An X5, like Max, Alec had never met a hurdle too low to try to find a skirting shortcut; he would happily spend an hour looking for a way around a problem that he could’ve solved with hard work in half that time. Lately, though, Max had noticed that Alec — to his credit — had finally started to realize that what he’d once considered a gift might really be a flaw.
Next to Alec stood Joshua, the towering dog boy, the first of the Manticore experiments and now every bit a man, at least physically. His cruelly sheltered upbringing — literally in the basement of Manticore — had crippled his development, and on first meeting, you could take him for mentally challenged. Truth was, he was keenly intelligent, and had the best heart of them all. His long mane of brown hair thrashed furiously in the wind, but he seemed not to notice, his leonine face wearing a beatific smile that beamed like a lighthouse as he saw Max.
Beyond Joshua was Sketchy, the surfer bum/messenger turned tabloid journalist, another of Max’s “ordinary” friends from Jam Pony. Of course, Sketchy wasn’t ordinary in any sense other than that he wasn’t a transgenic — tall and lanky, with stringy brown hair highlighted blond, Sketch seemed to be all knees, elbows, and bobbing head, a marionette operated by a clumsy puppeteer. The guy could be a beat behind, and often seemed to just be getting the joke the rest of the group had already finished laughing at.
To Original Cindy’s left stood the two bald, albino engineers turned welding sculptors — Dix and Luke — and beyond them, the lizard man inexplicably dubbed Mole. Even in the heavy wind, Mole still chomped on an ever-present cigar.
“What’s the dealio?” Max asked, practically yelling to be heard over the near gale.
The semicircle parted to reveal a large Christmas tree lashed to the corner of the roof with steel cables; the spruce — both tall and full — was strung with unlit lights and tinsel roping. Even with its heavy-duty moorings, it seemed the tree might fly off the building at any moment.
Max looked from the tree to Original Cindy, who still had her hands behind her back.
Eyes wide, Max shouted, “This had to be today?”
Original Cindy’s grin faded and the rest of the group all developed a quick interest in studying their shoes.
Immediately realizing her insensitivity, Max plastered on a grin and said, “Don’t get me wrong, guys — the tree rocks!”
Eyes rose to her, bright; smiles blossomed, glowing.
“It’s just... it’s so windy! It looks like any second it’ll give Santa’s sleigh a run for the money...”
Shrugging, Original Cindy said, “Weather report called for conditions to get better, later tonight, so we took a chance. Tree was gonna die if I let Normal take care of it one more day.”
Reagan Ronald, aka Normal, was the manager of the Jam Pony messenger service where Max and Original Cindy had both gotten jobs when they first hit Seattle. O.C. still worked there, as did Sketchy — his journalist gig wasn’t yet full-time — though Max herself hadn’t been back since the hostage crisis that led to the siege at Terminal City.
During Max’s tenure at Jam Pony, Normal had been a pain in the ass, with a stick up his own. The biggest thrill of his life had been receiving a signed picture of President Bush (one of ’em — Max didn’t know which, not that it mattered) back in his community college days when he’d been president of the campus Young Republican club.
Max gestured to the struggling pine. “You let Normal take care of this tree?”
Original Cindy’s smile returned. “Thas a fact.”
“Our Normal? Straight-arrow, top-buttoned, stone-cold Normal?”
“I’m tellin’ you, Boo, ever since he midwifed little Eve, he’s one soulful white boy. Hell, he even watered the tree.”
“Please tell me that didn’t involve a zipper.” Shaking her head, Max looked back at the tall plump tree, which still appeared to be struggling against the cables. “That must have taken up damn near alla Jam Pony!”
“Purt near... hey, but we roll with it, right?”
“I can’t believe Normal went along with this.”
“You wanna really lose your mind?” O.C. looked around conspiratorially. “It was Normal’s brainstorm.”
“Normal’s idea.”
“Gettin’ you guys this tree, swear on my mama, Boo.”
“Well, where is he, then?”
“Hey! Cut the man some slack, my sistah — gotta at least let ’im pretend he’s still an asshole.”
Max was gazing at the tree; feelings of warmth were stirring in her, out on this frigid rooftop. “Well, God bless Normal... ’cause this is beautiful.”
Taking a hand out from behind her back, Original Cindy offered Max a black metal cube with a silver toggle switch. “Dix and Luke — their latest black box... Honor’s yours, Boo.”
Lump in her throat, Max took the box, and glanced at her two egghead, eggheaded friends, who both nodded vigorously; then she flipped the switch. Colored lights came on all over the tree, red and white and green and blue, twinkling, sparkling, shimmering, the star at the top shining bright white, colored balls bobbling, a glowing vision in the twilight.
“It’s beautiful,” Max said again, her voice hushed.
She turned to the man at her side; Logan smiled at her. The rest of the group gathered round, each taking a turn hugging Max. Even Alec — who rarely touched anyone, other than the occasional one-night-stand female he deigned with his passing presence — gave in.
All but Logan.
He stayed a step or two back — as usual, she and he were aware of the required distance between them.
“This is gonna be a dope spot for watchin’ the comet, Christmas Eve,” Original Cindy pointed out.
The whole country was awaiting the arrival of the so-called Christmas star, the once-every-two-thousand-years passing of a comet that some astronomers thought might also have been the fabled star of Bethlehem.
Max smirked. “According to Sketchy’s rag, the comet signals the end of the world.”
“According to Sketchy’s rag,” Original Cindy said, “Elvis is coming back New Year’s, on a flyin’ saucer.”
The group gathered closer to the edge of the rooftop, getting a good look at the glowing, colorful tree. Max studied every light, every colored ball. The tree was magnificent. She had always considered Christmas a corny relic of pre-Pulse decadence. But now she understood what the fuss was about... family, friends... and she could think of no better present than this. The tree would be visible for miles around, and people far away from Terminal City would still be able to see the Freaks’ Christmas tree on top of their new mall.
They had indeed come a long way in a short time.
She was still contemplating this when, moments later, the wind expressed its own, less sentimental opinion, grabbing the tree and shaking it even more violently than it had up till now, like an abusive parent manhandling a naughty child.
Logan reflexively reached for the tree, to haul it back, but the wind shifted again, this time coming across and sweeping the tree back upright and to the left, the branches slapping Logan, sweeping him off balance. His eyes went wide, white all around, as he teetered for a moment — his balance good in the exoskeleton, but not perfect, he wasn’t as nimble as he’d been — and, in proof of that reality, he pitched back over the edge without a sound.
Max had seen it coming but had no time to warn him, much less reach him in time. All she could do was throw herself toward the roof’s edge, her hand extending out in front of her and over the side. At the last possible instant, she caught Logan’s gloved hand in hers, and then he dangled seven stories over the city, a human Christmas ornament.