Last Chance Dance

     July quickly exited stage left, bringing her tricky partner
August in.  August hung around for a while, then started looking
for the exit, leaving the community with a lot of frightened
students.

     High Highers loved summer, the only period of time where
they'd get to actually have a social life.  But the looming
threat of school was exactly ten days away, and if you didn't get
your jollies out NOW, you'd have to wait another nine months for
school to end.

     So typically one High High student gets up the courage,
money and experienced riot control officers needed to throw a
final shindig.  A party of parties, a rave to be raved about, a
sock hop to knock your socks off.  Usually, the fire department
only has to be called out with high pressure hoses to control the
crowd twice.

     It'd have food.  It'd have lights.  It'd have plenty of
whatever music happened to be in style at the moment, since
acceptable musical tastes swing faster than a monkey a vine in
the recording industry.  Maybe grunge, maybe industrial, maybe
folk music.  Maybe grungy industrial folk music ("Old Grandma's
Bad-Ass Rocking Chair of Oppression", for example.)

     But most of all, it'd have dancing.

     "I don't dance," Jody said, backing off.

     "Neither do I, really," Benton said.  "But this is the last
real opportunity to party for the year.  Come on, it'll be fun. 
I'll be able to introduce you to the other HH regulars, we can
eat free brownies and listen to some good music."

     "But the point of the whole party is to DANCE, right?" Jody
asked.  "I know what's going to happen.  I'll try to stay on the
sidelines and drink punch, then eventually I'll end up pushed out
on the dance floor by one of those 'You Will Have Fun' types."

     "Well, then you can just toss said person onto the nearest
food table like you did Bruno," Benton joked.

     Jody did not smile.  The kind of not smile you typically see
on muggers while they decide which organ to remove first with a
sharpened screwdriver.

     "Anyway," Benton said, rapidly changing topics to avoid any
more non-smiles, "There isn't much else to do on that night. 
Mitch already said he's going weither I am or not, and knowing
what a social demon he is, I'll probably end up sitting around
the part bored to death while he's off chatting someone up.  So
either 1.  I can be bored there and you can be bored at home, or
2.  We can both be bored at our respective homes, or 3.  We could
be LESS bored at a party.  Which sounds best?"

     "Option 4," Jody said.

     "Which is?"

     "I don't know.  But it doesn't involve dancing."

     "How about this.  If I swear upon my mother's grave that you
won't dance once during the course of the evening, will you tag
along?"

     "Your mother's not dead."

     "I'll kill her in the event of you dancing.  How's that?"

     Jody had to admit, it sounded sincere.  Almost to the point
where she believed he'd assassinate his parents if someone made
her dance.

     "Alright, I'll do it," she said.

                                   *

     Mitch was a happy camper.

     He saw the evening going one of two ways.  Either he
succeeds in finding a nice girl at the party to dance with and
talk to and such, or the entire party breaks up into a massive
riot and the fire department gets called in.  The first option
gave him a fun time, the second gave him good material for a
thesis paper.

     Sure, his teachers were getting sick of papers about mob
instinct and mass hysteria, but dammit, those papers were FUN to
write.  High High wasn't fun by definition, so you had to get it
where you could.

     He was prepared for either consequence.  He had been freshly
groomed; perhaps moreso than normal, groomed to the point where
the only way to be more sterilzed and pristene would be to be
boiled in water and then enbalmed.  Every hair in place, High
High uniform wrinkle free and bright!  Not just white.  The
cologne was Testosterone for Men... a bold choice, but he was
feeling bold.

     In his pockets he had collapsable riot armor, a taser and a
notepad with erasable pen.  Always be prepared.

     He checked his watch (front recently scrubbed with glass
cleaner) and started down the stairs.  Sure, he COULD swing down
on the monofilament Benton seems to like, but that could get him
grass stains.
     Out the front door, evading the moths and things that
kamakazie the porch lights.  Into the night air, ready to go.

     Only no transportation.  He checked his watch again,
wondering if the cleaning products shorted it out.  No; it was
accurate.  7:50PM and no Jody.  She was NEVER late.  Usually, at
her speeds, she was an entire hour early.  Where could they be
now?

                              *

     Benton peered out the window at the flood of cars.  Traffic
was much thicker than the community usually allowed... mostly
students, on the way to the Community Gym that the party was
scheduled to impact on in ten minutes time.

     "I hate traffic," Jody said, grinding her teeth.  "It's too
slow."

     "Not much we can do about it.  We're in gridlock," Benton
noted, tapping the glass with a finger.

     "Well... it'll mean possibly scraping the chrome..." Jody
said to herself, assessing the status of the dashboard lights
(all written in Yttian).  "I think I can do it, though.  You
might want to fasten your seatbelt."

     "Why, what are you going to d--"

     With that, the Traffic Smasher started to drive over the
other cars.

     Yttian Motors is extremely proud of their Traffic Smasher
line, which can make any highway into a SUPER highway by smart-
axles.  Given enough charge time... say, being stuck in
traffic... the car can elevate and roll on top of other cars and
between them by angling and extending the axles.

     At least that's what the promo flyers say.  In reality, the
device doesn't work real well, failing to catch up to gaps and
doing some serious damage to the cars you plow through.  It does
what it's supposed to, though; gets you out of traffic.

     The car hiked up to a six foot height in a single jolt, and
started weaving tires in and out of the cars, occasionally over
one.  Benton bounced around the rear seat like a superball,
unable to fasten his belt in time.

     Jody pushed the gas down.

                              *

     Mitch gaped as the car rolled into his driveway, three of
the wheels four feel above the last one.  It settled down,
hydraulics screaming, and reverted to normal.

     "Coming or not?" Jody asked, leaning out her window.  Mitch
nodded and jogged over to the Traffic Smasher, piling into the
front seat.

     "Is it just me or is Benton dead?" Mitch asked, pointing to
the slumped bag of lard in the back seat wearing a leather
jacket.

     "I told him to fasten his seat belt," Jody pleaded.  "He
should be okay.  Although he might want to have an X-Ray after
the party or something."

     "Good.  Do me a favor and don't do what you did to him to
me," Mitch said.

     "Alright, there are other ways around the jam," Jody said,
slamming the gearbox into motion.

     "Namely?"

     "Lawns.  Hang on."

                                   *

     The Community Free Gym was slowly rocking off its
foundations.

     It didn't resemble a gym anymore.  The organizer of this
year's Last Chance Dance had gone all out... banners, laser
displays, holograms, antique disco balls.  It was loud, it was
noisy, it was garunteed to give you a headache within six minutes
of entrance.

     "I've got a headache," Benton groaned, sitting up.  "Oh,
hello, Mitch.  Is this heaven?"

     "No, it's the dance.  You survived.  Here, lemme help you
out," Mitch said, unbuckling.  He opened the door, knocking apart
what was left of a plastic birdbath that had glommed to the car
during its late-night grass rampage.

     "Sorry," Jody said.  "Thought you could buckle your belt
faster than that.  Come on, let's get this over with."

     With that, she climbed out of the car and walked over to the
gym, mixing into the crowd that had gathered in front of the
entrance.

     "She seems pleased," Mitch joked.  "What's up with her?"

     "Just doesn't like--ARRGH!  Don't bonk my head on the
doorframe, Mitch... she just doesn't like dances."
     "I thought she attended a few at Rampart."

     "So did I.  Apparently she just doesn't dance."

     "Then what's the point?" Mitch asked.  "Other than the study
of social interaction from a teenage point of view."

     "Beats me.  Here, you walk behind me.  I think I might pass
out before I get to the door."

                              *

     "Hi, welcome to the dance... take a flyer... Hi, welcome to
the dance... take a flyer..." the doorman repeated over and over,
passing out little yellow slips of paper to everybody who was
fighting to get through the doorway.

     "What's this?" Benton asked, snatching one of the papers up. 
"The High High Computer Science Department welcomes you to the
Last Chance Dance, sponsored, arranged, DJed and mixed by
Wireless Ronstat."

     "Wireless?" Mitchell asked.  "Funny name.  I take it the
man's a bit of a computer buff?"

     "Not sure," Benton said, limping his way around the edge of
the gymnasium.  "I've heard of him before, though.  I thought
everybody said he rejected social behavior... what's he doing
DJing the party?"

     "Trying to get some funds for the CS department, according
to the flyer," Mitchell said.  "Well, I've got a few dollars,
we'll see how good the party is and then I'll consider it."

     "There you guys are," Jody said, squeezing through the
opening in the crowd to meet her friends.  "Who's this Wireless
guy on the flyer?  Sounds interesting."

     "We're not quite sure," Benton said.  "Mitch, if you could
pull out that chair for me... thanks.  Anyway, I've heard the
name, but never seen the guy."

     "I'll have to look around for him," Jody said.  "Be back
later."

     She slipped back into the crowd opening, navigating through
the swarming mass of students like a motorcycle on a congested
highway.

     "I'm probably gonna need some muscle relaxants after this,"
Benton commented, trying to massage some life back into his back. 
"When's the party over, anyway?"

     Mitch didn't respond, transfixed on an object across the
dance floor.

     "Hee-loo?  Mitch?"

     "Say, Benton, know that bit in Romeo and Juliet where they
look across a crowded room and see each other for the first time
and just KNOW it's love?" Mitch asked, not turning his head.

     "Yeah, what about it?"

     "I don't think this is anything like that, but it could be
fun anyway.  Excuse me.  Hey, miss!  Yoo hoo!" Mitch called out,
diving into the crowd and worming his way over to some
unsuspecting girl.

     Great, Benton thought, alone.  What could possibly be worse?

     "Quick!  Give me angst!" Francis said, diving in front of
Benton with a port-a-cam.

     "What?"

     "Angst!  I must have angst.  It's vital that I capture the
teenage angst that flows like the waters of the Mississippi
amongst the youth of our age!"

     Benton's back spasmed.  "ARGH!" he yelled, clawing at his
protesting muscles.

     "PERFECT!  Write a little more.  Good... Good..."

                              *

     "...so really I regard psychology as both a career and a
hobby," Mitch continued, making arm gestures with the cup that
wasn't holding punch.  "I see it as my mission in life to help
out people who are in need emotionally.  It's not just a job,
it's a calling.  If you have any problems, I'd really like you to
feel free to talk them over with me.  I'm very understanding."

     "Good," the girl nodded.  "Then you'll understand why I'm
about to leave you here and go do something else."

     "Yes, I can understand," Mitch said as she walked away.

     Hmph.  Okay : Understanding BAD.  Try LISTENING.  He locked
onto a new target.

                              *

     "Anybody seen the DJ around here?" Jody called out to the
public in general.  The public in general ignored Jody.

     She hadn't been having much luck.  At the upraised DJ's
booth she simply found computer controlled CD2 equipment... no
DJ.  A 100 disc changer took care of that.  Perhaps this Wireless
guy had taken off and left a program in control?  SHE certainly
would.

     If he was off-site, however, he still was controlling things
to some degree.  Mostly because at that moment the songs changed,
and overlaid over the next track ("Life Sucks and Then You Die")
was a voice reading :

     "Please avoid the green punch.  Command control has gotten
word that it may be spiked.  Now, on with the music.  Support
your local computer department."

     She quickly charged back up to the DJ's platform, hoping to
catch the guy in the act, but once again all she found was
equipment.

     Might as well try the direct approach, she thought, and
grabbed the unused microphone.

     "Anybody know where the DJ is?" she asked, voice bouncing
off the gymnasium walls.  A few voices booed her off the
platform.

     "Behind you," the nearest speaker said, just loud enough for
only her to hear over the music.

     Jody spun around, seeing only an open door.

     "Through that door," the speaker said in between guitar
riffs.

                              *

     "...because people really need to be listened to," Mitch
implored.  "I think that if more people listened to each other,
the world would probably be a better place.  What do you think?"

     "I think that there are probably certain exceptions to the
rule," the cheerleader said.  "For instance, I'm sick of
listening to you, but instead of making a scene I'm just going to
walk over there.  I find that non-conflict situations are better
than messy arguing and insults, don't you?"

     "Oh, certainly!" Mitch beamed.  "So what's your phone
number?"

     She was already gone.  Mitch snapped his fingers and cursed,
and wandered off in search of another conversational victim.

                              *

     "Go AWAY, Francis," Benton demanded.
     "Come on!  Project, Benton-baby!  It's not that hard.  Let's
see some of that youth pain."

     "You're going to experience some firsthand if you don't go
film someone else," I threatened, shaking a weak fist.

     "Well, I see SOMEONE's in a mood tonight," Francis said,
lowering his camera.  "Call me when you're out of your mood and
we'll take it from there.  Ah!  I see some angst heading this
way."

     Francis quickly raised his lens, focusing on an approaching
figure.  Benton focused on him as well... the only person in the
gymnasium without a High High uniform.  He instead was wearing a
simple white t-shirt and short combo, with white shoes to match
and a white sweatband.  He reached behind his back, about to pull
out something.

     "Hope you've got the white balance on," Benton commented.

     "Never leave home without it," Francis noted.  "Wow, man,
this guy is just FULL of energy.  What presence!  What--"

     The floor shook with a concussion wave of bass, rumbling
Benton's seat.  Embedded in a nearby gym wall was Francis, camera
broken beyond recognition.  The boy in white was just finishing
the follow-through on his croquet mallet swing.

     "Eh?" Benton asked before the boy jumped him.

                              *

     "Okay, down this hall," a nearby security camera said.

     "Who are you?" Jody asked.  "A disembodied voice doesn't say
very much."

     "And through this door," a PA address speaker above her
said.  She shrugged, and opened the door.

     It was one of the back rooms of the gym, an equipment
storage room.  Along with the basketballs and hockey sticks, it
was also storing an office chair.

     "Hello," a voice from a tiny battery-operated amp said. 
"You wanted to see me?"

     "You're the DJ?" Jody asked the figure in the chair. 
"Where's the light switch?  I can barely see--"

     The light automatically powered up, as if they had heard
Jody's request.  She gasped at the boy in the chair.

     He didn't look too healthy.  Well... not UNhealthy, but
certainly below the average.  His weight was on the lean side,
bulked up more by computer hardware and trode-nets lashed to
various parts of his torso.  His eyes were focused on a spot
slightly to the left and a few hundred yards behind Jody's head.

     The eyes slowly refocused.  The boy grinned slightly.

     "Wireless," he introduced himself, voice coming out of the
amp on his lap.  "Now, what can I do for you?"

     "What're you doing in here?" Jody asked.

     "DJing," he said.  "I control the CD2 changers here and pick
out random-order songs for the student body to enjoy.  Plus I can
monitor the proceedings and eject troublemakers with the
gymnasium's built in security systems.  In the event of a riot, I
can turn on the sprinklers and notify sixteen emergency services
within five seconds."

     "Cool," Jody admitted.  "Why bother with the hookup, though? 
I mean, you obviously can't be enjoying yourself in an...
equipment closet."

     "The quiet helps me concentrate," the speaker said, the
boy's lips keeping slightly in sync with the words.  "The human
mind, while being a noble multitasker, simply isn't able to
handle the strain of so many systems in a turbulent environment. 
I take it you are not familiar with total-wire VOSNet decks?"

     "Nope," Jody said.  "I just have a simple palmtop."

     "Ah, so you're a computer enthusiast as well?"

     "Yup.  I'm attending High High this year."

     "Fabu!  I hope we have some classes together.  If you
require any assistance, feel free to look me up.  I... hold on."

     Wireless's gaze unfocused again.  "There seems to be a
reality disturbance near the front gates."

     "Is this bad?" Jody asked, not sure what else to say.

     "No.  It is minor.  However, it seems Francis (age 17
sophomore Art Department) has been blasted into one of the walls,
severely damaging his Hitachi Personal CamCorder 2344.  A nearby
student, Benton (age 17 sophomore Art Department) is also
missing.  I am calculating odds whether the two incidents are
related--"

     "Benton's gone?" Jody asked.  "I doubt he could have run on
his own, considering the shape I put him in... wait right here,
I'll be right back."

     "I was planning on staying here," Wireless said, increasing
his volume to keep the message clear as Jody ran out the door.

                              *

     "...but what nobody seems to realize about psychology today
is how important a role it plays in politics," Mitch said.  "If
it weren't for analysts, the universe's greatest leaders might--"

     "He'll talk to you later," Jody said, grabbing Mitch's arm
and dragging him away.

     The girl Mitch was talking to hmphed.  Just when the guy was
starting to get interesting.  She quickly found someone else and
ended up going home with him later.

                              *

     "Do you mind?" Mitch asked, as Jody pulled him through the
(badly) dancing students.  "I was beginning to think I was
getting through to her on a conversational level."

     "Gimmie a break, Mitch, nobody cares about your shrink
chatter," Jody said.  "Benton is gone."

     "Gone?" Mitch asked.  "What happened?"

     "I don't know.  Where'd you put him last?"

     "Over there," Mitch said, pointing to the tables near the
entrance.  "He doesn't seem to be there anymore.  What's Francis
doing on the floor?"

     Jody looked down, pausing in midstep.  She retracted a foot
before it would have stepped on the dazed film director.

     A Francis-shaped depression in one of the standard gym wall-
hung mats was clearly visible, right above where he was lying
now.  Jody pulled the student up to his feet.

     "Where's Benton?" Jody asked.

     "Whoa, man," Francis said, eyes operating independently. 
"The black light, man... that is one BAD-ASS croquet mallet. 
What I wouldn't give to use it as a prop..."

     "Yeah, yeah, where'd Benton go?"

     "Him?  I think the croquet guy grabbed him.  Something about
blood soaked revenge crashing down from the heavens upon him or
something like that," Francis dismissed.  "But that MALLET, man,
that and the outfit are just such a statement of power--"

     Jody dropped him.  "I think we'd better go find Benton,
fast," she said.

                              *

     In the lawn behind the gymnasium, three cars were parked
with necking couples, three students were secretly smoking
something illegal and a man with a croquet mallet was beating the
tar out of an artist.

     Benton arced nicely for a few feet before coming down,
bouncing lightly on the well-maintained lawn.  He rubbed his
side, where the mallet had impacted.

     "It's the end for you, you no-talent hack," the croquet
player warned, tapping the hammer in his hand.

     "Geez!  What's your problem, anyway?" Benton asked, trying
to get up again.  "What'd I do?  What?"

     "You remember a client of yours... a client who bought a
sculpture entitled 'Pointless' for three million credits?  Had a
son named Wendell?"

     "THREE MILLION?" Benton gasped.  "Damn Benny... I'm gonna
fire him for that.  He told me I got three hundred."

     "SHUT UP!" the boy demanded, slamming his mallet into the
ground.  The grass flowed in a concussion wave, a foot wide
crater forming where it impacted.  "My father bought that!  He
spent the entire family fortune on that.  We were living in slum
housing after they repossessed everything to pay for it!  And on
top of all that, I DON'T GET IT!"

     "Don't get what?"

     "The sculpture!  What's the point?  Where's the artistic
meaning?  What the hell was so striking about it that my dad blew
the wad on it!?"

     "I don't know, honestly," Benton said, finally achieving a
stand-up position.  "I just stuck a coffee pot on a spinning
pig's head and named it something funny.  Wasn't surprised that
it only raked in three hundred."

     "I had to give up my dream of attending the Middlesborough
Private School for Sports thanks to you," the boy scowled.  "Had
to get stuck as a freshman in Rampart High this year, eating
cafeteria food and hanging out with people that have facial scars
and names like Nunzio.  You ruined my life, artist!"

     "Err... sorry?" Benton apologized.

     Wendell glared at him.  "Sorry, PLUS seeing you in traction
ought to cover my losses."
     Wendell pulled back for a swing, the arc of his mallet
forming a brilliant black arc on the dull black sky.  The hammer
came down.

     Another pair of hands stopped it.

     "Neat club," Jody commented, and pulled it away from an
extremely surprised and extremely malletless Wendell.  "How's it
work?"

     "Give that back!" Wendell demanded, making futile little
grabs for his hammer.  "It's a family heirloom!"

     "Apparently this kid's dad went bankrupt buying one of my
sculptures," Benton summarized, "Wendell here decided to take
matters into his own hands.  Thanks for rescuing me.  Where's
Mitch?"

     "He saw someone with nice legs on the way over," Jody said,
holding the hammer above Wendell's short reach.  "Scrawny for a
freshman, aren't you?"

     Jody glanced down, examining the pint-sized bundle of white
clad anger that was trying to climb her to get his croquet club
back.  Pretty wiry little guy... odd how the t-shirt ripples over
his back in that way, and his eyes radiate wave after wave of
innocent rage...

     Jody dropped the hammer and quickly bent down to squeeze the
stuffing out of Wendell.  Wendell gasped in surprise, and pried
himself away.

     "Get offa me!" he demanded, skittering around the kneeling
Jody and grabbing his hammer.  He took a swing and impacted on
the small of her back, sending the girl skidding across the lawn
with orchestral accompaniment of a jet breaking the sound
barrier.

     This didn't faze Jody.  She was back on her feet, charging
after Wendell, with outstretched arms instead of balled up fists. 
Wendell, realizing this was one fight he didn't want to take part
in, tore off in the other direction as fast as his power-white
Reeboks could take him.

     "This isn't finished!" he shouted back.  "I'll get you,
Artist!"

     Jody watched him disappear into the parking lot, and
followed the bouncing croquet head until it was gone from sight.

     "Interesting battle technique," Benton said, limping over to
Jody's side.  "Sort of a rib-crusher move, right?"

     "Umm... I guess, yeah," Jody said.  "I don't know.  Just got
out of control there for a minute.  Who'd you say that guy was?"

     "Someone named Wendell," Benton said.  "He didn't tell me
his last name.  I think that introductions beyond what is
required for revenge weren't on his mind."

     "Odd kid," Jody said.  "Something about him..."

     "I think we'd better just get Mitch and get out of here,"
Benton said.  "The dance is almost over, anyway.  If I had known
I would be tossed around a car, filmed, and beaten up by a snobby
little rich kid, I probably would have taken you up on Option
Four."

     "Yeah," Jody said absent-mindedly.  "Alright, let's go back
to the dance hall and collect Mitch."

     Several security drones hovered over the scene for a moment
or two as the pair left, relaying data back to the equipment room
behind the gymnasium.  Once the danger levels returned to normal,
the flew back to monitor the dance, which was for the best since
the riot broke out shortly afterwards.

                              *

     "Well, it was to be expected," Benton said, bending over
painfully to collect some broken glass.  "We haven't had a year
yet where the party ended naturally."

     "What was it about this time?" Jody asked.

     "Standard cause," the speakers said, with Wireless's voice. 
Benton jumped.  "The local police arrived 1.6 minutes after my
last volume increase and tried to shut the party down, and the
students -- many of which ignored my warning about the green
punch -- resisted.  I turned the sprinklers on and the crowd
dispersed and that was that."

     "Err, who's there?" Benton asked.

     "Calm down, Benton, it's just the DJ.  Hiya, Wireless.  Need
any help on the cleanup?"

     "I'm contacting several repair crews at the moment," the
voice said.  "However, I thank you for the offer.  I would like
to request that you collect your two friends before leaving."

     A motorized dinner table rolled in, with the figures of
Mitch and Francis draped over it, next to the little weenies-on-
a-toothpick.

     "It seems the one on the left sustained further injury after
attempting to videotape the riot," Wireless said, "And the one on
the right sustained injury to the groin."
     "Can't imagine why," Benton said.  "Looks like the party's
over, Jody.  I would like to ask you something."

     "What?" Jody asked, making an experimental tug at Mitch's
arm.  He groaned in a higher octave.

     "Well, if the resulting mayhem hadn't resulted, would you
really have stuck to your no-dancing policy?" Benton asked.  "I
honestly expected you to crack on that one once you got into the
swing of things, etc."

     "Probably not," she said.  "I can't and don't dance.  It's
too embarrassing."

     "Well, nobody's around now..." Benton said, sweeping his
arms across the stretch of ruined gymnasium.  "Come on.  Last
chance for the year."

     "And if I don't want to?"

     "Then you can drag Mitch and Francis here back to the
Traffic Smasher yourself," Benton said.

     "Oh, alright.  It'll just take a minute anyway," Jody said,
picking up a scrap of ruined gym mat and draping it over a nearby
security camera.  Wireless emitted a quick yelp of surprise, and
the camera waggled around.  "NOW we can dance."

     "You lead," Benton suggested, shifting his muscles into a
more comfortable combination.  Wireless was kind enough to put on
something with a slow beat, and that was that.

     You know, Jody thought, Benton would probably look really
good in white.