And Other Stories (7 page)

I grinned, then lost the grin when
Wanda whispered, “Chris wants to know why you didn’t do anything.
Don’t you like Jase?” She was in a room two floors away, but when
telepaths whisper in class, they can whisper in any class they want
to.

I said, “He shouldn’t have gone
public if he wasn’t ready for the consequences.”

“You would’ve just
watched? Steeljerk could’ve killed—”

“It’s none of your
business, Wanda.”

“Well, gee, sorry I
asked.” Her mind left mine before I could say anything
more.

•

After school, I flew to Geneva. Dad
was getting an award from the U.N. for helping with the Balkan
crisis. He wanted me there as the heir apparent. I smiled when I
was expected to. Mostly, I was ignored. It was boring, but it was
fast, and when it was done, Dad and I sprang into the air for that
final photo op of Galaxian and son returning to the City of
Angels.

We usually flew without talking.
The best times with Dad were when we didn’t need to speak. I like
flying, the wind whipping at my hair and clothes, the Earth rolling
beneath me. In the sky, I feel sorry for teleporters. Sure,
sometimes you wish you could hop instantly from one place to
another, but traveling is always better than arriving.

My thoughts were interrupted as we
decelerated over New York. Dad flew close to say, “Earth people
seem inconsequential from here, but they’re not.”

I glanced at him.

He said, “Never forget that. Based
on the genetic evidence, they’re our ancestors. It doesn’t matter
whether an Empyrean scout ship picked up a few of them and bred us
from those samples, or whether Earth’s a lost Empyrean colony that
never had enough enhanced stock to breed true. We have obligations
to Earthers. At least as many as we have to chimpanzees. Probably
more.”

I shook my head. “You’re such an
alien, Dad.”

He laughed. “So are
you.”

“I was born
here.”

“That doesn’t make
you one of them.” We flew on. Then he said, “My greatest regret is
that I cannot show you the beauty of deep space.”

I shrugged. I had flown to the Moon
last summer. The excitement of being all by yourself in a near
vacuum gets thin after a few hours. I had finished the trip because
I had told my friends I was going, but it had been the most boring
week of my life.

On Earth, I’ve flown among the
Andes with condors for company. I’ve raced tornadoes, then rested
at their hearts. I’ve dived into storm clouds and danced with
lightning. I’ve plunged into the sea to play tag with dolphins.
I’ve watched volcanoes erupt from the ocean floor. I’ve hunted for
human history in sunken ships and lost cities. I’ve flown among the
trees of the rain forests and invited monkeys to leap onto my back.
I’ve followed bats into caves where no climber could ever go and
accompanied sightless fish up subterranean rivers that no one but
me has ever seen.

Ask me to choose between the life
of Earth and the emptiness of space. That one’s easy.

Dad said, “When we build another
ship, you’ll see the galaxy and know that splendor, son. The dance
of the stars is slow and stately. You can’t imagine that
perfection.”

“No,” I
agreed.

I suppose I expected him to hear my
sarcasm. He glanced at me. “I try to be true to myself, Alec. You
must do the same.”

Somewhere over the plains of the
Midwest, I said, “You want me to be true to myself by becoming
someone I’m not.”

His sigh was carried off by the
wind. “You have a responsibility to your people. That
responsibility is part of who you are. I became Galaxian for many
reasons. Only one was to silence rumors of monsters from outer
space hiding among ordinary Americans. There’s still a need to
assure Earthers that we only want to live in peace.”

I said, “Three thousand, four
hundred, and eighty-one.”

“What?”

“That’s how many
times you’ve told me Celestials need a wholesome, all-American,
apple pie-eating representive, or we’ll be feared and
persecuted.”

He smiled. “I think you placed the
decimal too far to the right, but I take your point.” I didn’t
smile. He said, “Being Galaxian is a chance to help Celestials and
Earthers both. You’d be surprised how good that makes you
feel.”

“Yeah. You’re a
saint, Dad.”

I figured I had made another point,
though it didn’t make me happy. He said, “Fair enough. I enjoy the
fame and glory, too. Too much, sometimes. If I’d indulged in fewer
of the opportunities that came my way—”

I wondered if he would mention Mom
or the affairs or the divorce, but he didn’t. Somewhere over the
Rockies, I said, “A Celestial I know got his masker card and
announced he was gay.”

Dad winced. “I heard. I wish he
hadn’t.”

“Why?”

“During the Second
World War, the U.S. confined Japanese-Americans in camps. There was
also a camp for Celestials. Super-powered homosexuals would be some
Earthers’ greatest nightmare.”

“The kid I know says
if you hide, you’re admitting you have something to feel guilty
about.”

Dad looked at me. “We want to live
in peace on this planet, Alec. That’s all we want. Why make trouble
over things that aren’t important?”

I nodded. We had reached L.A., and
now we hovered high above our house.

He said, “Will you be at the
Masqueraders’ Ball?”

“I’m the son of the
great Galaxian. Of course I’ll be there, O great
Galaxian.”

“We’ll speak then.
Remember that I love you, son.”

I watched as he flew south. He had
told Amnesty International that he would spend a few days hunting
for political prisoners in Central America.

I whispered, “Bastard.” If he was
listening, he did not look back.

•

After dinner—a cheese sandwich I
made at home—I flew to Wilshire Boulevard, landed in an alley, and
walked to our favorite café. No one noticed me until I sat across
from a Celestial whose size could not be hidden by custom-made
street clothes. Then there were the usual whispers as people
wondered if I was also a masker or a movie star or someone famous.
After all, I was meeting with the Celestial whose face had been on
all the news. The wondering about us died quickly, and no one came
to ask for autographs.

Jason said, “I’m glad you
came.”

I said, “I had to.”

The waiter approached. Jason told
her, “The usual.” She smiled and left.

I said, “If Steeljerk had hit you,
I would’ve killed him.”

He laughed. “I know
that.”

The waiter set a root beer in front
of me and a cappuccino in front of Jason, saying, “It’ll stunt your
growth.”

He said, “Promises,
promises.”

The waiter grinned and left. I
said, “She must think we’re mighty cute together.”

“And why not? We
are.”

“Well.” I blushed.
“Look—”

“You don’t have to
explain.”

“Dad would think I’d
betrayed our people.”

Jason shook his head. “He’d think
you’d betrayed his people. He’d be right.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s
sure comforting.” I stared at the foam of my root beer.

Jason did his John Wayne. “A man’s
got to do what a man’s got to do.” Then he added, “It doesn’t
change how we feel.”

“I’m worried about
you going on patrol. You’ll be a target—”

He nodded. “A mighty big target.
Gaybashers look for easy prey.”

“I don’t like
it.”

“So tag along. My
route hits the parks and gay neighborhoods. It’ll be a walking
date.”

I shook my head and couldn’t look
at his face.

He laughed. “Your dad would love
the headlines. ‘Galaxian’s Son Cruises Homosexual
Hangouts.‘”

I shrugged.

Jason’s voice shifted suddenly. He
said, “‘Gee, Jase, why don’t we talk about other things?’ ‘Sure,
Alec; what do you want to talk about?’ ‘How about your beautiful
eyes, Jase, you big gorgeous hunk of a man, you?’”

I wanted to say he did a lousy
imitation of me, but I heard myself laugh instead. We talked about
school and friends and how the world should be changed. Then he
went on patrol, and I flew back to do some homework.

The eleven o’clock news showed him
strolling through the streets in costume while people cheered. An
ancient Hispanic woman said she thought he was wonderful. A guy who
looked like he had an ulcer said he thought Jason was disgusting. A
young guy said, “White maskers, black maskers, human maskers,
skyguy maskers, straight maskers, gay maskers. They’re all
egomaniacs in tights. Who cares?” That’s one form of
acceptance.

I wanted to be with Jason. Then I
thought about Dad and the harrassment I’d get at school, and I
decided I’d done the right thing.

•

I woke on the sofa. Something
needed my attention. I had the phone to my ear before I understood
what was happening. Jason’s mom said, “Alec? Pamela Zi’Garis.” Her
voice was quietly formal, which seemed odd; I’d had dinner at their
house, and she’d been as loud and happy as her son. “Jason asked me
to call. First, you should know that he’s going to be fine, and
second—” She inhaled suddenly, then said, “He’d like to see you.
Visiting hours—”

“Where is he?” I
asked.

“Kennedy Clinic, Room
Seven-thirteen. Visiting hours—”

“Thanks.” I hung up
the phone.

Two minutes later, I set my bare
feet onto the hospital roof near the helicopter landing pad, found
an open door, flew down the stairwell to the seventh floor, scanned
the hallway for watchers, and flew into Jason’s room.

He was asleep, breathing raggedly.
Two beds had been pushed together to hold him. Two sheets had been
draped over him. In the dim light, his skin was blue. His head was
bandaged. One leg and one arm were in casts.

Shortly before dawn, a nurse looked
in. “Who’re—”

I put my finger to my lips, then
followed her into the hall. “Did they catch them?”

“Catch
who?”

“Whoever did this.
Were they caught?”

“They usually aren’t.
How’d you get in?”

“I flew.”

She frowned, studied my face, then
nodded. “He’ll be fine. Go home, get some sleep, come back after
school, okay? That’s when visiting hours officially
begin.”

“Can you tell me what
happened?”

“I can tell you what
the clues suggest, but they don’t make sense.”

“Okay.”

“Someone hit him in
the face with a ball of slush that froze over his eyes. Then
someone took a metal club and beat him until he
collapsed.”

I nodded, thanked her, and flew
away.

•

Steeljack and Chiller sauntered
into the schoolyard about ten minutes before the first bell. They
quit sauntering when I landed on the sidewalk in front of them.
Surprise touched their faces for only an instant, but I could hear
their hearts continue to race like drums in a bad jungle movie.
Kids passing by looked at us, then gave us plenty of
room.

I said, “Why’d you do
it?”

“Do what?” said
Chiller.

“Come on,” Steeljack
told him. “Young Galaxian thinks we did something we
didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”
Wanda’s telepathic whisper vibrated in all of our skulls. She
stepped out onto the front steps so Steeljack and Chiller could see
her.

Chiller’s hand began to frost over.
“Says who?”

“Says you,” said
Wanda. “Loud and clear.”

“Forget it,” said
Steeljack. “Mind reading’s not admissible in court.”

“Who said anything
about court?” Chris appeared beside me. For an instant, a shimmer
of brown and blue ran up the sidewalk to show where he’d been, then
dissipated.

Steeljack stepped backward. “Oh,
yeah, right. Gang up on us.”

I said, “You set a fine example.”
Then I said, “Relax. Jase won’t press charges. He didn’t see
anyone’s face. He didn’t hear anyone’s voice. He couldn’t make
anything stick. It worked just like you planned.”

Steeljack and Chiller glanced at
each other. Steeljack smiled a little, and the soundtrack of their
heartbeats slowed.

I said, “Legal charges aren’t
Jase’s style. He says if you’ll get counseling, he’ll forget the
whole thing.”

“Dream on.” A cloud
of cold air shot from Chiller’s throat as he laughed.

Chris said, “Be kind of rough,
coming to school and never knowing if your clothes were about to
disappear. If you might suddenly have the worst haircut you’d ever
seen. If you might find yourself wearing a clown nose and
diapers.”

Chiller stared. “You
wouldn’t.”

Steeljack said, “Wouldn’t dare.”
His hand became a spiked ball on a steel chain that he began to
whirl at his side. “Declare war, and someone’s getting
hurt.”