How to Defeat a Hero

by J Bennett

“Sold,” the auctioneer hollers, “to number 142.”

  In one quick motion, I set the small triangular object onto the stage and give it a little push. The Pod slides a few centimeters onto the stage, near the auctioneer’s foot. He doesn’t notice.

  “What was that?” an older woman asks just behind me.

  “What was what?” another voice chirps.

  “Now,” I croak and then whirl into the crowd.

  The Pod brightens to life, shooting a wide, flat holo-screen from its tip. And there’s The Professor’s face, filling the screen, the crazy silver hair, the cracked goggles, the glowing bowtie pulsating at his neck.

  The crowd gasps.

  “Greetings,” his voice booms over the speaker system. “My, you all look so fine tonight.”

  Inwardly, I sigh. Gold successfully patched into the room’s speaker system. Mermaid predicted the room wouldn’t be guarded. She must have been right. Lucky again, I think, but for how long?

  “Please, stay calm,” The Professor says. “There is no need for anyone to get hurt. I am simply here to acquire The Queen Consort’s Ring. That luscious ruby is a necessary component in a rather exciting invention I am currently constructing.”

  At this point, Gold jumps on stage. His golden lab coat glints in the overhead lights, and his goggles give him a strange, not-quite-human look. He holds a stun laser in each hand. Two cam drones buzz next to him like dogs on floating leashes.

  “Where’s the ring?” Gold growls at the shocked auctioneer.

  The tall, lanky man seems about ready to swallow his tongue. “… what?” he stammers dumbly and looks out at the stunned audience as if they could help him.

  The crowd is mostly silent, aghast, though I hear a soft murmur, and far in the back a man laughs. A woman next to me presses her empty champagne flute into her ample breasts. For a moment I enjoy their shock, all these Captains and richies so soft and protected in their big, beautiful buildings. Now they’ll know what it’s like to be dragged into the low, ratings-obsessed world they’ve always controlled behind the scenes.

  “While I have your attention,” The Professor continues, “might I add my personal endorsement to this worthy cause. I agree that our young people are far too focused on the fantasy worlds hidden inside a pair of Goggs. Personally, I believe we should engage them more in the hard sciences. Perhaps then, this critical field of study would get the respect it deserves…”

  As The Professor drones on, the crowd begins to break down. Some continue to watch in confusion, while others stream quickly toward the exits. An undercover security guard in a wispy white dress approaches the stage, pulling a laz pistol from her purse. A shot fires from the crowd followed by screams, and the woman in the white dress topples to the ground like a rock.

  I glance over my shoulder. Mermaid stands in the back corner of the room, gun already panning for more threats. She’s positioned perfectly to protect Gold from any encroaching security guards… well, at least from human guards. As if on cue, a team of at least 20 Valkyrie security robos roll through the back door and begin fanning out as they move toward the stage.

  “The ring!” Gold cries and grabs the auctioneer by the lapels of his yellow suit. A spark of annoyance flashes through me. Gold is still glamming for the cams, even now. Mermaid shoots three times in quick succession and three human guards on both sides of the stage go down. She dashes through the crowd to take up a new position as several Valkyries turn and begin scanning the crowd.

  “Place your weapons on the ground and put your hands up in the air,” the rest of the Valkyries call as one. “This is your only warning.”

  In answer, Gold grins, aims his laz pistol, and shoots at the robo closest to the stage. The laser discharge absorbs harmlessly into the robo’s breastplate. In unison, the robos raise their laz ports and unleash a volley of shots at the stage.

  Chapter 15

  No point in looking backward. Look at my future, and you’ll see some amazing things. Guaranteed. ~ Gold, Interview with J Bennett

  ~

  Panic. Sheer panic all around me as the crowd begins to stampede. The warning laz shots from the robos sail cleanly over our heads, but men, women, and non-binaries scream in horror as they shove toward the main exit. One woman slips, and the crush of people half drag her along. Another man, crystalized Goggs dangling from one ear, tries to move against the crowd and is quickly swallowed up.

  I duck my head and use my elbows to shove my way toward the wall. A nonbinary huddles nearby, hands over zir head, trembling. I glance toward the stage. Gold holds the auctioneer in front of him as a shield. The Valkyries pause their volley to recalibrate. I know from the extensive research Mermaid pulled on all the Valkyrie models that the robos are programmed to minimize risk to innocent bystanders as much as possible. But they will stun hostages if they determine that’s the only way to get to the threat.

  Gold only grabbed himself a short reprieve, and not much of one at that. The human security guards are not as cautious as the robos. One shoots at the stage, hitting the delicate tree. It tips over as its multi-colored leaves curl into brown husks. Mermaid shoots that guard and then another one elbowing toward the stage. She dives under a banquet table to escape return fire from a Valkyrie to her left.

  “Kitty, now!” I holler.

  She gives me a happy salute from the service entrance, and her eyes pulse as she sends out the command. On the floor, the small flare pods I scattered around the ballroom like cookie crumbs brighten to life. Their lids pop off and they each catapult a charge into the air. Many in the crowd pause and watch the streaks of light arch up elegantly like strands of twinkling pearls.

  These types of light charges are mostly used on the Fourth of July and are meant to climb high into the sky. Instead, they hit the ceiling of the library and burst, each exploding into hundreds of individual glowing orbs. Contained within the ballroom, the brightness is eye-searingly intense. I’m already digging into my bag. My fingers land on the specially tinted goggles Sequoia printed for me. I tear the horrid curtain of beads off my head and shove the glasses on my face. The room immediately comes into focus.

  The crowd becomes even more unstable. Now they lurch drunkenly in various directions, tears streaming from their closed eyes. They trip over the service robos, bump against the Valkyries, and slam into walls. I see the little round man who earlier shook the mayor’s hand with such glee barrel into Sequoia, almost knocking my friend over. Cries fill the air mixing with a symphony of crashing champagne flutes.

  One sound, however, stops.

  The Valkyries cease their forward progression toward the stage. All the new, man-made stars drifting down across the room confuse their sensors, making it impossible for them to safely distinguish the threats from the civilians.

  I say a little prayer of thanks to Buddha. Talos’s latest and greatest Valkyrie model, the V-44, is impervious to light-based attacks, a known weakness in their earlier models. If that first Valkyrie I met at the back door had been a V-44, we would have had to call off the heist. Fortunately for us, the V-44s cost major Loons even just to rent for a night. We’d bet everything on the hunch that the security contractor for this little soiree would choose an earlier, cheaper Valkyrie model that still contained the flaws. After all, who would use an intense light attack indoors?

  “Run! Run for your lives!” Kitty screams, rushing from the service door, her tail swishing in agitation. She makes a decent show of lurching around, upping the general chaos even more as she begins deliberately knocking into the Valkyries, shoving them over, turning them around, and smearing caviar on their cam ports. It won’t really slow them down much when our light attack is over, but any little distraction helps.

  The strobing light beads gently drift from the ceiling. They won’t last long, and as soon as enough of them blink out the Valkyries will resume their shooting. It’s time to close our trap. I press a hand against the wall and gaze through the chaos.

  “I don’t see him,�
�� Sequoia calls in my earpiece.

  “Neither do I,” Gold says from the stage. He still has a tight grip on the now-weeping auctioneer.

  “Got ‘em!” I cry. Not 15 meters away, I see the mayor’s human security team surrounding him like a shell. They shuffle slowly against the crowd, moving toward me.

  “They’re going for the door at the western wall,” I say.

  “On my way,” Sequoia says.

  “I’ll start picking ‘em off,” I tell him and pull my laz pistol from my bag. No lasso this night, thank you, Buddha! Just as I raise the weap, a woman in a shining sequin dress stumbles past me, makeup-stained tears pouring down her cheeks in dark rivulets. She limps, the precariously tall heel broken on her left shoe. Her pink hair, done up in a single large bun dotted with numerous bows, sags on one side of her head.

  It’s Tatianna Wentworth, President of the Big Little City Council. I had no idea she was even here.

  Tatianna Wentworth is not scared. She doesn’t scream or run or panic like the others. She is pissed. She staggers, hollering curses, shoving bodies out of her way. I watch delightedly as she storms right into a wall and falls on her ass. I consider giving her a laz stun for good measure, but we’ll need to negotiate our new show run with her if we pull off this crazy thing.

  Reluctantly, I drag my eyes away from her and resettle my attention on the mayor’s security team. They’re getting closer to the door. I raise my pistol, sight, and shoot the security guard closest to me. The shot knocks him on his back, but he sits up. As he struggles to his feet, I hit him again.

  “Jackets on the mayor’s security detail have some kind of shielding,” I say. “Up the power.”

  “Check,” Sequoia responds as I tap a pad on the side of my gun, setting it to maximum stun.

  I shoot again. Another guard goes down and she stays down. One of the guards shoots in my direction but I’ve already moved, using a few straggling guests as cover. More shots come my way, but they’re far off the mark. The security team can’t see anything in the glaring lights. Just in front of me, a handsome man in a maroon tux dashes into a service robo and spills to the ground.

  I step over him and squeeze off a couple more shots. My hands shake. The guard team is moving faster. Two of my shots miss, but the third tags another guard. Only three guards left. The team lurches, changing tactics. Now they’re moving back toward the crowd, probably going for a secondary escape route.

  “I’m in place,” Sequoia says in my ear.

  The room is growing darker beneath my tinted glasses. The flares are beginning to die. We’re running out of time. I squeeze off another salvo of shots. This time, I get lucky. Two guards go down.

  “One left,” I say triumphantly. It’s working. Our plan is actually working. We’re going to pull this off. I can see Ash Anders now. His face is drawn but set. The remaining security guard grabs him and shoves him behind her body as she moves him as quickly as possible away from my vicinity.

  Just behind the mayor, I see Sequoia, his own tinted goggles in place, waiting. The trap is closing. Sequoia is our final surprise. No one will see him coming. All he has to do is grab the mayor and hustle him out the door.

  “I got her,” I say as I aim at the final security guard.

  Then I hear a laser gun discharge behind me.

  Could the Valkyries be coming back online? Impossible. It’s too soon. There are still enough light beads in the air to keep them quiet.

  I swivel around. A good portion of the crowd has made it out of the room, but fifty or so blinded guests still stagger around in various stages of shock. The Valkyries remain standing in the middle of the room, like intimidating contemporary art. And then I see him. A man in a subdued black tuxedo, hand shielding his eyes, points a wavering pistol at the stage.

  Human security!

  “Arsenic,” I cry.

  “Where’d she—” Gold starts. The guard sprays sloppy laz shots across the stage. One hits the auctioneer. The man goes down, dragging Gold with him. I swing my gun and shoot desperately at the undercover security guard.

  Miss.

  Gold rolls away, jumps to his feet, and sprints toward the side of the stage where he can slip into the backstage area. The security guard is still firing, his shots splattering across the stage like raindrops. Gold is two steps away from the end of the stage.

  Almost there. Almost there.

  A shot hits him square in the back and he crashes forward like a virus wiped his programming in an instant.

  “No!” I screech.

  The security guard leaps on stage, gun in hand. He takes one confident step toward Gold and then goes tumbling down. I look over my shoulder. Sequoia is just behind me, gun raised, mouth set in a grim line.

  “I missed,” I whisper as shock sends cold streams down my bones.

  “Where’s Arsenic?” Sequoia says. I note that he’s got a glob of caviar smeared across his pristine shirt. Somehow this is unbearably funny, except all I want to do is cry.

  “Here. I’m here.” Mermaid’s voice is a croak. I wonder in a faraway, hollow place if she’s been injured too. But no. As I glance around, I find her, that simple blue lab coat so different from the frills and bows on the few remaining people in the room. She stands near the back of the room, right next to the exit Ash Anders and his security guard were going for.

  Ash Anders! The thought of the mayor is like a deluge of ice water, snapping me back into the present, focusing my thoughts with sharp, urgent clarity. He was going for the door Mermaid now stands near. I look around, but I don’t see him. He couldn’t have gotten past Mermaid. Did they see her and swerve away?

  It doesn’t matter, I realize as the reality of the situation crashes onto me. Ash Anders is gone and so are our hopes for completing this heist. Our flares are dimming enough for people to grope toward the exits, and the room is emptying out. In another min, the Valkyries will boot back up and our laz pistols won’t be able to put them down.

  “What’s going on? Update,” The Professor says in my ear.

  “Is he dead?” Sequoia asks softly as he gazes at Gold’s unmoving body on the stage.

  I look to Mermaid. She always knows what to do. Except she’s silent. Her gun shakes in her hand. During all our preparation, all our practice scenarios in the virtual simulation, she was always clear on what we needed to do if one of us was compromised.

  “Leave them,” she’d said. “If anyone is injured or killed, they become a liability and we can’t afford that. Focus on the mission. Our only hope of escape is the mayor.”

  That was Mermaid’s philosophy, but Mermaid isn’t offering any opinions now. Did that security guard have his weapon set to stun or kill?

  Doesn’t matter.

  “Nitrogen, get Gold,” I command. “We missed the Ruby. Let’s tail it.”

  “Who’s dead?” The Professor barks.

  No one answers him. Sequoia rushes across the ballroom, shoving past the silent Valkyries. Mermaid is moving too, making for her designated exit. She seems slow, her normally fluid gait stilted and unsure. When Sequoia makes it to the stage, Mermaid pauses. So do I. Together, we watch as Sequoia scoops up Gold as if the smaller henchman weighed nothing. Even from here I can see how loose Gold’s body is, how his head lolls over Sequoia’s arm.

  No time. Can’t think about that now.

  “Get to your exits,” I growl. In case the heist went south, we each have our own escape route to lower the chances we’ll all be caught. Kitty is a blur of pink, rushing through a back door. Mermaid jerks into motion, moving to the service hallway. I barrel toward a small door near the stage that leads to an old staircase.

  Just as I yank open the door, I hear a rising hum. The Valkyries are waking. One fires a laser. Then another. I tear the tinted goggles from my face and kick my shoes off my feet before plunging down the stairs into the belly of the library.

  We failed but I’m more worried about Gold. Is he dead or just unconscious? This was all my idea, I thin
k. I’m the one who wanted to go big. Be bold.

  All for a paycheck.

  What have I become?

  I stumble off the last stair into the basement. For some reason the lights are on, revealing shelves filled with neat rows of metal boxes.

  I hear the shuffle of footsteps. They seem close.

  “At the car!” Sequoia’s huffing voice explodes through my earbud, and I start, almost banging into the shelf. I tap my comm off and strain to listen. More hurried footsteps. Someone is definitely down here with me.

  “Where is the damn exit?” someone whispers nearby.

  “It’s okay, Quinla,” a calm voice answers. “The security robos will keep them contained. They were only after the ring, anyway.”

  I recognize that voice. I’ve been listening to it as part of my research for the last three days. I gulp in a deep breath and dash past two shelves, throwing myself up against the third. I hear them, moving cautiously just on the other side. I don’t have time to think, only to react.

  In one smooth movement, I twist around the shelf, laz pistol ready, and squeeze off a single shot. The security guard croaks and drops heavily to the floor. Her laz pistol slides beneath the shelf and she doesn’t move.

  I point my gun at Ash Anders. Our eyes meet. His gaze is steady, intense.

  “Mr. Mayor, I’d like to formally invite you to an exclusive tour of my boss’s lab,” I say and force a smile on my lips. Behind me, I hear the soft, steady buzz of Leo’s cam drone, recording what will surely become one of the most iconic moments of semi-reality history.

  Chapter 16

  PAGS provides a vital service to this country and to this world. Everyone deserves an escape now and then. ~ President Sage Anders, Interview with National Public Radio

  ~

  Ash Anders stares at me for one long second. I wonder if he’ll scream or beg or try to run. Ash Anders does none of these things. Instead, with a surprising flash of speed, he drops down and scrambles for something at his ankle. I see the glint of plastic–a small pistol tucked in a holster against his leg.