After the Golden Age

She grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, and curled up on the sofa.

A perfectly manicured reporter at a news anchor desk read off the teleprompter. “—scene a half hour ago at City Hall.”

The picture switched to the marble-lined foyer of City Hall. The camera turned to a podium as Anthony Paulson, flanked by assistants, emerged from a door behind it. Celia recognized some of the flunkies from the concert. Cameras flashed and reporters clustered forward. The mayor, his face set in grim lines, waved them back.

After a moment, he received the silence he needed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming on such short notice. In light of recent attacks and the proliferation of organized criminal elements bent on ruin and anarchy, I am announcing the creation of a task force to deal with these elements. I will hire a hundred new police officers to patrol our streets. Some people will say that I’m overreacting, that I’m taking last night’s theft of priceless musical instruments from the symphony gala personally because it also involved the kidnapping of my son Mark. My answer to them is yes, of course I’m taking it personally. As well I should. Every crime committed against a citizen of Commerce City is committed against someone’s son or daughter. Someone takes each of those crimes personally. It is my sworn duty to protect the safety of every law-abiding man, woman, and child in this city, and so I must take every crime personally.

“And I must apologize for a certain laxness in fulfilling that duty. It has become clear that for too long we have depended on outside, independent forces to defend us. However, it seems that unless those forces are faced with an adversary of the Destructor’s magnitude, they simply can’t be bothered. I will not be taking questions at this time. Thank you for your attention.” He turned and slipped back through the door, followed by his swarm.

“Celia, are you still there?”

Celia had held the phone to her ear silently while watching. When the announcement ended, she had to repeat to herself what the mayor had just said. What she thought he’d just said.

“Yeah, Mark. I talked to Robbie last night and he said the cops told them to stay out of it.”

“Robbie?”

“The Bullet. I don’t know where your dad got his information, but the Olympiad didn’t help last night because the cops asked them not to. I’ll bet the other vigilantes didn’t even know about the theft—they don’t have the level of access the Olympiad does.”

“Are you sure?”

“About Robbie? Why would he lie to me? If it was a miscommunication, then it probably ought to get cleared up before something comes along that the cops can’t handle.”

“You don’t have a whole lot of faith in the cops, do you?”

Whoops. There went her foot into her mouth.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“Look. We’re both biased on this. I’ll find out who told the Olympiad what about what happened, okay? You’re right, it was probably a miscommunication and nobody needs to take it personally.”

She was about to argue that she wasn’t taking it personally, then decided against it. “That’d be really cool. Thanks. Wait a minute—Dad’s on. My dad, I mean.”

The anchorwoman said, “We asked Warren West, better known as Captain Olympus of the crime-fighting Olympiad, for his response to the mayor’s comments, a veiled accusation that the Olympiad and other crime fighters have failed to make Commerce City safer.”

The image wobbled after the frame switched to the camera view of a roving reporter. They were in the lobby of West Plaza, focused on Warren West’s back. Celia turned the volume up.

A male reporter chased after him. “Mr. West? Mr. West! What is your response to the mayor’s comments?”

Warren turned on him, glaring. His shoulders were bunched, his fists clenched. He was on the verge of losing his temper. Celia recognized the signs. Then he glanced at the camera and let out a breath and straightened. He had some consideration for his public image, and was able to speak calmly and with heart.

“After more than twenty years of serving this city, is that the kind of gratitude we’ve earned? All I can say is we don’t need the mayor’s good opinion to do what’s right. No more questions, thank you.”

He stalked off, reporters scattering in his wake.

The anchorwoman popped back on screen. “The masked vigilante Breezeway was less offended about the mayor’s conference.”

The image switched to show Breezeway. The reporter had found him—or maybe he’d found the reporter—scaring up wind storms for kite flyers at City Park. A bevy of laughing children crowded behind him after he landed—quite the PR coup.

He shrugged in response to the reporter’s question. “He has to look like he’s doing something to keep the polls happy.”

Celia had never liked that guy. He was a loose cannon. A couple of other scenes followed, sound bites from Mind-masher and Earth Mother. She wondered if they’d flash an interview with Analise next, but Typhoon didn’t seem to be out and about this afternoon.