The Kettle's Ink

-

Shy looked up at the heavy clouds, sticking her tongue out to catch raindrops. At the taste, she coughed and spat it on the ground. "You sure the weather's gonna hold?" she asked, brushing back her mullet with tattooed hands.

"No." Ice storms were common even past the start of summer.

"Sure these plants are gonna survive?"

I shook my head.

Shy sighed heavily, huddling into her patched coat. "You gotta be kidding me, Tiff."

I reached into my pocket, casting the seeds of carefully collected spring wildflowers on the ground. They trickled through my fingers like grains of sand. "Worth a shot, right?"

Shy groaned. "But it takes so long!"

"Slow things are important, too." If these seeds could get properly established, I hoped they would be impossible to fully remove, but we'd have to wait and see.

We walked through the suburban rain. The taste of gasoline left a slick sourness behind. I kept scattering wildflowers into stringy, patchy grass. When a car went by us, we both tensed.

"We should get a dog," Shy said. "Good excuse to be out walking in all kinds of weather."

"You want to get a dog? With me?"

Shy blinked at me. "Who else would I get a dog with, Tiffany?"

-

The city replaced the benches with ones that didn't have bars in the middle.

"Not as good as housing," Shy grumbled, scuffing her boot heel against the concrete. "And the bus is still late."

I tapped her shoulder, pointing at the nearby grass. Tucked tight to a hydrant, little white flowers bobbed their heads. They were growing more seeds even now. "Change takes time, Shy." I smiled at the wildflowers I'd planted.

"I hate waiting."

"I know."

"I'm going to start a food drive next month."

I laughed. "Let me know how I can help."

-

The food drive became a quarterly event. Shy had had the idea to make it a competition, and it turned out that people loved to compete.

I had donned my best demure yellow dress to talk to different churches. With her piercings and tattoos, Shy only talked to them over the phone, not in person. It made her annoyed when those churches kept winning, but that was hardly the point.

"Are you sisters?" One of the kindly old church ladies named Ruby asked me.

I bit my lip. Smiled, and felt my cherry red lipstick sticking on my teeth like blood. "Friends. Since university," I half-lied.

"Oh. Well that's just lovely, dear. I remember my gal friends—"

These things take time, I reminded myself. I couldn't help but wonder who I'd be if I hadn't met Shy.

-

We didn't have much luck at city hall. Small concessions, inch by inch. But over time, I began to notice that we weren't the only ones fighting.

Outside of city hall, wildflowers had started to spring up. They were cut down by the mower to preserve that perfect green lawn, but their roots were in the ground. Their seeds were in the wind.

I saw a flower sitting low enough to duck the mower, and smiled.

-

Biteor (Bitey, Eor) died. She was always going to. Dogs do that. Shy and I walked our usual path in remembrance, the rain coming down bitter.

"Why did you pick Biteor for a name?" I asked. "Were you thinking about meteors? Was it from a horror movie?"

Shy shrugged, looking down at the wildflowers dotted beside us. "Seemed funny at the time."

The gasoline smell still cut through sharp, clogging the back of my throat, making my eyes sting. "I'm naming the next one, okay?"

Shy tried to smile. "You're going to name it Muffin or something, aren't you?"

A door opened, and we both froze. Old instincts.

"Where is that lovely little pup?" Ruby asked us from the doorway.

I burst into tears. Shy pressed tight to my arm.

Ruby tutted. "Oh, dears. Come inside for tea, won't you?"

It was strange, not to fear being noticed, being driven off. To become an accepted part of the community. To have deep roots.

-

"I would've left," Shy said.

I turned to her where we sat together at the bus stop.

"I wanted to make a difference," she continued. "I would've left, and kept chopping metal bars off benches. And they'd just get replaced. But you did the seed thing, and I...I wanted to see it. So I stuck around."

"You cut plenty of bars off of plenty of benches. Ran a food drive—"

"Named a dog."

We watched a pair of cyclists go by. The city had a dedicated bus-and-bike lane now.

"I don't know if I would've made a difference on my own, Tiff."

I clasped her hand in mine, leaned forward to kiss her. "And I wouldn't have tried to make a difference without you. That's why we work together."

He folded his hands primly where the tablet had just sat, continuing to give her that disapproving look. “Ms. Hirano, we here at SellaCom are committed to the highest standards of technical excellence in support of our customers. We would never lose an entire satellite. However, we do need to regularly conduct maintenance on our technology, and satellite HSW683 requires—”

“It’s lost. It. Is. Lost!” She waved the phone in his face. “’Satellite HSW683 requires improvements to the passive transponder, active transponder, and transceiver modules, as well as an update on the current geospatial orbit.’ That’s what you sent me, right?”

Devreaux began to tap one thumb against the desk, although his expression remained passive. “That is correct.”

“You just happened to lose all forms of contact with the satellite, and don’t know where it currently is?”

Devreaux sighed gently. “Ms. Hirano, please. That’s not exactly how—”

“That’s the definition of lost!”

Devreaux shook his head mournfully. “Someone must not have had their morning coffee.”

Robin’s teeth grated loudly as she stabbed one finger at Devreaux. “Someone needs to shut up if he doesn’t have anything useful to say. What do you expect me to do?” she demanded, throwing out one arm. “How did this even happen, Jason?”

Devreaux frowned, a faint line appearing between his brows. “Curiosity is not exactly an admirable trait in this business, Ms. Hirano. We here at SellaCom place privacy and security foremost—”

“Cut the crap and tell me what I need to know to fix the problem already. If it can be fixed.”

The furrow and accompanying frown both grew deeper. “Ms. Hirano—”

“Jason.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

“Well, apparently no one’s getting what they want today. Including the people of Brazil. Did you know that they have a championship soccer game later today? They couldn’t stand missing that. There would be rioting in the streets.”

Devreaux closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. It is possible that the satellite has been having…issues…for the past few months. However, they were not deemed to be a priority at the time, and were thought not to be cost effective to correct until they became sufficiently critical.”

“’A few months.’”

“Yes.”

“How long, exactly, is ‘a few months’?”

Devreaux coughed into his hand. Robin eased back, continuing to stare at him. “Approximately…sixty months,” he admitted.

“Sixty?”

“Yes.”

“Six zero?”

“…Yes.”

Robin snorted. “You mean five years?”

Devreaux drummed his fingers against his desk, annoyed. “You have to understand, that satellite wasn’t scheduled for maintenance for another fifteen years. There shouldn’t have been any problems at all—”

“Things! Happen! Which is part of why your maintenance schedule is garbage—”

“There were no funds to perform maintenance with! And sometimes the satellites are just…glitchy. Sun static. I don’t know!”

“Oh, SellaCom is such a fantastic monopoly that can’t even stand to cut into their profit margins enough to properly care for their equipment! I’m so glad that you run everything—”

“We’re not a monopoly,” Devreaux interrupted, one hand raised definitively. “Mobility Plus provides an alternate source of service—”

“Which is even worse than yours!” Robin clapped a hand to her forehead. “I wish,” she growled. “I sincerely wish I could saythat I can’t believe this, but I absolutely can.” She sighed. “Again, what do you expect me to do about this?”

“Fix it.”

“How?”

Devreaux waved a hand expressively. “Don’t you have a…I don’t know…a back door? Something?”

Robin gave him a flat stare. “It. Is. A. Satellite.”

He stared back at her, uncomprehending.

Robin rolled her eyes. “It’s a satellite. There is no back door. If you can’t talk to it, and you don’t know where it is, why would you think that I would know any more than you do? I use the same systems you do to locate and communicate with these things!”

Devreaux frowned, starting to grow sincerely concerned.

“Idiots!” Robin took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll give it my best shot, if it’s still up there. But I’m going to need triple-time pay for this one.”

“What?” Devreaux squawked. “No, no. That’s not possible. This falls well within your contract—”

“My contract for ‘reasonable’ work? Reasonably, you should just replace it!” Robin pointed at him triumphantly. “Quadruple time, Jason!”

Devreaux scowled. “What happened to triple time?”

“I’m sorry, that offer has expired,” Robin answered sweetly. “And the offer of quadruple time will soon be expiring as well.”

Devreaux shook his head emphatically. “You can’t just demand that.”

“I can.”

“We can just replace the satellite, you know.”

Robin grinned, raising one finger to forestall him. “Ah, ah. Not before the big soccer game, you can’t. You build satellites as needed, and it takes at least five days.”

He was skeptical, but his shoulders slumped in defeat all the same. “And you’re certain that you can fix it, Ms. Hirano?”

“I’m not certain of anything, but I’m the best chance you have at this point.” She pointed at the clock on her phone. “Times a-wasting, Devreaux. Do you really want to pay me quintuple time?”

He narrowed his eyes seriously, his thin face reminding her of a weasel, or perhaps a snake now that he wasn’t plastering a fake customer friendly smile over it. “If you can’t get it working, you get nothing.”

Robin pursed her lips, considering. “Fair enough,” she finally agreed, turning to go.

“And I’m billing you the damages to my office!” he yelled after her.

Robin smirked over her shoulder. She grabbed the door handle, jerking it out of the wall with a clatter. Devreaux flinched at the sound. “Whatever makes you feel better, Jason.”

-

Robin slid down the metal handrail into the basement of the small house, completely avoiding the creaky wooden stairs. The owner still kept her spare key under a very sad potted fern, meaning that Robin didn’t have to try to get her attention away from the computer; always a benefit. Landing at the base of the stairs, Robin looked around with a mix of wonder and disbelief. It looked as if the basement had gained a few more maps plastered to the walls, some overlapping others. There were world maps, country maps, even a map of time zones. With the many computer monitors peppering the room, Robin didn’t know why all the maps had to be printed out and pinned to the walls. Robin still couldn’t understand what all the markers on the maps signified; only half of them were SellaCom satellites. She stepped further into the room and took a breath of chilled air, pulling out her wallet. “I need you to find satellite HSW683, Jules.”

The brunette spun her chair to face Robin, pulling her headset away from her ear. “Okay. Standard rate’s still a hundred bucks.”

Robin grinned, holding up five twenties. “I’d play the line about us being friends for years, but I’m getting quadruple time for this one.”

“Quadruple time?” Julie Kessler nabbed the money out of her hand, then held her hand out for more. “The price just went up to two hundred.”

“Aw, Jules, just think of all the fun we had in high school—”

“Robin. Seriously.”

Robin fished out more cash with a fake pout. “Fine. Here.”

Julie sniffed the money appreciatively before stuffing it into a pocket. “HSW683, you said? Hmm. It’s been having problems for a while. Me and the rest of the trackers have been taking bets on when it’ll burn up, but if you’re fixing it, I’m going to be changing my bet.”

“I know all about its problems.” Robin rolled her eyes. “SellaCom doesn’t really grasp the concept of necessary maintenance, rather than scheduled maintenance.”

Julie pulled a face and turned back to her computer, typing rapidly. She waited for a response, then bit her lip. “Ooh.”

“’Ooh?’”

“Hold on a minute.”

Julie kept typing, her frown growing deeper. “Nobody has a bead on it.”

“Not surprising,” Robin sighed. “SellaCom has lost all communication with it, and it may have shifted in its orbit.”

“Uh-huh.”

Robin folded her arms, considering. “If you can’t locate it, I will still go up in a shuttle and hope that it’s where it’s supposed to be, more or less.”

Julie shook her head distractedly. “No, I can do this. Give me some credit.”

“I give you all the credit, but I don’t expect the impossible.”

Julie spared a moment to look over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “Sit down and wait. I’m going to locate that satellite.” She looked back at her screen and sighed. She tipped her head to one side. “Admittedly, it’s going to take a little more effort than I expected.”

Robin sat with a shrug. She was on quadruple time, after all. She could spare an hour, even if the Brazil satellite was needed in a little over twelve hours for that soccer game. No one would notice until then; the local channels could do pre-programming or rerouting through multiple ground stations without too much issue, if with some time-delay. The demand of the soccer game was the one of import, though, and the satellite was needed to broadcast the game worldwide to SellaCom’s customers’ satisfaction.

Julie continued to send out messages from her computer, but when she got enough responses she didn’t like, she kicked her chair across the room to another table entirely. One covered in a blanket.

“What are you doing?”

“Nobody in the forums knows anything. That means it’s time for the big guns. I’m breaking out the CW.” Julie grabbed the blanket, tugging it off with a flourish. Underneath, the ham radio practically gleamed.

“People still use those things?”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Would I have built this baby if they didn’t? Seriously?”

Robin laughed slightly. “Sorry. I’m just not used to seeing anything this simplistic. It’s in the job description, Jules.”

“Simplistic?” Julie scoffed. “Just because it’s low tech and doesn’t require a computer, doesn’t make it simplistic. It’s efficient! When the apocalypse comes, you’re going to come back begging for my help. Communication, no matter the situation.” She rubbed the Morse code keyer as if it were a beloved pet. “You can run High Flyer off a dynamo, Robin.”

Robin stared at her. “You named it? I only named my shuttle out of necessity!”

Julie shot her a glare. “High Flyer is going to save your butt by helping me locate your dumb satellite; I wouldn’t be making fun of it—or me!—if were I you.”

Robin sighed in mock-relief. “At least you haven’t gendered it. Then I’d think you have a problem.”

“Ha. Ha. You’re lucky that the Venn diagram for CW operators and satellite trackers is almost one circle—and don’t ask why, I can’t figure it out either, and I am both.” Julie started flipping switches and turning dials, searching for an appropriate band. She plugged in her headphone jack and pulled out a pad of paper. Robin watched as she started to use the keyer. It was impressive how fast she could send out her messages. There was a lot of rhythmic clunking while Robin waited. So far, no responses that she could notice. It was a good thing she was used to equipment with similar sounds, or she might get a headache from it.

The clunking picked up. Julie stopped, listening intently, then started to scribble down hurried notes. The back-and-forth seemed frantic to Robin, but the grin on Julie’s face was a good sign. She sent out a final rapid message before turning her dials again.

“So you’ve found—?”

“Shut up!”

Robin got up, looking over her shoulder as she sent out another message. Julie’s notes were succinct, but key. Robin was glad she’d insisted on using the radio, if those were the kind of results she got from it. Sat HSW683 noted lving orbit 2d ago ~12am GMT-3, app move W.

It had dropped out of orbit. It might or might not be decelerating. If it was, its orbit would be decaying. It had a high orbit, so it had a lot of energy to lose before it fell down to earth, but moving off course far enough to impact the atmosphere was much more likely—and more worrisome. If it had shifted that far off course, it might already be destroyed, and if it was destroyed, her quadruple-time rush job would have gone up in literal smoke.

It hadn’t hit anything else, at least. If it had collided with any other satellites, she wouldn’t have had this chance at all. SellaCom would just get raked through the coals for their shoddy maintenance routines, they’d ship up replacements, and that would be that.

It also meant that HSW683 had deflected by at least point two degrees. There were a lot of satellites crowded up there at this point.

Julie jotted down another note, sending back that same final message before turning the dial again. She ran her finger down a list at her side, one that seemed to contain call signs. The next note was even more helpful than the last. 1d ago, CMN, GMT+0. Rogue sat @ 31° horz. SSE. Move WbN (High orbit?) @ 1:05. Passes zen, reaches 78° horz. SWbS @ 4:53.

According to somebody in Morocco, it had been deflected, possibly by an impact of some kind, and was approaching the equator. With its existing problems and the fact that communications had cut off at more or less the same time as it left orbit, Robin found the likelihood of an impact questionable. More importantly, with that level of information and a starting point to begin from, she could track the thing down to within a range from which she could draw a visual. “This is perfect, Jules!” Robin cheered quietly, patting her shoulder.

“Shut it!” she hissed. She tore off the paper and waved it in her face. “Take it and get lost, already!”

Robin snatched the paper out of her hand in spite of her confusion. “What are you looking for now?”

Julie groaned in annoyance before firing off a short message and rolling the chair back, glaring at her as she pulled off her headphones. “I’m looking for Abdul’s address, and you need to leave. I can’t flirt effectively in Morse when you’re standing there breathing down my neck!”

“Flirt?” Robin pulled a face. “What was in that message?”

“Hey. There is nothing sexier than a man that knows how to properly track a satellite.”

Robin threw up her hands. “I don’t want to know. I’m leaving.”

“Good!” Julie turned back to the radio. “Let me know how it goes as soon as you get back down, okay? I worry.”

“Sure you do. Enjoy your radio sex.”

“We’re not engaging in radio—get out!”

-

Going up to a high orbit without a partner was not recommended. Going up to any orbit without a partner was not recommended. That Robin didn’t was one of the main reasons her standing contract with SellaCom kept getting renewed; half as many people, half the cost. Although it definitely helped that she did a good job at working up jury-rigged messes that functioned well enough for SellaCom to keep earning their margins, or near to it.

And if she liked the work and the opportunities well enough that she would risk her life doing it on her own for a dumb monopoly like SellaCom, that was her choice, wasn’t it? She wasn’t going to be hurting anyone else with it.

All of that said, Ground Control was full of worrywarts.

Robin let her head fall back in the pilot’s seat, resisting bashing her head against the acceleration cushions because she didn’t have time to waste replacing her headset and microphone. “Come on!” she finally groaned, interrupting the controller’s diatribe. “There have been regularly available commercial flights into orbit for at least twenty years. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, Hirano, is that you’re tracking down and repairing a rogue satellite alone. Do you grasp how much crap is floating around up there? How easy it is to get a rip in an EVA from a piece of rapidly-moving shrapnel? How many times have I asked you to get a partner, huh?”

“Dave,” she said sweetly. “Dave, my friend, do you like soccer?”

“No.”

“A lot of people like soccer.”

“And you are going where, exactly, with this point…?”

“If you don’t let me go up, already, and stop delaying me without cause—”

“It’s illegal to EVA without a partner,” Dave answered dryly. “Highly, highly illegal.”

“—Rioting in the streets. Raining, torn up flags of the countries that were supposed to be competing. Cats and dogs, living together. Mass hysteria!”

“You’re hilarious. I don’t care.” Dave sighed heavily. Robin could hear static overlaying the sound as he strained the abilities of his microphone. “I don’t want to ever find out you burned up in atmo, okay Robin?”

“Dave, I’m not doing an EVA without a partner.”

“Really?”

“Yes, if it will make you send me up!”

“No, it will not make me send you up.”

“Why not? I didn’t declare it. Your job’s not on the line or anything.”

“Your life is on the line. You do grasp that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. I’m being well compensated for it, too.”

Dave groaned loudly. Robin finally came up with a solution. “Say, Dave. Are you in the betting pool on HSW683 burning up?”

“…Yeah. Why?”

“Because that’s what I’m going up to fix. You’ve got time to change your bet.”

“Ugh.”

“Well?”

“I hate you.”

“What do you say?”

“There is a big pool on it.”

“I know.”

“If you die, I will never forgive you.”

“Well, then I couldn’t possibly die. I can’t, if I want to get a beer with you when the thing is fixed.”

“Fine. You’re cleared, this time.”

“Thank you, Dave.”

“You can fix it, right?”

“Ah…most likely. It helps that I know where it is, now.”

Dave groaned. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“You’re not old enough for that.” Then Robin sat up, at least a little concerned. “Wait. Are you?”

“Just get going already. I’ve got better things to do than talk to you while on duty.”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

-

Her path of ascension had already been submitted and approved. There might be more shuttles than ever going up, but there still weren’t enough to cause delays beyond chatty ground control people. Robin started her burners. There was no time to waste; she had a little over nine hours and counting. Increasing power, she accelerated off the public launch pad, heading for the sky.

The acceleration always started so slow that you felt like you were barely hovering, but it picked up quickly. The reloadable hydrogen cells could whip someone into orbit in thirty minutes flat.

They did their job well. Confirming that she’d reached a stable high earth orbit, just below the ream of satellites that currently serviced the world’s television and internet addiction, Robin unstrapped from her acceleration couch and drifted into the back to set out her EVA. Strapping her gear to it, she prepped her headset for the job. Normally, she had to listen to whatever the satellite was spewing out, but HSW683 wasn’t sending out anything. She would have to run transceiver tests eventually, but not from the start. Her set up let Ground Control cut through, since they had something worth saying, but there shouldn’t be a reason for them to get in touch. Up here, she was on her own.

And what could make floating above the pretty blue marble of Earth better than rocking good tunes? Really, you could only waste time being awed the first hundred times. She had a job to do and music helped her do it.

She was feeling like listening to the soundtrack to an old movie called Heavy Metal. Whether or not she’d been introduced to it by her grandmother, it was great for satellite repair. She prepped it on shuffle with a verbal command and set up the rest of her gear for easy access.

She was starting to converge on the likely location of HSW683. Slowing down closer to the rogue’s expected velocity, she started visually and electronically scanning for anything out of place. As expected, the computer found it first. Even if it was a dead piece of garbage, it was metal garbage, and computers were much better at spotting metal things in the blinding glare of sunlight than human eyes under at least two protective dimming layers.

It was closer to the equator than she’d expected by approximately four hundred meters, and moving slower. She slowed down herself and cut toward the equator with a few thruster blasts, her shuttle automatically sending the orbit change to the nearest Ground Control, to be shared throughout their network. No warnings came back.

Once she was matching velocity, she jumped into her EVA. She started the music and opened the primary airlock.

“No one’s going to give it away…”

She depressurized the chamber and snapped on her tether. Whether Dave believed it or not, she didn’t have a death wish.

“They make it hard for the people today…”

She turned the handle on the secondary airlock.

“To get what you want, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

Time to go. Opening the door, she pushed off toward the satellite. She drifted across the gap in what felt like slow motion. Engaging the thrusters on her suit to stop her forward momentum, she bobbed just in reach of the satellite. She peeled off the backing wrapper of a passive transponder and slapped it on a piece of appropriately blank metal as it slowly tumbled past. The adhesive backing stuck through surface tension and cooked under the heat of the sunlight. Its light blinked rhythmically. She cautiously grabbed a hand grip as it rolled past, but let go almost immediately. It was still spinning too fast to work with by hand. She’d need to use one of the small, disposable thrusters she’d designed to stop the rotation.

Pulling one from its designated pouch, she caught hold of the long, velcro-covered tab that let her peel off the back wrapper while wearing an EVA. As a prime point of contact came into view, she repeated the procedure she had performed on the passive transponder, being careful to orient the thruster opposite to the rotation. Activating it at the minimum level possible through the control she’d strapped to one thigh, she brought the tumble to a halt with the opposite side of the satellite facing her.

Whether by luck or good management, that let her have access to the maintenance panel. It also let her see the sparking wreckage that used to be the main transceiver body and control centre of the satellite.

“…It’s not a big surprise to feel your temperature rise…”

“Ha,” Robin huffed to herself. “Yikes. Okay, that I can’t blame on SellaCom.”

How much of this would she be able to salvage? In what amount of time?

A chime interrupted the song, informing her that she had eight hours to fix the problem and correct its orbit. The more of that she had to work with in restoring it to its required orbit, the better.

Robin drifted along beside the satellite as she considered the mess that was left of the central control. The satellite’s thrusters and solar panels looked undamaged, so if she could repair it, she’d likely be able to use its existing propulsion systems to send it back to its designated orbit above Brazil.

It just looked like a bigger job than she’d expected. Handling a collision was more difficult than fixing dead circuitry; collisions required replacement parts. Unfortunately, she had limited central control replacement parts; just some basic circuit boards, none of the important things that actually let the satellite work. She took a breath. She had to break it down. Step one was to remove debris and assess the damage. If she could fix it, she’d move on from there. If not…well, she’d managed to have an enjoyable solo EVA. She could spend some time sightseeing before she piloted the shuttle back to the designated landing strip.

Approaching the central control with a few precise thrusts, she pulled out a light and a metal probe, also known as a pokey stick thing. She prodded at the metal and plastic shards crowding the messy hole, trying to figure out how deep it really went.

The missing maintenance cover had apparently taken a lot of force out of the projectile that had impacted the core. The damage was only three circuit boards deep out of the twelve it could have been. She might be able to fix it, but she’d need some more material from the shuttle.

Robin fired her thrusters to turn back toward the shuttle and began to pull herself with the tether, hand over hand. Closing the outer airlock, she repressurized the chamber and entered the shuttle, half-stripping the EVA as she did.

The one nice thing about SellaCom sats, as dumb as they were, was that they followed the same pattern. That made her job much easier. Dropping off a few pieces of unnecessary equipment to make room for them, she pulled out three pre-made circuit boards, hooking them to her suit. After a moment of consideration, she hooked on a fourth. If that fourth was cracked, she would have had to come back for the replacement anyway, and that would burn through time she didn’t have.

She floated back to the satellite to the dulcet tones of Trust’s song “Prefabricated.” She didn’t know who Trust was, or why it was Prefabricated, but the song was worthy of sailing over the Earth at approximately three kilometres per second. If it wouldn’t have thrown her off course, Robin would have started head-banging.

The core circuitry was still a mess when she got back, which was a shame. With a mental shrug, she took out her metal probe again and started prying. She might try to salvage some of the circuit boards, but the first one was just so much scrap.

Jammed scrap, she found as she fought to get more leverage. Shimmering plastic flecks floated gently past her as she growled in frustration. The seven-hour chime went off.

“Fine!” Robin shouted. Hauling the hand with the probe back and grabbing onto a protrusion with the other she started beating the already mangled circuit board to death in time with the rocking beat.

“I’m not upset by the way I am. To tell you the truth I don’t give a—”

“Scram, you piece of crap!” she yelled at the stubborn board. “You’re costing me quadruple time!”

“The only answer is to lie, act the fool and make you cry!”

The final piece spun off violently, almost hitting the satellite’s solar panels. Robin took a deep breath now that it was gone, sweeping away the few remnants of debris with her probe.

The struts holding board number one in place were badly bent, by the impact she was guessing. Probably not from her creative problem solving. Hopefully. Circuit board number two didn’t have the same problem. With a little wiggling, it came right out and was easily looped on her extra strap, especially when it had such a convenient hole. Three was the same, even if the meteor was still embedded in it.

Four was questionable.

She didn’t want to have to replace it. These replacements were expensive to produce. They had to be made durable enough to withstand micrometeors and solar radiation without atmospheric protection, and durable meant money. Plastic matrices that were supposed to survive getting transport trucks dropped on them. Gold and platinum infused circuitry clad in insulation that just might be able to survive a nuclear bomb at close range. She was only trying this because of quadruple time, which should cover her costs. In the past, if she ever needed more than one, she just told SellaCom the thing was busted and borrowed as many faulty ones as she could from it in the name of research. It had been hard to convince Devreaux to let her do that much, even though she’d proven it was beneficial.

Of course, space could throw the one thing the circuit boards couldn’t survive at them: momentum. Of course it could.

If she replaced it and it wasn’t faulty, no harm no foul.

If she replaced it and it was faulty but functional, she would essentially be waving goodbye to a fifth of the earnings she would have had otherwise.

If she didn’t replace it and it was faulty, she’d probably run out of time and end up losing money.

It really looked functional.

Robin bit her lip as she considered. She wouldn’t have a second chance at this.

“Whoa, I’ll never think twice!”

“Shut up,” she grumbled at her music. Its sense of timing had been uncanny this entire job.

The best options were the ones where she made money. She carefully slid the fourth circuit board out of its slot, finagling some way to attach it to her suit out of the few remaining straps she had. She was just about to unstrap her replacement when she noticed something…off, about circuit board number five. Specifically, a spark.

Robin jerked her hand back, her heart jumping into her throat and trying to strangle her. That shouldn’t have been possible. The fact that it had happened was serious. As she watched, electricity crackled and arced across the circuit board in fine lines. She fired her thrusters to get a safer distance away. Another spark floated off it as she watched, lasting about four seconds before fading entirely.

She scowled. The sat had been having issues even before the impact. This she could definitely blame on SellaCom.

Sparks were made up of small pieces of burning material. In this case, it seemed to be from the shards of metal and plastic she had sprayed everywhere from her earlier brute force approach. But that only solved half of the equation. Where were they getting the oxygen to burn as long as they did? Where were the gases coming from?

The different metals couldn’t have provided them, and the insulation, while apparently faulty, couldn’t be the source. Its chemical composition didn’t contain any oxygen, not even any hydrogen or nitrogen. That only left the plastic matrix.

Why was the electricity arcing, for that matter? While electricity could arc in vacuum, it required more of it than she would have expected travelling through the circuit board to do so now.

She swore as another spark ignited, sputtering in the few faint traces of oxygen it could find, and shut off the music quickly. She need her full focus, and the karmic timing was getting annoying. Her problem, as far as she could see, was pretty simple.

One. Circuit board five was ionizing right in front of her face, possibly because of an overload of electricity.

Two. She didn’t have a replacement circuit board five with her.

Three. She had to find a way to fix it without killing herself.

Seriously, those electrical fingers were a sign of bad, bad, BAD news. That was a lot of power, and she had a lot of metal hanging off her suit, even helping to reinforce her tether. She was the space equivalent of a lightning rod. It wasn’t difficult to slide the circuit board out. A tiny bit of leverage was all it needed, but she couldn’t provide leverage with her metal (METAL) probe.

The board had to be providing a lot of resistance for the electricity to be arcing like that. She looked down, visually inspecting the controlled energy loss system located on the outer hull near the propulsion units. In space, it was the only way to have such a thing as a “ground.” It should have protected the circuit board.

By visual inspection alone, admittedly a poor measure, it seemed to be perfectly fine. Manoeuvring closer didn’t change her perceptions, so she moved back to the core controls.

If she could redirect the electricity to the controlled energy loss system, it might take care of this problem for her. While it, too, provided massive amounts of resistance, it was built to be able to handle 120 percent of the maximum total electrical capacity of the satellite. She had to believe that it would be more attractive to the electrical power than the plastic of the circuit board. If it wasn’t, well…it was certainly pretty up here. Now, how could she provide the energy a channel to follow?

Every circuit board was held in a metal frame, but that metal frame was surrounded by carbon fibre structural components. Not very conductive, and therefore, not very conducive to what she was trying to do. But the very first frame, deformed by the meteor strike, was touching the outer skin of the satellite, providing a direct connection between the frame and the controlled energy loss system. She could do this.

Taking a deep breath, she drew out her probe. Pointing it toward the still sparking fifth board, coming as close as she dared, she exhaled. As she did, she rolled her wrist and let go, sending the metal tool floating toward the support posts. She backed away cautiously, her heart jolting in terror as the electricity arced up to it before it even touched, jumping across in eerie silence. The probe collided and rested near the metal posts, and the arcing electricity could no longer be seen. Not a single spark or light was evident. In a way, it was far more terrifying now that she couldn’t see where the murderous electrical charge was hiding. Robin could only hope that had done the trick. If it had, then she just had to avoid everything but the circuit board if she wanted to live. With another deep breath, she reached out, hesitating just short of the fifth circuit board.

Nothing. It was now or never.

Keeping her hand from shaking through a serious effort of will, she pulled the fifth circuit board free. She strapped it to her suit, fumbling all the while. She’d look at it soon, but the electricity was her main concern.

With the circuit board out of the way, she could see the problem. One of the cables from the solar panels had had a split all down the side of its insulation where faulty sealing had given out, and it was touching the fifth circuit board’s support frame. She didn’t have anything to seal it up again, but she mainly just needed to get it away from the metal.

She looked at her equipment, her eyes lighting on the damaged second circuit board. With the grounding, it just might work. Unless she could return to the shuttle….

Her chime went off again.

“Aw, heck,” she muttered to herself. “Life’s meant for living, right?” Unstrapping the circuit board, careful to hold it somewhere that had no connected wires, she shoved it between the frame posts at the heavy cable.

It twitched, but refused to budge.

“Go!” she hissed, prodding it more insistently. An arc jumped to the circuit board in her hands, making her yelp and jerk away. It must have passed through some other connection, because it didn’t touch her. Robin swore under her breath, shaky. What was she, a lunatic?

She must be, she thought to herself, because she was about to jab that live wire with a piece of metal-laced plastic again. It was either insanity or stupidity, and she liked to think she was at least a little smarter than Devreaux.

She jammed the circuit board in there with gusto, and managed to move the cable back all the way to the wall, even though it started arcing. Taking a bottle of adhesive from her belt, she shot nearly the entire thing onto the cable and wall, hoping it would affix it as far away as she could get it. Then she held position.

The cable was suspiciously quiet once more.

Ever so slowly, she drew back the broken circuit board. The cable didn’t move.

Normally, she would have tried to fix the thing more permanently, but if it was holding then she didn’t care. She’d already risked a lot on this quadruple time job, and she was not going to play with that electrical nightmare any more than she had to. Checking the fifth circuit board, she laid down a couple of lines of cold solder to replace sections of platinum that had burned off under the massive amounts of electricity, touching up a rough joint while she was at it. Retrieving her probe while forcing herself not to think about it, she slotted in the fifth, fourth, third, and second circuits. That only left the first circuit and its frame before she should be able to escort the satellite back to its designated orbit. Using a pair of broken circuit boards to help—one backing the frame, one making sure that a board could slide into it after the fact—she carefully beat it into shape. She did so a lot less vigorously than she had to break the first circuit board. With a wiggle and a shove, she was able to slot the final board into place. She tuned her headset to HSW683’s specific frequency, and—

“—mi amor!” the headset cried faintly. The ground stations might not be broadcasting to it anymore, but the other satellites certainly were. It seemed to be working. Time to get it back in place, as fast as possible.

Switching her headset over to her playlist, she manoeuvred back into her shuttle as fast as she safely could. Sealing the hatches, she ran the satellite through its paces. If it wasn’t directable now, there was no point in running off, even as short on time as she was.

HSW683 responded like a dream. That done, she stripped off the EVA. She called up the map and calculated the change in orbit needed, entered the commands, and executed them.

The build up in acceleration was as slow and steady as before, gathering speed and arcing her halfway around the globe. A building drumbeat and rocking guitar saw her off to yells of “Radar rider!” as the acceleration really kicked in. Robin checked her clock and laughed in elation. A little over six hours left, and the hard part was done. She just might get it.

With the gleaming sun swinging over her and the satellite following in what would almost be her slipstream, she guided the accelerating shuttle through the debris drifting along. She skimmed just under the designated high orbit, the crowd of satellites stretching before her and blending into the stars faintly visible on the Earth’s curved horizon. The Earth below her seemed to turn faster as she watched, clouds swirling over the vague oceans. She had to smile.

The rest of it wasn’t as much fun. It was a slog to the position, and it was finicky getting it into place. An hour and a half of fine manoeuvring finally placed it, and she called down to inform SellaCom of the repair with very little time to spare. She plotted her descent and gave a heavy sigh.

Now she just had to go collect her cash.

-

This time, when she threw the door open, Devreaux caught it with a wince. “Quadruple time,” she announced, pushing past him to sit in his chair.

Devreaux gave her a look as if she’d smashed an expensive bottle of red wine on his white carpet. He pushed the door shut behind her, massaging his hand with a wince.

Robin kicked her feet up onto the desk, raising an eyebrow. The new paint on the wall must not even have dried yet for him to be that protective of it. And the administrative assistant must have warned him, in spite of the grin she’d gotten. “Quadruple time,” she repeated. It was the only thing she was prepared to say until she got paid.

Devreaux glared at her. “Pleasant, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “I want my money. Quadruple time.”

The smile that came was slow and rather evil. “Really? Was that the agreement?”

Robin stared back at him. “You’re joking.”

“I certainly never signed something to that effect.”

She dropped her feet back to the floor, staring at him in rage as she shoved her sweat-stained bangs away from her face. “You’re joking. You can’t do this to me.”

Devreaux advanced on the desk, setting his hands on it lightly, his evil grin still in place. “And if an agreement was never made—”

“Shut it. Just, just shut up.”

“—then it never. Happened.”

“I fixed the satellite!”

“Yes. Good job. You’ll receive your standard pay.”

She took a deep breath. Much as she wanted too, she couldn’t afford to get into a screaming match with him. Her profits were on the line. After a moment, she managed a smile. “Jason,” she began.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “There’s no way out of this for you, Ms. Hirano. Don’t even try. Every legal recourse is on my side.”

Robin gave him a slightly manic smile and pushed herself to her feet. She leaned over the desk, getting right in his face. “Jason,” she repeated. “Do you know the funny thing about satellites?”

He scowled. “Ms. Hirano—”

“The funny thing,” she continued. “Is just how easy it is to mess. Them. Up.”

Devreaux jerked back as if struck. “Is…is that a threat?” he tried to demand. His voice came out a little too weak for it to be effective.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered blandly.

“Ms. Hirano, if you take any drastic measures, SellaCom will be forced to take severe legal action against you. There is no way—”

“Here’s a thought,” she mentioned, straightening up. “Without that quadruple time pay, and with everything I had to do to get that thing working, I’m practically bankrupt at the moment.”

Devreaux’s eyes went wide in horror.

“Another funny thing,” she continued. “The court would probably want to know what was wrong with some of the satellites I’ve fixed, wouldn’t they? I think they’d find some of the issues interesting. Not to mention, the creativity of my solutions, since you won’t fund me for an actual repair kit. I mean, this time I even got to play with one of the main power—”

“Stop. Stop,” he practically begged, waving his hands in abortive, cutting-off motions. “There’s…there’s no need to disclose confidential corporate policy, Ms. Hirano. Really.”

“Quadruple time?”

“Yes, certainly, of course.” Devreaux gave her the customer service smile again. It looked broken at the edges. “We here at SellaCom always keep our word.”

“Fantastic. Gimme.”

Devreaux blinked at her outstretched hand, looking confused. “I’m…sorry?”

“Cheque. Hand. Now.”

He laughed slightly. “Ms. Hirano, I assure you—”

“Jason,” she interrupted, staring at him, unimpressed. “I don’t trust you. I especially don’t trust you after you already tried to screw me over today. Until I’m holding a cheque with your signature on it, I’m not leaving.”

He looked her in the eye. Whatever he saw made his lip curl in distaste, but he heaved a sigh of surrender. Walking to the other side of his desk, he shooed her out of the way. He tapped through a few screens on his tablet, signed it with one of his gold styluses, hit enter, and a piece of paper ejected itself from a nearly invisible slot on his desk.

She nabbed it before he could, examining it closely. It had the right numbers on it. The signature was where it was supposed to be, the number of hours was right…everything was in order. She flipped it over to check the back for fine print.

“Are you—really?” Devreaux sighed. “Really?”

Robin shot him a glare. “I could throw the satellite farther than I trust you.”

“Are you satisfied?” he asked, patronizing.

After one last look, drawing it out and making his smile brittle again, Robin tucked the cheque down the front of her jump suit. “Yes,” she chirped happily, holding out her hand. “It’s such a pleasure doing business with you.”

He shook it with a grimace of distaste. Robin felt that was uncalled for. It wasn’t her fault EVA suits didn’t breathe; it was a key portion of the design.

Formalities over with, Robin turned to go, making sure to slam the door behind her. Once out of that art deco office, she was able to take a breath.

Time to get a beer.

Nightfall continued to stare down at her as if she was completely out of her mind, which was, honestly, fair. That didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared to double down on her insanity. This was all a terrible idea, but she was nothing if not committed.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Nightfall had gotten over her shock, it seemed, and was gathering herself for some incisive comment. Marianne needed to act before the villain managed that. With a final wince, she let her shield drop to the floor with a splash.

A couple of drops hit a painting; she pulled them off quickly with a grimace. It was fine. It would be fine. Right?

It was on the wrong side of midnight, she needed to get to work early tomorrow, and she wanted a bucket of coffee. She was going to go insane if Nightfall kept trying to rob galleries every third night. Even if the painting wouldn’t be alright, she was far too tired to care.

As she fussed with the painting, Nightfall’s shadows retreated back to her. The villain herself was wide-eyed in shock. “What are you doing?” she demanded, suspicious.

“You don’t miss,” Marianne repeated, folding her arms.

“I didn’t miss,” she hissed back, peering around the atrium. “You blocked me. What are you playing at?”

Marianne blinked at her. “Are—are you looking for traps?”

Nightfall shot her a glare. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re acting suspicious.”

“I’m acting suspicious?” Marianne demanded. “You missed! You don’t miss! It is night. There are shadows,” she added, sweeping an arm at the floor, “literally everywhere. How could you possibly miss?”

Nightfall’s lips thinned as her shadows retreated, piling themselves onto the black gown and glossy, wavy black hair they formed for her. Marianne would never admit it, but she thought it was a lot more classy and elegant than her slightly baggy jump suit. She’d make a water dress to conduct superhero business in, except that water was clear.

They stared at each other in silent bafflement a moment longer, then Nightfall extended shadowy tendrils up through the open skylight and disappeared.

Marianne sighed and pulled out her phone to get in touch with the police. Freaking villains.

*

All her power, and she worked in a pastry shop. Superheroing had a legal requirement to be unpaid after the whole scandal with Angelus, which was understandable. She didn’t have to be a superhero, either, and many powered people weren’t or weren’t strong enough to manage it, but it gave her a scholarship for her culinary arts degree. Not a full ride, but enough that the coffee shop work and a few small loans covered the rest, plus room and board. She was lucky that way.

She wasn’t lucky in any other way. It balanced out.

The police had kept her there for another two hours. Her supervising hero, Magog, had given her a half hour lecture about being stupid that she didn’t need, since she already knew, thank you very much, and she had to finish a nutrition assignment for ten o’clock in the morning that she hadn’t started yet. By the time she had finished it, she left in time to be five minutes late to work. Five AM start times could go die in a hole.

“Whoa, you look like crap.”

Marianne rolled her eyes, fighting into her apron. It wasn’t usually this hard, was it? “Thanks, Lizzie. What colour contacts today?”

Her co-worker blinked unnaturally yellow eyes with slit pupils at her, flipping her unnaturally red, if short, hair out of her face. “Did you get any sleep at all, Marie?”

Marianne frowned at her slightly. She had bags under her eyes. “Second job plus assignment messing up my schedule, as per usual. Same to you, by the way.”

Lizzie shrugged. “Whatever. Watching movies, you know?”

She wished she did.

Lizzie passed her a coffee with a flourish. She moaned in delight, spiralling the water of the coffee into a small funnel in order to make it cool enough to drink, like she always did. Lizzie gave her a small grin at the power use, like she always did. “Are we making cupcakes, or are we making cupcakes?”

They made cupcakes.

*

A week. A full week, and Nightfall didn’t do anything. Not that Marianne wasn’t glad of the break. Because of her abilities, and both her and Nightfall’s relative newness, she had been designated as Marianne’s ‘nemesis,’ which reduced the other heroes’ expectations nicely. She’d only had to log one night of teamwork, which was good news considering her assignments. It was just that…well, she was worried. Nightfall had a bit of a rhythm to her schemes, and it was disconcerting that she hadn’t done anything. Marianne didn’t wish her ill in any way. The villain never did any harm outside of slashing at the heroes that got in her way, and even those she was careful not to hurt too much. She more often used scare tactics, which worked much better than Marianne would have expected on most heroes. Since getting her powers at the end of high school, Marianne had grown to enjoy their battles. They were fun. Was Nightfall in trouble?

“Something wrong?” Lizzie asked her. Her contacts were purple today.

“No,” she grunted, continuing to knead the dough. “Why would it be?”

“Because you’re trying way too hard to murder that dough? To the point of overworking it?”

Marianne looked down at the dough her hand was clenched in and sighed. “Sorry. We’re going to have to scrap this.”

“Hey, no big deal,” Lizzie said with a shrug.

She rubbed her forehead and sighed as Lizzie disposed of the dough and started a new batch. “Really, I’m sorry.”

“You can fix it by telling me what’s wrong.”

“Someone I work with hasn’t been showing up lately, and I’m really worried about her,” Marianne blurted out.

Lizzie jerked slightly. “Wha—really? Who?”

She looked away, trying to remember what she’d said about her ‘second job’ in order to keep the superheroing anonymous, as required by law. “Um—goth girl.”

“Are you serious?” Lizzie demanded, smacking the dough against the counter hard. “I thought you hated her!”

“I mean, we’re…” she wracked her brain for a response that covered the situation adequately “…antagonistic, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I hate her. It’s more just competition. We challenge each other.”

Lizzie stared at her not unlike Nightfall had.

“Stop looking at me like I’m crazy,” she grumbled. “Even if I did hate her, who knows? She might be dead, and I really don’t want that.”

Lizzie looked back at the dough. “Well, fair enough,” she mumbled. “That’s dark.”

“How am I supposed to know when she never comes to work anymore?” Marianne demanded. “I just—I’m worried.”

“Marie, honey, it’s not that I don’t hope you find out,” Lizzie said, “but maybe you should be prepared to never know.”

She plucked at the edge of her apron nervously. “I can’t do that. I just—”

Lizzie turned around, patting her firmly on the shoulder. Purple eyes locked with hers; despite the fakeness of the colour, they seemed sincere. “Marianne. Stop worrying. From what you’ve said about her, she probably just quit to go move to Europe or become a horror author or something. There’s no need to make the worst out of things without knowing for sure.”

Marianne bit her lip for a moment. “That’s fair,” she agreed hesitantly.

Lizzie patted her shoulder again, then pointed at her forehead. “You’ve got flour on your face.”

Lizzie was great. She deserved superpowers. Maybe she could get the power to change her eye colour without having to use contacts. It was uncommon, but people could get superpowers all the way up until they were thirty.

*

Another week passed without any sign of Nightfall. Marianne was worrying more than ever, in spite of Lizzie’s attempts to cajole her out of it. In the end, Lizzie just let her beat the dough, but stopped her before she overworked it. She appreciated the stress relief. Nightfall was probably dead. She must have crossed a greater villain or something, which was a terrible thought. Marianne really hoped it wasn’t the case, but in the meantime, the possibility was driving her loopy.

When she came home from her classes late at night at the start of the third week without Nightfall, something seemed off about her apartment. Touching her door handle, she found it cooler than normal, she thought. Narrowing her eyes at the suspicious door, Marianne cracked open her water bottle before unlocking it.

Opening it slowly, shadows could be seen webbing their way across the small room at unnatural angles. Marianne walked in cautiously, looking for Nightfall. Why here? Why now? It didn’t make any sense.

Her desk chair spun slowly, revealing Nightfall, sitting in it regally. She was the closest to Marianne she had ever been. “We need to talk,” she stated authoritatively, her narrowed eyes completely black.

Marianne screeched and threw the bottle at her. “Lizzie-what-the-heck!” She demanded in one breath.

Nightfall—Lizzie—squawked as the bottle bounced off her shadow shield, keeping herself from getting wet. “Marie—”

“Lizzie!” Marianne shouted again. “What! The! Heck! You just disappeared! What was I supposed to think?!”

Lizzie stared at her, stricken. The black bled out of her eyes. “I—”

“I thought you were dead! How could you make me worry like that?”

“I thought you’d be happy—” she tried to respond weakly.

“Well I wasn’t! And you got to watch me be unhappy for two entire weeks, Lizzie! So I repeat: what the—”

Her upstairs neighbour began pounding on the floor, cutting her off. Marianne scowled at her ceiling. “Shut up, Greg!” she shouted back. “This is more important than your stupid video games!”

A muffled “screw you” could be heard through the ceiling.

Lizzie looked bewildered as the shadows faded away completely. Brown eyes and pixie cut brown hair were her natural features, and her cheekbones looked much rounder without shadow enhancement. Under the dramatic, power-formed dress, she was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. “But how did you know who I was?”

“How could I not?” Marianne demanded, throwing her arms forward. “Lizzie, you used that exact same tone of voice on the idiot that wanted a bagel from a pastry shop today. This close, those shadows could not hide enough of you for me to miss the similarities. Just—seriously. What happened? Are you okay?”

Lizzie…burst into tears. Marianne froze up for a moment before rushing forward to hug her, even if it was awkward. After a few minutes of hugging, she thought to get her a glass of water to help. In order to keep the hug going, she drew the water that had been in the bottle (ew, carpet water) and dumped it into the sink after using it to turn the handle, collecting a glass and filling it. It was exercising her fine control more than normal, but she wasn’t even thinking about that now. “Here, here,” she coaxed, offering the glass.

Lizzie chugged it, then caught her breath, swiping at her cheeks. “Why aren’t you scared of me?” she wondered.

“Why should I be scared of you?” Marianne asked blankly.

“Shadows, Aqua,” she answered with a snort. “I control shadows. As you put it, ‘they are literally everywhere.’”

Ah. So that was her villainous side. Marianne had definitely seen it on occasion in the pastry shop. “Your dress is wicked cool, by the way,” she said instead. “I am jealous.”

Lizzie looked ready to cry again. “My powers are too scary. I tried to use them to help people in high school, but they always freaked out. No matter if I wanted to be a hero or not, shadows are inherently villainous.”

“And your shadow hair is amazing!” Marianne added. “You could use your powers to be a model. It would be awesome.”

“I’m a monster! Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Marianne stared at her for a long moment. Lizzie stared back. She took a deep breath. “Humans,” she stated, “average at least seventy percent water. When I first got my powers, I accidently sent someone to the ICU by controlling the water in their body. To the point where some of it was no longer in their body.” Lizzie looked suitably horrified. “Sure, you can take parts of the environment and use it to hurt people. I can take a person’s insides and explode them. Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Marie,” she gasped, “you’d never—”

She poked her in the nose. “And neither would you. So there.”

“But I’m still a villain,” Lizzie said, sheepish.

“Student loans?” Marianne asked.

“Online courses,” she agreed. “I feel better if I sleep most of the day.”

“I wish I could do that,” Marianne mumbled. “I mean, I’m only really in the hero thing for the scholarship, but it wreaks havoc with my schedule.” She tipped her head to the side. “Do you think that might work for you? Scholarship money?”

“What are you talking about?” Lizzie asked, baffled.

“What if,” Marianne began slowly, “you and I could fake your death as Nightfall, and you showed up as somebody who’s just got their powers, and register as a superhero to get the scholarship. We could team up as Aqua and…Dusk! It would be fantastic.”

“They’d recognize me instantly—especially with that name.”

Marianne rolled her eyes. “I only recognized you because I knew you from work. You changed your appearance a lot, Lizzie.”

She fidgeted, uneasy. “Why are you helping me?” she finally asked.

“Because I like you,” Marianne said with a smile. “You’re too great to work with to pass up the chance to do more of it. You’ve always had my back. Time for me to have yours.”

"May I escort you to your entourage, Your Majesty?" he asked.

The Queen drew back to give him a look. "Entourage?"

"Yes. The lords and ladies of the court were most insistent upon seeing you crowned and in showing their support for your rule."

"Oh, were they?" she asked, the word underlain with something...seething.

Tadius blinked in the gleaming light in a vain attempt to clear his vision. The morning had suddenly grown as bright as if it were noon. "Your knight found them wanting," he explained.

She began to walk, glancing at him as he joined her. "But not you."

He smiled. "Ah, I am naught but a humble messenger, Your Majesty, and duty-bound to serve the royal house. I only came bearing news to my sovereign."

"Humble?" she teased him. "You wouldn't lie to a queen, would you?"

He bowed to her. "In comparison to you, My Queen—"

"Is this intended as a compliment, or an insult?" she asked, a glimmer in her eyes as she tried not to smile.

He bit back a smile of his own. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I'll hold my un-clever tongue."

"And hide your best quality?"

"If it please you."

She studied him for a moment as they walked. "I didn't say that."

She hadn't, had she? And she'd called him a good man as well, waiving his prior unkind words. He smiled to himself, taking in the day. The sunshine was bright enough to cast the marshy forest around them into stark relief. It felt almost dreamlike. He was tempted to pinch himself; things had gone too well so far.

"So," the Queen began. "You talked your way around Sir Hop-A-Lot's blade."

"Was there a need to?" he said, sarcastic. "I hadn't noticed." He was careful to stay only a half-step in front of her, just enough to lead the way without seeming to and easily turned into a bow to present her to the nobility in all her glory.

"I know that he is a little...overzealous," she allowed.

Tadius shot her a look. "Is that the word for inviting a dozen lords to die by his blade?"

She stopped in her tracks. "He didn't."

"Mind you, I don't believe it was undeserved—"

"Don't you?"

He stared at her a moment. "Your Majesty, you did meet the late prince."

"Oh. Oh." She grimaced. "Oh no. But surely they're not all bad?"

Tadius considered that. "I don't believe any of them are disguised trolls, at least."

"We will still need to check."

"As you command, Your Majesty."

They walked on through the mud. Where Tadius sank up to his ankles, his Queen barely seemed to touch the ground. She must have been familiar with the terrain.

Once they reached the nobility, she'd be swept up in the whirl of celebration and paperwork and politics. Even after that first rush, there would be hundreds of decisions brought to her attention—thousands, even. If he was going to ask to maintain his position, he ought to do it now, no matter how much he didn't want to ruin this suspended, perfect moment. But he had to try. "My Queen, may I retain my position as steward? I assure you, I will serve you faithfully—"

"What is your job?" she interrupted. "Aside from babysitting spoiled princes, that is."

"Ah. I'm meant to oversee the royal household."

"You planned the ball."

"With help, of course, it was quite rushed—"

"Of course."

"—But...yes."

"So if I were to ask you how you'd recommend dealing with the King's death...?"

"I would suggest to set the funeral for the morrow, allow a day of mourning, then announce your ascension to the throne the next. A day isn't long to organize a celebration, but I suspect you would be better served by proving that the royal house is not in turmoil—and with the wedding...largely uncelebrated, there are still some measures in place to provide proper feasting and merriment."

"And how many forks for a royal brunch?"

"Three, unless one of the courses is a soup."

She set a hand on his arm, halting him. "How would you suggest I deal with the nobility?"

The look in her eyes showed that she was serious. He had to blink hard again, feeling dazzled. "Your Majesty, you're asking me for advice?"

"I am."

"But I am only a servant—"

"One who prepares their food and guards them while they sleep, yes." She stepped forward, intent. "One who knows their secrets."

He stumbled back, the mud nearly trapping him. His heart fluttered in his chest. "My Queen—"

"I have heard you advise the prince, Tadius."

"But you asked—you mean it. You wish to know my thoughts on this."

Her expression gentled, leaving him warm. "Well, who wouldn't?"

It took effort to unstick his tongue. "I-I fear you've struck me thoughtless, Your Majesty," he stammered out.

"...Isn't the usual expression 'speechless'?"

"We've already established the quality of my—" Too long with the prince made the sentence turn from smart to bawdy right before he could finish it. He bit his traitor tongue. "...That my words remain un-clever. Clearly."

She raised an eyebrow. "Nice save."

He flushed. "And my point is made. Better I had been struck speechless than witless, Your Majesty."

She pressed a hand to her mouth, aglow with mirth. "If I have afflicted you so, perhaps it would be best that you were made the court jester instead."

He ducked his head. "Perhaps it would. I did entertain you, once. Will you hear this jester's advice all the same?"

"Of course."

"The nobility love you, for the moment—and they fear you. Give them a week, and let them show you themselves who is faithful, and who is not."

"Only a week? Will they truly reveal themselves in so short a time?"

He smiled at her. "You are wise, My Queen. I trust your judgment will be sound."

"And what should I do with the disloyal, Tadius?"

"Ask me again when you know how many they number, My Queen. There are...options."

"Mm. Many soft pillows?"

He shot her a look. "Perhaps."

She tapped her chin, thoughtful. "Or perhaps I should set Sir Hop-A-Lot to clear them out."

What a terrifying thought. "There's the knight, just ahead," he said, pointing out the frog and sliding just a half step behind her.

If she counted other people's reactions to her, maybe it did. Her shifting had been paired with that agonizing rejection often enough. People she'd thought were friends...the moment they saw that, was the moment she was rejected. Sure, maybe they stuck around a little longer, but the instant she shifted was the one they marked her as other; it was always the reason they turned on her. It was why Gloreth had turned on her, why Anna had, why Chris had.... It was why Ballister had turned on her.

She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and shaking her head. That wasn't fair. Ballister had been brainwashed, but he'd overcome it. He'd apologized, more than once. He'd wanted her to live, and even now he wanted her to be happy and safe. Goldenloin was coming around, too. The whole Kingdom was. All it took was...her dying for them. Because even now, most of them still didn't understand her.

Does it hurt? Sorry, small-minded question.

Nimona scowled down at the cutting board, pinning down another carrot to chop. Boss hadn't been wrong about that—it had been small-minded. How could he have looked at her shifting and seen pain in it? Where did the fault lie, that she could understand other's feelings about her all too clearly, while they couldn't understand her at all?

And when they couldn't, when she knew they couldn't...why did she stay?

Sometimes she had to wonder if her standards were too low. That had to be part of it, right? That she was lonely enough, desperate enough, that she'd take fearful, small-minded, uncomprehending conversation over nothing. Hadn't she learned better a thousand years ago? But no, she still made the same mistake time and time again, no matter how many times it broke her heart.

Nimona grabbed another carrot with a sigh. Why was she thinking about this anyway? Things were good, lately. She'd survived, the Kingdom had pulled down its walls, Boss and the boyfriend were both supportive and friendly—Boss had turned downright protective. That was a new experience, very weird. She was still getting used to it.

Even so, it all came with this niggling little doubt. That someday she'd turn around, and the friends she was making would have turned on her again, leaving her to scream why, why am I so hard for you to love—!

"Nimona?"

She froze, her grip tightening on the knife. Ballister cleared his throat quietly behind her. "I...think that's enough carrots."

She stared at the pile blankly. It had started to spill off the cutting board and across the counter. "Oh. Yeah."

They stood together in silence for a long moment. Nimona itched to do something with her hands, but she couldn't think of what.

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Okay." Boss walked up beside her and she—she flinched.

He hesitated, taking a step away from her. "Okay," he repeated more quietly, an undertone of hurt in the word that he couldn't quite hide. "For bahn mi?"

She nodded.

He got out a pot, filling it with water one handed—he'd stopped wearing his robot arm at home. He set it on the stove, pulling out salt and sugar for her. Every move was slow, telegraphed. This wasn't the first time she'd flinched from him, after all.

She didn't want to flinch from him. They'd talked about what happened, she'd already forgiven him, but still she—still. On bad days, she just couldn't help but flinch. It was frustrating.

The pot was starting to boil. She'd added the salt and sugar and Ballister had made sure they dissolved. She should—

Boss passed her the vinegar.

"Thanks," she said. She glanced at the carrots. "That's...way too many. Wow."

Boss stole a piece of carrot, leaning against the counter. "Snack for later?" he asked.

"What, you're going to wait?"

"I can wait," he said, eating another carrot stick.

Nimona raised her eyebrows at him. "Sure you can."

Boss looked down at the carrot stick, thoughtful. "I hoarded food while I was at the Institute."

She straightened, surprised by the turn in the conversation. "You didn't get in trouble?"

He shrugged. "I got better at hiding it."

"How long?"

Ballister looked down at the carrots. "Meals were...regimented. They were consistent, they were good, but it was also the only time I got access to food. It made me...." He gestured vaguely, and she hummed in acknowledgement. She'd lived famines; she knew.

He glanced at her. "I think I only stopped when Ambrosius gave me the key to his apartment—and his pantry."

Now she understood what he was trying to say. Nimona swallowed hard. Her eyes stung from tears—or maybe it was just the vinegar. "I don't think trust works the same."

"Not really, no."

She dragged her hands over her face. "I forgave you. I want to be able to—ugh!"

"I know," he said, gentle yet hurt. "Believe me, I know. Take as long as you need."

"What if I can't?"

He hesitated, uncertain. "I...I'm sure that someday—"

"No, you don't get it, it's—" She shook her head. "You don't get it."

She couldn't stand to say can't, no matter how true it might be.

"...Is...is there anything I can do to...?"

"No." She rubbed her eyes. "Sorry. Just—I guess today is a bad day. It's not—" your fault, except it was, actually, in spite of everything he'd done and was still doing to try to make up for it. In spite of her forgiveness. In spite of what she wanted—

"Nimona," he said.

She wanted to believe she could trust him. Most days she did, at least lately. But she'd trusted him before, and all the others too. It wasn't fair, to think that he'd turn on her again, especially now, but it had happened enough that it was a pattern, a habit, worn into her very bones no matter what shape they took.

"Come here, kid," Boss whispered, holding out his arm, ready to hug her.

She fell into him, holding on tight as he curled around her and ruffled her hair. "It's just a bad day," she tried to reassure them both. "It's just a bad day, it'll be fine. It'll be fine."

Ballister didn't answer, just held her tighter. Maybe things would change. Maybe it would fall apart again. But at least for that single moment, she could trust him to hold her.