My thoughts turn to the Association and their fanatic attitude toward variation, the social flaw that supposedly causes confusion and results in cultural problems. What problems? Viewing the crowd in all their radical variation, I must ask—what is the problem here? These people are happy and well adjusted. They’re having fun enjoying life, and going about their business without harming anyone else. How is any of this a problem?
But it doesn’t make sense. “I thought we’re at war.”
Dave says, “Just taking time out to celebrate a well-earned victory.”
“Why not keep the heat on? You know, chase after those bastards and take this war to
their
front door.”
Matt smiles. “Now there’s the Adam I know.”
Madison says, “The Association has yet to penetrate our defenses, here at home or on Theabis. Our forces have done well, they deserve some R and R. Everybody needs a break sometime, right?”
My teeth mash. “I would never give any enemy
a break.
”
“Not them, silly.
We
need a break. Look at the troops. They’re having fun, getting a load off, and that makes them more effective. They’ll get back to work soon, don’t worry.”
Scanning the sidewalk, I fail to spot a single uniform. “What troops?”
She points out the window at the passing crowd.
I look, and look again. Still no uniforms. I turn back to her. “Those aren’t soldiers. They’re citizens, aren’t they?”
The joy of celebration melts from her eyes.
“Adam, on this planet, every last one of us is a soldier.”
* * *
The taxi pulls in to a parking lot next to a large square building, decorated by a mural painted across one entire side. I pop the door open and wander out, mesmerized by the colorful artwork. The drawings are mostly people, some pretty crappy, but they’re people anyway, just with a cartoony flair. The images depict individuals engaged in pleasurable activities—surfing and biking, riding skateboards and sailboats, all with a backdrop of rugged mountains, stretches of ocean, and a brilliant sun shining down. A snapshot of the good life, everyone smiling, happy and carefree. But silly, their smiles are way too big.
“Come on, Adam.” Madison tugs on me and points to the others, ahead of us and turning a corner around to the front side. What is that sound? Pounding bass leaks from the building—music.
Around the corner, we join a line of people waiting to enter. Overhead, a large marquee reads
Rocko’s,
flashing red and yellow. Closer to the entrance, the music grows louder—massive bass, intense drums, guitars and screaming vocals.
The line inches forward and we reach the entrance. Madison greets a fellow at the door and extends her arm. He presses something against the inside of her wrist, then she turns to me and says, “You too, Adam.”
What is this? Some kind of ritual. It appears benign, so I expose my wrist as she asks, and the man sticks me with his little device. It doesn’t hurt any, but leaves a splotch of black ink in the shape of a flower.
What’s wrong with me? I’m getting stamped on the way into a music venue. I’ve done this plenty of times. Boy, they scrambled my noodles good.
Past the entrance, we’re swept away by a thick crowd cramming into a tight corridor that leads to the main auditorium. We emerge from the passage and the music explodes like a gust of wind. The frenzy climbs to a peak, then in perfect unison, the tight band ends on a single note and immediately begins a new song, at first quiet, only a vicious, yet delicate torture of guitar strings. An accompanying guitar joins the melody after a few beats, then an intense burst as the entire band erupts, drums pounding, tremors of bass and two guitars screaming wildly, a raging storm of musical energy in perfect harmony.
Madison says something but the music’s too loud, and she waves for me to follow. She’s smiling, that’s all she had to say. I stick to her tail as she pushes through the crowd, and we approach the stage.
The song reaches a quiet segment, each slap of the bass guitar clear, the gentle tingle of a cymbal, and brisk raps on a tom drum. Then the song explodes, the vocalist screaming out above all the rest. A girl, damn pretty, who alone produces sound enough to match a small chorus. Her screams fade and the two guitars take over, bursting into a frenzy of rapid progressions the drums and bass uphold flawlessly.
Near the stage, we’re surrounded by a throng of excited fans, packed in so tight we can barely move through. A delirium of activity with everyone jumping, dancing and screaming, as dazzling lights wash over the crowd and bathe the walls in brilliant colors.
Madison sways to the beat, then reaches out and coaxes me to join her. Together we engage in a hypnotic exchange of gyrations. Her hips shimmy, she wiggles and squirms, her erotic motion an irresistible invitation. My body begins a rhythmic spasm, following every note as I move closer to her. She brings her arms over my shoulders, pulls me near, and eases toward a slower pace as her lips approach my ear.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
“I absolutely love it!”
She leans back, directly before me, swaying in my arms.
“I absolutely love you,” she says.
She loves me? Or does she just want sex? I’m not sure. I might return the affectionate words, but I don’t know, not yet. I have to remember more first, more about her and all the rest, before I make that kind of commitment, even if only words.
The room seems to vault away, like I’m getting sucked out. The walls spread out, the floor drifts down, way down, as though the room is becoming giant. What is happening? Then I see myself in the crowd, dancing with Madison, and the music is not so loud. I’m doing it again—out of body. It feels good this time, more comfortable than before, but I look completely silly, flopping around like a drunken fish out of water.
Madison pulls my body near as I float above, watching. Eyes closed, she tilts her head, drifting closer, and we fall into a kiss. My body nor I do anything to resist the gesture, rather we indulge in it. Her moist lips slide across mine, the soft wiggle of her tongue, tickling—
“You make me sick!”
The alarming interruption sucks me back into my skull.
“Quit messing with Adam,” Matt says, standing in the crowd—not dancing one bit—and glaring at us. “Come on, we got a table over here.” He turns away and pushes through the mob.
One commitment is easy, words or otherwise, and soon to be expressed—my true feelings for the one person I absolutely love the least.
* * *
Dave and Jerry are waiting at a table loaded with frosty pints of beer, foamy heads spilling over. As I slide into a seat, Matt prepares to sit next to me. Madison lunges at him with a menacing scowl. Yeah, I wouldn’t sit there either, looks like a good way to get your eyes scratched out. Matt backs off and finds a spot on the other side next to Dave. Madison congratulates herself with a smug grin, lowers to her chair, and scoots it closer to mine.
She caresses my cheek with the back of her hand. “Honey, you’re so hot.”
No shit, I’m totally burning up. Chugging ice-cold beer will fix that. I drain the glass and reach for another. As I cool off and start the next beer, my attention wanders to the dancing crowd. Beer, music, and good friends. What more could you ask for? Except for one problem—the Association wants to take this away. You could ask them to leave us alone, that’s what I’d ask for. Tonight’s fun is a prime example of all they detest—our lifestyle, and its deviation from the normal, well-adjusted version they demand.
The energetic crowd sways like tall grass blowing in a breeze, bathed in a scatter of colorful spinning lights, as resounding melodies saturate every corner of the auditorium. These people are happy, doing what they choose, and everyone is thrilled to be here. A dreamlike vision comes to me—the crowd is another crowd, but the same crowd, just . . . not here.
Dave waves a hand across my distant gaze. “Hey, what’s with the serious look?”
Snapped back to reality, I reply, “You know, the Association.” I down the rest of my beer and reach for another, which continue showing up right on cue.
Dave says, “You mean how they don’t like this stuff, and plan to eliminate it.”
My attention drifts back to the crowd, and the daydream resumes. “Yeah,” I say, feeling somewhat detached. “But it’s not going to happen. They’ll never take this away, even if they think they do.”
Jerry asks, “What do you mean, dude? If they
think
they do?”
The crowd weaves hypnotically, their motion begins to slow, and the blaring music seems to fade.
“I don’t know, but I just know. I see us doing this in the future, no matter what happens, no matter where we go. It can’t be taken away, I just know it. I can
see
it.”
“Enough serious talk,” Dave says. “There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow.”
His words bleed into the vision. Tomorrow is . . . the future. The dancing crowd, they are . . . when? Not now, not really. And where? I must find them. An unfinished task, to locate . . . a diagram? Of what? The memory taunts but holds back, though its importance is clear—a vital clue exists that points the way to our missing friends.
“Knock it off,” Dave says. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”
The daydream screeches to a halt. “Victory?”
“Yeah, some anyway. Better than that, getting you back.” He unleashes that big white grin and rattles my shoulder. “So shut up and have some fun. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow.”
Right, have fun tonight, then tomorrow they’ll drop a load on me, something about how we’re going to lose all this. Sure, I remember plenty.
Madison has that wicked look again, like she’s hungry and I’m on the menu. “That’s right,” she says. “Tonight’s a chance for you and me to have some of our own, private fun.” She slides a hand across my thigh and gives it a squeeze.
Dave says, “I really wish you’d stop that.”
Now he becomes the target of her glare, but that lusty gaze I’ve been soaking in just gave birth to venomous snakes. “And I really wish you’d mind your own business.” Then she turns to me and might as well be an entirely different person. “Well, sweetie? Ready to go?”
Jerry realizes the call to duty. “Go? Where to?”
“Home,” Matt says.
Madison scowls at him. “We’re not going home yet.”
“I am. I’ve had enough of this grand idea.”
“Me too,” Dave says. “Jerry, looks like the party’s over, at least for me and Matt.”
Jerry asks, “How about you, Adam?”
Another new beer shows up. The buzz phase is past, now approaching the threshold of full-blown falling down drunken foolishness.
“Hell no!” I declare. “I’m not done, I’m with Madison. I’m doing whatever she’s doing.”
Dave is not amused by my enthusiasm. He stands and pushes in his chair. “Fine, but don’t stay out too late.”
“What are you, my mommy?”
His brow tightens. Then he gives it up and starts for the exit. Matt and Jerry follow.
Madison rises and lends me her hand. Oh, standing is difficult, I can’t seem to keep from swaying. Madison has a much better sense of herself, holding tight and keeping me pointed the right direction. My date, she’s taking care of her drunk. Delightful!
Stumbling over my own toes as Madison hauls me across the parking lot, I’m yanked all over the place on the way to the taxi. The ordeal seems to last forever, but I know better, it was only minutes. Whatever was in that beer sure messed up my sense of time, and space, and balance, and . . .
I climb into the backseat and snuggle up beside Madison, her thigh jammed tight against mine. She grins and fiddles with my knee. On her other side, Matt glances at me, her wandering hand, then rolls his eyes. “Oh brother,” he says. “I’ve had enough of this crap. Get me out of here, quick!”
Jerry starts the engine. “Okay, okay, keep your pants on, dude.”
“Mine are on fine.”
Matt and Dave seem irritated with Madison, like she’s misbehaving. Oh hell, let her misbehave, she’s good at it. My hand runs along her thigh and begins to wander.
Once underway, the bright cityscape soon fades as we venture into an industrial area littered with factories and warehouses. Jerry turns in to a dark alley flanked by brick buildings. He punches the throttle and speeds through the narrow passage, batting away a few stray garbage cans along the way. What’s the damn hurry? A cross street is ahead and he’s not bothering to slow down. He’s a maniac. We soar through the intersection—he didn’t even look—and rocket into the next alley, the rear bumper scraping as the taxi bottoms out. Nearing the end—our end I fear, when a speeding truck barrels through the next blind intersection—he jams the brakes and skids around the corner, bringing the taxi to a neat stop along the curb.
“Here you go,” he says.
I claw at the door latch and scramble to escape this psycho before we all end up dead. The door pops open and I leap out, then stagger around the taxi to the sidewalk where it’s safe. Or maybe not—a dingy street, not so well lit, and not as upscale as the section of town we left behind.
Madison gets out and joins me.
Dave says, “Maddie, behave yourself.” He leans out the taxi window with a stern eye on her. “Don’t let Adam get too drunk. We have other things to deal with tomorrow.”
She leaks a sneaky grin. “I assure you, I’ll be my very best.”
Yeah, I bet we have other things to deal with tomorrow. A universe full of them.
* * *
The taxi fades into darkness, leaving me and Madison outside a small purple building. A tiny marquee displays a splash of flamboyant lettering that spells “Sammie’s,” under which further text reads “Exotic Dancers, Live Nude Girls,” and other lewd phrases suggesting we best not miss out on the wild, sex-starved women waiting—exclusively for us—just beyond the door. Good thing we showed up. Wouldn’t want them going hungry.
Inside, we’re greeted by a blast of upbeat music. The live band is a simple three piece, drums, bass and guitar, belting out a powerful tune with a snappy tempo. The pace is frantic, so many notes crammed into so little time that it’s difficult to keep up. The intricate bass line could be a solo itself, and it’s a wonder the drums survive, pounded so hard the fragile skins may burst. The guitarist is a master. He plays rhythm, but within it manages a lead segment simultaneously. Truly phenomenal, these guys are incredibly talented. The energetic music urges me to dance, shuffling my feet and swinging my arms as my head bangs like a hammer.