Heroic Measures (continued)

There were thoughtful nods around the table. In a brazen attempt to grab rating, a female afternoon talk show host had recorded a segment during which a male guest had revealed his secret crush . . . on another man. The matter had seemed to have been handled on-screen reasonably well by all parties involved. Three days later, however, he was murdered by the other guest. While the television network chose to never air the segment (although bootleg copies of it had leaked out), and issued a public apology, many people seemed to feel that the legally antiseptic wording of the press release lacked any real sense of remorse.

There was another long moment of silence. Several of them toyed with their glasses without drinking.

“It’d be nice if they spent as much effort trying to unmask the crooks as well.”

There were mumbled sounds of agreement from around the table.

“They’re scared,” Kenniston grumbled.

Orlovsky nodded. “Or owned.”

While it was widely thought that most corporate leaders clearly practiced on the wrong sides of the moral and ethical lines, evidence of their legal transgressions was always a bit more murky. Having a flock of corporate attorneys did that, Walter concluded dourly. Still, Orlovsky’s claim caused him to consider the matter in a new way.

If the media conglomerates were guided under the hand of—or at least influenced by—meta-humans on the wrong side of the law, then they would be well-served by seeing that the identities and reputations of all heroes possible were revealed and then thrown into disrepute. There was little way, Walter realized, in which the heroes could fight back against such a tactic. It was already thinning their ranks, forcing many former heroes to go underground, and kept many new ones from joining the struggle against the evils in the world.

“People just aren’t allowed to have heroes any more,” Orlovsky declared flatly. “It’s open season on anyone in the spotlight.”

 

. . .

 

A burgundy-clad figure appeared behind the podium. He was flanked by several unidentified officials and two other costumed heroes. They stayed in the shadows behind the rostrum, allowing the spotlight to remain focused on the man on the raised dais.

The colors and design of his outfit were subtle, but immediately identifiable. He was dressed in his signature vivid auburn outfit. His black gloves and boots shone from recent polish. His cape, which seemed to shift in color between a deep maroon and black, gathered behind him in the growing wind. He stepped forward and his dark gloves gripped the edges of the lectern. After waiting a moment, Crimson addressed the waiting audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press,” he began. “It is time that we came to an agreement.”

His voice was even, but perfectly pitched to carry across the crowd without forcing him to shout.

Puzzled glances passed like a wave through those gathered there. There had been no preview, no leading press release; none of them knew what to expect here. Conjecture had been rampant, Walter knew, and often almost comical in its speculations of what be announced here. He and other heroes were scattered throughout the audience, dressed in civilian clothing. They had all felt the need to be present, even if they were not the physical focus of the event. He was fairly certain that there were additional heroes here as well, as news of the press conference had spread. One might even be sitting next to him right now, he mused, one whose alter-ego he knew well, but had never encountered personally.

“Although most of us are not official members of any of your national or local law enforcement agencies,” Crimson continued. “We nevertheless took our own oaths to protect you and the rights given to you under your laws.”

The speech had been carefully crafted, and endlessly rehearsed. There had been much debate over the language, with the majority of the heroes involved coming down firmly on either side. There was grave concern over continuing to foster an “us vs. them” mentality: “most of us” and “your laws”. In the end, though, it was argued that the general public could never view themselves truly as heroes, so the heroes would always stand apart—be apart. In a way, they decided, it helped. It allowed them to maintain their status as something greater, of something to be admired. Even this resolution did not sit well philosophically with some of the heroes, but nearly all of them quickly recognized that they could not be as effective in what they did without this extra mystique.

“Such protection has come to you without price,” Crimson went on, “for we have never asked for payment or recognition for our efforts.”

He paused, sweeping his gaze slowly over the crowd. The only sound heard over the speaker system was that of his cape flapping in the breeze.

“Until now.”

Surprised murmurs rippled through the crowd, slowing growing in strength. Several questions were shouted to Crimson, all of which he ignored. There might be time for those later, Walter thought, although there had not been a clear decision on whether or not to allow them here and now, or wait for a different venue after the initial fervor had abated.

Crimson waited calmly for the tidal wave of confusion and concern to subside.

“We ask only that you leave us alone.”

There was a moment of bewildered silence. When the noise level finally began to rise again, Crimson raised a single hand. The crowd quieted, awaiting his explanation.

“Under the guise of ‘The public has a right to know’, and your interpretation of your rights under the First Amendment, you have destroyed private lives . . . and put public lives at risk. And then taken no tangible responsibility for it.”

Voices were raised again. Walter sensed a definite undercurrent of outrage, but noted with satisfaction an equal measure an air of uncomfortable introspection.

“In the interest of program ratings, in the interest of profit, and—yes, even in the occasional exercise of personal vengeance—you have exposed the personal lives of heroes and those around them. The consequences have been, more often than not, dire and, all too often, fatal.”

Walter waited, listening to the clamor around him. There was no doubt that the words were intended to be inflammatory and get their attention. All previous attempts at reason and reasonable compromise had failed or been, in the end, ignored. Inciting the members of the media, while their behavior was being observed by the very audiences they catered to, had been a risky move. It would all come down to how the public reacted to today’s proceedings. Although they might not realize it now, Crimson was appealing to them as well.

“Just as every private citizen is entitled, under law, to the sanctity of their own personal lives, so are we—and so are our families and loved ones. It is they that we are trying to protect here today, not solely ourselves.”

There, Walter thought, Crimson had spoken to and for the citizenry. Whether it would influence the media remained to be seen.

“And what if we don’t do this?” someone shouted.

Across the mass of heads in front of him, Walter could not see who had spoken. Undoubtedly, one of the other heroes present had witnessed who it was. They had been certain that the question would be asked, as it needed to be asked. One of the heroes had even suggested that they plant the question with someone in the audience, but Red had reassured them with a knowing smile that they would be no need. Human nature would take care of the matter for them. He had, of course, been right.

There was an uncomfortable wash of quiet.

Now came the tricky part. In truth, the heroes had nothing but their reputations and support of the public to bargain with. Although some of the heroes had suggested that they boycott in assisting certain cities or essentially go “on strike”, they all knew that they would be unable to maintain such an embargo on their activities. Their personal code of honor, and the risk to the general population, made such a stand untenable. Even if offered as bluff, it would be a pointless gesture, for all parties concerned would know it for the pretense it was, thereby rendering it completely ineffective as a negotiating tool.

Crimson straightened and spread out his large, black-gloved hands out over the crowd as if offering a benediction.

“Then we will continue to serve you,” he said. His voice was composed, providing each sentence as a statement of fact, nothing more. “But there will be fewer and fewer of us,” he went on, “and fewer will join our ranks in years to come.” He paused, lowering his hands back to the surface of the lectern, this time using his gaze to sweep over the audience. “And you,” he finished, “will have to live with your consciences.”

Crimson waited, studying the crowd for a long moment. “Thank you for your time.” Without waiting for questions, he turned and stepped down from podium, disappearing back into the shadows of the building.

Walter turned his head, looking over the crowd. Around him, an audio commotion ensued as nearly everyone spoke at once, trying to analyze and understand what had just happened. Several of them, he noted, were already looking at ways to exploit the situation. The heroes had known that would happen, he knew, but he still found it sadly disappointing to behold that dire prediction being carried out around him. He already knew what they see in the media in the days to come. They had prepared for it . . . but that did not make it any easier to bear witness to.

#

April 18, 1995 . . .

That evening, as expected, nearly all of the media outlets reported on the press conference. It was the subject of seemingly endless debate, analysis, and countless special programs focused on heroes and their deeds . . . and misdeeds. Much of it was based on reruns of old programs and archival footage, but there was a renewed interest in many long-forgotten heroes. Many of these were not so much forgotten as faded from continual media exposure, now usually operating in smaller, more remote regions of the country that received much less media attention than the larger metropolitan areas.

Many of the heroes now gathered in the one of the large conference rooms at Thomas Raynes’ institute. They would have preferred to have congregated at one of the local bars, but that many of them in one place would surely have attracted unwanted attention, as well as would have limited their ability to speak openly. However, Raynes had managed to open the executive board room to them (rank having its privileges), which included a small, but premium-stocked bar. Walter was pleased to find a decent Highland single-malt Scotch stored there.

Raynes helped himself to something at the bar. Walter could not tell what it was from where he stood, other than that it was clear and contained something carbonated. The researcher dimmed the lights slightly and activated a large display screen mounted on the wall at the far end of the room. Pale red, green, and blue washes of light flowed and blossomed on the screen, brightening as they moved. Raynes picked up a remote control out of a nearby drawer and aimed it toward the ceiling. The image on the screen shifted, becoming the scene of a newscast that continued to grow sharper as they watched.

The sound was muted, barely audible over the sounds of the room’s air conditioning. There were fuzzy images, though, apparently shot from some distance, of Crimson delivering his speech. The scenes changed quickly, apparently recorded from several different locations. Raynes pressed another control and the volume increased to a clearly audible level.

“. . . has given new life to the debates over whether heroes are needed and their activities sanctioned by local law enforcement.”

Below the reporter’s image flashed the line: “Hero or Vigilante: Where Do We Draw the Line? A Special Report tonight at 7:00.”

Walter’s lips formed a tight line. He then sipped at his drink, allowing himself to relax slightly as he felt the Scotch melt its way down his throat.

This result, too, had been expected. For many years, there had been a tacit, informal understanding between the heroes and most law enforcement agencies. Most heroes, for a variety of legitimate reasons, did not wish to be formally deputized, but were heavily protected in most states by laws covering the act of a “citizen’s arrest”. However, there had been a significant amount of concern raised—the majority of it generated by the media, in Walter’s opinion—about the potential abuse of power. While the rare mistake did get made—heroes were ultimately human after all, and subject to the occasional human error in judgment—they tended to garner a disproportional amount of media coverage.

What it came down to, the heroes had finally determined, was this: the public expected them to catch criminals, so those actions became less newsworthy, except in particularly notorious cases; they did not expect them to make mistakes. It was the same expectations they held for standard law enforcement officials, except elevated to a higher level.