Chương 86: 6.07 How many Samanthas does it take to change a lightbulb?

2104: 02: 16: 15: 02: 09 Saga, Millie, Jolie's parents and I all clapped enthusiastically at the young bassist's – a fourteen year old – performance, as did the rest of the audience. Despite the enthusiasm though, the clapping wasn't very loud. That had more to do with the size of the hall and the relatively low number of people attending. Indeed, if you factor that in, the applause was immense. Whether the boy appreciated it or not was hard to tell.

His red face, nervous bowing and quick exit from the stage could be from either shyness or annoyance. I figured it to be the former. I highly doubted he'd expected a minor competition such as this to have this kind of energy. Such hadn't been the case in the beginning. Although the hall the Charm Jazz Society rented for their biannual Young Friends Contest was fairly large, the event wasn't exactly prestigious.

Outside of the judges, most of the guests were the parents and friends of individual participants, who only clapped for the people they were here for – their 'team', so to speak. Because of this, the level of applause overall had generally been… pitiful. Which had made me feel a bit bad for the contestants, so I'd begun clapping a bit harder. In turn, Saga and especially Millie began clapping harder as well. Way, way harder.

Though I suspected they didn't share my sentiments and had only done so for fun or as a 'joke', it'd had a cascading effect. Seeing my genuine and my friends less-genuine enthusiasm at every contestant, Jolie's dad had decided to play along, then 'subtly' (with a series of elbow prods) prompted his wife to do the same. It spread out from there, and by now, at the last contestant before Jolie's turn on the stage, the whole audience was participating. Much to the dismay of the teenaged contestants.

Doubly so when they realized their parents were recording the whole thing. I didn't know whether to feel bad or proud of what I'd done. Well, it didn't matter. Jolie was about to start. She arrived to the stage in a glittery black dress, and immediately her mother, Mrs. Zhou 'call me Mei' Meirong, shook Jolie's dad, Mister Zhou 'call me John' Zixuan, to get him to start recording.

According to the extensive list we'd been provided, Jolie was set to play a more minimalist rendition of a song – if that was the right word; it was completely instrumental – called 'Movement Six' by the late 21 st century jazz ensemble '20 th Century Looking'. Jolie would perform the melodies with her saxophone while an adult pianist from, presumably, the Charm Jazz Society accompanied her. After a quick bow, some fiddling with her saxophone and some unseen signal from the judges, Jolie began to play.

A slow, low, barely audible and, for a lack of knowledge on musical terminology, subtle metallic buzzing and rasping that pleasingly scratched the ear emerged from the instrument. The accompanying piano, though louder and more present, was played slowly enough for Jolie's performance to come through, making the whole sound like a proper duet where most previous performances had solely focused on the skills of the participants.

I had no idea what that meant for Jolie's final score, but maybe the judges factored in originality? That seemed self-evident for jazz, but what did I know. However, slowly but surely, Jolie's part grew more intense in volume while keeping the low, rasping tone going at a somewhat even drone.

The sound of the piano fell to the background, and as the song progressed, the saxophone's tone smoothed out while Jolie's hand-work became gradually more intense, preserving something of that rasp-and-buzz through the rapid switching between keys. Carried along as I was, I hardly noticed the movement and sound grew more frantic and louder until Jolie's playing filled the entire hall.

The rapid switching, the increase in volume, the higher notes; the pianist was all but drowned out now as Jolie's playing reached its highest pitch: a not-quite-shrill-enough-to-be-called-so tone that kept and kept and kept going through willpower and a surprising lung capacity. When, with a last long exhale, it reached the highest point it could possibly go without becoming an ear-bleeding screech, the sound suddenly stopped. For four seconds there was complete silence.

If it weren't for the fact that no one clapped, I would've thought the performance was over. But then the pianist resumed, and Jolie joined in right after. Her playing had returned to something softer like it had been at the start, but this time with clear primacy over the piano. Nor were the sounds she made raspy or buzzy like before. Instead, a smooth, dulcet hum left the brass. Gradually, the piano wound down until it ceased playing at all.

Jolie kept her volume steady for a moment longer before she too lowered, and lowered, and lowered the volume so much so that the fact it could go that low yet still be heard was in itself impressive, until fading out completely as well. All applauded, with our section naturally providing the greatest contribution. Millie and Saga were all but ready to hoot and holler if it weren't for Mrs. Zhou turning a keen, stern eye on them the moment Millie pitched a noise a bit too loud for the woman's liking.

And meanwhile, while I couldn't say whether I liked the song or not, I was in awe. I knew Jolie could play well, since otherwise she wouldn't have been able to teach my tone-deaf hands a single note, but to hear that not only could she play well on a technical level but an emotional one as well was… inspiring, really. Other participants played their parts and once all was said and done, the judges gave out their scores.

Jolie wasn't in first, second or third place – a crime if you asked me – but from her expression and that of her parents, it seemed she'd done well enough. I was glad Saga and I skipped sambo for this. X After the recital we all went back to Jolie's home to celebrate, Jolie's younger brother joining us there. Rather than ordering delivery, the Zhous had decided to go all-out with their cooking instead, using 'old family recipes' to create enough food to put a buffet to shame.

Fried rice with a specific kind of bacon, a selection of rolls they called siwawa, Bijui cuishao (crispy pork) noodles, braised trotters (pigs' feet), and Guizhou laziji – a chicken dish of some kind, or so I was told. It was incredibly spicy compared to most things I normally ate, but that didn't bother me, so I enjoyed it. Nor did it bother Saga, who was eating with gusto and, considering Mrs. Zhou's fondness of her, would likely take home most of the leftovers she'd promised we could take.

Especially since Millie declined – or tried to at least, but you did not deny the Zhou matriarch. After all was said, done and eaten – and after helping clear the table because we were all nice, good children who definitely weren't poor guests, right? – we went upstairs to Jolie's room with bowls full of ice cream. Saga made to jump on Jolie's bed, but the owner prevented her because she didn't want stains on it.

Millie and I were quick to claim the couch, and Jolie sat on the chair by her desk, leaving Saga to sit on the laminate floor with an exasperated huff. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

I'd already been in Jolie's room before, and while most of it looked the same as back then – contrasting black and whites with plenty of wood in between for furniture and décor, a handful of different instruments, and a computer-annex-workstation with electronic equipment for, I guessed, creating music – there were a few minor differences. Namely some of the posters.

"Changed some of them out," Jolie said when I asked her.

"They're all the front covers of some of my favorite albums, or sometimes their performers if I like their other works too. I switch them out a couple of times a year." Saga pointed to one depicting an older man playing the piano. I didn't recognize the performer.

"I got her that one for Christmas," she said, then pointed to another poster. This one – wobbly black concentric circles on a white-and-red striped background – was clearly an album cover.

"I think that's the one that had today's song. Right?" Jolie nodded.

"And that one," Saga continued, pointing at a bare-chested slim young man playing the bass, "she's had that one up for at least three years, I think." She then fake whispered to Millie and I, "She has him up for a different reason; I've never heard her play any of his songs!"

"Scandalous," both Millie and I said at the same time. Jolie scowled.

"C'mon – that's Billy Murz! He's like, Charm's most famous jazz musician!" Yet there was a slight blush to her cheeks.

"Never heard of him," Millie said.

"Of course you haven't," Jolie sneered.

"I have," I said. Jolie's eyes lit up and she opened her mouth, eager for discussion until I said, "Mom likes his music." Not true; I'd only ever heard her play his music once and that was decided for her, by a station or a playlist or something. Not something she'd picked out herself. Yet it had the desired effect. Jolie comically deflated and took a sullen spoonful of ice cream. We three, as kindly as possible of course, laughed at her.

"C'mon Jolie!" Millie said.

"Nothing wrong with liking a guy!"

"Yeah?" Jolie returned.

"Yet you don't see me screaming from the rooftops about you and Franklin." Saga gasped exaggeratedly, one hand to her chest and one hand shoveling ice cream into her open mouth. I'd have preferred if she closed it.

"Franklin?" I said, turning toward Millie.

"Like, Amber's friend Franklin?" Millie rose and stood on the couch, spoon – after licking it clean – raised into the air and one hand on her heart, proclaiming stately, "Alright, I confess: he's hot." She paused and tilted her head to the side.

"Does need to lose the attitude though. He's not that hot." Then promptly collapsed back onto the couch again. It was a subject that came up every now and then, mostly when Millie and Jolie were in particular moods. Yet beyond contributing platitudes and jokes I'd never participated much in those conversations. And, to be frank, had never given romance much thought at all – a situation that likely wouldn't change any time soon considering the circumstances.

"Earth to Sammy," Millie said, waving a spoon in my face.

"Share with the class: who were you thinking about?" There was a predatory grin on her – and Jolie's – face. Only Saga continued to look stoically unimpressed at the pair's antics.

"No one," I said honestly.

"Was only thinking how I haven't given it much thought."

"Reeeeaaaally?" Millie asked.

"Not never?" I shook my head.

"In what time? I'm only six months old."

"She did it!" Millie gasped, turning to Jolie and Saga alternately.

"She said the thing!"

"Ding ding!" Jolie ding-ed.

"Bingo," Saga deadpanned.

"What? Can't a girl abuse her trauma for an easy exit?" I tutted.

"Besides, as you well know, I've been busy furthering my career," I finished snobbishly.

"Oh yeah!" Millie exclaimed.

"That reminds me: how was the memorial from your end? I watched it on the CAS but I'm gonna be honest, I tuned out for most of it when it became clear it was just the mayor talking con-stant-ly." She scrunched her nose at the memory.

"Like, it was soooo boring – though I tuned in for the two minutes and the medal stuff, of course."

"Was pretty cool to see you up there," Jolie said.

"Pretty funny I'd say," Saga added, though it was clear she was just teasing.

"It was alright." I shrugged, uncomfortable at their… praise?

"The mayor was long-winded, sure, but didn't it also feel a bit rushed? Not in quality or anything, but the park wasn't even finished and it had been only, what? Two months since Soliloquy? He'd already given a live speech before, and I suppose the two minutes of silence was a good initiative, but wouldn't it be better if they did a ceremony on the anniversary or something? Isn't that what they normally do?"

All three shrugged, with Millie adding, "They'll probably do that too, maybe even make it a yearly thing if there's a need for it, but the turnaround wasn't that quick, I don't think. It's pretty normal for something like this to happen sooner rather than later, with memories still fresh and stuff."

"Especially with the vigils still ongoing," Jolie added. I shrugged. I had no response for that.

"But what about your part?" Millie asked.

"Like, what was it like to receive the medal?" For a third time, I shrugged. I was growing uncomfortable at the continued attention.

"I don't know," I dithered, debating internally on what to say.

"It's like- did he have to give medals?"

"What, you wanted something different?" Saga asked.

"No, it's just- it's not the medal itself. It just feels like I didn't earn it, you know? Like, if we'd been a bit quicker, a bit more decisive we could've prevented it all from happening in the first place! I mean, we'd been suspicious of Nth-Sight – that is, Jules Hessian for a while, but not until the last moment did we do anything with it."

"What about that thing with the teleporter?" Jolie asked.

"We didn't even know it was a teleporter," I told them.

"We thought it was like a maker bomb or something and just decided to disable it before he could use it."

"Sounds quick and decisive enough for a medal," Saga said. Jolie nodded in agreement.

"And besides, it's not like you could've known what that Jules guy was doing. The heroes were just as blindsided as you – and they have an entire arm of the government backing them up!"

"Maybe," I conceded.

"But still, even now it feels like we aren't doing anything. Motorgang and Magistry are putting up this shitty performance while doing their crimes in the background, and all we're doing is busting up minor criminals and cleaning up after their fights! The biggest thing Crowsong and I have done was capture some henchies, close a fencing location and minor stuff like that, then sending the intel we got to the authorities."

"Hey, that's still more than me," Millie said.

"All I've been doing is behind-the-scenes police work, aiding investigations and interrogations, helping clean up some of the psychic effects left behind by Magistry's ceremonies – stuff like that. Basic stuff; nothing even close to busting henchies."

"Don't you feel frustrated?" I asked.

"Don't you want to go out there and fight the villains head-on?"

"To be honest? Not really," she said, much to my surprise. I'd heard her complain often enough about a lack of going out for this to catch me off guard. Seeing my confusion, Millie laughed.

"I've had my fill for now. I mean, I got involved with the strike against the Jannacht, and got out a few times to kick some henchie ass as well. Besides, it's not like the stuff I'm doing right now is useless by any means. I might prefer playing the psychic caster sometimes, but learning the ins-and-outs of the behind-the-scenes augur work is fun as well – so long as it isn't, like, an all-day-every-day kind of deal." She laughed again.

"That, and I've still got a life full of action ahead of me. Really, It's honestly kind of amazing you and Crowsong can keep going despite all the shit you got involved in." As I didn't know what to say, the room turned to silence for a moment before turning to other topics while we finished whatever was left of our ice cream. Still, my mind kept going back to what Millie said. It was a well-reasoned point, one that had more than a few things in common with what Amber had told me when I'd asked her.

And it was a point I, intellectually at least, understood; there were no minor heroisms, no degrees beyond heroism itself. Even if I was approaching a point of no return thanks to Mad Android Syndrome, as long as I was working toward ending villainy, why shouldn't that be enough? As for how I could keep going, I had clear answers, but that paradoxically didn't make it clearer.

Me being on a time limit was an easy one – it motivated me to keep going no matter what – but so were the more subtle, not clearly discernable influences of my Heroic Impulse pushing me forward. And now there was also the possibility of the pseudo-Sam construct influencing me as well. The continuing degradation of my android manufacturing might be affecting me in ways I don't realize, up to and including increased recklessness and emotional instability.

In fact, that was all but a certainty considering what I'd read about Mad Android Syndrome. But what could I do about it? There was no cure for it – the Heroic Impulse was supposed to be that. I could tell my therapist, but what then? She would either tell someone about it, meaning I'd get arrested, decommissioned, or asylum-ed or whatever it was they did with powered androids; or she wouldn't tell anyone, putting me back to square one. Yet what was the alternative?

Going out in a blaze of glory would seem the most obvious to me, and one I knew my Heroic Impulse would agree on – for whatever its opinion was worth. But could I really do that? Not just for the inherent danger in it – mad androids were categorically not heroic in their final moments – but to Mom? Real or not, could she bear seeing her daughter throw away her life in a final outburst of heroism, or worse: the final act as a mad, villainous android looking like her daughter?

On the opposite end, not going masking wasn't an option either. Neither my personal beliefs nor my Heroic Impulse allowed for it, and I doubted I could resist its impulses if I wasn't fully one-hundred-percent behind what I was doing. As for turning myself in? Maybe at the last moment, right before Mad Android Syndrome took over, but that was, again, a big risk. I was already long overdue, and who knew how I'd feel about it by the time it came, with my faculties going the way of the dodo?

And that's without going into the question of what my Heroic Impulse would do if I tried it. It got aggressive with Nth-Sight knowing my identity and hell, if it got that aggressive with Michael while in my civilian identity, there was no way turning myself in would end well. But it was that or suicide, which was by far the worst option of them all. Even if I did it in a suicide-by-masked kind of way, it would hurt Mom in ways beyond belief. That was not something I could do.

Or, just as likely, not something that pseudo-Sam would allow me to do. In other words: not a good option in sight. I returned my attention to the topic at hand – some light high school drama, definitely not gossip – and decided to intervene before it dragged on too long.

"By the way, Jolie," I said.

"Your parents are great cooks." Jolie blinked for a moment at the out-of-nowhere statement before smiling brightly, proudly puffing up her chest.

"I know right? It's traditional food – as in like, generationally passed down from both Mom and Dad's side of the family.

"It was really good," I said, nodding agreeably.

"Almost as good as Asia4Now." Again, she blinked a couple of times before indignation set in, and the argument started.