Daniel Abraham - Inside Straight

“You want us to go back out there?” Earth Witch asked. Jonathan could see the distress in her expression. He didn’t know if she was seeing King Cobalt, Simoon, and Hardhat, or the Egyptian soldiers she herself had killed. Curveball, he noticed, was looking mighty thoughtful, too.

“I want every dictator in the world to fear justice,” Jayewardene said. “I want every soldier ordered to slaughter innocent children to hesitate. I want every trader in slaves to sleep less peacefully. I will not ask that you place yourselves in danger if you do not wish it. Certainly, I cannot compel you.”

Lohengrin was on his feet, armor shimmering into being, sword appearing in his hand, raised in salute.

“My sword is yours to command,” Lohengrin said.

There was a moment’s silence. And then Jonathan watched as they slowly rose, each of them. He tried to understand why.

From the need to justify his father’s death, Fortune stood. From guilt over her success in burying men alive and despite her wounded body, Earth Witch. To keep her friend from standing without her, Curveball. From idealism and a competitive heart, Drummer Boy. From a belief in goodness that transcended reason, Holy Roller—well, his hand at least. Christ only knew when the last time was he’d stood up without assistance. From delight at not being discluded, Rustbelt. Jonathan didn’t know why he and Bubbles stood up. Maybe just because it seemed like the thing to do.

“Excellent,” Jayewardene said. “This is excellent.”

It occurred to Jonathan for the first time that the meeting table was, in point of fact, round.

The hall was like something from an old movie. Huge curtains lined the walls, and the crowd in the seats was bigger than a rock concert. The constant flashes from the press section would be the front pages of newspapers and magazines all across the world by tomorrow.

They were all sitting in surprisingly comfortable chairs on a dais. The slow ritual of presenting them with medals was over, but the ceremony itself promised to drag on for hours. While they waited for the next speaker to say more or less the same things, they fell—as bored people will—into conversation.

“Yeah,” Bubbles said, “now that you mention it, I was bothered by that. I mean, he did as much as Han or Luke, right? So why wasn’t he on the dais in the last scene?”

“Sidekick syndrome,” Jonathan said. “Whole rebellion was prejudiced against Wookies.”

“Oh, whatever,” Earth Witch said.

“You guys all know he’s just using us, right?” Jonathan said.

“Who?” Curveball asked.

“Jayewardene. I mean, he said it himself. Here he is, it’s his first day of work, and what happens? He gets kidnapped. I mean you have to figure he lost huge credibility there. And so now he has to make it up somehow, and we’re the most convenient way.”

“Does it matter?” Lohengrin asked. “Whatever drives him to do what is right, it is not important. Only doing what is right.”

“I find you charmingly naïve sometimes,” Jonathan said. The German bristled visibly, then laughed. “I’m just saying Jayewardene is posturing. He’s using us to seem more effective than he is.”

“Even if you’re not totally full of shit, so what?” Drummer Boy said. “I’m good with it. You can back out anytime you want, Hive. We won’t call you chickenshit. Honest.”

Curveball and Fortune both chuckled at that. Jonathan frowned. “I’m not saying I want out,” he said. “I’m just saying that this whole committee thing is a publicity stunt. It’s not like we’re actually going to put on uniforms and run around the planet stopping bad guys and hauling them into the World Court for trial. We’re figureheads. We’re just for show.”

“You know, Bugsy,” Fortune said. “We’re really not.”

The crowd roared as Secretary-General Jayewardene took the podium. He smiled, nodding to the left and to the right. The room grew quiet. The cameras continued to flash.

“Ladies. Gentlemen,” he said. “I hope you will all find this as worthy of celebration as I myself do. I have come before you now to announce the formation of the Committee …”

Posted Today 7:12 pm

COMMITTEE, POLITICS, AMERICAN HERO | REFLECTIVE | “CHILDREN OF THE REVOLUTION” — VIOLENT FEMMES

The Committee.

Yeah, there’s more after that; but when you get right down to it, we’re really the Committee. Say it, print it, post it. Everyone knows what you mean. The Commit tee.

I have a new job now. I’m one of the poor bastards going out there to help save the world now. But at least they don’t want me to put on Spandex or a cape or some shit like that. It’s great, but it also has the feeling of something ending. I’m going to keep this blog going as long as I can, but I don’t know how much I’ll be able to keep up with it. There are only so many hours in a day, after all. There’s already talk about maybe going in to this shithole in Africa where a guy is encouraging half the people in his country to take machetes to the other half. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about it, but I guess if they send us, we’ll try. What else could we do?

I started this thing because I wanted to talk about what it was to be an ace. Here we are, with powers other people dream of having. We’re the cool kids. The heroes. The ones who get celebrated. And it’s not because of what we think or what we do. It’s because of what we are.

I don’t think there’s anything more toxic than that. To be celebrated—or condemned—for what you are instead of who.

We’re aces. And some of us are petty little fucks. Some of us are pretentious asses. Some of us can rise to the occasion, and some of us can’t.

So, if I did write my book—and honest to God, folks, I don’t see the free time anywhere in the immediate future—what would I say with it? That Hollywood’s ideas of heroism are shallow and cocaine-driven? Yeah, there’s big news.

That genocide is bad?

That sometimes people do honorable, good, right things for all the wrong reasons? Or stupid, destructive, short-sighted things for all the right ones?

The problem with a cliché is that it starts in truth. So when you dig down, fight and scratch and bleed and sometimes even die for the truth, sometimes—not always, but sometimes —you end up with something you could have bought on a greeting card.

Do the right thing. Cherish your friends; you don’t know how long you get to have them. You’re flawed and weak, but that’s okay; just do the best you can.

For that, I went to Hollywood and Vegas and Egypt and Hell. Hardly seems worth it, except that maybe I understand better what the Hallmark cards mean.

And I understand they’re looking at another season of American Hero. Good luck with that, guys.

I don’t know how you’re gonna top this one.

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