Freedom - 6 (Young Justice in Genosha)

by D Benway

I am going over the files again, looking for any sign that someone else might be involved. I'm more careful this time, making sure I closed and locked the windows and the door. Col's outside rapping at his window, and so I hit the special button on my desktop that disconnects me from Bruce's network and clears the hard drive of any incriminating files. Then I go to open the window to let him in.

He's not alone. Cassandra, as always, is with him.

"Hey, Rob," he says, speaking American again.

I haven't seen either of them since last night when they left me behind and took Cecily home.

"Has Cecily recovered?" I ask.

"More or less," says Cassandra.

"Robin, you did a bloody awful thing yesterday," says Col.

"I was only trying-," I say.

"You owe Cecily an apology," says Col.

"I do?" I say.

"Yes, you damn well do," says Col.

Beloved of everyone, the file says. He's looking at me as I were something he stepped in.

"She said that she'd like to talk to you tonight," says Cassandra.

"What, now?" I say.

"It's as good a time as any," says Cassandra.

I look back at Col. I can see something in his eyes, encouraging me. I think Cassandra put him up to this.

"Very well," I say. "Where does she live?"

"She's in my room," says Cassandra. "Suzman 401. You know where it is."

"Well, I'd best be off, then," I say.

"Good man," says Col.

It doesn't take long to walk across the quads. The days are getting longer now, so it's not quite dark yet. I can see the light on in Cassandra's room. Hers is the only one at the top of her staircase. I knock.

"Come in," says Cecily.

I close the door behind me. There's a coal fire burning, but Cecily's not in the study.

"I'm in here," says Cecily.

I enter the bedroom. It's not really a bedroom, so much as an alcove that hides the bed from view. Cecily is lying on the bed.

"You're not wearing any clothes," I say.

"No," she says, flushing. "I'm not."

It is remarkable, the amount of her skin that reddens. Her complexion is quite flawless, and she has what many would consider the body of an ideal female athlete.

"Are you unwell?" I say.

She flushes now, an even deeper crimson.

"I-," she says. "No."

"Then why are you unclothed?" I say.

"Isn't it obvious?" she says. "I've got a pash for you."

She runs her hand along her body, from her left breast to her groin. I want to tell her that her mother didn't go to jail for filling her daughter with steroids, that her mother went to jail for trying to fake a blood test that would have revealed that her only daughter was festering with HIV as a consequence of a blood transfusion that was part of a shoulder operation. I should tell her, as she doesn't know, but I can't.

"Don't you want me?" she says.

"No," I say. "Why would you think that I would?"

"I-," she says. "I wanted to thank you for taking care of me yesterday."

If I were not perverse, I suppose I would be tempted, and this fills me with rage. I want to tell her, but how could I explain how I know?

"Rubbish," I say.

"No, no," she says.

"I took you out in my boat," I say. "I made you sick. I abandoned you to get help, and you were hurt because of my negligence. You suffered a terrible fright because I was derelict in my duty, and I made some small amends by caring for you in the brief moments after you fainted. What could you be thinking of?"

I turn to leave before I say anymore. I have the feeling that something is seriously wrong about this.

"Don't go,' she says.

"I believe that there has been a misunderstanding," I say.

She's standing now, coming towards me.

"I'll do anything you want," she says. "I can be anything for you."

"No," I say. "You can't."

"And why not?" she says.

"Because I am a confirmed bachelor," I say.

"That's not what Cassie said," she says.

Oh, hell.

"You can see I've got ever so much more to offer that she does," says Cecily. "She's but a bag of bones, and she's rude and uncivilized. I would make an ideal wife."

On that, I cannot dispute her. There are no doubt many who would seek her hand so that she could be shown off beside a pool.

She comes in close. She touches me in a most inappropriate manner.

"My God," she whispers. "You are enormous."

"I've been told it's a matter of relative size," I say. "According to Kurt Vonnegut, it's average in all dimensions. You might also notice that it is pointing at the floor."

She brings her hands to her face, and then begins to tremble.

"Please," she says, choking.

It is clear that she is about to embark on an unseemly display of emotion. Were I my father, I would strike some sense into her. Instead, I take her in my arms and let her cry into my hair. She can't bury her head on my shoulder, as she's a head taller than I am. It is rather like hugging a tree, but a tree with very soft bark. All I can wonder at, is why this is having no effect when Cassandra so definitely did. Perhaps it was some aspect of her mutant ability? There was nothing in the files about that sort of thing, only strength, nigh-invulnerability, and the ability to fly.

"I don't want to go to prison," says Cecily, through her sobbings.

"Prison?" I say. "Why would you go to prison?"

"They made me do this," she says. "All I want is to have what I was promised, before everything went to Hell. I'm afraid. I'll do anything you want. I'll pretend. I'll stay chaste and hide your perversions from prying eyes. Don't cast me aside. Please."

I release her and step back.

"You're working for them, aren't you?" I say.

"Them?" she says.

"They made you do this," I say. "It is a test. A test of loyalty."

"No, no," she says. "You work for them. We knew that. I want to work for them, too."

"Who do you mean by we?" I say.

"You know," she says. "Cassandra and Col."

No. No. I step forward, and grab her forearms before she can hide her face again. I try to stop myself. She's strong enough to hurt me, if she had a mind to.

"Cassandra," I say. "Did she set this up?"

Cecily nods.

"Why?" I say.

"I don't know," she says. "I don't understand when Cassie starts talking about computers."

Oh God. I'm through the door in a flash, faster perhaps than Bartholomew even though I know that is impossible.

"Wait," she yells from the top of the stairs.

She is standing naked in the landing. Had she been Cassandra, I have no doubt that she would have come after me. Modesty, it seems, can be useful.

I'm out the front door before I can hear anything else that she says. I'm running, as fast as I can. I run across the quad, then up the stairs. First landing. Second landing. My room. For a moment I think I've lost the key. I haven't, but my hands are shaking so badly I can barely open the latch. They're both sitting on Col's bed, staring at me.

"What did you do?" I say.

"What comes naturally, old sport," says Col.

"Betrayal?" I say.

"Ask your father," says Cassandra. "Your new father."

"How dare you," I say, raising my hand to strike a blow to Col's face. He catches it, moving faster than I can see. He takes me into his arms. He raises me upwards. He kisses me.

Oh.

I could never have imagined.

"Later," he whispers in my ear, once he has finished.

Col and Cassandra fly away.

I stare out of the window into the darkness for some time. Later is clearly further into the future than I might hope. I turn to the monitor. It seems that I have mail. There is a report from Bruce, indicating that Cassandra has been downloading material from hacker sites. There is a second piece of mail from Bruce. I open it. It's my picture of the banner. It's a very good scan.

I open my drawer with all my prints in it. Ten minutes later, they're all on the floor. My print of the banner and its negative are not there. There's an attachment with the banner e-mail. Well, why not? it says. I look at the address header. There's at least 100 names there. I can recognize some. They're foreign news organizations, as well as our own. There are many that I don't recognize, often with American addresses. The e-mail was sent from Bruce's personal machine.

They didn't close all the windows they opened. They installed software. I don't understand what it does until I type a command for an executable and a list comes up that includes my password. It also includes Bruce's, which I assume to be TheBatman. He had a bright future in international cricket before the Troubles.

I'm weeping now, but I really don't suppose it matters who sees me.

[next part]

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