Star Harbor Nights

A.C. Roman was a big blustering man in an ugly orange sweater and green corduroy pants. Evelyn Everett found that she loathed everything about him. Her eyes were closed to avoid unnecessary exposure to his garish sense of color. He'd been talking for a good fourteen minutes about the history of his family's fishing company... its now immense fleet of ships and the related canneries and processing plants they owned... how many people they employed, men with families, and women, too... and how those people would be affected by the "disastrous" conditions that EvCo sought to force upon them.

She opened her eyes a tiny slit to see the big red numbers on the digital clock. Every idiot deserved his fifteen minutes, but no more than that.

"Mr. Roman, I think you have the wrong idea here," she said abruptly, cutting him off. She kept her eyes closed. Her voice sounded tired, but without a trace of resignation. "I didn't agree to this meeting to hear your side... that sort of thing doesn't interest me. I've heard your side. I've heard it a hundred times from a dozen different men on dozens of different issues, and it never changes. Frankly, it bores me. This isn't a negotiation, and it never has been. EvCo has certain... expectations... that any company we deal with must be prepared to meet. You can either choose to work with us, or you can peddle your fish somewhere else. The choice is yours."

"But... but... EvCo is our biggest customer... if you stop buying, our whole fleet is sunk," Roman said indignantly. "That's no choice at all!"

"Yes, that's true," Evelyn said with a faint trace of smugness. She took a deep breath and prepared to open her eyes. Maybe the sweater wasn't as bad as she remembered. It couldn't be, could it? She opened her eyes... it was worse. She'd managed to block out the memory of the suspenders. "It feels less rude to let you point it out, but the simple fact is that our Ev-Mart sales account for thirty percent of the trade in seafood worldwide. That's exactly why we have such a... vested interest, shall we say... in how the industry conducts its business."

"You meddling little... my family's been sailing the seas for hundreds of years. We don't need some big corporation coming in and telling us how to fish!"

"It's no good carrying on like that, Mr. Roman," Evelyn said. "The reality is, as you said, you have no choice. This is the 21st century. If you try keep doing business the same way you have 'for hundreds of years', you'll find yourself out of that business within a matter of years."

"You threaten me, right to my face?"

"Call it a prediction," Evelyn said. She got to her feet. "Feel free to keep up the facade, but we both know you've already made the decision. You might have to tighten your belt a bit for a while... though I hope you realize the cost would be less severe if you'd acquiesced sooner... but it still beats the alternative, doesn't it? We'll officially be announcing the new partnership at a press conference downstairs, now that we've ironed out this last little detail. You're more than welcome to put in an appearance. If you show up smiling, you might even undo the impression of suffering a crushing defeat you've for some reason decided to create for your investors."

"I'd sooner rot in hell than spend another minute in your company," Roman said.

"Excellent," Evelyn said, smiling. "I knew we'd come to a point of agreement sooner or later. There's the door, Mr. Roman. I trust you don't need my company's scientific advisors to show you how to use it."

His face a shade of crimson that didn't go at all with his sweater, A.C. Roman stomped out of Evelyn Everett's office even more noisily than he'd entered.

Evelyn sat back down and closed her eyes again, willing her breathing to slow and her mind to calm. She'd very nearly lost her self-control with Roman... she had almost been less pleasant than she'd meant to be. He and his cronies should be grateful for the opportunities she gave them, but she'd learned not to expect gratitude from such short-sighted men.

When she felt she'd calmed herself, she reached--eyes still serenely closed--and hit the hold button on her speaker phone.

"Mr. Reilly, so sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "I had a last minute appointment that dragged on longer than I anticipated."

"Not at all. What can a lowly editor do for our illustrious publisher?"

"You can tell me why a non-fatal plane crash a thousand miles away made the front cover of this morning's edition, especially when the plane went down after the paper had to have already been put to bed."

"Redoing the front page was my decision... an editorial one," Reilly said. "When you offered me this job, you assured me complete control..."

"...as long as you adhered to certain tenets of the Everett Publishing Group's philosophy," Evelyn said smoothly and evenly. "Glossy, full-color pictures of costumed boy and girl scouts belong in the pages of supermarket tabloids... if not children's comic books. Where they don't belong is in a respected newspaper, on the front page and above the fold."

"I understand the general policy," Reilly said. "But this wasn't cheap sensationalism. It was an important story."

"The headline reads 'Crisis Averted.' If it was averted, it didn't happen. If it didn't happen, it's not news."

"So, what, if the League had failed to prevent a plane full of people from dying I could have printed it?"

"It certainly would have been newsworthy," Evelyn said. "'Nobody Dies In Plane Crash' isn't a story to stop the presses for. The 'Superheroes Save Day' angle doesn't make it any fresher. If you haven't noticed, that's what they seem to do, every day. You might as well have picked a poor working slob and put him on the cover for doing his job. 'Miracle Plumber Finds Leak, Fixes It.' 'Amazing Bus Driver Knows Names Of Every Passenger.' Or... and here's a revolutionary thought... find somebody who's managed some great accomplishment without some bizarre, science-defying genetic fluke."

"You expect me to pre-empt a huge story like this for a... a... human interest piece?"

"And why not? Humans still outnumber superhumans by several billion. Humans buy our newspapers. Humans are our target audience," Evelyn said. "And what could be more interesting to humans than matters of human interest?"

"Why not let the market decide that?" Reilly said. "When people see a super on the cover, they buy more papers."

"I wouldn't expect a 'bleeding heart' reporter like yourself to think in those terms," Evelyn said.

"I just figured as a businesswoman, you'd understand..."

"As an Everett, I understand that sometimes the common good is more important than the bottom line... or rather, that the two are interchangeable. What's good for 'the little guy' is good for big business, and vice-versa. Propping up these costumed 'super' humans at the expense of the human spirit is contrary to the common good. Hero worship isn't healthy, Mr. Reilly. Even if every other paper in town... or the world... feels the need to feed the public's taste for such things, we will not. It's bad enough that you feel the need to plaster Storm Siren's picture all over the inside of the paper every other day, now you're combing the national wires for this garbage."

"Does your animosity towards Storm Siren in particular relate to the reports that she's been seen buzzing your penthouse?" Reilly asked. "Because I understand--somewhat--the rationale of what you're saying, but if it stems from a personal conflict..."

"I have no animosity towards her. The Everett Tower is the tallest landmark in the city by a good deal," Evelyn said. "If somebody's going to be flying high over the city at all hours, it's only natural they'd appear, from the ground, to be 'buzzing' the top floors of it."

"So there's no conflict between the leader of Stormfront and you?"

"First, there is no such thing as Stormfront. That's an invention of your competitors to sell more papers. And Storm Siren goes after criminals," Evelyn said. "I'm a respected businesswoman, not a criminal. If she had any reason to suspect I was, I have to imagine she'd have said something by now."

"Well, hypothetically," Reilly said slowly, as if he were trying to restrain himself and failing, "mightn't she be waiting until she has proof?"

"She's a costumed vigilante. Waiting for proof is for the police."

"So, then your stance has nothing to do with your personal feelings about costumed heroes?" the editor asked. "Or your family history? Your uncle..."

"...is not a topic open to discussion, Mr. Reilly. Goodbye."

She cut-off the call before Reilly could object. He was a tiring man to deal with, for the opposite reason that Roman was... he was too smart. Hiring him as editor-in-chief for her own paper kept him from playing investigative reporter for any others, but the more she tried to stymie him the more likely he'd start digging.

Evelyn Everett opened her eyes and let out her breath. She had things to do. She had a press conference to get to.

On the way from her office to the elevator, she spotted Clifford Waller. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a smile he thought was engaging. At the moment he was lecturing one of the I.T. techs on how they'd probably waste less electricity if they used shorter ethernet cables. The technician, who was setting up a computer workstation, was wisely doing his best to ignore the man.

Cliff Waller wasn't exactly the man she wanted to see, but at the moment she needed to see him.

"Cliff," Evelyn said, pleasantly. He jumped at the sound of her voice. "Walk with me a minute."

"Uh, sure thing, Evelyn," he said. "Listen, I've had some ideas about how to improve our distribution netw..."

"It's been a while since I've seen a status report on that special project I gave you," she said, talking right over him. "Am I to take it that no news is good news and everything's on track?"

"Special project?" he asked a bit uncertainly.

"Rainey's birthday party," she said. "I assume you have the arrangements all wrapped up and that's why you have the time to interfere with our trained computer professionals."

"Oh, yeah, the party," he said. "Invitations went out, like, a month ago. Catering's set, gift bags for the guests and parents, all that. I, uh, delegated some of that stuff."

"I expected you would," she said. "But how about the entertainment?"

"Yeah, we got the Hex Kittens, like you wanted.."

"You mean, like Rainey wanted. What about our headliner?" Evelyn asked. "I'd like very much to see a confirmation from Charade with my own eyes."

"Charade's a no-go, I'm afraid," Cliff said. "Apparently, he's got a six month waiting list. Isn't that insane?"

"Insane... and irrelevant, considering I gave you this assignment eight months ago," Evelyn said.

"It's no big deal. I booked a clown troupe instead."

"Clowns?" Evelyn asked. Her tone was dark.

"Yeah. Kids like clowns, right?"

Evelyn grabbed his silk tie by the knot and yanked him down to her level.

"My Rainey doesn't like clowns," she hissed. Her eyes had gone very narrow. The muscles around the left one twitched a little. "My Rainey doesn't like clowns one bit. What she likes is magicians, and Charade is the best magician there is. So, if you don't get her Charade... or if anything there even reminds her of a clown, I'll have you dipped in papier-mâché and hung up as a piñata."

With that, she shoved the shocked man out of her face. He nervously straightened his tie.

"I, uh, guess I should cancel the mime and the face painting," he said. "But... how am I supposed to get him for a party next week?"

"You're always talking about what a superb negotiator you are, Cliff," Evelyn said. "So negotiate. Offer him more money. Induce his current client to cancel or reschedule, if you have to."

"I'm already over budget from getting the other items on your list," Cliff said. "How much more can I spend on one party?"

"How big a bonus were you expecting this quarter?"

"Well, last quarter I pulled in... wait, what?" Cliff said, sputtering. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I can," Evelyn said. "I can. Very frequently, I am. I was, for instance, quite serious when I gave you this assignment and told you how important it was to me. Had you realized that, you would have had the whole thing wrapped up in brightly colored paper months ago and would thus deserve a hefty bonus. As things stand, your goal now is to convince me that you deserve a job."

"Hey, okay, I messed up here, but it's not like this was a real business assignment... it shouldn't affect my career like that," Cliff said. "I figured I was just doing you a favor, planning your kid's party on company time."

"First, the company time is my time. Second, it was always going to affect your career. This is not common knowledge, but Yukia's stepping down next month from her V.P. post as so she can devote more time to her family," Evelyn said. "Your name come up from several sources as a potential successor. Your record with this company has been somewhat impressive, I'll admit, but I haven't had enough personal interaction with you to get that 'gut feeling' one way or the other. So, I devised a little test... I gave you a project that would require all the skills necessary for the position, but where the success or failure wouldn't affect the company's bottom line. If you can't handle planning a simple birthday party, I can't very well make you Vice President of Planning."

"What? But... how was I supposed to know this project was really important?"

"Because I gave it to you, Cliff. If that wasn't enough, I told you it was serious. I told you it was important. More to the point, nothing I tell you to do is ever beneath your dignity. If I tell you to get me a cup of coffee, I expect you to treat it as your highest priority. I can't have an underling... or more especially, a Vice President... second-guessing me, deciding certain tasks aren't truly worth his or her time. That's bad for business."

"But... but... it's just one birthday party. It's not like it's going to matter in the grand scheme of things."

"Oh, but I disagree, Cliff," she said. "A girl only turns twelve once."

"Alright, alright, I see your point," Cliff said. "I'll call Charade's people. No, I'll call him. I'll stay on the line until I'm speaking to him directly. But say I pull this out of the fire. I mean, that'll show I can handle a crisis and work well under pressure. In a way, that's even more impressive than pulling off a party with eight months of careful planning. What'll that get me?"

"What'll that get you?" Evelyn repeated. She tilted her head downward so she could look into Cliff's eyes over the rim of her glasses. For the first time, he noticed that her eyes were gray. Not blue, but true gray.

"Well, yeah," Cliff said, unconsciously rocking back a step. "I mean, I understand I've blown my shot at making V.P.... this time... but you know, I think some recognition of a job well-done... you know how they say, 'all's well that end's well,' and all that. Uh, they say that."

"Alright," Evelyn said. "I suppose some recognition would be in order. Very well, then, if you do a serviceable job preparing Rain's birthday party..."

"Yes...?" Cliff prompted expectantly, as Evelyn appeared to think it over.

"Then I'll give you the privelige of planning it again next year. I'll expect it to be an even bigger smash, of course. A girl only turns thirteen once. Oh, and Cliff? One more thing..."

"What?"

"I want to see a French vanilla soy milk latte on my desk when I get back."

"I'll send somebody down for one," Cliff said.

"You'll get it yourself," Evelyn said. "And don't just go to the Apollo's downstairs. Their mascot is degrading... and they have that aftertaste."

"You want whipped cream on it, too, I suppose?"

"Why would anybody want whipped cream on a soy latte?" she retorted. "Get cracking."

She watched him hurry down the hall, nearly bowling over a man carrying three boxes of printer paper.

Sandra Collins, her new head of public relations, met her at the elevator door. She looked nervous... but then, she'd only been in the position two weeks and Evelyn had emphasized the importance of this announcement. Maybe Sandra was a better listener than Cliff.

Evelyn flashed her a reassuring smile as she hit the down button. The elevator doors slid open immediately.

"Good evening. I hope you're ready for the press conference," she said, stepping in and hitting the Lobby button. "I'll be doing most of the talking, as we discussed, but I'll expect you to field questions after, from the talking points I wrote down. I don't always come off the best speaking extemporaneously."

"Yeah, on that subject... we have a crisis brewing," Sandra said. "We might have to postpone the big announcement until a better time."

"What's that bastard Roman done now?" Evelyn asked. "I thought I'd got it through his thick head..."

"It's not Roman. It's just you might want to take the opportunity to address a larger problem."

"What exactly is this 'larger problem'?"

"Your sound bite in the most recent Nebula City Week."

Evelyn laughed, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"What about it? That obnoxious woman with the pink hair asked me what I thought of Minerva Wisdom's new braids," Evelyn said. "It wasn't exactly the most crucial issue of the day, but as a public figure I guess they expected me to have an opinion about some self-styled heroine's 'do'. I gave them one. Now, if we can get to the press conference?"

"You should have consulted me," Sandra said. "That's what I'm here for."

"Your predecessor made the mistake of thinking I needed someone holding my hand every time I talk to somebody who isn't an executive of my own company. Don't repeat his mistake."

"You told me when you hired me that you wanted somebody who wasn't afraid to speak plainly," Sandra said. She cringed a bit as she spoke. "So, in that spirit... maybe you do. Need somebody. Not to hold your hand, so much. Just to give you some guidance when dealing with the press, so you don't make mistakes like this."

"I gave a one-line quote to a soft journalism rag," Evelyn said. "When does that become a mistake?"

"When your exact words are 'Maybe now I'll be able to tell them apart.'"

Evelyn stared at her in blank disbelief.

"They're identical twins," she pointed out.

"It has racist connotations," Sandra said.

"They're identical twins," she repeated.

"They're also people of color, which means you have to be careful. So far it's just an offhand remark in a glossy color supplement, but all it'll take is one person to bring it to the attention of, say, the NAACP..."

"The Wisdom Twins aren't black."

"African-American, Evelyn," Sandra corrected. "See? This is what I'm talking about. Practice saying it with me: 'The Wisdom Twins aren't African-American.'"

"This is ridiculous," Evelyn said.

"You think so now, but wait until the stuff hits the fan," Sandra said. "You'll be thanking me. Now, I think if we issue an immediate apology and pair it with some kind of gesture, like a large donation..."

"To who? To what? The United Atlantean College Fund?" Evelyn said. "The Twins are members of the world's smallest minority group. I doubt they're going to come down and picket us."

"This is all a joke to you, but think about how it'll look to the mag's readers, particularly the African-American ones."

"They come from Brazil," Evelyn pointed out dryly.

"Think about how it looks!"

"It looks like it's not part of Africa. There's a whole damn ocean in between them."

"Sure, you know that, and I know that," Sandra said. "But you have to think how this whole thing will look to certain people..."

"I don't think you're crediting 'certain people' with enough intelligence. The only way anybody's going to take that as a racist remark is if I bring it to their attention by apologizing for having made it, and that's what'll really get people howling for my blood."

"Look, you might not like this situation, but you hired me to do a job," Sandra said. "Are you going to let me do it?"

"Alright, when you put it that way... here's what we'll do," Evelyn said. She hit the button for the next floor down to stop the elevator. "I'll continue down to do the press conference as planned. But I want you to drop everything that you're working on, give it to somebody else..."

"Already done," Sandra said. "The moment I read the piece."

"Get back up to your desk..."

"Right," Sandra said, stepping off the elevator.

"And clean it out."

"R... what?"

"You're fired, Sandra," Evelyn said. "When I told you I favored plain speaking, I meant you shouldn't be afraid to say things like a pair of identical twins look the same, not that you should feel free to tell me I need the NAACP's permission to comment on the hairstyle of anybody's whose skin tone is darker than mine."

"But..."

"There are plenty of companies that will hire you to do the kind of crap you just tried to do. Best of luck in finding a position with one. If you're still in the building after my press conference, I'm notifying security," Evelyn said.

"What happens when I explain that I was fired for insisting you apologize for a racial remark?" Sandra asked sharply.

"You don't want to make this personal," Evelyn said. She hit the close door button.

"You haven't seen personal!" Sandra shouted. "I was just trying to help you, but if this the thanks I get... well, let's just say that you don't know the power of public opinion!"

Evelyn made some call as she headed downstairs. She'd given the woman a chance to leave amicably, but now Sandra's desk was to be cleaned out by interns while the former P.R. head waited in the security annex off the main lobby. The process was to take slightly longer than it would take for the reporters at the impending press conference to file their stories. Between that and a few other small matters that needed arranging, she arrived at the gathering on the front steps of One Everett Plaza a little bit late. The sun was just sinking below the horizon.

While it was still her hand, she switched off her phone. Chances are somebody would try to get clarification from her on her orders, if they could reach her, and she didn't want anything interrupting her stride.

She took her place in front of a podium that had been set up in front of a backdrop depicting a globe with little cartoon fishies leaping out of the oceans.

"I'd like to thank you all for joining me," Evelyn told the assembled press, smiling warmly. "And I'd like to apologize if I seem unprepared. Normally, I would have had the support and assistance of our head of public relations, but I was forced to terminate her employment earlier this evening after she revealed some attitudes about race that were... problematic, and not in keeping with the EvCo philosophy. Full details will be available from our press office. The short version is that I have faith in the intelligence of the American people regardless of the color of their skin, and she does not. She thought her job should consist of talking down to minorities, and that kind of thinking was as unacceptable to me as I know it's unacceptable to all of you."

There were murmurs from the crowd of reporters, the mixture of confusion and excitement that usually accompanies unexpected news breaks.

"I bear her no ill will and wish her only the best in finding a company where her values are a better fit. Please, I'll answer questions about the personnel change at the end, if you have any," she said. "But I've asked you here tonight to discuss something of far greater importance, and I'd like to begin."

She cleared her throat.

"Overfishing is a global issue. Whether it's the destructive practice of bottom trawling, the short-sighted hunting of pregnant beluga for their eggs or sharks for their fins, or the simple over-harvesting fish and shellfish, the simple fact is that we are depleting the world's stock of seafood faster than it can be replenished. Leaving aside the ecological concerns, the affects of this will be disastrous on the human race. As fish protein becomes scarce, the demands on meat and poultry will begin to increase faster than the supply. A greater dependence on factory farms will result in even more environmental damage. The economies of coastal regions will be shattered, causing a global depression. Put simply, no person in any nation on earth will be spared the consequences of this.

"Conservative estimates suggest that this problem will reach critical mass within the next two or three decades. Other projections say it could happen as early as the next eight to twelve years. The world's governments have done what they can to address the coming crisis, but in the end it's a market problem and it demands a market solution. Therefore, as part of EvCo's new Green Globe Initiative, we will only be doing business with fisheries that practice sustainable fishing practices, as codified by the Marine Stewardship Council, an independent non-profit group.

"We will not be leaving anybody out in the cold, however. EvCo is willing to work with our partners to provide funding and technical expertise to any commercial fishery that wishes to seek certification from the Marine Stewardship Council. Blazing the trail in this endeavor is our first eco-partner, the Roman's Fine Fish company, which has agreed to accept our aid. Working together, we can ensure that our children are spared the horrible future that's been outlined to us, and that no future generation grows up in a world where fish can only be seen in aquariums... or museums.

"Thank you," she concluded. "Now, I'll turn the floor over to any questions."

"Ms. Everett, Arthur Roman has spoken out against so-called 'sustainable fishing' practices in the past. How does your 'first eco-partner' actually feel about this?"

"Mr. Roman is a fine man and a father of four. I'm sure he wants to leave his children the best possible world," Evelyn said. "Next."

"What about those who say that the restrictions imposed by sustainable practices rob smaller and independent fishers of their livelihoods?"

"Such concerns have been the bane of attempts to legislate this problem away," Evelyn said. "But where will they get their livelihood from if the oceans are empty? In a perfect world, anybody would be able to dip a net into the ocean and pull up a big wad of money, but we have to deal with the reality."

"Ms. Everett, what would you say to those who suggest it's inappropriate for you to use the power you wield as the head of a major corporation in order to..."

"To what? Save the world?" Evelyn asked. "Maybe I should start wearing a costume. Would it be more appropriate for me to use my power then?"

There was widespread chuckling at that, which turned into laughter when she stepped from behind the podium and struck a dramatic pose. That was when Evelyn knew that she'd won the crowd. It wasn't the same as winning over the world, but it was a start. Sustainable fishing would catch on, she knew, because there was simply no other alternative. After that, there were questions about how this would affect prices, and what plans she had for cleaning up other areas of the supply chain, as well as a bit of the predictable EvCo bashing... but not as much as she'd expected.

Some of the reporters hung around to get a statement from Sandra Collins as she left the building, but by that point she was so infuriated that she didn't do much to help her case. In the mean time, the local TV stations had been furnished with footage of her "You know that, and I know that," remark from the elevator's security cameras.

The day's business was concluded, but Evelyn's work had just begun. She was an Everett, after all, and she had responsibilities to the city. She used her key on the elevator and hit the penthouse button.

When the doors slid open, she was surprised to find Ethan Stone, her daughter's driver and bodyguard, standing there with his arms crossed, looking disappointed... and a little scared? Ethan was never scared. He rarely even looked concerned. In his sharp black suit, he was always the picture of unflappability. Now, he looked flapped.

"Ethan!" she said. "You're supposed to be taking Rain to a slumber party."

"Party's been canceled," he said in his low, flinty voice. He looked at her disapprovingly. "You turned off your cell phone."

"Only for half an hour," she said. "I didn't want..."

"We've talked about this," he said. "When you hired me, what was rule number two?"

"I trust you with my daughter's life, but this isn't..."

"What was rule number two?"

She sighed. "Always leave you a way to reach me."

He gave one small half nod, but said nothing.

"Ethan, you're scaring me."

"That's odd, because I'm normally a reassuring person," he said. "I got a call from my contact at the asylum."

Evelyn's heart stopped.

"They think she broke out," he said.

"They think she broke out?" she echoed incredulously. "How can they not know?"

"I'm not certain. They're keeping it quiet until they are sure one way or the other," Ethan said. "Until then, Rain's staying here, and so are you."

"The hell I am! I don't care what the court says, that thing doesn't deserve a protection order. I'm going out and doing what it takes to keep my daughter safe, and to hell with the consequences."

"Rain is not in any danger," he said. "I gave her something to help her sleep."

"Ethan, you're the best in the business but you can't protect Rain from this," Evelyn said.

"I can't. You can," he said calmly. "That's why you have to stay here, not because some stupid judge decided to grant a supervillain a restraining order against you or because 4B upheld it. You're staying here, because if she comes after Rain again, you're going to be her best chance."

"The Twins?"

"Across town doing security for that mutant science conference," Ethan said. "Which stands as good a chance of being her target as Rain does. Almost every hero in town's going to be there, which means the one who isn't needs to be here."

"I almost hope Rhyme does come here," Evelyn said fiercely. The air in the room seemed to stir with her rising anger, ruffling papers and rustling the drapes. "If I ever see that painted freak again, it'll be for the last time."

"I don't doubt it," Ethan said. "But like it or not, Storm Siren has to stay grounded until this blows over."