Heroes - ch10 and epilogue
News Bulletin - as speculation grows about the future of Uncle, and even of the Citadel Guard, the Pleasure Channel will keep you updated throughout the day. Rumours began circulating late last night that a secret dossier, compiled by individuals from both the Citadel and the Slums, is about to be published via the inter-web. The dossier contains details of an investigation into the recent death of Gramard Henton, which contradicts the findings of the official report on a number of points. However, the most startling of the claims in the dossier is that Henton was not in possession of a stolen android…
Wearily, Jewel switched Esthar off, and slipped the pocket-com into her pocket before heading to the canteen. The klaxon indicating that it was lunch time sounded while she was in the corridors on her way to the canteen, and she was almost the first in the queue when she got there. Having received her meal, she went and sat at her usual table and picked at her food, waiting for Rocky to arrive.
She wondered, idly, exactly how she would confront him, what words she could use to demonstrate just how much contempt she had for him. ‘Today is not a day for heroes,’ she reminded herself, smiling an inner smile. Alexandria’s favourite proverb had never seemed so apt.
When Rocky did appear in the canteen doorway, a small spark of her initial attraction to him fluttered in her stomach, but she quickly doused it with the cold water of solid reason. She had been blind, purposefully perhaps, hiding behind loneliness and wishful thinking. As a signal of her intent, she was wearing her most defiantly Slummer-style outfit, red tartan mini-kilt, black boots, ripped fish-nets, and a black tee-shirt with “What?!” emblazoned across it in white.
He sat down next to her, apparently oblivious to her state of mind, and started chattering about something she had not the slightest interest in.
‘I’ve been thinking about you,’ she interrupted, her voice cold enough to freeze molten lava at ten paces.
‘Hey, I’ve been thinking about you, too, babe,’ replied her still unsuspecting ex. “Ex what?” was not a question she was ready to face at this moment.
Ignoring his comment, she continued as if he had not spoken, ‘Your tag, for example. “Rocky” isn’t the sort of tag you hear very often, is it?’
He shrugged, chewing on a mouthful of food. ‘So, I have an unusual name. It’s not against the law, is it?’ he asked.
‘Slummers don’t have names at all,’ Jewel pointed out, leaning back in her chair so that she could gauge his reaction.
Something flickered across his face, too quickly for her to interpret. Perhaps he was mentally kicking himself for the slip, perhaps he was finally working out where this conversation was going. Whatever he was thinking, he made a valiant attempt at recovering his lost ground, she had to give him that much. ‘Must be getting more integrated that I thought!’ he said, attempting a casual laugh. ‘You know the Citadwellers have never managed to get their heads around the difference between names and tags. Good thing I have you around to remind me, eh, babe?’
‘And your tat bothers me, too,’ she said, again paying no attention to his previous comment. ‘Just the infinity symbol; no design at all. The people who used to visit my birth mother from Infinity had all sorts of designs. The infinity symbol as a mask across a face, or a pair of eyes, or footprint. Never just the symbol.’
He had stopped eating, now, and was just looking at her, his face completely unreadable. One hand rubbed the back of the other, and she suddenly grabbed it, pulling down the leather glove he had taken to wearing before he could react.
Both of them stared at the bare skin on the back of his hand that was thus revealed. His tat had, apparently, been rubbed clean off.
Without a word, she stood, knocking her chair over with a crash that drew every eye to her. Leaving her tray and the chair where they were, ignoring the curious stares and Rocky pleading with her to listen, she stalked towards the canteen door. He caught up with her in the corridor outside.
‘Jewel, please…’ he pleaded, grabbing her arm and bringing her to a halt. One murderous glance from her eyes was enough to make quickly him let go again.
‘You have two minutes,’ was her icy response. ‘And it had better be good.’
He drew a shaky breath. ‘Can we at least go somewhere a little more private?’ he asked, as one of the techs from the canteen walked past not even attempting to hide her curiosity.
Shaking her head, she replied, ‘This will do just fine. You have one minute and fifty seconds.’
‘Alright. You’re angry. You have every right to be angry. I completely understand…’ he began.
Her eyes narrowed, just a little. ‘You have absolutely no idea how I feel, and don’t ever presume that you have any right to comment on my feelings. One minute and forty seconds.’
‘I’m sorry. You’re completely right, of course you are. I had no choice. If I hadn’t gone along with Callistan’s plan, I’d have been out of a job. It was nothing personal…’
She interrupted him with a harsh, barking laugh. ‘Nothing personal?! You wormed your way in to my life, in to… me! But it’s OK, because it’s nothing personal?’ Her voice had risen in pitch during this speech, and she stopped simply to avoid it becoming an actual scream. She continued to glare at him, however, and he seemed to interpret the expression correctly. At least, he finally began to look genuinely contrite.
‘OK, just let me go from the beginning,’ he said, his voice laden with guilt. ‘Callistan called me in to her office and told me that my job was on the line. There’s no need to go in to why…’
‘Oh, yes there is!’ she spat. ‘You know all about me. It’s about time I knew the truth about you, isn’t it?’
He hesitated just a little too long, and she gave up, thoroughly exasperated with him. ‘I tell you what, you keep your nasty little secrets! I really couldn’t care less.’ Turning on her heel, she stormed away from him and returned to her own work station.
News Bulletin - in an unprecedented step, a statement was issued today on behalf of Uncle. ‘I can not imagine what “evidence” the compilers of this supposed dossier have concocted against me, but I am certain that there will be no charges laid against me as a result of it. I am actually rather curious to see this document, so that I can present it to my lawyers. They can then deal with the perpetrators of what can only be the grossest libel through the courts. The death of Gramard Henton was, of course, highly regrettable, but it occurred as a direct result of…
Sergeant Shale of the Slum police switched off the holo-player on her desk, and buried her head in her hands. ‘Today is not a day for heroes,’ she thought, her sense of humour piqued by the irony of it all.
‘Umm… Sergeant? Errr…’ Napper’s powers of vocabulary had never been brilliant, she reflected, but the current situation seemed to have robbed him of any way of speaking coherently.
Shale lifted her head and gave him her brightest smile. ‘Let’s go and get a coffee, Constable,’ she said. He nodded dumbly, and followed her obediently across the street to the little café where they had met Spex less than a week ago. Less than a week, and yet it felt like half a lifetime.
Again, she bought the coffees, and brought them back to where Napper was sitting, staring blankly out of the window. This whole investigation appeared to have shaken him in some way that she could not fathom. It was more than the risk to his own job, although that was a serious consideration for him. For both of them She was satisfied, however, that she had done everything she could have done to persuade him not to be involved. His determination to stand by her, and by their “real” investigation, had been so strong, and so touching, that she had not been able to stand against him.
Sitting down, she pushed one of the cups over to him. Without even looking at it, he wrapped his hands around it, seeming to draw some comfort from its warmth.
‘OK, Constable, it’s time for me to get tough with you,’ Sergeant Shale said, in the gentlest voice she could muster.
He continued to stare out of the window as if he had not heard her, but she was aware of a slight aura of attention emanating from him, and decided to push on.
‘Napper, you more than anyone are responsible for the existence of this dossier. You have a lot to be proud of. Without your hard work, it would never have been written.’
He turned towards her, then, and the bleakness in his eyes sent a shiver through her. ‘I know what I did for the investigation, Sergeant. I just had no idea what it was going to do to…’ he paused for a moment, as if searching for just the right word to describe the enormity that he was suddenly aware of. ‘I never knew what it would do to the world,’ he said, finally, his shoulders slumping just a little more than usual.
As well as occasionally wishing that she had a god to pray to, Shale sometimes wished she had a more empathic nature. Angel would have had no problem in throwing a motherly arm around the boy’s shoulders and letting him weep down the front of her shirt. Professional ethics aside, she just was not made like that. Instead, she could do nothing more than gaze back at him, and try to find some appropriate words.
Nothing came to mind.
‘OK, Constable, here’s how I’m looking at it,’ she said at last. ‘First of all, the dossier has not yet been published, and it’s quite possible that it never will be. If it ever is, that’s when we need to start worrying about how to handle the brave new world that might be produced as a result. As for…’
But Napper interrupted with, ‘The world will still be different, even if the dossier is never published. It will be different here,’ and he thumped a fist against his chest. ‘I thought everything ran to a set of rules, and if you knew what the rules were you would be able to cope with anything. But there are no rules - or, at least, there are none that make any kind of sense to me.’
‘I’m so sorry that you had to have your illusions shattered like this,’ Shale told him, sincerely. ‘But in that sense, the world hasn’t changed at all, Constable. That’s how it’s always been. One rule for “us”, and another rule for “them” - whoever “they” are.’
‘So, shouldn’t we be trying to find out who “they” are?’ asked Napper, a strange light coming in to his eyes. ‘After all, Jewel points out in the dossier that Uncle couldn’t have managed everything on his own. There has to be someone else working with him… or for him.’
His obvious enthusiasm was infectious, but Shale tried to force herself to remain calm. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking, Napper,’ she said, unable to completely remove the tremor of excitement from her voice.
‘Well, I’m just thinking, Sergeant,’ replied Napper, thoughtfully, ‘we’ve only done half of the investigation.’
‘Go on,’ she urged, leaning forwards across the table.
News Bulletin - the subversive elements who claim to have a dossier of evidence that implicates Uncle in the recent death of Gramard Henton, have now made an even more astonishing claim. They suggest that Uncle is not the only one who should be investigated. Their dossier, they claim, clearly points to Uncle working with at least one other person, or more likely more than one. These accomplices were able to arrange the road block that was intended to capture Henton as he attempted to escape after stealing Uncle’s android. They also, apparently, organised the search by the Citadel Guard of both the Citadel and the Slums. There seems little question…
Dryfe lay in a haze of Smoke, his head cradled on Gloria’s lap. Her fingers stroked soothingly through his hair, and he wished that he could remain there for ever. He handed the joint back to his companion, feeling the familiar touch of her hand as it passed from one to the other. Suddenly, he needed to know the answer to the question that had tormented him for so long. There was nothing he needed to know more, and there was no other time to ask.
‘Gloria?’ he mumbled, his lips feeling slightly numb and out of his control.
She inhaled deeply on the joint before replying, ‘What is it, Dryfe, baby?’
‘Can I ask you something?’ asked Dryfe, shifting on to his back so that he could look up into her face.
‘You just did!’ Gloria replied, going off in to peals of giggles.
He joined in her laughter, but only for a moment. ‘But Gloria… I’m being serious!’
Her continued merriment began to irritate him. Here he was with a question as big as his whole life, and all she could do was laugh! He grabbed hold of the hand holding the joint and pulled it away from her mouth. Gloria stared at him in surprise for a moment, before dissolving into a fresh round of giggling.
‘What is it, now?’ he demanded, becoming thoroughly frustrated with her.
She stemmed the flow of hilarity long enough to gasp, ‘It’s your face, baby! You’ve gone all frowny-wowny.’ She attempted a frown in imitation, but by now she had even less control over her features than he did, and she gave up the attempt. ‘Anyway, it just looks funny,’ she finished, pulling her arm out of his hand so that she could take another drag.
Holding out the joint as a peace offering, she continued, ‘Here you go, baby, it’ll make you feel better.’
‘No thanks,’ he replied, unable to keep the sulky note out of his voice.
‘Oooh! Now he’s gone all sulky-wulky as well as frowny-wowny,’ commented Gloria, her giggles beginning anew.
‘Gloria, please…’ he tried. He was beginning to regret starting this, but his feet were set, now. If he did not get some kind of answer out of her… He paused, somehow unable to complete the thought. Well, something would happen, that was all.
Taking the last drag of the Smoke, Gloria stubbed it out in her ashtray. She brushed his hair off his forehead, and gazed in to his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, baby,’ she said, clearly still struggling to keep a straight face. Still, at least she was making the effort. ‘What do you want to ask me?’
‘It’s about us, Gloria. Me and you.’
She grinned, uncontrollable merriment once again threatening to break through. ‘Well you’ve known me as long as I’ve know you, baby! What can I tell you about us that you don’t know?’
‘Maybe nothing,’ he said, ‘maybe there is no answer. But I need to ask you, because my head goes around in circles whenever I think about it!’
‘So ask,’ urged Gloria.
He took a deep breath. This was it, the end of his frustration. Perhaps.
‘Well it’s just that you and I have known each other for years, haven’t we? We’ve shared things - music, films, games, Smoke - gone everywhere together, done just about everything. Except… Well, you know. I mean, I bet everyone we know thinks we have! But we haven’t… Have we?’
She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then burst in to laughter once more. Now, though, it was more genuine, not so high pitched and Smoke laced.
‘I didn’t think it was that funny,’ he said, the sulkiness creeping back in to his tone. ‘Other girls seem to have thought I was worth going to bed with, and I’ve never had any complaints.’
‘I’m sorry, baby!’ Gloria managed, at last. ‘I just never expected you to ask. I thought you were like me, just enjoying the tension between us without having to… make it something else.’
‘So, you are attracted to me?’
‘Of course I am, baby! Who wouldn’t be? But… As friends we can keep a certain objectiveness about each other, can’t we? Maybe I’m not explaining this very well.’ She stopped speaking and stared into the middle distance for a moment. Dryfe remained quiet, letting her work out what she wanted to say.
‘I have to stop doing so much Smoke,’ she said at length, running a hand across her face. ‘OK, I’ve screwed just about every bloke I know, right? That’s no secret. But you’re the only one I have any kind of relationship with. Do you see what I’m getting at?’
‘I don’t think I do,’ replied Dryfe, struggling to focus on her face.
‘Dryfe, I love you more than any other person I know. I just don’t want to spoil what we have. I want to be able to gripe about my latest failed romance without you wondering if I’ve ever compared you with him. And vice versa. Am I making sense, now?’
He nodded slowly. ‘I think so, now,’ he told her. He shifted position so that he was sitting next to her on the cushions, and put an arm around her shoulders pulling her in close. ‘Thank you for being my friend,’ he murmured against her hair.
Today is not a day for heroes.
But it is a day for something heroic to happen, for the world as you knew it to change for ever. And if you are somehow involved in that change, are you then a hero? Or merely part of the supporting cast? After the event, it may not be possible to separate all of the threads that lead to it, to trace exactly where they began, or with whom.
So, if you are not hailed a hero, if you are apparently forgotten, you must simply smile to yourself and know that you played your part, however small.
Today is not a day for heroes.
But it is a day for heroes to recognise themselves for what they are, to acknowledge to themselves what they have done, and to be satisfied with that. And if you are one of the forgotten ones, it is a day for cheering those who are remembered.