How to Save the World

by Tam MacNeil

  She shrugs. “You think you’re up to it?”

  “Yeah. I’m ready to get out of the sun.”

  The bike cop nods again and Mad gives Rak a hand up and lets him lean on her till they get off the sand and onto stable earth.

  "Ok?" she asks.

  "Yeah. Really hungry though."

  They stop at Chai’s on the way because he’s always hungry after doing magic, and he’s starving now. The air is smoke and fish-sauce tinged, heavy with grease and humid and fragrant. The hood fans over the woks are roaring, and the pumping bass of the music is louder than even that. It’s a small place with three tiny tables, a till, a huge, long kitchen, a cooler for drinks, and a TV mounted on the wall. He’s never been so glad to slump into a chair and wait for his order.

  He must look like hell because Chai tells him to put his wallet away and actually comes around the corner to bring them out a couple beers. Mad says thanks for both of them and they sit at the little metal-and-plastic table in the corner, and drink and eat in silence.

  Rak feels like it’s exam season and he’s been cramming all night. He feels like he hasn’t had enough sleep in days. His head is so full of the beach and the night and the creature that stood silent and watching that he can’t even make small talk. He eats his curry and drinks his beer and Chai comes over and squeezes his shoulders and says, “You’re working too hard, man,” in Thai.

  “Vacation coming up soon,” he says and Chai slaps his shoulders and nods and heads back into the kitchen.

  He looks at Mad. She’s cleared her plate and she’s sitting, nursing her beer on the curve of her belly and watching the TV. When she realizes he’s looking at her, she raises an eyebrow at him. “Marshal Campbell’s left SysCorp,” she says, and she nods up at the TV where the news anchor is talking about how news of the departure caused share prices to fall and showing footage of Cameron, tight lipped and shaking his head at the cameras. “You think he’s defecting to Annex?”

  He shakes his head. “Fuck that,” he says. “He comes over, I quit.”

  Sean’s been out all day, but he comes back in the evening, when the sun’s getting low but it’s not gone yet, and Alex hears him passing through the apartment, hears the click and sigh of the balcony door coming open. He’s lying on the bed, where he retreated after the doctor left. He feels exhausted and numb and when Sean comes into the room he doesn’t even lift his head. Just lies there, and feels the bed dip under Sean’s weight as he lies down beside him.

  Sean doesn’t say anything and neither does Alex. They just lie there together for a while, and listen to the traffic. Eventually, Alex turns over, looks at Sean.

  “I guess I shoulda made dinner,” he says, “since I’m the housewife.”

  Sean snorts. “I don’t feel like instant noodles.”

  “Hey. Sometimes I make other stuff.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes you make canned soup.”

  “If asshole wants a four-course dinner, asshole better make it,” Alex says. Sean grins at him, squirms over and kisses him.

  “You sound better,” he says. Alex sighs.

  “Yeah. I guess.” He wants to say I fucked up but the doctor said he should try to stop saying that so much, so he says, “I’m tired,” instead. “That doctor Simone made me see? He was here for like an hour.”

  Sean trails his fingers in Alex’s hair. It’s nice, just being like that.

  “Yeah?” Sean asks.

  “I’m tired,” he says. He wants to say he’s sorry, but that’s something else the doctor said when you can, try replacing ‘I’m sorry’ with some information about how you feel. So he’s trying that out. And anyway it’s true. He’s exhausted. “I’m tired and I…” he changes the word. “I shouldn’t have said those things I said the other day.” I’m sorry.

  “Hey,” Sean props himself up on his elbow and looks down at him. “You’re upset, I get it.”

  I’m sorry. “I don’t want you to be angry at me.”

  “I’m not.”

  I’m sorry. “I don’t mean to be such a screw up, baby. I want to stay.”

  “Jesus, Alex,” Sean whispers. He drags him in close and nuzzles him. Alex sags against him, so grateful and so glad. “Of course you’re staying. Jesus.”

  “Ok.” The thing knotted in his chest is coming undone a little. “Ok, good.”

  “Did that doctor give you some drugs or something? I’ve never heard you talk like this.”

  He laughs a tiny laugh. “I’m trying this thing he said to do.”

  “Is it helping?”

  He breathes in and breathes out. He’s tired, yes, but he doesn’t feel like he’s being pulled apart any more. “Yeah, I guess. Yeah.”

  Sean’s mouth on his neck. That’s nice. Alex hmmms with pleasure.

  “Keep doing it, ok? Whatever it is.” That mouth on his now, warm and soft and Jesus how he’s missed it. Sean’s hands sliding over him, sliding under clothes to get to skin. He’s missed it. “If it helps. I want you to be better. I want you to be happy.”

  “I know,” he says. He pushes back against Sean, wants to be closer. He realizes as he does that Sean’s hard, and that it’s been a long time and Alex doesn’t even know if he works like that any more.

  “I… I wanna make you happy.” Sean’s mouth breathing into his mouth.

  “You do.”

  “No, babe, I mean, like this. I wanna…” his mouth again, and his hands, reaching down to Alex’s fly. “Is that ok, babe?”

  For an answer, squirms and pulls his shirt up, and then off, and Sean sighs and press his mouth to the scars and the mismatched skin like it doesn’t matter, like they’re just places he ought to put his mouth, not marks from some nightmare life. Sean gets to his knees, swings a leg over to straddle him, and starts working at his belt. His face is flushed and his eyes blown. It’s making Alex warm, just looking at him, and the touch of his mouth is ratcheting up the tension that he didn’t realize was settled in his belly. But he’s not hard, and he doesn’t want Sean to know, so he draws him back up for a kiss.

  “I don’t know if I can,” he whispers. “I want to. I want to.” I’m sorry. “Don’t stop, ok? I dunno why I can’t do it.”

  “It’s ok,” Sean says again, a little smile on his lips. “You’re just out of practice. I remember what you like.” He finishes with the belt and the fly and pulls Alex’s pants down over his hips and lowers himself, head resting on Alex’s thigh. Alex can hardly breathe. Contact with Sean’s mouth is like a shock, and then warm and wonderful and he can’t remember the last time anything felt so good.

  Sean's missed this. Missed it a lot. Was never the shy and celibate type, and he's pretty glad to be back doing the things that make him happy. Seems to be making Alex happy too, at last.

  Alex looks at him like he’s made of glass, like he’s afraid to break him. He doesn’t touch Sean, hardly moves at all. Instead he threads his hands through his own hair and lets his head roll against the bed. He groans, his hips roll. Sean stops looking at him, gets to work. He can feel Alex suddenly tightening up, hear his breathing change.

  “No, Sean, stop, stop,” Alex says suddenly, voice ragged. Sean pulls away, he looks up and Alex is looking back down at him. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”

  He smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s the point, babe.”

  “No.” His pale eyebrows are scrunched up above his nose. “Not like that.”

  “Ok,” he says. “Maybe we can try something else. Did you like it, though?”

  Alex shivers out a sigh. “Yeah,” he says softly. He hangs his arms around Sean’s neck and gives him a crooked smile. “Yeah, you’re good to me.”

  He grins. “I’m in love with you, jackass.”

  Alex sighs, presses his mouth to Sean’s. “You wanna… you wanna go for it?” he asks.

  It’s been a long time and they were never really what you’d call tender with each other. They started fucking because they’d been fooling around and it fe
lt good, and it’s just how things went. Everything else just kind of happened. It was never really a deliberate thing. It was never a delicate thing. Not like this, like now. Sean doesn’t want to ruin it.

  “You sure?”

  But Alex is looking at him, face a little flushed, mouth red and parted. “Yeah,” he says.

  "Ok, hang on." He's got a condom in his wallet, and there's nothing for lube except the two of them so he takes his fucking time. At some point Alex raises his head to look at him, eyes blown, face red, mouth so red, panting.

  "You gonna do this or what?"

  Sean grins.

  “I missed you,” Alex says, mouth seeking his, words all jumbled, “I missed you so fuckin bad, Sean. Come on, come on.”

  It’s good, it’s so good, it’s the best thing he can remember and Alex under him, sighing, groaning, and then coming with Sean’s name on his lips, and his shuddering drags Sean on down too fast, both of them done too soon, both they’re drowning together, clinging to one another as they do.

  “You ok?” he whispers as soon as he can. “Alex, babe, you ok?”

  Alex makes a little noise, a soft noise, a sweet noise. Sean slides away from him, to look down, to see.

  “Don’t go,” Alex whispers, catching his arms. He lies back down, body stretched the length of Alex. “I wanna stay like this.”

  Oh god, Sean thinks, mouth pressed against Alex’s thrumming neck, me too.

  Twenty Three

  It is easier now, and he and Sean burrow under covers together. Sometimes Alex sleeps, sometimes he doesn’t, but most nights he gets a few hours of sleep and knows where he is when he wakes up, which is something because it didn’t used to be that way, not all the time.

  He likes lying here even on those sleepless nights. Sean huffs out placid breaths and the light seeping in from the city below goes slowly pivoting in the room. He’d rather lie here with Sean at his back than prowl the hallways anymore.

  This morning, the sun puddles on the floor. Outside the seagulls are freaking out over something, and their shadows pass flickering through the light. Traffic goes rumbling along, and the apartment hums its steady mechanical hum. He slips out of bed, thinking about coffee and about a shower and still muzzy with sleep and safety, and he doesn’t know she’s behind him till the silenced barrel of a .22 pushes up against the side of his head.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” Chen whispers.

  He knows better than to make a noise; Sean is in the bedroom still asleep and he mustn’t wake him. If Sean wakes up, Chen will kill or maim him. He has to move quietly.

  “Where?” he asks.

  “Living room. I brought a friend.” She pushes him into the main room of the apartment.

  The doctor is there, the one with the brown hair, from the mech program, leaning against the back of the couch. Dr. Sunil. She is holding a syringe in her fingers.

  “Pilot,” Dr. Sunil says softly. “Come here.”

  Chen pushes him and he goes. He’s shivering, shivering like it’s not August, like he didn’t just come from the warmth of Sean’s bed. Like he’s been dreaming this whole time and he’s really in the Tank where it’s cool and damp, and now it’s time for him to get into the mech again.

  Dr. Sunil takes his arm and turns it over. She frowns at what she sees. “You’re kidding,” she whispers. “All that work. Fucking Okembe.”

  The ports are gone. She puts the needle in his arm, then takes the mask from Chen and puts it over his face. The smell of plastic, metal, sweat fills up his nostrils and then his mouth. She buckles the comms and it’s been so long that the plate tears his mouth at the corners. He’s not shaking so bad any more. He doesn’t care so much any more. Sean’s probably still sleep in the sunlight. Still warm and dreaming. He closes his eyes.

  “Good,” she says and he looks at her again. She’s smiling at him. “You like that, don’t you?”

  No. He can’t speak with the comms mask on, but he thinks it, and that alone is a kind of power.

  But it’s becoming hard to think, to care about things. And he’s confused. He doesn’t like this veil that’s falling. He doesn’t like being tired and confused. He can’t understand why, if these last few weeks were some kind of hallucination or a fever dream, why does the apartment still seem to be here? Why does the air smells like exhaust and coffee and his clothes smell like Sean and laundry soap? Everything should stink of diesel and sea water. There should be scaffolding and lights and yellow paint on the floor. Grates and drains.

  He looks at Dr. Suinil and even though he can’t speak, she must understand he wants to communicate with her. “Does that make you feel better? I make it myself you know. Did you miss it?”

  She’s right, and Chen’s right, the feeling in his head is right, and the comms mask is right, but the apartment is wrong. He must be losing it. He wonders how much a human brain can take. He’s seen crazy on the street, and he wonders if that’s what’s next for him. He waits, hoping that something will resolve itself, hoping that something will start making sense.

  Dr. Sunil looks at Chen and she nods. Chen moves toward the bedroom on silent feet. Through then haze in his brain, Alex realizes she’s going to kill him, that it never mattered that he went quietly, that even if he gives up all that he is, it won’t be enough protect Sean. It’s not a deal, and it’s not up to him.

  “Good boy,” Dr. Sunil says again. She strokes Alex’s cheek where the mask bites in. She’s pulled another syringe from the pocket of her coat. “You want another? Make it all go away?”

  No. He moves, rising, driving his shoulder into the Sunil’s belly, sending her back into the couch with a startled whuff. She uses her momentum before Alex can follow her down and raises her foot, kicks Alex in the face, sends him reeling away. He’s aware of shouting, of crashing, of furniture cracking. Somebody else is doing damage in the room. Sean is doing damage.

  The doctor’s mouth is screwed up in a snarl, she’s reaching for her gun but she’s never going to draw it. They trained Alex to move against the inertia of the cage, the weight of metal. He can run that mech manual, shoving with sinew made strong with wire filaments and bones of bioplastics, and he is every bit the killing machine they wanted him to be.

  Before she can get to her feet he kicks her legs out from under her again. She falls, head bouncing on the polished concrete floor, the gun she was drawing goes spinning away. It’s the work of a moment to grab her shoulders and smash her head down on the floor. Her eyes meet his and Alex wants to tell her what he’s going to do, he wants her to understand why, but the mask stifles him and he can’t speak. He smashes her head down again, harder this time, and again, until the timbre of the noise it makes changes, and she’s not clutching onto his arms any more. Then he looks up.

  Sean is out of bed, he’s got a red stain around the side of his mouth, and blood is running down his forearm. He’s got Chen face down on the ground in an arm-bar but she’s still got the pistol in her hand, and he’s yelling, yelling for help, and somewhere, tinny and distant someone is shouting through the speaker of a phone, We’re coming!

  Chen kicks, the two of them roll. Tangled arms and legs. The clatter of the gun on concrete. Then there are more people in the apartment. A flash of blue hair and familiarity so startling he reels back from it. Mad. He remembers her from the shinigami fight, from the SUV, from the mech, when they pulled him out. Even with his head like this, he knows that she’s an ally.

  With her there’s a snub-nosed man frowning at him, wary-eyed, holding a .22 in his hands like a man who knows what to do with a gun. But Alex doesn’t care about that. He wants the mask off.

  He claws at it, but his hands are useless and he can’t think any more, and it’s too tight to pull off over his head and it’s the only thing he cares about now. It’s a pilot’s mask and he won’t take orders, no one’s orders, and not going to the Tank again. He’s human, they can’t use him like this, not any more, not any fucking more. He claws at the mask. The snub-nosed
man moves toward him, gun half-lowered, one hand out. Alex snarls through the vents.

  “Ok, point made,” the man says, then he calls, “Sean?”

  Alex is ready to smash his own head against the concrete, ready to break the bones into a shape that will shed the mask but a hand on his shoulder makes him start, spin, fist raised, but Sean catches the blow. “I’ve got it, here, here,” Sean’s hands on his face. He freezes, oh fuck how he hates this. But it’s Sean and he trusts Sean. “Here,” Sean is whispering, fingers fumbling behind Alex’s head. “Here, I’ve got it. Just hold on. Just another sec. Here.”

  The pressure eases. The mask peels off and the plate comes out. He can breathe again, he can speak. He sags against Sean and leaves a bloody smear on his shirt.

  “You fucked your face up,” Sean whispers.

  “It’s fine, don’t care.” He rests his head on Sean’s shoulder. “Thought you were dead. Where’s Chen?”

  “Done.”

  Good. Good. Sean’s arms around him, one of them bloody.

  “Get that arm looked at.”

  “Yeah, later.” Sean looks over his shoulder. “You ok guys? Rak?”

  Mad is already gone, but the man, Rak, the wizard, the one who’s supposed to be helping him, he comes into the room a little bit.

  “Yeah, we’re fine.” Rak says. “What the hell happened?”

  Somewhere sirens start up and a monotone voice says Breech, level one, laboratory and hospital, all emergency response personnel to level one laboratory and hospital. Rak’s head comes up. He looks like he’s going to faint.

  “Shit,” Sean says, turning, rising, moving toward Rak. “Simone!”

  That’s when the explosion happens.

  The force of the explosion blows Alex onto his back, robs the air from his lungs and then the ferocious heat rolls over him like a wave and they get singed too. Dust obscures everything. All he can hear is the high-pitched whine of blown-out ears and feel the hail of debris. He rolls under the shelter of the partially-standing counter and physically checks his limbs and his guts and his head. No blood in quantity, none of the bones move wrong, he functions just fine. The air’s coming back into the room, he can breathe again, the dust coating his mouth, choking his lungs. There is a heap of rubble where the door was.