After the Golden Age

Warren and Suzanne West testified, along with Robbie Denton and Arthur Mentis. The first three wore street clothes—respectable trousers and jackets for the men, Suzanne in a conservative tweed dress suit. For that day, they were their alter egos, citizens of Commerce City who’d seen the extraordinary and come to tell about it. Arthur wore what he always wore, his suit and coat, looking studious and watchful, his thin smile hinting that he knew the dirt on everyone in the room. Even the judge looked at him askance.

The four members of the Olympiad were the last witnesses Bronson called. With them, he finished presenting his case, as if the presence of those who had fought the Destructor for so long were all the argument he needed.

Sito’s lawyers surprised them all by refusing to cross-examine any of them.

It would have been an easy enough thing to raise questions about the Olympiad’s motives, to suggest that the rivalry between the two sides had degenerated into a personal feud and had nothing to do with justice or the law. That their persecution had driven Sito to insanity. But they didn’t.

They were saving their questions for Celia.

* * *

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

She had to repeat her “I swear” because she’d spoken too softly the first time. Her hand was shaking on the Bible. She settled into the witness stand and when she finally looked up, she spotted Arthur Mentis sitting in the row directly behind DA Bronson. He nodded, smiled, and she felt better. He’d never let her get hurt. If things got really bad, he’d get her out of this somehow.

Defense Attorney Ronald Malone was slick and unyielding, like a steel wall. He wasn’t that big, probably not much taller than Celia, but he had a way of trapping her gaze, and shifting to hold it again when she tried to look away, even standing at his table a half-dozen paces away.

His first questions were mundane, or seemed mundane, public knowledge that anyone in the courtroom could have learned. She still felt like she was giving away secrets. He was only warming her up for the hard questions.

Then came an odd one that made her think.

“Ms. West, when did you learn that your parents, Warren and Suzanne West, are the superhuman crime fighters Captain Olympus and Spark?”

“I don’t know. I think I always knew. They never tried to hide it from me.”

How could they? From the time she was born, they studied her for signs that she had inherited some kind of superhuman legacy. To think, most parents were happy with ten fingers and ten toes.

“Then their skills, their reputation, were a part of your life from a very early age?”

Bronson stood. “Objection! Supposition.”

“Sustained,” the judge said.

Celia blinked, relieved. She didn’t want to answer any questions that resembled, What was it like having Captain Olympus as a father?

It didn’t matter. He’d set her up nicely already.

“One might argue that like your parents, you’re in a particularly unique position to judge the defendant’s mental state at the time of his crimes.”

“I’m not a psychologist—”

Malone raised his hand in a placating gesture. “I’ll only ask you to make observations about Mr. Sito’s behavior. You were the subject of one his more spectacular adventures, yes?”

That was an interesting way of putting it. “He kidnapped me when I was sixteen.”

“And the purpose of this kidnapping?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Did he hold you for ransom? Use you to get something?”

She shook her head. “No. He just wanted to … inflict damage.”

“So there was no rational reason for him to kidnap you. His motivations could be said to reflect a disturbed mental state.”

They weren’t here to prove Sito guilty. No one was denying his crimes. Malone only had to prove that Sito had been out of his mind.

“He seemed calculating enough at the time,” she said.

“Then let’s turn to another event.” He dropped the bomb, and knowing it was coming didn’t make it easier. “Isn’t it true that you were employed by Mr. Sito’s organization eight years ago?” A polite way of saying, Weren’t you his criminal henchman?

Muffled gasps filtered through the courtroom. People whispered to one another, reporters scribbled on notepads, and the courtroom artist worked frantically. She was vaguely aware of members of the jury leaning forward to better hear her answer.

“Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“You joined voluntarily?”

“Yes, at the time. I was—”

He cut her off before she could elaborate. “And you belonged to it for how long?”

“About two months.”

“Once again, do you think it made any rational sense for Sito to take you into his organization, knowing the trouble it would likely cause him?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t speak to that, sir. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind myself.”