“Welcome back to The Proving Ground! We’re live from Fifth Avenue in the one and only Empire City, for the one and only V-V Day Parade. Praise to the Victors!
“It’s my privilege to welcome Bernard Gault, executive vice president at Rubicon Pharmaceuticals. As a younger man, he served a distinguished tour in Vietnam. He sits on the Council of Victors and in that capacity, will be today’s grand marshal. Well-deserved recognition for a true patriot.”
A true patriot who misquotes Orwell, Sebastian thought. Tell the people that, lady!
“Thank you, Jamie. Though ‘grand marshal’ is a ceremonial title. Nothing more.”
“What does today mean to you? To your generation of warfighters?”
“More than anything it’s hard to believe it’s been thirty years. Where did the time go? I swear it was just yesterday we were in those rice paddies. As for what it means for our generation—we had a lot to live up to. Our fathers saved democracy. There was a lot of doubt in the middle years of our war whether we’d be able to do the same.”
“Do you remember where you were when Hanoi was liberated?”
The tritest question. Sebastian rolled his eyes. Most every Victor on the planet had cut their answer into a diamond years before.
“Of course,” Gault said. “By the time the Legion took Hanoi, I was back in the States, attending business school. A group of us got together and watched on a small TV and just celebrated. Lot of cheers, lot of hugs, a few beers may’ve been involved. And many tears.”
“What a memory. Thank you for sharing it. Switching gears some—today’s keynote speaker is a controversial choice.”
“Only because of some faulty media reporting on this network, Jamie.”
“Well—I’m not sure I can agree. Regardless, the parade’s keynote will be delivered by presidential candidate Jackie Collins, who—”
“Is an American hero. I’d be happy to read aloud her Silver Star citation.”
Now that, Sebastian thought, is a hell of a flex.
“Everyone here is aware of the general’s valor and devotion to our nation.” Gellhorn sounded flustered. “Still, her poll numbers have dipped since our report revealed some of her national security… excesses.”
Gault was ready. “The Council of Victors is strictly a nonpartisan assembly. It’s in our charter. It’s something we take very seriously. General Collins will be speaking in that capacity today. As a citizen who volunteered to serve America in battle, time and again. She’s not interested in politics today. She’ll be transcending all that.”
Sebastian didn’t know where masters of the universe learned how to control a conversation, but he was impressed. He knew firsthand how quick and professional Gellhorn was, and Gault had her backpedaling like a student who’d read the wrong assignment.
“We look forward to it, and will be carrying it live, across the country, across the globe. One last thing before I let you go: you wanted to talk about some developments at Rubicon.”
“Yes. The progress we’re seeing with new treatments at the colonies is just amazing—our research teams and clinicians are top-notch, as you know, and are ensuring that our vets with troubles get the care they deserve. It’s my honor to announce today that thanks to some of these medical advancements, the federal government has green-lit a second Hero Project…”
At that, Sebastian left the knob of television cameras. He had a mission to tend to. Thinking about the Hero Project, particularly a second Hero Project, would hamper that. The long game, he told himself. The long game is your only way to actual truth. For once in your life, you’re going to be patient and strategic about something.
He made a mental note to watch the Gault interview later, in its entirety. More superpowered would make Sebastian either more important to those masters of the universe, or less. He’d figure out which. Patiently and strategically.
The sidewalks became more congested the farther north Sebastian went. A mass of human traffic at Thirtieth Street began snarling out, causing a standstill. A large, smelly man in sweats pushed through it with a fever of expletives. Sebastian fell against a metal railing securing the street as a parade route. He cried out more from surprise than pain, though he did feel a hot sting on his knee underneath his pants, followed by the chilled ribbon of blood. He rubbed at his knee and got out of the way of the many shoes and boots who didn’t know he was there.
A block later, someone bumped into his back and he bristled and clenched his fists and felt sweat puddling under his arms. He closed his eyes and counted to twelve, listening to his heart slow. He took yoga breaths. Once he made it to twelve he opened his eyes, pushing his tongue against the roof of his mouth to help find focus. Hands now deep in his pockets, he turned into an empty alley and returned to visibility. Ten minutes and fourteen seconds. He was working his way up, with only a distant gleam of a headache coming on.
So that’s good, he thought.
Fifty minutes from the general’s speech, Sebastian entered Haig Common. He hadn’t meant to go this far west, but the side streets that would bring him back to the parade route had been filled with staging floats. Haig Common proved just as active. In addition to the schools of shoppers gliding through the sidewalks, and the human statues and dance troupes hustling for dollars, a group of a few dozen had gathered at the southern fringe of the common, under a large bronze cast of the former president. They wore a mishmash of camo tops and overgrown beards, and most were hinterland lean. About half were gray hairs, Victor age, the others younger but no less grungy.
It looks like a pirate ship crashed here, Sebastian thought.
He walked through the common and its new arrivals, still visible. The gnarled traveler stare took in Sebastian. A few bristled at the sound of a nearby taxi horn. Whoever they were, they didn’t like being here any more than anyone else liked having them. His eyes found their cardboard signs, limp on the cement.
THE COLONIES ARE PRISONS!
THE HONOR IS OURS. WHY NOT THE SPOILS?
FREE VETERAN ZERO!!!
Jesus, Mary, and Allah, Sebastian thought. The Mayday Front.
He remembered most intensely these men and women, and what they were capable of. Free Veteran Zero? That man was enemy. His bloodshot psychosis had returned to Sebastian more than a few times since the ballroom. So had his loud, ragged screams after being shot in the face. Sebastian had never hurt anyone like that before and it had made him feel powerful, which in turn made him feel bad about feeling that way. He’d been glad he hadn’t killed Veteran Zero. Now, confronted with the idea of a free Veteran Zero, he was less certain.
America needed sanity. Veteran Zero represented madness. So too did the Mayday followers, warfighters or not. Sebastian felt very sure all of a sudden that whatever threat the parade VIPs were under, these people were involved. He took slow, measured steps into a department store bathroom and soon returned to the common, gone from the world.
He followed the complaints to find the leaders. He didn’t recognize anyone specific from the ballroom—they were all still in jail awaiting trial, he reasoned—but many still carried a vague look of familiarity. The same dusty hair from motel shampoos, the same sun-brown skin. The same untucked laces and the same crooked sleeve-rolls. More than anything, he saw the same hollow-eyed rage born from defeat.