can't sit by when it's in danger."
"But why all of a sudden do you have to be off with these _meshuggenahs_? Howcome you didn't _need_ to be with the crazy people until now?"
"Because there's a _chance_ now. The world is ready to rethink itself. Because--" The waiter saved him by appearing with the cheque. His mother started toopen her purse, but he had his debitcard on the table faster than the eye couldfollow. "It's on me, Ma."
"Don't be silly. I'll pay."
"I _want_ to. Let me. A son should take his mother out to lunch once in awhile."
She smiled, for the first time that whole afternoon, and patted his cheek withone manicured hand. "You're a good boy, Hershie, I know that. I only want thatyou should be happy, and have what's best for you."
#
Hershie, in tights and cape, was chilling in his fortress of solitude when hiscomm rang. He checked the callerid and winced: Thomas was calling, from Toronto.Hershie's long-distance bills were killing him, ever since the Department ofDefense had cut off his freebie account.
Not to mention that talking to Thomas inevitably led to more trouble with hismother.
He got up off of his crystalline recliner and flipped the comm open, floating upa couple of metres. "Thomas, what's up?"
"Supe, didja see the reviews? The critics _love_ us!"
Hersh held the comm away from his head and sighed the ancient, put-upon Hebraicsigh of his departed stepfather. Thomas Aquino Rusk liked to play at being asleazy Broadway producer, his "plays" the eye-catching demonstrations he and hisband of merry shit-disturbers hijacked.
"Yeah, it made pretty good vid, all right." He didn't ask why Thomas wascalling. There was only one reason he _ever_ called: he'd had another idea.
"You'll never guess why I called."
"You've had an idea."
"I've had an idea!"
"Really."
"You'll love it."
Hershie reached out and stroked the diamond-faceted coffins that his birthparents lay in, hoping for guidance. His warm fingers slicked with meltedhoarfrost, and as they skated over the crypt, it sang a pure, high crystal notelike a crippled flying saucer plummeting to the earth. "I'm sure I will,Thomas."
As usual, Thomas chose not to hear the sarcasm in his voice. "Check this out --DefenseFest 33 is being held in Toronto in March. And the new keynote speaker isthe Patron Ik'Spir Pat! The fricken head fricken bugout! His address is'Galactic History and Military Tactics: a Strategic Overview.'"
"And this is a good thing?"
"Ohfuckno. It's terrible, terrible, of course. The bugouts are selling us out.Going over to the Other Side. Just awful. But think of the possibilities!"
"But think of the possibilities? Oy." Despite himself, Hershie was smiling.Thomas always made him smile.
"You're smiling, aren't you?"
"Shut up, Thomas."
"Can you make a meeting at the Belquees for 18h?"
Hershie checked his comm. It was 1702h. "I can make it."
"See you there, buddy." Thomas rang off.
Hershie folded his comm, wedged it in his belt, and stroked his parents' crypt,once more, for luck.
#
Hershie loved the commute home. Starting at the Arctic Circle, he flew up and upand up above the highest clouds, then flattened out his body and rode thecurrents home, eeling around the wet frozen cloudmasses, slaloming throughthunderheads, his critical faculties switched off, flying at speed on blindinstinct alone.
He usually made visual contact with the surface around Barrie, just outside ofToronto, and he wasn't such a goodiegoodie that he didn't feel a thrill ofsuperiority as he flew over the cottage-country commuters stuck in theend-of-weekend traffic, skis and snowmobiles strapped to their roofs.
#
The Belquees had the best Ethiopian food and the worst Ethiopian decor in town.Successive generations of managers had added their own touches -- tiki-lanterns,textured wallpaper, framed photos of Haile Selassie, tribal spears and grassdolls -- and they'd accreted in layers, until the net effect was of an Africanrummage sale. But man, the food was good.
Downstairs was a banquet room whose decor consisted of material too ugly to beshown upstairs, with a stage and a disco ball. It had been a regular meetingplace for Toronto's radicals for more than fifty years, the chairs worn smoothby generations of left-wing buttocks.
Tonight, it was packed. At least fifty people were crammed around the tables,tearing off hunks of tangy rice-pancake and scooping up vegetarian curry withthem. Even before he saw Thomas, his super-hearing had already picked his voiceout of the din and located it. Hershie made a beeline for Thomas's table, notmaking eye-contact with the others -- old-guard activists who still saw him as atool of the war-machine.
Thomas licked his fingers clean and shook his hand. "Supe! Glad you could makeit! Sit, sit." There was a general shuffling of coats and chairs as the otherpeople at the table cleared a space for him. Thomas was already pouring him abeer out of one of the pitchers on the table.
"Geez, how many people did you invite?"
Tina, a tiny Chinese woman who could rhyme "Hey hey, ho ho" and "One, two,three, four" with amazing facility said, "Everyone's here. The Quakers, thecommies, a couple of councilors, the vets, anyone we could think of. This isgonna be _huge_."
The food hot, and the different curries and salads were a symphony of flavoursand textures. "This is terrific," he said.
"Best Ethiopian outside of Addis Ababa," said Thomas.
_Better than Addis Ababa_, Hershie thought, but didn't say it. He'd been inAddis Ababa as the secret weapon behind Canada's third and most ill-fatedpeacekeeping mission there. There hadn't been a lot of restaurants open then,just block after block of bombed-out buildings, and tribal warlords drivingaround in tacticals, firing randomly at anything that moved. The ground CO senthim off to scatter bands of marauders while the bullets spanged off his chest.He'd never understood the tactical significance of those actions -- still didn't-- but at the time, he'd been willing to trust those in authority.
"Good food," he said.
#
An hour later, the pretty waitress had cleared away the platters and broughtfresh pitchers, and Hershie's tights felt a little tighter. One of the Quakers,an ancient, skinny man with thin grey hair and sharp, clever features stood upand tapped his beer-mug. Gradually, conversation subsided.
"Thank you," he said. "My name is Stewart Pocock, and I'm here from the Circleof Friends. I'd like us all to take a moment to say a silent thanks for thewonderful food we've all enjoyed."
There was a nervous shuffling, and then a general bowing of heads and mostlysilence, broken by low whispers.
"Thomas, I thought _you_ called this meeting," Hershie whispered.
"I did. These guys always do this. Control freaks. Don't worry about it," hewhispered back.
"Thank you all. We took the liberty of drawing up an agenda for this meeting."
"They _always_ do this," Thomas said.
The Quakers led them in a round of introductions, which came around to Hershie."I'm, uh, The Super Man. I guess most of you know that, right?" Silence. "I'mreally looking forward to working on this with you all." A moment of silencefollowed, before the next table started in on its own introductions.
#
"Time," Louise Pocock said. Blissfully. At last. The agenda had ticks next toINTRODUCTION, BACKGROUND, STRATEGY, THE DAY, SUPPORT AND ORGANISING andPUBLICITY. Thomas had hardly spoken a word through the course of the meeting.Even Hershie's alien buttocks were numb from sitting.
"It's time for the closing circle. Please, everybody, stand up and hold hands."Many of the assembled didn't bother to stifle their groans. Awkwardly, aroundthe tables and the knapsacks, they formed a rough circle and took hands. Theyheld it for an long, painful moment, then gratefully let go.
They worked their way upstairs and outside. The wind had picked up, and it blewHershie's cape out on a crackling vertical behind him, so that it caught many ofthe others in the face as they cycled
or walked away.
"Supe, let's you and me grab a coffee, huh?" Thomas said, without any spin on itat all, so that Hershie knew that it wasn't a casual request.
"Yeah, sure."
#
The cafe Thomas chose was in a renovated bank, and there was a private room inthe old vault, and they sat down there, away from prying eyes and autographhounds.
"So, you pumped?" Thomas said, after they ordered coffees.
"After _that_ meeting? Yeah, sure."
Thomas laughed, a slightly patronising but friendly laugh. "That was a