Part Seven

The gathering was held in a large, outdoor venue, one with a permanent stage. It currently also had folding chairs set on the concrete. Those seats nearest the stage had padding, for the comfort of honored guests (mainly donors). However, most of the chairs were unoccupied, padded or not. Over half the attendees for the event, "honored" or not, were actually in the padded chairs and still many were empty. The campaign organizers had seriously overbooked the facilities.

The music which blasted over the sound system was an apparently random mixture of several currently popular pieces. Aaron doubted the organizers had bothered obtaining licenses or permission for any of them.

Aaron wandered around the periphery of the crowd, among the large number of attendees still standing, milling and talking. He was here mainly to satisfy his curiosity. Adam Marshall was about to speak, but there were many people at the tables with the free buffet. This was at least partly because they were under canopies, there, in the only location at the rally besides backstage which was in the shade. The Summer Sun beat down without mercy on those braving it.

Marshall began his speech, and it was largely generic. Blaming the nation's problems - real and imagined - on sabotage by enemies - real and imagined, foreign and domestic - of him personally and the US in general. He wound up to a peak, which received a smattering of applause. He literally took a bow, then prepared to begin the next part of his presentation, which would return to a lower key.

However, someone hurried onto the stage and whispered in Marshall's ear while he was waiting for the mild applause to die out. The politician scanned the audience and shook his head. He turned to the aide and said something, but kept the microphone close to his mouth out of habit.

"I don't see him."

The aide pointed. Marshall looked towards Aaron, but still did not focus on him. The aide spoke into his ear again, and now Marshall locked onto Aaron.

"Well, well... looks like we have a special guest. Malak, the so-called Angel of Chicago, is here, in disguise."

Aaron sighed. He couldn't actually fault Marshall for claiming he was in disguise, since he had deliberately chosen to be in his merely human form to avoid attracting attention. Which hadn't actually worked. He realized, too late, that his usual manner of dress - which Melody referred to as "country casual" - made him stand out in this group.

Aaron considered several actions, including just walking away. Instead, he simply and calmly looked at the speaker. Marshall addressed him, with the advantage of a professional sound system.

"What do you say to the charge that you have abandoned your commitment to the common man?"

Fortunately, Aaron had a loud voice and knew how to project it.

"I say 'Look at my record of helping people. Including recently.'"

"You threatened to abandon Earth and move to another galaxy!"

This puzzled him for a moment. However, Aaron quickly realized what the politician was talking about.

"No, I didn't. I said I could go to Delta Pavonis, a star system only a few light years away. Other galaxies are vastly further."

"You're an immigrant! Of course you don't know your way around!"

"'Immigrant'?!" said Aaron, confused again. Then he actually laughed. "I was born in Baton Rouge. Some of my ancestors were here long before the Mayflower.

"As for knowing my way around, I think it's safe to say that I know the way to Delta Pavonis far better than just about anyone who is not a professional astronomer. Definitely better than you, who don't even know the difference between a star system and a galaxy."

With that, Aaron did leave. He simply turned and walked away, ignoring Marshall's snide comments made in his wake.

* * *

Sam slid to a stop and backpedaled a bit to get centered in the door to Melody's office.

"Have you seen the news?" asked Sam, panting, holding the door frame on both sides for support. "I mean about Adam Marshall being assassinated. His people are trying to blame Malak, but the police say they have another suspect in custody already."

"Yeah, I saw that as it came over the wire," said Melody, gesturing over her shoulder at her computer terminal. She sighed. "I think I better call Aaron about this, though. He's not a police suspect, but this is bound to have adverse effects for him."

Once more, Melody found herself placing a long-distance call to Haven.

"I think it's safe to assume you didn't kill Adam Marshall," she said, after the greetings.

"I did not kill Marshall. I had nothing to do with his death, at least that I know of. No matter what some of his followers are saying. I was far away when he was murdered, and didn't even know about the act until much later."

"That's reassuring. However, all that talk about you going to Delta Pavonis worries me," said Melody. Officially, she was calling to get his comments on the rally and murder. More personally, she just wanted to get an idea of how Aaron was handling those events. As well as perhaps offer a bit of moral support.

"It's just talk."

Okay, he didn't want to discus that. Melody decided to switch to a related topic.

"I'm also thinking - because of those comments - about the possibility of aliens."

"So far, we have found no evidence there's anyone but us."

"I just find it... daunting that the only intelligence we know of which is off the Earth was put there by us," said Melody.

"Either there is other intelligent life in the universe, or there isn't," said Aaron, flatly. "There's no middle ground. Either way, the situation is, indeed, daunting. The only other factors involved are how far away from us it is and how old it is."

"What about other intelligent life which has gone extinct?" asked Melody. "I mean, with billions of years of existence..."

"That is in the category of there not currently being other intelligent life in the universe. If our predecessors went extinct that could be especially worrying, depending on the cause. However, if they ever existed they left no trace we have found. Of course, we have only explored a tiny portion of just our own galaxy, even with just telescopes. There could very well be at least traces somewhere out there of several civilizations, or even extant ones. Perhaps just beyond where we can currently detect them."

"So we need to keep looking," said Melody, with another sigh. "Of course, even if the space drives developed by empowered geniuses are formally adopted, visiting just the nearest hundred or so stars could take decades. So we may be limited to looking and listening. For now."

"You should have time, with the Santa Clara regimen," said Aaron, reasonably. "Also, sometimes we need to just look and listen."

"That's easy to say for someone who doesn't need it." Melody gave the phone's mouthpiece a lopsided smile, knowing Aaron could probably detect the expression even without seeing it. "Oh, well; maybe I'll talk about this in my book."

"You're writing another book?" said Aaron, raising an eyebrow.

"Many newspeople write books. Most don't get published," said Melody, with a shrug. "Most of mine have been. I'm lucky in that regard. This one is mostly about the history of the empowered. My main purpose for this call is to get some more information about your early activities. Which I may or may not use in the book."

"I doubt there's much about me you don't already know."

"What about your time in the First World War, before you became empowered? Especially your time in the trenches."

"That didn't last very long, fortunately, and in most ways was unremarkable."

"You did fight in the trenches, though."

"For a short period."

He was understandably reticent on the topic, but Melody knew how to be politely persistent. More importantly, she knew when to back off and when to persist. On this she persisted.

"What do you remember about that, though? Does anything stand out?"

He sighed, and when he spoke again seemed very sad, even over the phone.

"I was lying in a burned-out basement, with the full Moon in my eyes," said Aaron, quietly. "I was hoping my relief would arrive soon, so I could go get something to eat. Suddenly, a parachute flare lit up the entire area.

"The whole scene was very surreal, as was much of that war, especially at night. Adding to the feeling of unreality, I was sick, feverish, lightheaded to the point that I was almost hallucinating. As the light from the flare faded I felt like I could fly. I wasn't certain it was real when several French soldiers rushed down the trench and into the old basement, and prepared to go over the top. The sergeant with them ordered me to get ready, too. Only, just then a runner came up, saluted the sergeant and handed him a letter. The Colonel in charge of the men took the letter and opened it, read it, then walked over to me. He verified my identity, then held out the letter.

"'This seems to be your lucky day. Here are your new orders.' It was my transfer to a French artillery unit, effective immediately."

"That was where you were gassed, and likely empowered," said Melody. "Or, at least, got the process started."

"We were gassed weeks later. In the interval my talent at math came in handy, which is why I was transferred. Yes, that was my lucky day. I eventually learned that all those soldiers - except for the Colonel, who stayed behind in the basement - died in that assault."

"One last thing regarding space travel, this about you going to the Moon, and the treaty..."

"I have an informal agreement with the UN and the US government," said Malak, when she didn't continue. "I turned over all the rocks and dust I brought back from the Moon to the UN space agency and don't bring any more, and they didn't prosecute me. They wouldn't have won, of course, but this spared me a long and messy trial."

"Getting back to Marshall..." said Melody, leaning back in her chair and winding the phone's handset cord around a pair of fingers. "Now that he's dead, many people are praising him, even though they had little positive to say about him while he was alive. His followers are being very... effusive in their postmortem approval of him, a few even claiming that he was some sort of prophet."

"I suspect this is one of those situations where someone believes that the stronger the objection to their views, the more right they are. It's difficult to imagine a more strenuous objection than murder. As you implied, many of Marshall's followers are turning him into a martyr. Others are simply using the situations where his stated beliefs overlapped with theirs to take advantage of his new status."

"He's not the only one making gaffs," said Melody, sternly. "Or ignoring potential problems, for that matter. Don't you ever worry about modern fighter aircraft or missile batteries shooting you down?"

"No."

"I worry about some of the places you fly," said Melody, undeterred by his terse answer. "There are regions where the military have standing orders to shoot you on sight."

"Except they don't see me," said Aaron, firmly. "Even if they do I am aerial superiority. I'm skilled and maneuverable. I'm usually invisible - including to radar - when I fly outside the US. Even some places inside it. I'm also much tougher than I was during World War Two, when I got shot down."

"I still worry."

"I appreciate that you do. However, this is not something you need to worry about."

* * *

However, she did worry about that. As well as many other things. She wasn't the only one. Blackpool and his bosses and associated government agencies were paying much closer attention to Aaron/Malak than he would have been comfortable with, had he known. Mostly, this attention was intended to be for his benefit.