2103:11:10:10:23:01

  The Avery-McGill Shuttleport was located miles outside the city proper, though still a part of Charm’s prefectural administration. One part military installation, one part import-export hub, and one part tourist location, the Shuttleport was a monumental building that combined overly sleek and gleaming futurism with the practical brutalism of a bunker.

  As far as I understood, shuttleports were North America’s attempt to replace the airport that had fallen out of favor during the Dark Age. With so many flying superpowered around, airplanes became deathtraps and air traffic in general plummeted into the abyss.

  Then, after the masquerade turned global, airplanes returned for long enough that villains recognized them as easy targets for heists. A villain would find their way into a plane one way or another, and deprive everyone and their mother of their valuables like the train robberies of old. Other times, a villain would grab the plane, force them to land, and then strip the entire airplane down to its nuts and bolts and fly away with the most valuable parts, leaving its passengers stranded in the middle of nowhere.

  Countermeasures were considered, experimented with and then thrown out the window when they found nothing worked. The rural, sparsely populated Midlands – or Badlands, if you’re old – were too wide to patrol effectively, the airplanes too numerous and too costly to have heroes escort them effectively. Not without spending too much in terms of both lives and money. That, and aerial battles between masked weren’t exactly safe for an airplane full of people to fly through.

  That wasn’t to say that airports didn’t still exist in other parts of the world. Parts of West, Central and South Africa – those centered around the Cameroon Capital Region – still used airplanes frequently because of the high density of heroes, and the more powerful villain gangs there not attacking them for their own reasons (there were far too many conspiracies about why). Southeast Asia still used planes thanks to effective naval patrols, and a lot other places around the world used them on a much more local level.

  Shuttleports were the next best thing. As they were frequently used by heroes, the rich and the powerful to jump to another city in case of an emergency, they had their own dedicated Guardians, police stations, military attachments and powered professionals to protect them, making them much safer than the average airport had ever been. The shuttles themselves also flew too high for most villains to target, and the Atmospheric Guard was always on watch for those that could.

  In short, for villains it was too high a risk for too little reward.

  All this and more Mom explained to me as we waited in a large park close to the port’s entrance. For security reasons, we were not allowed to enter the shuttleport itself, but that was fine – the weather was nice enough, if a bit on the cloudy side – and if we’d been allowed inside the shuttleport, I would’ve missed the sights.

  Or rather, the one sight this place had to offer.

  An alarm briefly sounded, two blasts reminiscent of a ship’s foghorn, except higher pitched and wailing – so not at all like a foghorn, really. I turned my eyes to the sky once more in anticipation and, I had to admit, a little bit of excitement despite having already seen it thrice.

  The sky parted as a red dot pierced through it, hurtling towards the ground. The shuttle – shaped like a badminton one rather than a space shuttle – looked more like a meteor crashing down to earth than a mode of transportation.

  Then, in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, the shuttle entered its port at roaring speeds, not bothering to slow down its descent at all.

  The roar of the shuttle quickly vanished as the vehicle made contact with the maker-tech anti-kinetic hydrogel. A pillar of foam shot up into the air from the shuttle bay on the other side of the main building, crawling skyward along the path the man-made comet had come from, swallowing all other sounds with its own magnificent whump.

  A couple seconds later, the foam hissed like an angry swan and the tower slowly but surely collapsed, the activated hydrogel dissipating harmlessly into the air in the form of water and oxygen.

  “I think that was your brother’s,” Mom said, continuing to stare at the shuttleport’s entrance. “Shouldn’t be long before he’s here.” Her hands were clenched tight around her knees.

  “Wish I could travel in one of those,” I said, redirecting. Though the sentiment was genuine; it looked like it would be fun to ride one.

  Mom snorted. “Trust me, it’s not as fun as it looks. You’re locked in a windowless metal box for thirty minutes to an hour, and you’re absolutely bored out of your mind after just ten of them. You don’t even notice takeoff and landing because of all the inertia stabilizers and stuff.”

  “You’ve been on one before?”

  She hesitated for a second. “Twice. Both times for work. Those things are way too expensive otherwise, and I’d rather travel by train anyhow, even if it takes a lot longer.” Again, she didn’t look at me as she said it, her fatigue and worry were clear as day.

  Same as it had been ever since we arrived. In fact, I could count on one hand the times my mother had looked at me since we finished talking about shuttles and airplanes. So focused was she on her reunion with her son that she had trouble sparing me any attention – something that had rarely happened in all the days I spent with her.

  Not that I minded. Well, not too much anyway.

  Though it wasn’t just the reunion that had gotten her into her current state. Since the trainyard battle with Crowsong there’d been a couple of armed scuffles between the Jannacht and groups of Charm’s homegrown henchies – one dead, but nothing permanent – along with two more high-profile incidents.

  The first, an encounter between Auroran of the Jannacht and Dryadynamo of the Dusk Bandits, was harmless enough – insofar such a thing can be harmless anyway. The city’s shields protected those indoors from stray shots and crashing bodies, and since it had occurred at night that meant basically everyone.

  The second one, however, wasn’t as harmless. A bomb had gone off in an office building in Aberdeen, and while the building itself hadn’t been levelled in the attack, that didn’t mean the explosion had been small. And since the attack had come from inside the building, the shields did nothing to protect it. While the office building had been empty at the time of the explosion, and the blast itself contained, a few people had gotten wounded from some of the debris, though nothing a quick visit to a hospital and a day or two of rest couldn’t fix.

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  Who’d done it and why was currently unknown, only that the primary target seemed to have been a small shipping company headquartered there. People blamed the Jannacht of course, but Crowsong and I doubted it. This wasn’t the Jannacht’s usual modus operandi of divide and conquer. If anything, it was more likely a scare tactic against the Jannacht than an attack by them.

  Either way, the escalating tension meant Mom had been called in to help fill nightshifts for a while, just in case this turned out to be the start of a spree. So far that hadn’t happened, but Nth-Sight warned us that this wouldn’t be the last one. Meaning Mom would be on call for a little while longer.

  It didn’t help her deal well with the upcoming reunion. Me questioning her about airports, planes and shuttles had been as much about mild interest as it had been about distracting Mom. It worked for a while, as did relaxing in this waiting room disguised as a public park, but not enough to prevent her from falling back into nervousness the moment she saw Michael’s shuttle arrive.

  And I was out of conversation starters. Besides, I had my own nervousness to worry about, albeit of a different variety than my mother. Aside from worries surrounding my android and masked related secrets getting exposed, I found I wasn’t looking forward to meeting my alleged brother.

  One part was that I remembered how Mom had talked about him when he announced he was coming to Charm. Her frustrations and guilt about their lives together since the real Samantha’s disappearance, the lack of specifics, the avoidance, and worst of all, the excuses she made for him; they’d all poisoned the well.

  If that was it, then all I should’ve felt was dislike at having to meet this brother-to-be. Or anger. Or fear of being discovered. But no, instead a large part of me shared that of Mom’s: anxiety.

  The problem was, I didn’t know why I felt that way. I’d talked about it with Marianne on Tuesday, during my first real therapy session. It was a low-risk, useful starting topic that I could actually use some advice on.

  She had three answers. One, competitiveness for my mother’s affections – easily dismissed, there was no competition. Two, fear of judgement by my (alleged) brother, and of being compared to the other Samantha Pearsson and found wanting. Again, easily dismissed; I could care less about what my brother thought, but not much less.

  The third was, in hindsight, quite easy: a stranger whom I’ve been told was family was coming to live in our house. One my mother obviously cared a lot for, but one I knew nothing about and had a bad impression of. I might not be his real sister, but he didn’t know that and really? Not one call? Not even a message?

  Her advice on how to deal with it was lacking. They were generic things like ‘try to show interest’, ‘start up a conversation’, or ‘try not to let preconceptions guide you’. Stuff like that.

  She promised that we’d discuss it more the next session, but I was doubtful it’d help.

  A shuttle-worth’s group of people streamed out of the entrance, many holding their hands up to block the dim light of the clouded sun. Many dragged rolling suitcases behind them, carried duffle and sports bags around their shoulders, and/or wore giant backpacks. There were a few more eccentric looking travelers mixed in, like those wearing overly colorful or extremely expensive suits while carrying very little, along with people in military-style getup .

  “Do you see him?” I asked Mom.

  “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t… there!”

  She pointed at a young adult mixed in with the group. The man – Michael, presumably – looked around, trying to spot us. Mom put her arms in the air and jumped a little to attract his attention. I half expected her to start shouting, but thankfully she limited herself to the jump-and-wave.

  Michael spotted us after three seconds and headed in our direction, crossing the taxi- and bus-filled road confidently to get to the park. When he got within striking distance, Mom power-walked up to him and gave him her trademark Mom-hug full of enthusiasm and not a little power.

  I politely remained where I was: at a distance.

  His expression bore the look of someone suffering through it, though to his credit he eventually did hug back. Except unlike me, he seemed to be actually suffering through it, not pretending the way children did with clingy parents.

  A feeling of instinctive dislike tried burrowing itself into me, but I pushed it aside. Like Good Doctor (a PhD and PsyD meant she was a doctor) Marianne said, I should not let the preconceptions guide me. The poisoned well of my emotions could’ve easily made me misread his. Reflection, or projection or something like that.

  So instead of focusing on that, I distracted myself by examining his appearance.

  Michael was taller than both of us – no surprise there – and had the same dark black hair we did, except shorter and curlier. His eyes were different, a light brown bordering on orange instead of Mom and I’s green, and were maybe a bit more rounded in shape than ours. He had inherited the lack of freckles from my Mom, but bore the general face-shape of his father. If the pictures I saw of the man I’d never met were any indication at least.

  As I was studying him, I saw his head turn to study me in turn. I stared him straight in the eye without flinching, and he eventually looked away (which meant I won). There might’ve been an unsure expression on his face, but he’d hidden it quickly enough for me to doubt myself.

  I heard the two mutter to one another briefly, voices kept low while I stood further back out of hearing range.

  I was hesitant to disrupt the reunion, and unsure of how I’d fit in the dynamic. I didn’t want to screw this up for Mom, and simultaneously I didn’t really want to be the first one to approach. What would I even say to him? It wasn’t like there was anything for us to reminisce about or something.

  For better or worse, Mom decided for me and waved me over.

  “Come on Sam,” she said, smiling widely. “Come meet your little brother.” Mom laughed. “Ha! Just like twenty years ago!”

  I rolled my eyes and walked forward. The two of us stared at each other for a moment, him looking as wary as I felt. Neither of us seemed to know how to proceed.

  Whatever. Better to follow the established pattern.

  I reached out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you,” I said politely.

  His eyes shifted toward my hand, brows furrowing. With a bemused look – bordering on mockery, unless that was my preconceptions talking again – he shook it.

  “It’s… good to see you again sis,” he said. He sounded honest enough, but who knew what lurked deep within. “I’d like to say you’ve grown, but if anything it’s the opposite.” He snorted at his own joke. It sounded bitter to my ears, and a bit melancholic. A memory? Some kind of in-joke between him and the real Samantha?

  I opened my mouth to ask him just that, but was interrupted when Mom promptly decided we needed a family group hug.

  “C’mon, no need to be so distance toward each other – you’re family,” Mom said cheerfully. She pulled the two of us together by the waist, smushing us together. “We’ll be living together again, just like old times. Ah, I can’t wait!”

  For all that Mom had been anxious, it seemed meeting Michael had lifted her spirits enough to blow past it. For now at least.

  I looked toward Michael for a moment. He was staring at my mother, and for a brief second, anger passed through his eyes. It was quickly replaced by an exasperated fondness I’d felt myself plenty when dealing with Mom, his apparent anger lasting short enough to make me doubt myself.

  X

  The road back home was filled with light, if somewhat stilted conversation. Mom kept asking him about his work and his studies, which Michael kept answering honestly, if overly blunt. Not that it helped deter Mom – if that was even his goal; could just be his personality. She continued talking and asking questions with all the force of a mother eager to reconnect with her estranged-but-loved son. No metaphor needed.

  I was seated in the back, staring out the window while keeping myself out of the conversation as much as possible, preferring to sit and listen. Which wasn’t hard; Mom’s focus on Michael was intense.

  Not that there was much to listen in on. Questions repeated and conversations circled back to the same points, like moths circling a flame with the knowledge that getting too close would result in burns. There was a clear topic they tried to avoid, and only two heavily-interlinked options of what that could be: myself, and their shared past.

  Despite that tension, the conversation turned stale. I felt myself begin to drift off as I stared out the window, mind wandering as eyes focused on the passing landscape of forest and hill.

  “By the way,” Mom began carefully. “Do you have any idea how long you’re staying yet?”

  I refocused just a bit.

  “That eager to get rid of me?” Michael snarked, voice a bit too sharp for a joke.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “You know I’m not. I just like to be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?” he said, but Mom refused to bite. He continued, “I don’t know, depends on how things go and what the company wants. Likely until the end of the year, at least. But I might stay in Charm permanently.”

  Permanently?

  “Permanently?” Mom echoed unknowingly.

  “Miele & Van Dijk are trying to set up a branch here, or something along those lines. My direct sponsor is heading it, so if it all goes well I’ll probably end up staying.”

  “What about your studies?”

  “I can finish my Bachelors at the University of Washington if I need to,” he said. “They’ve already managed to get a preliminary admittance for me from the University. The moment I get the word, I’ll be able to continue my studies next semester no fuss.”

  “That sounds great! You’ve got plans for where you’ll live if that happens?” she asked, then hastily followed it up with a panicked, “Not that you can’t stay with us! You can as long as you like, I just thought-”

  He cut her off. “I’ll be able to dorm at the University when it comes to it. And after, I’ll find a place to live on my own.”

  Mom winced slightly. “If you need any support-”

  Again, he cut her off. “It’s fine, Mom. I’m sure the company can help me there.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, it’s good to see that they’re treating you well.” Through the rearview mirror, Mom’s smile looked forced.

  Michael just sighed and didn’t say anything in response.

  Conversation took a nosedive after that. Mom pretended to focus on driving, though her glassy-eyed look and tapping of her ring against the steering wheel told me otherwise. Michael had pulled out his earplugs and ignored our presence, while I sat in the back and reviewed the memcordings.

  Whether by preconceptions, poisoned wells or genuine judgements, Michael had not made a great impression on me.