Saga by Connor Kostick Page A

heard this and, with a shake of her head, got up. “There is so much bullshit in you punk guys. Really, why bother? I bet you live at home in your orange house, with your orange parents, doing your homework every night so your parents will let you come here and drink water out of a beer can.”
    She stormed off. Athena winked at me.
    “Really, mate, the Dark Queen?” Milan pretended to be oblivious to the girl’s departure.
    “Yeah, no lie. They were after that pirate woman. I reckon the rest of us are in the clear.”
    “Sweet. But still, living underground, man, it’s the life. You should join us. We’re entering an anarcho-punk airtank in Saturday’s race.”
    “Whoa! Count me in.” They did another knuckle slap, delighted in each other.
    “Come on, let’s find Jay and split. This place is creeping me out.” The others looked at me, surprised; they were enjoying themselves.
    “He’s not on for an hour. Maybe we should pick up Nath?” Athena was looking at the information on the handout.
    The dance room was impressive. It was a huge hall whose walls and roof had been painted to make you feel like you were floating in space. Stars, galaxies, and cascades of shooting meteorites drifted around the walls and across the roof, moving animations that enfolded the whole crowd in a celestial embrace.
    “Trippy.” Carter gestured at the scene appreciatively.
    A band was just coming onstage to whistles and cheers. The lead guitarist acknowledged us with a wave. She struck a chord on her guitar and sustained it, letting the beats and resonance wash over us.
    “Feel that beautiful feedback,” she whispered into the mike.
    Boom!
    A bass beat so heavy the entire building shook.
    The room suddenly darkened. Only the floating constellations on the walls and roof gave out any light; all the windows were covered over, of course, so the mood was not undermined by the streetlamps. Here and there in the crowd, luminous designs on clothing gave a hint of aquamarine coloration to faces and bare arms. More than ever, I felt I was deep, deep, under the sea, with hidden eyes searching for me, looking out of an intensely dark cave. I drifted through the crowd, glancing at the dancers: alizarin-crimson glitter on the cheeks of a boy, chocolate lipstick on a girl, many eyes jittering with heeby-jeebie rush, mouths parted in expectation, shirts damp with sweat from the intensity of the earlier dancing. No shark. No Nathan.
    Boom!
    Heads nod. Bubbles descend from the roof, their oily rainbow colors drawing sighs of pleasure and smiles from all around. A boy’s shirt is writhing with manganese-blue coils; it makes me think of underwater fronds, and I find the association disturbing. He sees me watching and smiles, proud, thinking I am admiring him.
    Boom!
    Heads nod. The stars glitter in their earrings and in the moist corners of their eyes.
    Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
    The bass is irresistible now. Everyone is swaying.
    “Don’t fight it.” The singer can read our thoughts. Nor do we fight it, but accelerate the swaying of our bodies in time to the beat. The room is densely crowded, yet I can move freely. Everyone is rocking from side to side in his or her own space. I relish the moment and forget that I am hunted. Here we are. Free. Enjoying ourselves in the hidden spaces of the City. A derelict hospital revived for the night to play host to the disaffected, to those for whom the card system offers nothing but a life of boring work and poor reward. I feel a surge of warmth for my fellow dancers. Then I see her again—the pirate, Cindella—and she is dancing beside Nathan.
    “Love the outfit. I mean, I really love it.” A boy had come up to her.
    “Thanks,” Cindella replied politely.
    “Wanna kiss?”
    “No, thanks. Actually I’m a boy.”
    “No way? No way! You’re kidding, right?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “Hey, Cindella.”
    “Ghost!” She smiled. “This is a great party. Worth playing the game just for