by J Bennett
I blink and realize that we’re almost to Iconic Square. The Professor sits beside me staring broodingly out the window. I wonder what he’s thinking. He believes this is his last mission, that he’ll end the night in disgrace. All his work to revive his show, to become relevant once again is set to be snatched away by some younger, more popular cape.
What a bitter pill. Good thing Tatianna Wentworth isn’t getting what she wants. Not today, bitch.
Our car turns toward the bank… and then drives past it. The Professor is so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice for a moment. Then his head jerks up and swivels.
“We missed it,” he says.
The car turns down an alleyway, its headlights shining on Mermaid’s sleek, black car.
I take a deep breath. “No, Professor, we didn’t.”
*
The drive to Chicago takes a little over three hours, with one pit stop sheepishly requested by Sequoia. At roughly two hours and 50 minutes, The Professor is still not on board with our plan.
During the first hour, the car boomed with his voice raised to its highest angry teacher level as he lectured us on the consequences of committing a crime outside of Biggie LC, as if we weren’t well aware of the risks. The second hour included bitter accusations of mutiny followed by demands that we turn the car around immediately.
We all try to reason with our boss. Gold offers shining promises of the potential glory. Mermaid explains the painstaking preparations we’ve made, all the potentialities we’ve addressed. It’s only as we cross into the city and I see the looming skyscrapers in the distance that I understand what I should have said all along.
I know what The Professor needs to hear.
He sits next to me, chin up, arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed tightly together.
“Tatianna Wentworth is setting you up,” I remind him. “They’re using everything you’ve built, The Professor’s entire history, to deliver a little nostalgia so they can give some up-and-coming cape a little boost for a week.”
He grunts. It’s a soft sound, but I know I have his attention. Bands of light scurry through the car, projected by holo-ads along the road. Everything outside glitters with light and life, but I ignore it all, focusing on the imperious man next to me.
“You’ve fought for seven years for this remake,” I say, “and now they’re trying to cheat you. The City Council wants to swipe your show, make you a laughingstock. They want to grind you into irrelevance.”
The Professor actually flinches at those last words. I’ve thought a lot about a convo we had a few weeks ago. When I’d asked him why he spent so much time trying to claw back a show, especially when he didn’t need the dollars, he’d said, I suppose, my dear, I can’t abide irrelevance.
He fears being cast off the screens, left to fade away into a blur of half-forgotten memories. Gerald, the man behind The Professor, needs the fans and the shades. It’s about being seen, having value. Having a purpose.
“If we heist the bank, it’s all over,” I say. I’m speaking to Gerald now, not The Professor. “The show. All your plans. Your legacy.”
Even as I speak, I’m well aware of the cam drone, perched quietly on the dashboard, its lens focused on me. Leo can’t use anything I’ve said—no breaking the fourth wall and acknowledging we’re a show allowed—so I give him something powerful he can use.
“BLC Bank is no place for The Professor,” I tell my boss. “It’s too small for the greatest villain Big Little City has ever known.”
My heart clobbers in my chest. Sweat sprouts across my upper lip. I just have to find the right words. In the row of seats in front of us, the others are quiet. No one tries to jump in or grab my lens time.
“It’s time to show the world who we are,” I stage whisper to my boss. “It’s time to make a big move no one suspects. This is how we fight back against the system. Think of it as a grand experiment. The risks are huge…”
“But so are the rewards,” The Professor says.
I have him. Mermaid leans around her seat and gives me a nod.
“Very well,” The Professor says quietly. Shadows hide his face, but I see him raise his head, jut out his chin. “Very well,” he repeats, louder. I feel a swell of pride, but I don’t have time to dwell on this victory. We’re nearing our target and Mermaid begins speaking rapidly, filling The Professor in on his role in the proceedings.
We had a backup plan if The Professor refused to cooperate, but it wasn’t pretty. His support will make things much easier, which is to say not quite as impossible as they look now.
While Mermaid lays out the plan, I collapse against my seat and gaze out the window. I try not to let my awe show. Of course, I’ve seen pics and vids of the big cities—Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Atlanta—but I’ve never actually been to one. The streets are huge, filled with humming cars and cargo trucks stopping and turning in beautiful, automated harmony.
Holograms swish to life on the sides of buildings and models reach out from the flat surfaces to beckon customers or show off some new lux item. Overhead, I hear the buzz of personal fliers, and on the sidewalks a few people zoom by on rollers, most with Goggs strapped to their faces. Pop-up food stands dominate nearly every corner, selling old classics, hot dogs, pizza, and gourmet synthetic protein burgers.
Everything is so big. So bright. So busy. No wonder the empty plains of rural Illinois seemed alien to Sequoia. He’s lived his whole life in this rushing, glittering dream.
“Do you have your own flier?” I ask him. His big shoulders spill out from each side of the seat in front of me. He’s been quiet during The Professor’s rants. I wonder what it feels like, returning to the city he turned his back on.
“My dad owns three fliers,” he says. After a short pause, he adds, “My sister and I were allowed to use the oldest one, sometimes.”
“Damn,” Gold whispers. He’s trying not to gawk at everything, but I see his eyes glued to the window. This is obvi his first time in a real city, too.
“What’s it like?” I ask, trying to imagine how it would feel to lift off the ground, to surge through the air and feel the engine and pulsating air jets just behind me while the outstretched wings held me aloft.
Sequoia shrugs. A band of light moves across his face as he turns his head toward me, and I see a soft smile bloom and disappear on his lips. “For me? It was normal.”
Our car turns, and up ahead the grand Chicago City Library looms. The building is intimately familiar to me though I’ve never seen it before this moment. How many times have I walked through its doors and scurried down its hallways in the VR simulation we used to practice this heist?
And yet, here, in real life, it seems so much bigger, so much more beautiful than the VR version. The building is awash in light, a colorful holo-screen announcing the charity auction to fund a teenage VR addiction clinic in the city. I glance down at my Band to check the time and feel a minor shock at the blank screen.
Right, we’d locked down our Bands before leaving the limits of Biggie LC. I’ll eventually need to turn my Band back on, but no sense in geo-tagging myself at the scene of our upcoming very real crime until absolutely necessary. It’s bad enough that Mermaid’s car has already passed hundreds of cams on the way here.
We’ll deal with that when we need to, I remind myself.
Just before we reach the library, Mermaid’s car turns onto a quieter side street and pulls into a drop-off zone in front of a squat building. Most of the lights in the building are dark but a few windows shine bright, showcasing late-night workers.
I crane my neck, wondering at those squares of light and the people sitting behind them. What kind of work are they doing? Most white-collar jobs have been wiped out in successive waves of automation but a few must survive here in the city. “The great accountant extinction,” my Grandma Rosario used to joke.
I shake these thoughts out of my head. Focus, I snap to myself.
The car idles. “Alright, time to suit
up,” Mermaid says.
Sequoia goes first. The rest of us shuffle out of the car and stand in the warm night air while Mermaid’s car shakes with Sequoia’s movements.
“He’d better only be changing in there,” Gold jokes but no one laughs.
A few mins later, Sequoia emerges, now wearing a sleek, dark-blue suit with softly glowing white piping around the color and cuffs. He smiles sheepishly, while Gold whistles and encourages him to do a full turn “for the ladies.”
I’m up. I swing into Mermaid’s car and pull my duffle from under the seat. The next few mins involve me shimmying out of my lab coat, goggles, and underclothes and tugging on a slinky red dress. The dress is tight over my hips and loose in the chest. Made precisely for Lysee’s perfect proportions, the dress struggles to stretch to my dimensions. I doubt my roommate will even notice this dress is missing. I’d found it lying forgotten under a pile of other dresses in the back corner of her closet.
When I’m done strapping the sequined white heels on my feet, I tap on the window. Mermaid opens the door and slides in next to me. At her command, the overhead lights brighten. We’ve spent hours experimenting with my makeup and accessories, and now she moves with precision. Soon, she’s rubbing gobs of tinted creams onto my skin, then patting on powder. Next, the eyeliner pencil comes out, followed by the fake lashes and tinted drops that will turn my hazel irises a soft, baby blue.
Sitting back in the seat, Mermaid gives me a critical look. At least I assume it’s critical. I can’t see her eyes, but her generous pink lips press together tightly.
“You need to be ready for anything,” she says for about the thousandth time.
I swallow. “I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do. We can’t afford any mistakes.” Her voice is sharp, brooking no argument, and I wonder again why Sequoia demanded I play this central part in the plan. Mermaid would be so much better. Even now, I feel like my heart’s about to explode out of my chest and sweat is already puddling under my armpits. Mermaid doesn’t have a single golden hair out of place.
She was made for big, dramatic heists like this. I’m just trying not to crumble to pieces.
“Do you… ever feel afraid?” I ask, the whispered words dropping unbidden from my lips.
She leans in to inspect my face.
“Fear is an indulgence,” she says. Her hand goes into her bag again, and this time she brings out the short blond wig. After gathering my own brown hair into a knot at the base of my neck, she puts the wig on me and adjusts it until the pointed bangs curve down each side of my face.
She straps a wide, flat belt across my hips and then takes the final accessory from her bag. The curtain of beads hums softly as they clink against each other. She lays it across my head, sticking the pins deep into my hair so that it stays on. The beads drip down over my head, tickling the tips of my shoulders, and obscuring my vision.
I hate the veil of beads. Mermaid has made me wear a holographic version of this piece in our practice simulations, and they always get in my way, blocking my vision and causing me to stumble.
“It’s the only way to hide your face,” Mermaid reminds me as if she can sense my dread. This is also a familiar refrain. “Everyone will be taking pics and vids at the event. If you get caught in the background and the Stream’s facial recognition software tags you, then you’re done.”
I nod reluctantly and the beads swing in front of my face, making their music. She’s right, of course, and without all her precautions and the unrelenting practice she put us through, we wouldn’t have a chance.
I move to leave the car, but Mermaid puts her hands on my shoulders to still me. “You look… fine,” she says after a moment. I wonder if she wishes she were in my place. I certainly do.
“Thanks for your help,” I say and give her a smile.
Her hands tighten on my shoulders. “No mistakes,” she says again, this time whispering it under her breath like a mantra.
“No mistakes,” I agree.
Mermaid lets go of my shoulders and opens the door.
“We’re ready,” she says to the others outside.
It feels like just a moment later when Mermaid’s car slides into the receiving line at the library. Sequoia and I now sit side-by-side in the back seat while the others squeeze together up front. The library is just so big, rising like a haughty queen, strings of glittering lights washing over its green roof and brick façade. A proud statue sits at each corner of the roof. I’m not sure what they are, but they look beautiful and old. In Grandma Rosario’s time, this used to be a real library, the kind that offered rows and rows physical books filled with delicate paper pages.
Now it’s gotten some upgrades. The windows alight with holographic images, showing off the many items on auction today. It’s all just so much.
I close my eyes.
On his blog, The Henchman’s Survival Guide, Tickles the Elf shared his own personal mantra that he’d tell himself before each big mission. I whisper it now under my breath, “I can’t control which cape tries to stop me. I can’t control whether I am victorious or defeated. I can only commit to the heist.”
I pull in a long, deep breath and try to force my heart to slow. Now I think of another mantra, freshly learned. Fear is an indulgence. Sitting in the front seat now, even The Professor seems small, cowed by the feat ahead of us. The bright lights flooding into our car find every crag in his face, making him seem impossibly old.
Next to me, Sequoia fidgets. He keeps running a hand through his wavy orange hair. Our car reaches the front of the line. Mermaid turns in her seat and pins Sequoia and me with an intense stare.
“Stick to the plan,” she says.
I nod like a puppet on a string.
“Unless it all goes gutter, then run like hell,” Gold jokes. His smile is just a little too big, his hands busy fussing with the buttons of his lab coat. He, Mermaid, and The Professor all duck down in their seats as a man in a powder blue tuxedo opens my door for me. I honestly can’t tell if he’s a breather or a robo. His face is smooth and serene. Probs a robo. I take his hand, step out of the car, and stumble in my heels.
A perfect start to what will likely be the biggest mistake of my life.
Chapter 13
Running for the presidency is not currently on my agenda. Next question. ~ Mayor Ash Anders, Press Conference
~
As I step out of the car, I can’t help but gape at the large, beautiful library swathed in lights and the equally glam people flowing toward the front door. And then Sequoia is beside me, reassuringly solid and big. Just before our car moves out of the receiving line, a small cam drone detaches from the rear bumper and rises into the night. Its soft hum reminds me that Leo is watching, recording. I try to force my face into a calm expression.
Sequoia hesitates then takes my arm in his. I realize I haven’t moved from the curb and the next car is waiting to disgorge its guests. With a gentle tug, Sequoia pulls me forward. I glance up to give him a grateful smile and am surprised at how handsome he looks in his fancy tux. The piping on his collar glows a soft white and a stag gallops across his holographic pocket square.
I lean against him to help steady my balance. I haven’t worn heels since Lysee dragged me to one of the ear-shattering clubs she favors the first year I lived in Biggie LC. That night had resulted in a twisted ankle, a throbbing headache, and near suffocation on male cologne, so I’d never repeated it.
Steady on, ankles I think to them as we shuffle toward the entrance. My dress is restrictive, a mass of ruffled red with a plunging neckline and petaled sleeves. The beads from my headpiece swing in front of my face, and I focus on looking past them as I squeeze my small purse to my side with my other hand.
“You look… uh…” Sequoia stutters.
“Scared? Pukey? Like I’ve clearly made poor decisions in my life?” I offer.
“Ridic,” he admits. “I like you better as a brunette.”
“I feel like a caterpillar pret
ending to be a butterfly,” I tell him. As we move closer toward the door, the other butterflies surround us. Each person is more radiant, more silly, more desperately trying to grab attention than the one before. A woman swishes past us in a dress made entirely of feathers that shift colors. Even her hair looks like feathers. A man with a square chin and checkered suit strides by, tiny gold chains swaying from the many hoops in his ears. I briefly meet the gaze of a woman with huge eyes–clearly enhanced—with lashes so long I wonder that they don’t tangle with each blink.
“Butterflies are weak,” Sequoia says.
“But caterpillars are slimy.”
He laughs. “Caterpillars aren’t slimy.”
“I guess I haven’t actually seen many caterpillars,” I admit. The insect population collapsed decades ago, and now man-made chems are used to pollinate almost all the indoor industrial farms.
We stop in front of the door. Sequoia’s arm tightens around mine. I feel the heat coming off him, see a sheen of sweat on his brow.
Guess he’s never kidnapped a major political figure before, either, I think. The adrenaline is making me a little punchy.
“I’m nervous,” he whispers to me.
“Same,” I admit.
And then he looks down at me with a soft smile. “I suppose we should go in anyway.”
I swallow. My throat seems to be shrinking. “I suppose.”
I turn on my Band and he does the same. No more sneaking around, at least not for us.
“Ready,” I say, trying to mean it, at least for the sake of the cam recording our entire interaction.
“There’s just one thing,” he murmurs and brings a hand toward me. In the wash of light from the windows, I can see every freckle, every tawny hair on the back of his hand.
What’s he going to do? I think wildly. I watch his hand drift down and gently tap my belt. The flex screen wakes, light pulsating for a moment. Then it shifts into the pre-programmed vid of snow gently falling against a dark sky. Sequoia procured this special piece for me. I can’t imagine how many Loons it cost.
