Chương 82: 6.03 How many Samanthas does it take to change a lightbulb?

2104: 02: 10: 14: 58: 20 The day chosen for the memorial of the 'Soliloquy affair' – name pending – was a bright and sunny one. The event was well-attended with rows of representatives and journalists of all stripes, their organizations ranging from Charm, Cascadia or the wider North American Governate. Interspersed between were the more prominent individual influencers, and behind them all stood Charm's citizenry in all forms and stripes. The stage itself was packed too.

Survivors, their families and other attending notables sat in tiers behind the main stage while the heroes involved with Soliloquy's turn to madness – Strikemight, Peakstar (who occasionally shot me glances), Gaptime, Orsini, Levy, Sandelabra, Autophaser, Rostam, Tahminah, Hecaterion, Needle Knight, Jauntiste, Looming Thread, Adaptavian, Crowsong (Amber might not have been involved with Soliloquy directly, but considering Nth-Sight's role in it she shared in the award) and I – stood below and to the sides, flanking them to create a half moon around the speaker's podium.

So far, there had been selected readings and speeches given by the survivors along with a number special guests – poets and spokespersons of neighborhoods, political parties, NGOs and charities, etcetera – with the Mayor Patrick Alexandros playing the host. It'd taken over an hour already, all going according to schedule. Meaning that in just a second…

"-so please, for all those that have been lost, a moment of silence," the Mayor declared, solemnly bowing his head. A man with a trumpet began playing an abbreviated version of the Unified State's Song of Lost Nations, the song carried all across Charm through its network of speakers normally reserved for emergency announcement. As the man played, bells rang all across the city and minarets called shortly for silence and remembrance. After thirty seconds of that, the two minutes of silence began in earnest.

I tried to keep in mind the purpose of this moment – the remembrance, the mourning – but couldn't do it. Perhaps it was undignified or disrespectful of me, but that day had dominated my life enough for the past two months, thank you very much. So instead, I let my mind wander aimlessly. It seemed that the debate around what to do with the gaping hole left in Soliloquy's requiem had ultimately turned into a compromise between Mayor Alexandros and whoever else decided on these matters.

They'd opted for a combination of stately monument and memorial garden/city park – though so far only the former was done.

At the center of the garden was a sectioned-off black granite walkway with the names of the deceased engraved in gold, watched over by an obelisk with the blue seven-pointed star seal representing the seven continents at its apex Inscribed at its base was a short poem which read: From wickedness endeavor'd This monument raised To innocent lives sever'd And those that braved Sounded standard enough, I supposed.

I'd also been led to believe there would be plaques with information on the day's events, but these had yet to be placed. And once the stage I, my mentor, the other heroes and guests were on was dismantled, the monument would be surrounded by rows of prunus mume – a kind of pink-flowered apricot tree – flowerbeds and grass fields for public use. But again, these all had yet to be placed.

Which wasn't that strange since, give or take a couple of hours, it'd been only two months since the disaster itself; a pretty quick turnaround for affairs as sensitive as this. It left the whole event feeling… not rushed, per se, but something like it. There were no cut corners or anything – even if the monument was somewhat simple, it felt minimalist and straightforward rather than cheap and amateurish.

Nor was the ceremony itself a rushed affair, with plenty of speakers allotted plenty of time to speak without anyone overstaying their welcome or, in the case of non-relatives, overshadowing the survivors. But it did feel hastened along in some way. Like it had been done on executive order instead of through debate and committee, or by a deliberate cutting-through of bureaucratic red tape. But for what reason? As far as I knew there weren't any elections soon enough to matter.

Not in Charm, nor in Cascadia, North America or the Unified State at large – and the latter two likely wouldn't bother with something so local. So why? Then again, I might've been subconsciously downplaying the mark Soliloquy and Nth-Sight had left on Charm.

Considering the little life experience I had, the sudden shift of Charm from one of the most peaceful cities in North America to one embroiled in a gang war – however briefly – and have it be revealed that a Treaty-breaking augur might've been playing the puppet master behind all gang and masked activity for his own gain, to then turn back into one of the most peaceful cities again… Well, no matter how hectic it'd been for me, that was just how my life was.

But to the average Charm citizen it must've felt like a rollercoaster. Two minutes had passed and the church bells rang, the minarets called and the speaker-amplified trumpet blared once again under a smattering of polite applause. I didn't understand why we were applauding, but joined them nevertheless.

"Thank you, sergeant, for the wonderful performance," Mayor Alexandros said.

"And thank you, audience and citizens from all corners of our beautiful city, for your participation. May it give those that have loved and lost strength in the trials still ahead." He briefly hung his head again after that, commanding another informal, yet still respectful moment of silence. His speech, if it wasn't clear enough already, was being broadcast all over the city and beyond to everyone with the desire to hear it. He raised his head again, solemnity replaced by a practiced smile.

"Now, it is my pleasure to officially begin the tribute to those heroes that were there that day – with or without masks." He looked down at the papers on his lectern.

"Please, step forth- " And so came and went a long list of people. Each got a medal according to their particular… field, I supposed: the Nightingale Award to doctors and the like, the Distinguished Services patch to police and firefighters, the Golden Guardian Star to heroes (including the Wardens), and the Bugle for Bravery (not a real one, just a pin shaped like it) to civilians. After the heroes were properly pinned up, it was our turn.

"And last but certainly not least, I would like to call Crowsong and Jester to the front." This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Amber and I stepped up to join the Mayor at the metaphorical plate, her looking confident and sure of herself, and me projecting the same without feeling it.

"These junior vigilantes were instrumental in not only aiding the side of the angels during the Jannacht Wars; not only in helping us drive out the Syndicate from Charm for good; and not only in helping fight against Soliloquy; but also for uncovering the years-long conspiracy of the augur Jules Hessian, which we are even now still plumbing the depths of.

"Thus, unprecedented in Charm's and Cascadia's bright history of heroic deeds, I am honored to present the Cascadian Award for Extraordinarily Meritorious Heroics to these two junior vigilantes. Not only for the heroic services rendered, but as a signal to all that Charm will always reward those willing to work for the good of the city, the justice so inherent in our values, and the safety of all our wonderful people."

He confidently pinned the silver coin-and-star medal on our costumes, giving us both handshakes in that awkward sideways manner that looked good on video and in pictures. His handshake was strong and… generous, let's say. Generous in the way he'd have pulled my arm out of its socket if it weren't for my android body. Applause rained down on us all the while, and continued for a few seconds more as we moved back to our previous spot in the lineup.

Thankfully my face was hidden by my smiling mask because I doubted my expression looked happy, proud or honored. I shouldn't receive a medal for killing a man; not for Nth-Sight, nor for Soliloquy either. And it did not feel like I'd helped enough people to earn it. Amber did not share my feelings on this, but that wasn't to say that she loved receiving the medal and the whole pageantry that came with it – she didn't. For her it was more about the practicalities.

It was, in her words, useful to have people know that when they see a human-shaped, crow-beaked, knife-wielding woman dash past that it was, in fact, a hero whizzing past, not a villain or a deranged serial killer. That, and I suspected she liked the ego boost, even if she didn't fully agree the medal had been given in good faith. Something something government sucks something something the Mayor is a corrupt slimeball; I hadn't been listening that closely, but I got the gist.

Mayor Alexandros spoke for a while longer before the event wrapped up. Crowsong and I dipped before the tide of reporters could overwhelm us and, in her words, ruin our 'mystique' by stumbling through interviews. I figured she was just shy. Not that I was one to talk in this case; the horde of reporters were certainly more terrifying than a horde of henchies. At least those I knew how to treat.

Instead, we went to some sort of 'party tent' in the back, where most of the heroes – barring a few that went to represent and talk to the reporters – were already present alongside those invited that didn't feel the need to face the cameras. Being the only two non-adults outside a few of the survivors and family members of the deceased, I felt thoroughly out of place, and I could tell Amber felt much the same.

Thankfully, we didn't have to do much as soon a familiar face with a feathery cloak – one in pure white, looking like an anti-Crowsong – and an orange-beaked eagle-looking cowl covering the top half of her head and face. To be honest, I'd expected Mom to be the one to greet us, but it was Adaptavian instead.

"Crowsong, Jester," the Warden greeted us, "glad to see you here. I half-feared you wouldn't show – or that you wouldn't even know you were invited!" The invitation to the unveiling came through Millie, funnily enough. She wasn't the only one who had our number; Amber's contacts as Crowsong extended through official channels to the Guardians and Wardens both. But for whatever reason, they – whoever 'they' were – had decided to reach out through Millie, or rather, LieSpy, instead. I blamed Mom for this.

I'd hoped that once I told her Millie and I exchanged identities she wouldn't use my friend as a… what, a spy? A go-between or something? But clearly that ship had already sailed. It likely had before I even became aware of it if I thought a bit too deeply about the chances of Millie and I being in the same class. Best not think too deep then. Amber shrugged.

"No reason to turn down a good medal." Adaptavian smiled.

"Or to turn down some good PR," she said, laughing lightly.

"But in all seriousness: I wanted to thank you both personally. Without either of you I fear the city would be a lot worse off." Amber and I turned to look at each other for a moment.

"No need for thanks," Amber said, and if it was said a bit vainly I doubted anyone but me would notice.

"We just did what heroes should do," I told her, giving the woman a shrug. Adaptavian caught my lack of enthusiasm, turning to me and saying, "If everyone did as they should the world would be a better place; but unfortunately, be it because they can't or won't, people rarely do. That you did – you should take pride in that." She said it with such sincerity that I had to grimace underneath my mask, letting silence take the place of a response.

"Anyway," Adaptavian said, "how about I introduce you two to some people, eh? I don't doubt some of the citizens here will want to talk to you as well – practiced your autographs yet?" X I returned home long before Mom, and by the time she did I was already on the couch, relaxing. The second she barged through the door, she said, "Where's my favorite decorated hero?" while pretending to look around. Then, upon 'spotting' me, "There she is!"

"Where? I'd love to get an autograph to show off to my friends." I had, of course, long since gotten out of my Jester costume. Mom snorted.

"How was the ceremony? Did you like it?" She threw down her purse by the coat rack and sat next to me on the couch.

"It was… alright, I guess," I said.

"I think I'd have preferred not to go though."

"Really? I mean, the stage is not for everyone, but you looked good up there." She tapped her pocket, the one holding her phone. She smiled.

"And I've got the pictures to prove it, straight from Wardens PR."

"I don't have stage fright or anything like that." I went around dressed as a medieval jester, after all. In fact, any masked having stage fright seemed odd; they could've become a professional otherwise, or some obscure rogue.

"I just felt… out of place, I suppose? Feels weird and kinda wrong to receive a medal at a memorial."

"Hm," Mom hm-ed noncommittedly.

"Then why go through with it?"

"Crowsong, mostly," I said.

"It's not like I don't get why. Heroes, masked or not, deserve to be rewarded, and good examples need to be put in the spotlight to serve as, well, an example. I just…" Mom frowned.

"You don't feel like you're a good example?" After a second's hesitation, I shook my head.

"Why?" she asked.

"You still feel guilty about Nth-Sight?" Again, I hesitated.

"Guilty… isn't the right word." I idly combed through my hair.

"I understand that Nth-Sight's death was inevitable, and good on some level." Even if not in the way I did it, nor the reason I'd done it for.

"But it still feels like I've failed. Like, we should've caught or uncovered Nth-Sight earlier. I mean the warning signs were clearly there, but we just… I feel like we kept stalling just to be sure or something like that."

"As far as I understood it, he was a trusted source of you and your mentor. How could you have known he'd betray you like that? Besides, everyone makes mistakes; we aren't saints. Nobody is."

"But we should be better than that," I said.

"I mean: we're heroes, aren't we?"

"And heroes are just people," Mom said, voice laced with compassion.

"And the only thing people can do is their best. What happened with Nth-Sight, and Soliloquy too… Not only did you do all you could, I think you did the only right thing you could've done in that situation."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me, and I understand that. But that doesn't mean I want to be praised for it."

"If you understand all that, and understand the wider use of being put in the spotlight, why can't you accept it for what it is: a useful sentiment? What exactly is it that's still bothering you?" I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. I had no idea how to answer that. After a moment of silence, she switched topics.

"Did you at least enjoy the, ah, 'after party' I suppose is the word." I shrugged.

"It was fine. The introduction with the other heroes was fun at least." Mom snorted. Some of her colleagues, like Hecaterion, could be a bit of a handful.

"But interacting with the survivors, relatives of the deceased, and government folk was… less so." Only my interaction with a few of the youngest kids there went well. All they wanted was for me to turn into various animals, which also got me some easy goodwill with the adults.

Likewise, Amber showing knife tricks to a bunch of bored edgy teenagers helped as well, although that was understandably less popular with their parents – though Orsini jumping in and doing the same with (unloaded) guns, and Lady Mercy's subsequent public berating of him helped lessen that. Interaction with others were much more hit or miss. Talk with survivors were either stilted and performative or much too heavy and intimate.

If it weren't for Adaptavian every so often urging us along and pretending we had a schedule to follow, Amber and I'd still be talking to people telling stories about their deceased relatives. The meetings – for that was what they felt like: meetings – with officials and representatives was even worse.

All they did was tell about themselves, their organizations and their work, handing out business cards with information links and inquiring about maybe doing some form of collaboration in the future – which I took to mean 'help us advertise'. Not that they were all bad; they did good work for the most part. They were just… on the clock, as it were. And with the lack of other junior heroes, there were very little others to really talk to. Mom shrugged.

"You did well enough. I doubt there's much you could do besides listen. I'm sure they were thankful that you relieved them of the burden of cheering up the kids." She laughed.

"And don't mind the mayor or the other high-hats; they work the stage for different reasons than us," she scoffed dismissively. I shrugged. Seeing my downcast mood not improving, "Hey, how about we go to Chongqing Palace? Or we can order takeout if you prefer?" We went to Chongqing Palace.