No Mudd Club
Even in a ceasefire, not a lick of light peeked out of St. Austin’s remaining towers from behind the city walls. It was near dawn as we approached the megalopolis on muleback. We’d come for Basiwallah and the Songstress Cycle’s ceasefire “Concert for Peace.”

Garbed in an ice blue bob of a wig, a cream-colored lycra body suit, and a mauve faux fur vest, I was going to the concert as my female avatar persona from work, Amylya. This was rumored to be the group’s last concert, so I put together our group of five diehard, albeit Gen2, fans. Two—Ember and Chuck—were my friends; two were fellow employees I barely knew, identical twin sisters who kept to themselves. None of us could afford the officially sanctioned northern route through Oklahoma and Wichita Falls. That route was for wealthy middle-aged fans who had grown up with the band’s music but had since moved on to golf and classical piano. By pestering a few bartenders in my hometown of Little Rock, I dug up a “transport outfit” that could get us concert tickets and in and out of Texas cheap and undetected—if we didn’t get busted.

“You’re insane to go,” my older sister Sandra had said. “Dad won’t let you back in the house if he finds out.”

“I’m seventeen, Dra. I’m old enough,” I said. “Besides, why would I? He kicked me out for his precious new wife.”

“But you’re going into war territory for a concert! And Texas, to boot! It’s more than reckless.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “We’re a group, and we’ll back each other up. Besides, the ceasefire has held for two months; peace is coming. That’s what this concert is about. How is that not a good thing?”

“There are no reliable reports coming out of there. You don’t know what you’re getting into.” She sighed, seeing I wouldn’t be persuaded. “I won’t tell him, but Dad’ll find out and then forget about ever seeing him again.”

“As long as I keep sending him some of my income, he doesn’t care.” I hung up, my head buzzing with the flies of family relations, but not before she got in her last line: “Dad’s right, you hang with the wrong people, and you never make the right choices.”

Riding into town, I smiled at what I’d achieved. The excursion outfit had gotten us across the border southwest of Shreveport as a band of volunteer hacker mercenaries. In our Central States, no one was sure who the actual first aggressor was, but most of us up north believed the war started with a Texas grab for land to the south after its secession. We were taught that the secession was a bad thing… that the people’s unity was most important. Tell that to my father, I used to think. If it’s so important, why’d he leave my mother and kick me out of his home when his new girlfriend moved in?

“As long as they don’t stop you and test your hacking skills, you should be able to get in and out no problem,” the company rep explained. “They’re a bit desperate stocking up with cybermercs. But they’re not screening carefully, so we can get you in with a little sleight of hand.” Materiel and force were still used in war, but it was funds appropriated by hackers, the takeover of drone delivery fleets, and the destruction of dams’ flood control systems that won battles these days.

Amongst the five of us, none of us had much more familiarity with computing than our undying fascination with Limbic, our favorite immersive game, which, fortunately, was also our employer. We got paid to play to elicit funds out of others by encouraging them to spend on bonuses and new skills.

“You’ll be on your own once we get you across the border,” the rep explained. “We can get you near College Station by shooter, but there, we’ve got to switch you to an untraceable mode. Once you’re in and get to our contact, our communication ends until you get back here. Don’t miss your connections.” Shooters—what some called air-jeeps—were the high-speed, armed, low-altitude hovercars used exclusively by the military. Apparently, they were up for taxi service for the right price.

Clapping me on my shoulder, the rep sent us off with a cheery thumbs-up. “It’ll be a long twenty-four hours to St. Austin, but once you get there, you should have no problem.”

I don’t know what I was expecting to see. If they could hold a concert for thousands, things couldn’t be all bad. With the monitored and guarded borders, few war refugees ever made it out, and we sent them right back when they did. That was all part of the deal.

Strapped into the shooters, we zipped over the earthly plane of farmland untouched by troops or artillery fire. It was sunny and warm outside, and it felt like being in the elevated parts of the maglev we had once ridden on a family trip up to Chicago.

When we got to the transfer station outside of College Station, our escorts boosted us onto mules, and one of our drivers said. “Be careful in the city, Miss. There’s only one man in your group.” I smiled and nodded, proud that my costume was working. The man raised his chin at beefier, dark-haired Chuck, dressed in an old-school outfit of deck shoes, navy blue Bermuda shorts, and a faded pink shirt under the straps of a pair of kelly green suspenders. Chuck was no prep but would have fit in on the sidelines of any soccer field on the East Coast.

As we began the second leg of our journey, a warm scent of hay wafted up from my ride’s velvet chocolate coat. I should have filmed this trip for Sandra. Then she’d see how wrong she was.

A few miles on, though, the scene began to change. Burned, broken trees lined the roads. The smell of mold and charred wood hit us with every shift of the wind. Wet cardboard and bits of engines, metal shards, and cattle carcasses littered our route. Houses that still had roofs had red slashed circle signs on them warning strangers away.

When we arrived at the walls of St. Austin, our guide left us with a city guard who checked our comms. “Buenas,” I said, thinking I’d try to sound like a local.

The guard eyed me with a frown. “You some kinda spy? That kinda language round here will get you in real trouble, friend.”

“Sorry,” I said hurriedly. “We’re from up north. Reporting for duty. I just thought with the mix….”

“Yeah, you don’t know much, do you?” She checked our comms and pointed to a depot nearby. “You can get the bus into town over there. Check-in at the Capitol.”

We nodded and followed her finger. As we waited for the arrival of the autobus, we devoured the remaining snack bars and water from our carry packs. Thinking there’d be plenty to eat in the city and at the concert, we hadn’t planned our rations very well.

After a few minutes wait, we boarded a wobbly municipal conveyance. We were dustier and sweatier than imagined but still excited about our journey.

Two stops later, on came a rotund, older man clothed in a matching white denim jacket-and-jeans get-up with a grape purple shirt peeking out. It didn’t take more than a glance to know that I wanted to avoid him.

His head jerked around to see who else was on the bus while his jittering body screamed, “Interact with me!” His puffy pink skin, white beard, and chevron of a crisply trimmed, greying mustache reinforced my revulsion toward him.

After looking us up and down, he made it back to where we were sitting. I nudged my friend Ember’s leg to warn her not to take the bait.

Understanding, she turned to look at the river. Under the fairy-pink and tangerine watercolor of dawn, a rusty rivulet pushed through the mud and what looked like bubbling green algae below the city’s southern bridges. “That’s no river. It’s a trickle. Even worse than the Chicago River on St. Patty’s Day!” Ember said as she slid into a seat by the window.

That was all the man needed to jump in. “Yeah, pretty bad,” he started, his accent soft and northern. Maybe Minnesota, I thought. “You two aren’t from here, are you?”

I held my tongue as Ember shook her head.

The few other passengers onboard shifted uncomfortably at the piercing of the silence.

“Oh, hey. You know you ladies can’t be out with just one guy, don’t you?” He looked over at Chuck and surveyed the five of us. “Unless you’re all related. Which it doesn’t look like you are.” We looked at each other, uncomfortable. “Hey, look. I can help you. I’ll join you and show you around.”

“No, thanks,” Chuck and I said in unison.

“Where are my manners? Name’s Ted.”

He reached out a hand towards me. I fake smiled and nodded hello.

“What you here for?” he persisted. “Got some family or something?”

“Sorry, buddy,” I said. “We’re here on official business. Can’t say more.”

Ted held up his hand and closed his eyes briefly before starting up again. “It’s just that it’s the law. Other than family, women must be escorted by a man, at least one man to two women. It’s for your safety. It started right after the secession. The legislature voted it in,” Ted explained. “You’re not going to get far in the city without at least another man. Technically, you should have two more.”

The corners of Ember’s lips were trembling.

“We’re reporting for duty when we get downtown. We’ll be fine,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” Ted said. He started to turn to face front but swung back around to address me. “Official business? Like Chicago-level official? I’m trying to get back there myself.”

I ignored the comment and turned to focus on the view of the river and the opposite bank. The towers we’d seen as we’d ridden in extended south, most of them white stone, low-rent residential buildings, twenty stories at least, with portholes for windows. Many of the upscale blue-green glass towers that must have once been luxury condo buildings had blackened steel columns poking out of their top floors or served as defensive positions with rooftops adorned with shooters and anti-aircraft missile launchers. And then there were the walls stretching south endlessly. I pointed them out to Ember.

“Those go on down to San Antonio,” Ted said.

“Why?” escaped Ember’s mouth.

“It’s the St. Austin Safety Corridor. You don’t want to go outside those walls in these parts without a military escort. Even in this ceasefire,” Ted said, shaking his head. “Jeez, it’s been two months, but it’s still dangerous as hell out there. I’d almost be safer back in prison, tell you the truth.”

The bus stopped to allow an exchange of passengers.

“A few more stops to downtown and the convention center if that’s where you’re headed.”

“Te-ed!” a round-faced, smiling woman sang out as she swung down the aisle towards us. She had the honey-coated accent I’d been expecting. “What have you been up to?” She asked, sitting down across the aisle from him.

“Nothin’, Marla, just chatting with these fine Upcountry folk.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice. Welcome, kids. What brings you here?” she said. She looked maybe thirty years older than us, but I didn’t appreciate being called a kid.

Forgetting my previous answer, I said. “We’re visiting family now that it’s safe.”

Ted looked at me. Ember looked at me. I looked away, realizing I’d poked a hole in my story.

The woman didn’t catch any of it. “Aww,” she gave a huge grin and reached over and touched my arm. “Isn’t that sweet? They stayed here? That was brave of them. You got a little South Asian blood in you or something, right?” I pulled back my arm. If that’s what having a light tan got me down here, maybe I would need to be more careful. I wished for a moment I had brought a jacket instead of my vest.

“Oh, I know,” she said, “You’re wondering why a woman with skin like mine is asking you this, right? It’s not that tough here when you make the right money and hang in the right circles. I used to be a political fundraiser, but now I’m a fundraiser for the museum at the university, well within the city barriers. So, I’m safe.”

How was that an endorsement of this place? Money and contacts keep you safe. Wasn’t that true everywhere?

“The only people that run into trouble are native Spanish speakers these days. The government is worried about infiltration. Besides,” she said, pointing a long, bejeweled nail of a finger at Ted, “when you got someone savvy like Ted here as a friend, you know you’re safe.”

Shaking his head, Ted said, “Let’s not get into that, Marla.”

“Aw, Ted. I wasn’t talking about your past. You’re rehabilitated. Forget about it.” Marla laughed and waved her hand as if she were swatting away a fly. Other passengers were looking back at the boisterousness now interrupting their formerly quiet journey.

Ember looked at Ted. “You chose to come down here?”

Ted pulled himself to the edge of his bench seat, his feet now in the aisle. “Not so much a choice.” Rehabbed and no choice? The Central States had paid Texas a vast sum to clear out some of its prisons and parolee homes to make room for climate refugees. He must have been sent down as part of that program.

Marla looked at Ted sympathetically. “You’re doing fine, Ted. You’re a citizen, even if you’re a little restricted.” Turning back to our group, she asked, “Where are you two getting off? Down at the convention center?”

“Yeah,” Ember said. “We’re looking to get a ride out to….”

I stopped her. “We’re just going to hang around downtown until my cousin shows up.” They didn’t need to know that we had a pre-booked ride out to Enchanted Rock in another pirate shooter.

Marla looked at Ted and then back at us, “Well, whatever it is. You enjoy yourselves and have a good time. Make sure to get some barbecue while you’re here.”

“Oh, there’s more than that around here, Marla.” Ted piped up. “I can show you where Minh’s is. It’s a family-owned Vietnamese barbecue up from Houston. And cheap, too!”

“No thanks,” I said, my stomach grumbling at the thought of food. “We’re just going to hang on our own.”

“No need to be rude, kid,” Ted said. “I may be an ex-con, but you don’t have to be scared of me. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching about what I did, and I know I was wrong.” There was a half-ounce of regret in his voice, but only just.

Of course, I was itching to ask him what he had done, but I also didn’t want to know. Murder? Rape? A hate crime? His face looked slightly familiar, but so did most old-man white faces. Best not to know. This is how this happens, I thought. You get sucked into someone just dying to connect when all you wanted was to get someplace.

As the bus halted, we rose to get off. Ted followed behind me, bringing up the rear.

“You be careful now. If you need to find me,” Ted said. “I’ll be at the Mud Club, just a few blocks away.”

“You are so kind, Ted, helping these people out,” Marla smiled. “And if you want a walk through the museum, just let me know. I should be there in about twenty minutes. Ask for Ms. Brouillard. That’s me.”

We smiled and waved and got our bearing. Right across from the bus stop, I recognized our contact point for transport, the concierge desk at the TrueSouth Hotel. It looked to be a shining, high-end SRO, surrounded by about twenty armed, gray-camo-clad guards. I could feel my body tense up, and I told the group to hold back, taking Ember and leaving Chuck with the other two.

As Ember and I approached the door, an armed and armored woman stopped us. “I’m sorry. You can’t go in. There’s been an incident.”

“We’re not going for a room. We need to speak with the concierge,” I said.

The guard cocked her head. “Um, well, you’re not getting that today, buddy. We just arrested her.” Clearly, my wig wasn’t much of a transformation for this guard.

“Arrested? For what?”

“Aiding and abetting Upcountry folk.”

“With housing? Or finding restaurants?”

“Don’t get smart. Falsifying city exit visa information. Aiding folk with illegal transport.”

“How-dee!” Ember said, trying to mimic a Texas accent. “That ain’t right.”

“What were you two going to see her for? You from around here?”

“Nnno, Ma’am.” I stuttered. “The concierge is just a friend of my sister’s.”

“Your IDs, please.”

Ember and I reached for our comms units. Hers was in her back pocket. Mine had been strapped to my bicep. “Had been,” because now it was gone.

“Wait, Ember,” I exclaimed. “Do you have my comms?”

“Hunh? Naaw.” She tried to keep the accent going, though her ID would soon reveal her Indiana origin.

Another guard approached, smelling blood.

“There some problem here, Allie?”

The second guard looked at Ember’s ID. “A Volunteer, eh? OK. Documents are in order. But you should be heading to the Capitol for sign-in, not down here.” She then looked over at me. “But you, buddy? You expect me to believe you’re a volunteer dressed like that? Or were you perhaps hoping the concierge could fix you up with a john?”

“No, Ma’am,” I said. “I think we were just robbed. Or I was, I mean. By the folks we just met on the bus.” I looked at Ember. “I think it was Ted.”

“If that’s true, buddy, you’re in a mess of trouble.”

“Hold on, we can get it back,” Ember said. “He told us where he’ll be.”

The guard looked at both of us with a grimace. “And you believe him?”

“Well, if not him, then at least we know Marla… Brouillard at the museum.”

“That’s supposed to mean something to me? Take it up at HQ. If you don’t get out of my sight right now, I’m going to have to take you into HQ myself.” She turned to her colleague. “But we’ve got too much going on down here, don’t we, Chambers?” She paused and turned her back to us, calling out slowly but sharply, “Ten… nine….”

Realizing the countdown was for us, Ember and I motioned for our group to scatter.

After three blocks of sprinting and direction changes, Ember and I paused, panting. “We’ve got to find the others. And Ted, to get my comms back. Shit, where’d he say he’d be?”

“The Mud Club. It’s right around here somewhere.” Our foreign comms units weren’t granted access to Texas communications. We knew our Central States’ units would be blocked before we left and had planned to buy a convertor chip but hadn’t had a chance yet. Remembering that the tourist bars were on 6^th Street, we counted our way up there. We passed dark dance halls, closed virtual world entertainment cafés, and what must have been seven barbecue joints promising exotic synthetic meats from places like Brazil (tapir), Malaysia (sun bear), and the deadly snakes of Australia.

Then there was The Mud Club—a screaming pink façade… boarded up.

“Shit. Fucker. I knew we couldn’t trust him. Didn’t I nudge you not to talk to him?” I reprimanded Ember.

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t see you not talking.” Ember shifted on her feet and looked around at the empty street.

“We’ve still got to find the others.”

“And my comms. We can’t get into the concert without it. Or across the border. I’ve got to find Ted. Let’s try Marla.”

“If he lied, she’s not likely to have given us real info either.”

“It’s all we’ve got.” I looked around at the desolate streets, expecting a cop or at least worker drones heading to their jobs.

“We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll get a chip and locate the others. You go find Marla at the university.”

“Let’s meet back at this spot in ninety minutes,” I said. “If I haven’t found Marla or Ted by then, at least we can figure out what to do together.”

“If you’re not here, we’re going back to where the bus let us off,” Ember said. “If we can’t get a ride to the concert, we’re going home. This is too risky.”

My jaw dropped slightly. “But it’s their last concert! Don’t you care?”

“Amylya, reality check, Dude,” she said.

Ember paused for a moment, calculating our next move. Then she stiffened up and saluted me with a smile. “Ninety minutes, here. Good luck,” she said, taking off in a trot back towards the river.

I walked up the next street and saw the Capitol building at the end of Congress Street. Beside the entrance gates, at attention, stood what must have been a battalion of troops. That was the last place I needed to go. The only outcome would be jail or immediate deportation.

Then, it occurred to me why Ted would have taken my comms. Presumably, he’d get someone to modify it to take my identity and get him back to the Central States. I had the usual locks on it, but nothing that would stop a professional hacker. We had probably walked by stores with someone in the backroom who would do this for the price of a few meals.

My arms had become jittery and weak. I looked around in my burgeoning panic and was relieved to see a janitor-type cleaning the glass façade of an art gallery. Marla had said she was at the museum. This guy would know where that was.

The man eyed me sheepishly as I neared.

“Lady, I don’t know what you want. But I ain’t buying.” He looked around. “Don’t make me call the guard in there. He’ll take you in.”

“Wait. What? For what? You think I’m a hooker?” This was not how I had wanted this to start.

“I don’t care if you are. But you know you’re not allowed out alone.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.”

I removed my wig and pulled my top down to reveal the hair on my chest, sparse though it may have been. “Does this help?”

His bloodshot eyes shot open, and his upper lip curled as he said. “Now, why would you want to go and do something like that? They can stop you for that, too.”

“Never mind that,” I said. “Just tell me where the museum is.”

“If that’s all you want, it’s the big sandstone thing behind the Capitol on Bush.”

“Where’s that? Do I have to go through those guys,” I gestured to the troops, “to get there?”

He resumed his window cleaning and stopped looking at me. “Bush is the old Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard. Head east a few blocks, then north, and you’ll find it. It’s a big sandstone building with a red roof. You won’t miss it.”

I ran off, paying little attention to what was around me. As I neared the museum, I passed a tent city behind a hurricane fence, blocking off block after block. “Soup and Stay,” read a cheery sign over the entrance.

When I got to the museum, I asked the guard to call Ms. Brouillard. There actually was a person with that name in the directory, and my heart calmed slightly. As I waited, I tried to appreciate the art in the entry hall, but most of it was lost on me. Comparisons of grass patches, watered and not watered, seemed to be the theme. Teal and Chartreuse painted horned toads, company logos and flags attached to them, scrabbled over stone and sand in another diorama.

Marla appeared out of the elevator, walking forward with her arm extended, my comms in hand. “You’re looking for this, no doubt.”

Behind her came Ted, a big smile on his even pinker, sweaty face.

I reached for it, but she pulled it away.

“First, we have a proposition for you.”

“What: you give me my comms, and I won’t report you?”

Marla chuckled and pocketed my comms in the magenta caftan smock she now wore. “No, child. We know you’re not here for your family nor as a Volunteer. You’re here for the concert.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your age. Your get-up. Your caginess. A quick dive into your comms by my IT guy.”

“Well, so?” I said.

Marla held up her hand to stop me, then gestured to a side room. “Let’s speak in private, shall we?” With the door shut behind all three of us, she continued, “So, we propose an exchange.”

“And a fair one at that,” Ted interjected.

“My comms for?”

“We need you to get Ted back Upcountry. Ted will escort you to the concert, and then you’ll bring him out with you. Things aren’t working out for him down here.”

Ted looked on, no hint of remorse in his eyes. He stepped forward. “You kids aren’t going to make it to Enchanted Rock without a ride and a guard. You don’t even have weapons.”

“But we got here, didn’t we?” I snorted. “Before I agree, tell me why you can’t leave on your own.”

“Can’t get a visa. Not an exit visa, not an entrance visa.”

“So, how are we supposed to help?” I asked.

“You got in here. You can get me out.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head.

“Look, Marla here can get you even better seats. Maybe even an audience with Basiwallah.”

I tried to hide the grip of excitement with a sneering: “Yeah, right.”

I noticed a fluttering tick under Marla’s eye as she stared at me. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand what’s possible, kid,” she said.

“If you’ve got such pull, why can’t you get Ted out yourself?”

“There are some limits to what I can do interfacing with Upcountry,” she replied. “I can’t have his departure linked to me. You’ll be gone when this is over. All I’m doing is getting you a ride, better seats, and an ID for Ted on your comms.”

“This in exchange for something illegal? Hardly seems a trade,” I said.

“You’re here illegally in the first place, young lady,” Marla said. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Look, the concert is tonight,” Ted broke in. “If you want to get there, we’d best get going.”

“It doesn’t take long to get there by shooter,” I said, trying to call his bluff.

“Pirate shooter,” he corrected me. “And you know they could dump you anywhere once they have your money.” It hadn’t occurred to me that the rep at the border could have set us up like that. Would he even be there when we returned?

“I think I’d notice if we stopped heading west,” I said.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop for you.”

“Look, tell me what you did and the risks for helping you out.”

“Kid. You’ve got no leverage,” Marla said. “There’s no risk to you. He’s a friend to Texas and the Central States.”

“That’s meaningless to me,” I said. “Try a little harder. If you’re such a friend, why’d you go to prison?”

“Ah, there it is,” he said. “You’ve been dying to know the answer to that all along, haven’t you? You probably guess murder, right?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“OK, that’s right. Rape too.” He looked at Marla and shrugged.

Marla looked down at the grey-swirl plastic carpet of her office.

“Disgusting,” I said. “I’d rather walk. And I’m not entrusting my friends to you.”

“Hold on,” Ted said. “It wasn’t those. But I don’t need to tell you.”

“How bad do you want to get back north?” I asked.

“You get me across the border, I’ll tell you.”

“And look,” Marla said, “You may not have realized this, but we can also find ways to make your life more complicated. You don’t want to stay down here permanently, do you?”

Her eyes had narrowed. It was like a snake had entered the room through a hole in the wall.

Bastards. I had calculated that I could miss gaming for the four days and still make my rent. Longer would slide me back into a quicksand debt trap, or worse, make me go back to Dad to ask for help. I fought off the image of his smirk as he said, “Seems the tides have changed, eh…”

“What the…?” I barked. “We were minding our business on the bus, and now we’re being blackmailed into illegal activity?”

“More illegal activity, friend.” Marla corrected her. “You shouldn’t have paid to hop the border if you didn’t want trouble.”

My options were at an end. I had to take the deal. Maybe I could figure something out at the concert. Get him so tripped up on drugs that he couldn’t move. That’s if we could score anything.

“I thought you might see things clearly,” Marla said. “I’ll make some calls.”

#

After we reconnected with Ember, Chuck, and the twins, Ted let us get some biscuits and soda-beer and then nap in the shade until the late afternoon when we had to leave.

We rode in two shooters, along with Ted, the eighty miles or so to Enchanted Rock in about forty-five minutes. If we got these for the ride back to the border, we’d be out of this hideous place by morning instead of two days later.

Patches of ashen fields and smashed greenhouse complexes stretched south across the crunchy, desiccated hills.

As we descended into the landing area behind the outdoor stage, we marveled at the string of horses, donkeys, and carts lining the roads heading to the concert site. Hordes milled inside the gates, with twice as many outside a row of tank traps, gun towers, and armed guards surrounding the venue.

“They must be raking it in with this concert if they can pay for security like this!” Ember said.

“Those are mercenaries,” Ted butt in. “Your stars hired the Angels and the like to guard them. Not a good idea, but we can’t spare the troops. The government won’t admit it, but they allowed this concert to bring in folks like you to get some tourist revenue. We’re turning a blind eye. A happy concert raises our image up north.”

None of us responded.

“Look, Ted,” I said. “Don’t try to be our friend. This is business. Let us enjoy the party on our own. We’re not going to sneak away. We want the ride back. I need my comms. We’ll fulfill our side of the deal.”

“I know you will,” he said. “And to show you I mean no other harm, I’ll get you in to see these fellas after the concert.”

“Fine,” I said. “Now we’re going to go explore.”

“Righty Ho,” he said, handing me my comms. “I think you’ll like your new pass. Marla did you more than a solid. Share it with your friends.”

“You’ve got my device tagged, don’t you?”

“Trust but verify,” he said with a wink. “Now go have fun. I’ll see you at the lounge.”

I’m off for some ‘shrooms. I hear the ones grown under this mountain are true beatific,” Chuck said, using the current slang for “excellent.”

We hunted for Chuck’s grail through a sea of undying tie-dyed longhairs. We passed other Limbic avatars I recognized: elaborately shaped wigs, Venetian masks, costumed Ganeshas, Lokis, and paste-gem adorned Brides of Frankenstein.

At the medical tent, Ember asked a young woman holding up an already vomiting friend where these local mushrooms could be had.

“You can get them anywhere,” the woman said. “Go to the herbal tea concession just up that way,” she indicated with a flick of her head. “They have pick-your-own.”

After following her directions, grail secured, we made our way to the VIP lounge, where I flashed my comms for our entry. We entered to manna: two long tables piled with exotic dishes—eggplant and walnut dips, roasted figs with blue cheese, frybread, avocado, salsa…. I had to hold back from elbowing Chuck as we rushed to fill out plates.

Before we started to gorge ourselves, Chuck sprinkled his purchase across our plates. “Here’s to the road ahead!” he said.

Ted was there, too, smiling and calm as he watched us. He didn’t make any move to chat with us, and other than a reluctant wave I gave him, none of us engaged with him. Thankfully, he let us be.

After a little guffawing about the entwined copperhead, rattler, and coral snake set décor with others already in the room, someone pointed out the musicians creeping onstage in the low, blue glow of guidelights. The crowd let out a howl as one long, low bass note sounded and vibrated into our collective chest. Fine filaments of tingles started: my brain, arms, and lips were already responding to the psilocybin.

“O Basiwallah!” I crowed when he appeared, lit from behind and side, almost naked, fine musculature delineated in shadow. The holograms in our suite were as vivid as if he were right there. There were holograms amongst the crowd below, but they didn’t get the haptic suits we got as a lounge perk. Silver and tight, the elasticized suits let us feel Basiwallah feeling us.

The bass note reverberated until they launched into their first song, a trippy, unadorned acoustic guitar loop of some hokey folk tune. Some of the crowd cheered, recognizing it. The song title, “Alice’s Restaurant,” appeared under the hologram. I wasn’t familiar with it. One of the twins explained that it was a cover of a protest song from a century before. “You wanna kill the war?” Basiwallah called out, encouraging us to join in at the chorus, “Sing loud!”

The group didn’t cover a lot of songs, and this one wasn’t in the Central States Board of Education’s Three Hundred Songs compilation, nor the people’s contraband alt-Three Hundred, but most of the tie-dye crowd seemed to know it. By the end, we had the chorus stuck in our heads, and a joyous village of camaraderie swayed on the floor below.

As the music morphed into ballads of Persian heroes, snippets of raga and ragtime flowing in and out, those in the suite began to lower ourselves onto the memory-foam pillows to enhance the endorphin rush from Basiwallah’s simulated hugs. I looked over at Chuck. He was sitting cross-legged, hands palm-up on his knees, smiling with his eyes closed.

I closed my eyes. Kaleidoscopes-as-sleigh-rides formed on my eyelids. Images of the eternal noise: humorous and slippery. This was why I was here. No virtual world game could give me this, no matter the soundtrack, no matter the immersion.

The music sped up and brought us to our feet. Ember came over, and we shadow-danced with each other for who knows how many songs. Could I love her? Did I love Chuck? What is love? Why was I thinking any of this? We danced slower, faster, closer until she moved on. Those who wanted it in the suite could also add a fanny pack of digitally dispersed scents to enhance their experience. There were at least ten choices, one for each finger, activated by a finger in the haptic-sensor glove: clove, gardenia, cedar. As Ember and I faded from dancing, she waved a goodbye, and a rose scent drifted towards me.

I opened my eyes.

Ted?

The notes of the group’s second cover song began to creep in on a solitary electric guitar, hopping, followed by ghostly “ooh, oohs” by the Songstress Cycle. A rasp counted time. Then drums. Darkness crept in as Basiwallah started an old Stones song about a menacing storm.

“We gotta go, kid,” Ted said, bringing me down from dancing with his palm on my chest.

“Where? What are you talking about?” I asked. He was still in his purple shirt and ridiculous hat. His white denim jacket, draped over his shoulder, was stained with orange juice—or vomit. “We have yet to hear their most important song!”

“I got a comms from Marla. The war is starting again. The troops guarding us outside are already southwest. She thinks we better get going if we’re going to get over the border. The Central States might not let us back in.”

Him, he meant. He was going to ruin this event for all of us. “The fighting is probably hours away. They wouldn’t hit a concert. Relax.” Was that my sister across the room impatiently tapping her foot?

“Listen, kid. If I don’t get across the border. Promise you’ll pass on a message to me in person. I need to get a message to Chicago.”

“I live in Arkansas. I’m not going up there any time soon.”

“You gotta help me, kid.”

“If it’ll make you go away until the end of the concert, then sure.”

“Get word to the CEO of Great Lakes Mutual as soon as we get over the border. I’ve got information to help get Texas back.”

My eyes were closed. He was referring to a company thought to have too much connection to the government… or was the government. And who said we wanted Texas back? A wave of garnet and teal hit me. All I could manage for a response was, “You got it.”

Ted patted me on the shoulder with an audible exhale. “Good man, good man. I’ll leave you to your concert.” His face had relaxed into an aw-shucks look. Had Chuck slipped him something, too?

The time and music swirled on. Had an hour passed? Two? Three encores at the closing, ending with their biggest hit, the eerie, teen angst cover from the fifty-or-so-year-old “Exit Music (for a Film).” It was instrumental, haunting and mournful, but the memory of the original words captured everyone’s desire to strike back at authority and flee with one’s comrades. Nobody knew what the film was, but anyone familiar with the alt-Three Hundred knew the words and chanted them back at the crescendo. On my eyelid screen: a sea of gunmetal grey and white fireworks of rage faded into a salmon pink at the ending lines—the wish for the demise of each of our imagined oppressors back home.

But yes, Dad, I love you too.

Ember, Chuck, and the other two came over, bringing the five of us together. Eyes half open, a knowing smile of gratitude for what we’d all just experienced. “True beatific,” Chuck said.

“We’re going to meet them now, right?” Chuck asked excitedly.

Ted walked up from the corner and put his arms around our group. Ember and I pulled back to escape his reach. “Come with me, folks,” he said with a grandfatherly smile, seemingly genuine for the first time.

He led us from our nest, accompanied by two guards, through a maze of frowning and exhausted faces into tunnels under the audience arena.

Passing through two sets of riveted, metal doors and comms-passes checked, we were let into a room, walls covered with thin cotton cloth printed with paisleys and elaborate borders, the floor covered in large, flat, rust- and robin’s-egg-blue velvet pillows.

Stretched out on the billows were Basiwallah and the three members of the Songstress Cycle: Imana, Billox, and Crêche. Billox was still plucking his e-mandolin, accepting intermittent kisses and caresses from Imana and Basiwallah.

“Go on,” Ted said, pushing me forward.

I stepped up to Basiwallah to thank him, but he looked past me.

“Wait, I know you,” he said, pointing to Ted.

“No. No, you don’t.” Ted replied, shaking his head and waving his flat hands, palms down before him.

“But I do. You’re famous. I saw you at one of our concerts years ago. Up north, our first gig in Chicago.”

The other band members peered at Ted and looked at each other, shrugging, looking again, looking at Basiwallah.

“You’re the guy who….”

“Look, Sir.” Ted interjected, “I’m just here to introduce you to some fans who’ve come a long way to see you. I assure you, you don’t know me.” He pulled his hat lower onto his forehead and averted Basiwallah’s eyes, looking to the floor.

“We’re just huge fans,” I said, moving towards the star, hands together in prayer as we’d all learn to do from him.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Help yourself to some water. Stay hydrated.” He motioned to some coolers and went back to massaging and kissing Billox.

I looked at our group, all of us empty-faced, unsure what to do next.

“Maybe we should just go,” Chuck said.

We turned to go. “Sorry, kids, it’s been a long night,” Basiwallah said. “Thank you for your favor. It means a lot. Honestly.”

I turned back to see his kind, deep, played-out eyes.

“And watch out for that guy,” he said, pointing to Ted.

“C’mon, kids,” Ted said. “The sooner we get to the border, the sooner you’re home safe.”

“They’re on to you, aren’t they?” Ember said. “The war’s not starting again.”

“Just c’mon,” he said and hurried us back through tunnels to our waiting shooters.

We had three hours until the border. As we wound down from our chemicals and neared the border, verdant trees returned to the landscape beneath us. Ted slept, his head leaning against the window, hat in his lap. I turned to Ember and whispered, “Something is going on with him.”

“We can’t get any info until we’re closer to the border. Even with my local chip, there’s just no signal.”

I tapped Ted on the shoulder. He stirred as I spoke to him, “What’d you say your last name was, Ted?”

“Bramble,” he said and shrugged at where I had touched.

I sat back while Ember poked away at her comms.

It wasn’t until we were in sight of the border guard facility that she got a signal. Ted awoke with a start when the pilot shook his thigh. “Sir, we’re here.” He rubbed his face and bumped his head on the ceiling, thinking he had to get up. “Not yet, Sir. Just a few minutes.”

After a few taps, Ember handed me her comms, her eyes questioning.

A string of headlines from when I was five appeared before me.

“Congressman Bramble, Final Vote Allowing Texas Secession, Brings the End”;

“Sellout Jailed”;

“Hoisted: Bramble sold South.”

With a quick scan, it became clear: he was the vote that had allowed Texas to split from the US peacefully, but as Texas launched into war with Mexico, public opinion turned, and he found himself convicted of influence-peddling and then later sent south in the prisoner shipments. He must have worked his magic to get out of prison. Maybe Marla helped him. Maybe he was a folk hero here? I didn’t want to know more.

The shooter began to descend.

“What?” he said, responding to my stare.

“Nothing, Congressman,” I responded.

He snorted, then sighed. “OK, so now you know. What of it? You still gotta get me through.”

“Of course I do,” I lied. “Sit back. I’ll do all the explaining.”

When my friends had all been scanned and allowed back through, I turned the ear of the customs officer and pointed back at Ted, now standing outside the shooter about fifty yards away. Ted lifted his hand with a self-identifying wave. The guard looked him up and down, then spoke into her comms. With what I told her, he would not be going through.

I took off my blue wig, waved it back at Ted, then walked through to my friends.

Too reckless, Dra? A smile cracked my dry lips. Go on, Sis, tell Dad what I did. Then, ask him what he thinks of my choices now.