After the Golden Age

Celia didn’t move, didn’t speak. Calm. Stay as cold and unremarkable as ice.

Then he was gone, his circle of handlers closing in around him. Sito gazed ahead and didn’t look back at her again.

The bailiff stepped forward. “All rise for the Honorable Judge Berkley.”

Celia had to unlace her fingers. She hadn’t realized she’d been squeezing her hands tightly together.

The judge, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and stylish wire-frame glasses, sat at the bench.

The rest of Sito’s courtroom appearance was blessedly dull. He didn’t speak again, not even to his lawyers, who entered a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity, as expected.

The judge announced when jury selection would begin, set trial dates, demanded that everyone behave themselves in the meantime. Then, the cops led Sito away, back to whatever hole they were keeping him in.

The room seemed to refill with air as soon as he was gone, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Celia felt like she’d been holding her breath the entire hour Sito was in the courtroom.

As soon as the judge disappeared to her chambers, reporters accosted Celia, pressing close and trapping her against the row of seats. Faces and digital recorders formed a bristling wall in front of her.

They seemed to speak with one voice. “Ms. West! Ms. West! Why did the Destructor talk to you? What did he say? Ms. West, do you have any idea why the Destructor singled you out?”

Calm. If she could face down the Destructor, she could face down them.

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of people,” she said. “No other comment.”

“Ms. West!”

She was shocked and grateful—shocked that she was grateful—when the Olympiad swept her up and escorted her away from the journalistic horde. Mentis appeared on one side of her, Spark on the other, and the Captain and the Bullet broke through the crowd and herded them back.

Everyone stepped aside when Captain Olympus appeared.

“Conference room. This way,” Bronson said, nodding over his shoulder.

By then, the reporters were shouting at all of them, but they’d all had experience ignoring the press. They left the courtroom without a backward glance.

—Better?—

“Yeah, thanks,” Celia said, and her mother glanced at her, questioning. Chuckling to herself, Celia had to shake her head.

Once safe in the privacy of Bronson’s conference room, which was windowless and annoyingly devoid of chairs, the Captain began pacing the length of the longest wall.

“He had no business talking to you,” he muttered. He glanced at Celia and frowned. “Mentis, why’d he do it? What did he mean by it?”

“Haven’t a clue. I’ve never been able to read him. That hasn’t changed,” the telepath said.

“You must have made quite an impression on him. At some point,” Bronson said to her.

She had to take a calming breath before speaking. “It’s the same old story. He’s using me to get to them.”

“We know,” Spark said.

“I am definitely not putting you on the stand. Not after that.”

Good, Celia thought. She was a bit panicked that Bronson had ever considered calling her to testify.

Bronson thanked the heroes for being there, for giving their stamp of approval to the proceedings. Maybe now the media would stop asking why the Olympiad didn’t take justice into its own hands. The heroes were servants of the city. Not its judge and jury.

The meeting broke up after that. She was happy enough to leave Bronson’s posthearing war council. The hallway had finally cleared out, and she could navigate it in peace. Almost.

“Ms. West. Celia. I mean … Hi.” Detective Mark Paulson came from the back of the courtroom to intercept her. He had the best aw-shucks grin she’d seen in weeks.

She tried to look encouraging. “Detective, hello. What can I do for you?”

“Well, see, as a matter of fact … I’ve got a couple of tickets to the symphony fund-raiser on Friday. I know this isn’t a good time, but I don’t know when I’m going to see you again—”

“You could call.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“You’re a detective and you couldn’t dig up my phone number?” He was starting to blush. She felt like she was wearing an awfully silly smile in response. “Or you could ask for it.”

“So,” he said. “How about it?”

“My number?”

He sighed. “Yeah. And the symphony.”

“I think I’d like that. It’s formal, right?”

“Right.”

“So I should get a dress?”

“Right.” He smiled with what looked like relief. “Can I pick you up at six?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He tugged at the edges of his coat as he sauntered out of the room.

Wow. A real grown-up date. That was almost easy. Even the idea of looking for an evening gown before Friday didn’t seem so scary.

“What was that all about?” said a sly voice near her shoulder.

Celia turned to her mother. “I’m going on a date.”

“With Detective Paulson?” That was her father, standing by Spark and scowling.

“Yeah, with Detective Paulson,” Celia said.

All four of them were there now. Mom beamed. Robbie, her surrogate uncle, looked like he wanted to ruffle her hair and crack a joke. Arthur seemed thoughtful, like he always did. Then there was the Captain, who appeared annoyed. He’d worn the same sour, frowning expression before every date she’d ever gone on.

Time to get out of here. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Feeling intensely smug, she strolled out of the courthouse, swinging her attaché case.

* * *

She’d been kidnapped the first time when she was sixteen.

She got the call at home, at the West Plaza penthouse. Back then, no one knew that the top floor served as the headquarters of the Olympiad.

Celia knew, but if she told anyone, who would believe her?

She was doing math homework at the kitchen table when the phone rang. Sighing with frustration—she was actually starting to understand trigonometry and was annoyed at being interrupted—she answered, expecting that it was her mother asking her to start fixing supper, or a friend inviting her to a movie or party that she wouldn’t be allowed to go to.

“Hello?”

“Celia! Thank God! I need your help, come to City Park right now—”

“Dad?” She pressed the phone closer to her ear, as if that would make his voice come through clearer. He’d never sounded like this, harried and desperate. It was enough to make her panic. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t explain. I need your help, please hurry!”

What could she possibly do to help? But there must be something, or he wouldn’t have called. He must be in trouble, him and Mom both. Maybe this was her chance. He was trusting her. She wouldn’t let him down.

“Yes, yes, I’ll hurry. City Park?”

“By the fountain.”

“Okay, Dad. I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone before hearing his response.

It was only four blocks away. She could reach it by bike in a few minutes. She hoped that was fast enough; he must have known she wouldn’t have another way to travel. Maybe he’d called her as a last resort. That would mean that all of the Olympiad was in trouble.