After the Golden Age

FOUR

SHE called Bronson to make sure Captain Olympus wasn’t going to be at the prosecution team’s strategy meeting. If he had been, she would have called in sick. She didn’t care about her career enough to go through that.

She walked into the conference room, harried because the bus was late. The place was packed. Every branch of law enforcement in town wanted a piece of the Destructor, and they’d all sent people here to make sure they got it. Cops, detectives, the mayor’s office, the DA’s office. Detective Paulson was there and gave her a friendly smile that made her knees go a little shaky. He looked taller in daylight, when her vision wasn’t swimming.

Stacks of paper filled the table and flow charts were pinned to the walls: photographs, diagrams, copies marked EXHIBIT A, EXHIBIT B, and so on. And no Captain Olympus.

But Dr. Mentis was there. Her stomach did a flip, responding to that self-conscious twinge she felt whenever she encountered any members of the Olympiad. Even him.

He caught her eye and nodded. Made no move to approach her, to berate her, or to tell her how her family was doing. Her nervousness eased. She could always count on him to give her the space she needed.

Of all of them, Mentis had a clear idea of what her childhood had been like. Telepath that he was and all.

The room’s ventilation system couldn’t keep up with the mass of body heat. People fanned themselves with photocopied handouts, but managed to keep their tempers in check. Their intensity was palpable, though. Bronson left no loose ends, demanded that every shred of evidence be brought to light. When Celia’s turn came to stand and plot out the details of Sito’s nefarious accounting practices, her anxiety went away. She had to make it clear to these people exactly what the evidence entailed, so they could coordinate and ensure there were no holes in the prosecution.

Arthur Mentis was heading up the psychological evaluation. Unflappable, he spoke of his belief that Sito was perfectly sane. He’d already been declared competent to stand trial, and the various crimes of which he was accused were proof of his own rationality. No irrational madman planned fraud so assiduously as he had.

It felt like a conference of generals, like they were preparing for battle. Even Celia felt the excitement of it—ready to move forward with the plan, happy to be part of a team. God, teamwork. What would her father say?

When the meeting broke up, people drifted off or gathered in small groups to talk. As she was repacking her attaché case, Mentis moved around the table toward her.

“Celia. It’s good to see you.”

She had to take his word for it. He never let emotions get the better of him, which made up for the overexcitableness of the rest of the Olympiad. It also made him irritatingly hard to read.

“Hi.” Her returning smile, she discovered, was genuine.

“I have to admit, I was a little surprised when I heard you were working with the DA. Does Bronson know you have, ah … a bit of history with this case?”

She wryly pursed her lips. “He knows. He unsealed the records. He got the idea that I have some sort of privileged insight into the case because of it.”

“Hm. A bit presumptuous of him. Let me know if he gives you trouble and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

He walked alongside her as they left the room. When they reached the elevator, he asked, “Are you hungry? May I take you to lunch?”

“So you can get the full report of what I’ve been doing to take back to Mom and Dad?”

“Suzanne does complain that you never call.”

“But I do!”

He looked at her sidelong, disbelieving. She slouched. “Right. There’s a deli on the corner, about a block down. That okay?”

“Lead on.”

The place was run-down, with a scarred tile floor, forty-year-old chrome and formica chairs and tables, and flickering fluorescent lights. But they seasoned their own pastrami and made a killer egg salad. Celia had a turkey sandwich big enough to provide tomorrow’s lunch as well. Arthur ordered onion soup and tea.

She said, “Last week Dad stormed into the DA’s office and threatened to walk into Elroy Asylum and murder Sito himself. He sort of freaked when he saw me there.”

“Yes, I heard about that.”

“Oh yeah? What did he say about it?”

He shrugged, said offhandedly, “Couldn’t seem to understand why you were bothering to get involved.”

“I think he’s convinced himself I’m going to jinx the case.” As if she weren’t capable of sabotaging the prosecution on purpose, if she wanted to.

He chuckled. “You know how he is. No one could possibly be as right and justified as he is.”

“And Mom wonders why I never call home.”

He sat back in his chair, regarding her a moment. “So. How are you doing?”

Blushing a little, she picked part of the crust off her sandwich. “You just ask that out of politeness. You already know.” She smiled, to let him know it was a joke, that she was just teasing him. But then again, he already knew.

He held his cup of hot tea in both hands and studied her like he was regarding a painting: intent, academic. “I believe this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

Her first thought was, that if this was happy it left a lot to be desired. But honestly, she couldn’t argue. She had her troubles—but they were hers. “I’m doing all right. What about you? You happy these days?”

“Reasonably contented, as ever.”

“You ever get tired of it?”

“Of what?”

She realized the ambiguousness of the question. There was a lot to get tired of. “The vigilante hero gig,” she said finally.

“I don’t have much choice in the matter. It’s who I am.”

She winced, her face puckering with a strange-tasting thought. Arthur waited patiently while she formed the words and finally asked, “Do any of us have any choice about who we are?”

“People have been debating that question for ages. No definitive answer, I’m afraid. Although, if I may be so bold, you seem to have made a choice. There was a time when your life might have gone differently.”

Not likely. Her choices had been determined by her failures. She was here, now, because this was the only life she seemed to be good at. She shook her head. “If I’d had a choice, I think I would have chosen to be a superhuman. That would have made everything easier.”

“If you say so.”