I clarify. “It’s exciting. Brills and thrills. But it’s not real.”
“Wow, those are some deep thoughts,” Shine says. “Let me guess, you’re a psychology major.”
“The whole world loves you, but they don’t even know who you are,” I say.
“Neither do you.” Bitterness laces his voice.
I pull my legs up to my chest and rest my chin on my knees. I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but at least we’re talking. That note of anger in his voice is the first real emotion he’s shown since his capture.
“I know that you’re driven,” I say softly. “And you’re smart. You’ve got amaze lens instincts. I bet Beacon saw you as a threat. That’s why you came here by yourself. You were trying to spin off. You just needed a big score. Bagging The Professor would have impressed sponsors, shown them you can stand on your own.”
Shine is silent. I lean my head back against the wall and listen to the mild throb in my shoulder. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion, and my mind feels loose, like a hem unraveling.
“Beacon never keeps her sidekicks for more than a few years,” I say. We both know Shine’s been working with her for almost four. “She’s always looking to upgrade. Switch things up. Re-energize her viewers to gush her ratings. You were trying to spin off before she retired you.”
Only one of Beacon’s sidekicks has ever managed to successfully spin off. Bright was her longest-serving sidekick. They worked together for five years, and there was something truly special about their relationship. They had a bond that seemed to go beyond just the storylines. Bright was smart and beautiful and savvy enough to save her earnings. She spun off in a spectacular fashion, betraying Beacon and transforming herself into the vi
llain, Cleopatra.
Rumor has it, Beacon tried everything to squash Cleopatra’s career. She sank her sponsors, pulled all the strings she could with the City Council to block Cleopatra’s show. But Cleopatra self-funded her entire first year. She bribed new City Council members and grabbed a spot on PAGS’s platform. Eventually, her show thrived, though Lysee tells me Beacon never forgot, never forgave that betrayal.
“Beacon will pull you up, turn you into a Persona, capital P,” I say, “but if you glow too brightly, she’ll snuff you out.”
Without turning around, Shine says, “Beacon is brilliant. She’s the only hero who’s stayed relevant since this town was created. You remember that train fight with The Professor?”
I nod and realize Shine can’t see me. “Who doesn’t,” I tell him. “That fight made her career.” That was fourteen years ago. The Professor was the most famous vil in town and Beacon was just one of a dozen small personas trying to grab viewers.
“She wasn’t supposed to be on that train,” Shine says. “The City Council President had picked Clarion to stop The Professor.”
I frown. Clarion? I hardly remember that macho cape with his red tights and cheesy laugh. He was glam for two or three seasons but now he’s gone as the glaciers.
“Beacon discovered the identity of one of The Professor’s henchmen,” Shine continues. “She seduced him, and when the time came, she got on that train at its third stop. Clarion was waiting at the fifth stop.” Shine laughs. “The City Council President was furious, but ratings are ratings. After Beacon’s ep aired, she was too popular to swipe.”
I’ve never heard this story before, which is saying something. Biggie LC is a small town, and a good quarter of its citizens have their hands in the local vil and cape scene one way or another. Rumors fly faster than a Dragon Rider’s sky skimmer.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“I just want you to know that Beacon gets her way.” His voice is soft, ringed with ice. “She will find me, and when she does, your little show is over.”
I heave in a breath.
“Do you know what her Aura Arcs feel like?” Shine continues. “Course you don’t. She used them on me once, during the sidekick tryouts.” He clicks his tongue. “You can feel the power right before that wave of energy hits you. It’s not pleasant.”
I don’t have to know what Beacon’s Aura Arcs feel like. I’ve seen the rippling, concussive wave spread from those golden orbs knock down henchmen like bowling pins. The truth is I’ve been expecting Beacon to kick down the front door of The Professor’s lair at any moment, her famous Light Blade, Aurora, in hand.
I try to match Shine’s breezy manner. “She’s sure taking her sweet time.”
“She’ll come.”
“We’re releasing your capture ep tomorrow,” I tell him. “I’m sure in her next ep, Beacon will rage and cry big tears for you. It’ll give her a nice ratings boost. In fact, I bet she’ll string this storyline out for as long as she can. Fans will be despo to tune in as she searches for you and vows vengeance.” I shrug. “And, of course, she’s got Shadow to worry about too. You might be here a while.” I pause to let that sink in and then add lightly, “The Professor is making good progress on his singularity pod.”
We both know that as soon as my vil finishes the machine, he’ll set up some grand, public demonstration with Shine strapped into it as his guinea pig. It will be yet another humiliation for Shine and possibly the final nail in the coffin of his career.
Shine turns on the bed to face me. This move is complicated by the short tethers of his retracted bonds. His mask doesn’t cover his mouth, so I can see his perfect white teeth as he smiles at me. It’s not a happy expression. “You’re learning the game fast,” he says, “but I think I liked you better when you were ranting about the evils of semi-reality. You were pompous as hell, but at least you stood for something.”
He’s right and I hate him for that. I did stand for something once, and now I’m betraying my own convictions with every second I wear this scarlet lab coat.
“You’ve been wearing that mask for two weeks straight. Can’t imagine how your pores are holding up,” I sneer in reply.
Adan sucks a pained breath between his teeth.
I stretch out my legs and look around the cell. It’s so small. So gray. When his tethers are lengthened, Shine can walk around, do some push-ups and air squats, but not much else. Maybe he has some games or old eps downloaded on his Band that can while away the time. It must be hard though, knowing that he’ll soon be humiliated by the launch of our next ep, that he’s a hapless pawn in our storyline until he gets rescued or we arrange a contractual death for his character. That’s a common outcome when capes and sidekicks get captured and can’t save their brands.
“How much was it worth?” Shine asks.
I shake away my thoughts and notice that he now sits upright on the bed. “How much is what worth? The identity of the mole? I don’t have any dollars.”
“No. How much was the test worth?”
“The test?”
“The chem test. How many points?”
It takes my brain a moment to shift. “Why do you care about the chem test?” I ask.
“I told you, for the girls,” he says but looks away.
“100 points,” I tell him.
“Damn,” he sighs. “I was keeping a solid B in that class.”
“You can recover if you ace the midterm,” I say and then realize how lobotomy that sounds. He won’t be taking the midterm either, not unless Beacon rescues him.
“Sorry,” I say shortly.
Adan is quiet for a moment, then his green eyes find mine. “You haven’t told them who I am,” he says. “My true identity. If The Professor knew, he would’ve already used it against me.”
I move to cross my arms, but my shoulder throbs angrily. “You know my identity too. It’d be mutually assured destruction.”
Adan shakes his head. “Your identity isn’t worth a handful of dollars. Yeah, you’d lose this gig if I gave you up, but you could sell my name to The Professor, to any vil for a fortune. But you haven’t.”
He’s right. Shine is one of the biggest Personas in town. Tween girls across the world practice kissing his hologram every night. Unmasking him would be a rating bonanza to any vil in town, and it would also end his career. Once his face was known, he wouldn’t survive a single hour without every vil and two-bit wannabe striver combing through his personal Stream and running him out of town while likely beating him to a bloody pulp in the process.
All my money woes could be answered with a whispered name, but it would also mean ruining Adan’s life. I’ve battled with myself every day, but I just can’t do it. Adan may be arrogant and as annoying as a holo-ad at the bottom of your soup bowl, but there’s also something good inside of him. I’ve seen glimmers of it. Sometimes he can almost seem heroic.
“Are you sure there are no other cams in here? You aren’t recording on your Band?” Adan asks suddenly.
“No, I swear.” I don’t know how much my word means to him, but it must be enough because he nods his head. He’s quiet a moment and then nods again as if making a decision.
“I’ll give you the info you want,” he says and bites his lower lip. “But I need you to do me a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” I push myself to my feet as my pulse quickens. Adan seems nervous. His shoulders are tight beneath his suit. I wish I could see his face under his mask.
“It’s, um, personal. Alice, this has to be an agreement just between you and me.” His eyes are pleading now. “You can’t tell The Professor or any of your henchmen buddies or anyone.”
I don’t like the sound of this one bit. It’s got trap written all over it and then underlined several times for good measure.
“Tell me what it is,” I say.
Adan looks at me. The silence is long. Tense. And then, softly he begins to speak. When he finishes explaining his request, he glances
away. I wonder if he’s blushing beneath his mask.
“Yes,” I hear myself say. “I’ll do it.” Such a small, ridiculous favor for such valuable info. “Now, spill.”
He takes a deep breath, and I lean forward as a thousand needles tumble down my spine.
“I wasn’t trying to spin off from Beacon because she’s going to retire me,” Adan says. “I need to spin off because the City Council is trying to swipe her show.”
Chapter 5
Gorgon, they say your heart is stone, but I see the truth. ~ Rip Cord, S1 E13
~
I pound on the door to Leo’s apartment. If he were a normal person, I could just ping him through his Band. But Leo is not a normal person. He actually paid serious currency to make his Stream private, which means I have to knock on his door like we’re all living in the 20th century.
Eventually, the door swishes open. When I see Leo’s scruffy jaw and mussed hair, I remember how late it is… or early, to be exact. Leo blinks at me, but the sleep is already vanishing from his eyes as if he’s used to snapping awake on a moment’s notice.
“What is it?” His voice is calm, but I hear the underlying tension, the readiness for the sudden crash of an emergency.
I storm into his apartment. Leo backs up, not exactly inviting me in, but wisely moving out of the way. The place is utterly ridic. The man doesn’t even own a kitchen table or a couch. Things like a coffee table, side tables, and lamps are obvi out of the question. The only decoration in the room is a single photo on the wall–not even a holographic photo or vid in a frame. It’s a static image and not a very good one at that. In the blurry shot, two brown-skinned children wearing robes look beseechingly into the cam.
