Aftermath: 40 - Until Our City Be Afire (2017)

Hermann believes himself to be prepared. Alas, he is not.

Chapter warnings: Realistic depictions of neurological, physical, and bureaucratic trauma. War. Grief. Death. Mental illness. Regular illness.

Text iteration: Midnight.

Additional notes: None.

2017 (Forty – Until Our City Be Afire)

Hermann stands in shadow. The bar is dark. Jewel-toned lights shift in sweeping patterns. The senior staff of the Shatterdome are all in attendance, most people are mildly intoxicated, karaoke is in progress, and they are, ridiculously, celebrating Mako Mori’s birthday. This seems like a setup for complete disaster, but somehow Newton and Caitlin Lightcap have made it work. 

Hermann is convinced to attend by Ms. Mori herself, who extends him a personal invitation, appearing again to grace his doorframe a month after what Hermann is now calling the Reckoner Incident. It is a strange request, formally made, but he accepts in the spirit it is offered. Regardless of whether Newton put her up to it—the ask is made in good faith.

Odd as it seems, he feels he owes her. 

Newton has made a full recovery, but if anything, his relationship with Caitlin Lightcap seems stronger than ever. One would think that after she nearly sent him to his death—

But Newton doesn’t see it that way.

It shouldn’t matter to Hermann. Lightcap is marrying Sergio D’Onofrio. Newton is not attracted to women. Hermann shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care. If he tells himself frequently enough, he hopes he’ll start believing it. Any day now. 

At the moment, Dr. Lightcap is plying Dr. Geiszler with drinks and imploring him to sing. Hermann knows it’s what she likes most about him. That band he’d had at MIT. It hadn’t featured overmuch in his letters, but occasionally they’d touched on music. Newton lacks a thorough grounding in theory, but he has a native talent, is a self-taught guitarist, and, of course, can sing. His mother, after all, still headlines at the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

In the end, it is not Lightcap but Mako who persuades him to sing.

Hermann happens to be standing near Lightcap and Pentecost when it begins. Newton and Mako sing a song with which Hermann is wholly unfamiliar. It’s a perfect choice. Something about a girl named Yoshimi battling kaiju. When they are halfway into the first verse, Lightcap is so overcome that she punches Stacker Pentecost in the arm hard enough to make him wince. She presses one hand to her chest, one to her mouth.

Hermann believes himself to be prepared. Alas, he is not. 

The man’s singing voice is practiced, but not overly trained, which gives it a charming quality. His intonation is accurate, his timing perfect, and occasionally he chooses to harmonize with Ms. Mori to great effect. The song is whimsical and hopeful, but not without a hint of sadness. The green streaks in the man’s hair take on the colors of the roving lights, his ridiculous outfit does not seem so out of place on a low stage, and he smiles frequently at Ms. Mori, who looks, for the first time Hermann can recall, genuinely happy.

Now that Hermann has heard him sing, there will be no forgetting. 

During a musical interlude, Newton crouches down, motions Ms. Mori in, and whispers to her. Her face lights up, intense excitement in her eyes. Newton hands her something. She leans in, asking a question. He nods at her and smiles, small and mischievous. She turns around, her back to the audience.

“Uh oh.” Lightcap, radiant, grins at Hermann.

Mako turns, hands held behind her. They resume singing, repeating the chorus. Newton stands, continuing, taking the microphone and finishing the chorus as Ms. Mori arches her back, extends both hands, and flings a shower of glitter into the air. It catches the light, falls slowly. There is a roar of general approbation. Mako stands at the edge of the stage, laughing. Newton steps down, vanishing into the crowd.

Hermann glances at Lightcap to find her watching him. “Hey,” she says, glitter in her hair, looking at him with wide eyes, a sheen catching the light that looks suspiciously like tears. She motions him closer. Hermann leans in, and she puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll look out for him, Gottlieb, won’t you?”

When I’m dead, her face says.

Understanding passes between them. 

“You promise me,” she whispers, her lips close to his ear.

He nods.

She nods back, and it is sealed.