Star Harbor Nights

The TVs in the window were all turned on and blaring their sound. In another store, this would have been to show off their bright colors, crisp pictures, or superb sound quality. In Ernie's Jewelry and Electronics, it was simply to prove that they worked.

The young woman stood outside the pawnshop, her eyes glued to the screen of the largest television set, a big boxy 70s-style model with fake wood veneer and actual knobs that turned. The lenses of her glasses had fogged up a bit while she stood so close to the warmth of the window, so she took them off to better see the images of the twisted plane wreckage smoldering on a hillside.

"Dramatic footage of an almost-tragic crash site fifty miles outside of Star Harbor," the local anchorwoman's voice intoned over the images. "As of this time, federal investigators have still to determine a cause in the crash of a jetliner in the early hours of the morning. Though local powerhouse and defender of good Champion was easily able to match the rapidly-plummeting plane's speed, he proved unequal to the task of stopping its fatal flight."

The screen cut to a close-in shot of Champion, morning sunlight filtering majestically through his wind-swept feathers of golden-blond hair. The look on his face, though, was anything but majestic.

"Look, it's easy to criticize somebody if you've never tried to catch an airplane before," he was saying in the footage, which had been playing almost around the clock. "It's not just a matter of strength and speed... you try to grab a wing, or the tail, and it'll just shear off. So, you go for the nose, and it just kind of plows around you, or you misjudge your speed and the whole thing flips end over end. There's nothing to grab hold off on the top or bottom. Maybe if they'd put some handles on there somewhere, or something..."

The same footage of the burning wreck played again as the newscaster said, "Though the fabled hero was unable to prevent the crash, tragedy was averted by another member of the Star Harbor Champion League: fashion plate Elaine 'Lady Starshard' Liebowitz was able to use her strange mental powers to somehow pull, or 'teleport', the passengers and crew from the plane to a safe spot: their destination airport in Philadelphia. Ahead of schedule, even."

The screen switched back to the newsroom.

"The airline has offered the bewildered passengers a full refund, even though they reached their destination, and vouchers good for free flights any time in the next year. Surprisingly, a majority of the passengers interviewed have reacted favorably to the offer, saying the experience has 'not put them off flying.' Many have come forward to offer their thanks to the Champion League, or to Lady Starshard in particular."

"That Lady Starshard really is something," the male anchor said, chuckling softly. "Maybe they should rename it the 'Starshard League', eh, Marina? Though at least one person would like to see Champion's 'airplane handles' idea really take off. Senator Theodore Jones, from the state of..."

The young woman smiled to herself as she turned from the storefront and continued down the street. Her shoes were a little bit loose, and they made a clack-smack sound as she made her way down Fort Street to The Boulevard. Fort Street was the major artery for Star Harbor's night life, but The Boulevard was the heart. Though closed to vehicle traffic, it was fairly bustling with people walking about, milling about, and hanging about. The bars would still be open for another three hours, and they'd do good business in that time.

Not with any help from the young woman, though. She walked right past the dim marquees and the neon-clad windows, and the candlelit outdoor seating areas. She ignored the catcalls and the invitations to "party", said with various inflections and implications.

She had plans for the evening, and they did not include hanging out in a bar, even if she had been old enough... or meeting any boys, for that matter.

Her pavement-slapping shoes had only modest heels, but they pushed her a bit closer to the low end of average height. Above them she wore shades-of-blue striped legwarmers and a dark blue ruffled, crepe-like wrap skirt she'd found in a University Row thrift store. Over her simple baby blue babydoll, she wore a white-and-navy nylon windbreaker. It showed up well in the low-watt full cutt-off street lights that gave Star Harbor its picturesque night sky, and its reputation as a city of darkness. The overall effect of the ensemble was a touch quirky but workable, from a fashion standpoint, and was just the thing for a chilly early autumn evening. She didn't carry a purse, but there was a small duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

Her hands were in her pockets, or she probably wouldn't have known her phone was vibrating. She whipped it out quickly, glanced at the LCD screen, and slid it open with quite a bit less enthusiasm.

"Hello, Daddy," she said, her voice full of cheer that wasn't completely evident on her face. "How did you like the seats? I know you always enjoyed sitting in the governor's box, and I did some research and the acoustics are supposed to be even..."

She was cut off by a tirade that was audible, if not intelligible, to everyone in a six foot radius around her on the sidewalk. She cringed a bit, really noticing the crowd for the first time, and put her hand over the tiny ear speaker until the noise ceased.

"I know it was expensive!" she said into the phone, louder than she had meant to. She clapped a hand over her mouth and then started again, walking even faster down the sidewalk in order to get away from the crush of people. "I know it was expensive, but I just wanted to do something nice for you and Mom. No, I know you could have afforded it yourself. I just wanted... oh, don't go quoting C.S. Lewis again, Daddy! Anyway, that was all paid for out of earnings from the investments I made. I haven't touched the capital you gave me. Well... I guess I wanted to get you something nice to show you I was taking care of myself, financially."

She skirted around the edge of a clearing that had formed in the crowd around a trio of breakdancers who'd set up a boombox on a big round brick planter, plugging her other ear with a finger so she could better hear the phone.

"I said, I wanted to show you I was taking care of... I said... what? No, I'm not at at a party," she said. "That noise is just... I said 'no, I'm not at a party.' That noise is just a bunch of people... I'm at The Boulevard. No, I'm not drinking! I'm not. They wouldn't let me in anyway... no, I didn't try. Honestly, Daddy, you expect the worst of me. I haven't been in a bar since I was twelve. Huh? You were there, Daddy. Yes, you were! The American Legion thing? You were stumping for... I don't remember what you were stumping for. But honestly, Daddy, you always expect the worst of me... that's why I wanted to get you those seats, I guess. To show you that I did well with the money."

She threaded her way through the press of people to the end of The Boulevard where it ran into the much quieter North Park Lane, one-quarter of the rectangular street that surrounded Harbor Hill Park.

"Yes, yes, I know there's a difference between doing well and doing good... and I want to do good, Daddy. I will. That's why I studied criminal justice... well, no, I'm not... that's really more Trey's thing," she said.

 She cut across Park Lane with barely a glance in either direction. Nobody cruised Park Lane after dark.

"I want to do good in a different way," she said. "Of course I want to produce something of value for people! Um, for one thing, I could take my market savvy and become a financial planner... help all the people who don't have trust funds plan for retirement. That would be something worthwhile, wouldn't it? What? Uh, no, I actually wasn't... I mean, that was just hypothetical... one thing that I could do. I don't think I'll actually end up doing that."

Even in a place where the phrase "bright lights, big city" was verboten, Harbor Hill Park was fairly unique among the city's public grounds for having no electric lights whatsoever. The footpaths within were dotted with old-fashioned gas lamp posts that, while quite picturesque, had never actually been hooked up. The only modern facilities were housed in a brick building on the northern edge of the park... a pair of dirty, poorly-maintained restrooms, and a storage room full of gardening and landscaping equipment that hadn't been opened in years.

Not that you could tell it, if you looked at the park in the daylight. It was a bit wilder, a bit less manicured than your average city park, but clean and free of weeds, and it had a reputation as being the safest place in town. During the day, that was.

"There, I'm off The Boulevard now," she said. "No, I'm by the park. The park. Yes, Harbor Hill... oh, it's perfectly safe, Daddy. The criminals are just as scared of the stories as anybody else. No, I'm not afraid, Daddy! You raised me better than that. What? Oh, don't tell me you believe... okay, fine. I'm moving. There, I'm not by the park anymore."

This was true, as she'd actually entered the park and was now headed towards the ladies' room.

"You don't have to worry about me all the time, Daddy. I thought my little present would show you that," she said. She glanced at the three stalls. One of them had no door. The other two were ajar. She checked all three before going into the middle one, sliding the latch closed. She hung the jacket and the duffel bag on the hook on the back of the stall door. Everything in the stall was cleaner than the rest of the bathroom, but the hook and the sliding lock were even more so... because she'd installed them herself. "I know you're a worrier, but you're a senator... worry about your constituency. Worry about your re-election campaign. Worry about what the tabloids will think if they know how much time you spend talking to nineteen year old girls. Uh, it's a joke, Daddy. I meant me. Well, I think it was a little bit funny."

Holding the phone with her head and shoulder, she unzipped the duffel bag and removed a small plastic squeeze bottle from it, which she set on top of the toilet tank. Then, after a moment's thought, she set the phone down, too. Her father's voice continued to sound tinnily from the speaker. She couldn't hear the words, but she recognized the cadence and mouthed along with the all-too-familiar speech about duty and responsibility and privelige as she stripped off her top and the skirt. They went straight into the bag. Even though she cleaned it herself twice a week, she still cringed at the idea of her clothes touching a public restroom fixture. The legwarmers were a bit of a balancing act, as she peeled them off and then immediately put her foot back into the shoe... ditto about her bare feet touching the floor.

She got re-dressed from the feet up, so she could put her floppy shoes in the bag with her other street clothes. That done, she took the plastic bottle, squeezed out a generous amount of lotion, and rubbed it all over her bare skin. She made sure it was really rubbed in before cleaning her hands on a small rag from the duffel bag, then picked up the phone.

"'...whomsoever much is given, of him much shall be required...'," she said, finishing her father's favorite quote right alongside him. "I know, Daddy, and you've got every right to expect big things from me... I don't know how to explain it right this moment, but please believe me that one day I'm going to make you proud. I'm going to surprise you. What? No, I can't tell you how I'm going to surprise you. Well, because that's what surprise means, Daddy! I'm not being... look, Daddy, I'm falling behind schedule. I'm going to... I've got to... bye, Daddy. Love you."

She snapped the phone shut, made sure the ringer was still turned off, and dropped it in the bag. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she opened the stall door and regarded herself in the cracked and streaky restroom mirror that hung over the hole in the wall where a sink had once been. Her mid-length light brown hair was pinned up and hidden beneath a black beret. Her glasses were gone. In their place was a simple black domino mask. A black fitted t-shirt replaced the babydoll. She'd pulled on black athletic tights with specially designed leather-soled slippers sewn onto the feet. The bronzing compound she'd rubbed on made her usually ivory skin several shades darker.

"Expect big things," she echoed, holding up hands ensconced in flexible black gauntlets. "Somehow, I don't think anybody's quite going to be expecting this."