Melody and Harmony page 18

The others stared at him patiently. And he stared right back at them in total silence.

"Well?" Callopie asked.

Foster shrugged. "It just occurred to me I haven't actually listened to the song in a long time." He admitted.

Vince sat forward "I thought you were a Jolly Rodger?" He complained.

"NO!" Foster exploded. "I'm not! I said I wasn't!" He picked up his bag and board. "This is my dad's old stuff! He wanted me to be one but after three years as a pledge I quit!" He grabbed a chair and sat down hard. "I don't even really like Pirate Rock all that much, the seas dried up hundreds of years ago and anyone living in this city sure as hell isn't beyond the wall solar sailing on the desert sands! So really how 'Piratey' " He air quoted for his own amusement and started pacing. "Can I really be?" He asked rhetorically. "And the pirate queen! Oh my god the pirate queen! You'd think they all knew her personally! 'may she bless you and lead you unto good fortune!'" He stuck his tongue out and made a face. "It's just an old song! So she supposedly loved sailing so much that she left her body to sail the skies for eternity, big whoop! That doesn't sound like ascension to me." He stopped and waved a finger at his audience. "That sounds like death! The big, boring, eternal snooze fest! And there's no proof she created UV absorbent fabric for solar sails so WHO CARES!" He exploded and then sat back in his chair in a huff. "It's just one more dumb religion with made-up symbols -" He pointed at the little girl "No offense, that people use to feel better about their shitty lives! It's all crap." He slumped slightly in the chair. "There is no true pirate bloodline, there is no ancient treasure, and there is definitely no such thing as reincarnation." He pointed to the airlock door. "Because who really wants to get thrown back out into that, shit, over and over, and over again?" He sighed heavily having run out of steam. "It's all just garbage, and I am sick of it." He finished.

There was silence in the room. Vince mindlessly fidgeted with the frilly edge of Callopie's skirt and she slapped his hand.

Aaron got up from the bean bag chair. "Man, if there was ever a poster child for needing to get high, you would be it. And while we share more than a few opinions on the weight of literal truth in our histories, someone believes in the fantasy world you've grown to hate, enough to tattoo that symbol onto this little girl." He pointed at Mary.

"It's not a tattoo." Mary interrupted. Everyone else turned to look at her

"Of course it is." Vince denied.

Mary shook her head. "It's a birthmark. She pulled a small wallet out of her pants pocket and pulled a tiny worn picture of out the wallet. She handed it to Aaron. "That's my mom holding me about two minutes after I was born."

Aaron nodded. "And there it is, on your arm." He confirmed. Mary nodded.

Foster got up and snatched the picture from Aaron's hand. "That's bull, prolly just a photoshop job to sucker you into taking her where they're waiting to pull the drugs out -" He looked at the picture finally. "This is an Instapic." Mary nodded. He stared deeply at the photo. Then back at her arm where the birthmark was peeking out from under her shirt sleeve. "Do you know who you are?" He asked in disbelief.

Mary shook her head. "Not really, I was found just outside the city walls before my first birthday. Other than that photo, the only life I've ever know is the orphanages I've been moved between." She offered.

Foster handed the photo back to her. Shaking his head. "I already told you I don't believe any of this crap, but, let's just assume for a minute that you are telling the truth and that photo is real. You would be something like the 11th granddaughter of the pirate queen. and if the songs are anywhere close to accurate, someone with your birthmark will be responsible for jump starting the world again." He sat back in his chair.

Mary put her picture away. "And how am I supposed to do all that if  I don't even know who I am, what I'm supposed to do, or even why I'm supposed to do it?" She asked.

Foster shrugged. "Dunno kid, like I said before, I don't believe a word of it."

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Foster nodded. "It's like a prayer. Or a Talisman would probably be more accurate, I guess." He shrugged. "What ever you want to call it, it's a way of staying in the good graces of the god of wind."

Aaron nodded. They came to a worn and dented, long faded brown outer airlock door. Aaron knocked four times in an odd broken pattern. "And whats the Pirate Queen's story?" He asked as the door slowly opened.

Foster followed Aaron into the airlock. "It's one of the oldest pirate rock songs. Talking about how we're sailors without a sea, and now a kingdom without a ruler. Our pirate queen was so in love with sailing that she unfurled the sails of her soul and let the god of wind take her away from the only safe harbor any of us ever truly know." The Outer air lock door hissed closed and sealed itself.

Aaron nodded. "So she died and went to Heaven." He interpreted.

Foster shook his head. "Not exactly" He corrected with a smile as the inner air lock door opened. He had been expecting another dance club and was surprised instead to to find a very large and very welcoming apartment with a large open central area.

Aaron led him in to the main area and kicked off his shoes. Foster followed suit. "Welcome to our Hideout." He held his arms open. "Don't get any ideas, we're not rich or anything. I'd say ninety percent of this is either scrounged or stolen." He sloughed his jacket off and dumped it onto a nearby table before flopping into a large jet black bean bag chair. Once he was comfortable he loudly whistled a four note jingle that seemed to echo off the walls.

"Finally!" A girls voice replied from the second floor.

Aaron looked at Foster with a smile. "Make yourself at home and feel free to explain what 'not exactly' means." He gestured to a near by empty chair.

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They waited until the other side of the door was silent as the grave, and when Aaron opened the door the sun had already risen over the wall that bordered the city. Foster squinted in the early morning light and felt the desire to be anywhere but where he was. "Thanks for not killing me," He paused as he realized that Aaron had saved him not once but twice. "And then helping me escape the cops. But my mom's probably lost her mind by now so I'm out." He turned to head back to his part of town. The sound of the gun stopped him cold.

"You haven't told me about your bag." Aaron reminded him.

Foster sighed heavily. "You didn't want to talk in the hideaway, I doubt you want to do it here in the alley, so" He turned back towards Aaron and gestured for them to go.

Aaron stuffed the gun in his pocket. "Look I just need to know what the symbol means." he said, leading Foster to a safer location.

Foster shrugged, explaining as they made their way in between buildings. "it's a reference to a lyric from an old Setting Sails song." He said as if that explained everything.

Aaron nodded. "And whats the lyric?" he asked.

Foster was getting antsy. " I am driven to traverse every sea without fail, for if I have breath in my lungs I'l have wind for my sail." He said with impatience.

Aaron was lost. "Why would she have that as a tattoo?" he muttered to himself.

Foster raised an eyebrow. "So you do know the song?" He asked.

Aaron shook his head. "Never heard it my life." he admitted.

Foster. "So then how'd you know about the pirate queen?" He asked. "She has the winds of all seasons tattooed on her shoulder."

Aaron opened a door and ushered Foster into a dimly lit hallway. "The winds of all seasons?" He asked.

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It was a favor big enough to earn him the time off for the festival, without loosing his new job. The club owner called it by one of the ancient slang names, "Mary Jane". He didn't say what he needed it for, and Aaron didn't ask. He didn't say how much and Aaron didn't ask. All the club owner told him was where to go, when to be there, and who he was meeting for the exchange.

The last thing the club owner did before showing him the door was hand him four cash cards, each of them held more money than Aaron could spend in half a year. The club owner handed them over like he was passing out club fliers and saw the look on Aaron's face. "You may work for favors but these will open and close doors you'd never be able to approach otherwise." he explained.

Something in the back of his mind started screaming. This was just a simple exchange, what doors would he possible need this money money to handle? His conscious mind chalked the oddity up to the differences in the way rich people valued things and took the cards. "This much will make us targets of every low life with a cred scanner between here and any of your 'doors'" He used air quotes for the club owners benefit.

"If I thought you couldn't handle thugs and punks, I wouldn't have asked you back." he said with finality and turned his attention back to his other work. Aaron left quietly.

Back at the table he filled his friends in using their shorthand mumble toned garbage speak. Words within words, verbal misdirects, and empty trap sentences to deter anyone who might have been listening. It had taken them years to develop the language, but it had never failed them.

They finished their drinks and left the Shadow Church one at a time, each of them went in different directions at different times, then when they were sure they weren't being followed they met at their agreed upon location.

It was the last time the night went according to plan.

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It was hard sometimes, to get the lighter drugs in Harmony. Sure you could get gellcaps of Fry in almost every back alley and if there was a club that didn't have half a dozen Roatso dealers he had never heard of it. But if you wanted something simple and natural, like weed, you had to know someone that could get you access into a surprisingly large secret underground culture that had more scientists and gardeners than it did criminals and dealers.

Weed was one of the last surviving natural plants. It had long since been adapted to a large number of possible growth opportunities. That didn't mean it was easy, or cheap to find. The growth community's survival depended on secrecy and trust, doing business in private and keeping absolutely calm in public.The good stuff was expensive, the great stuff could only be traded for favors.

The first time Aaron and his friends had smoked, it was a reward from a job he had been volunteered for. All four of them swore off all other drugs the very first night they got high. Over the years all four of them had slowly built themselves a reputation within the community. It was known among the the lower levels that there was no favor to difficult for them, and their success had become their currency.

The growth community traveled beneath the cultural boundaries that existed within Harmony. It didn't matter if you worshiped Pop or Nu Wave Jazz Metal, everyone loved weed.

As the night had gone on a waitress stopped by Aaron's table and given him a card requesting that he come back to the club owners office. He extracted himself from his friends and made his way over to and down the dark hallway that ended at the club owners door. There was a red light above the door handle and a small sign asking him to knock.

He felt but couldn't hear his knuckles bounce off the door. The light above the door handle turned from red to green and Aaron reached for the handle finding the door heavy, but smooth to the touch and easy to open. It also shut solidly behind him.

The first thing he noticed once the door shut was the near absolute silence in the room. He took his head phones off as the club manager nodded at him. "I know right?" He said with a smile.

Aaron nodded and left his headphones around his neck. He stood for a second in awe of the silence. The only sound he could hear came from a small water fountain on the club owners desk. The owner noticed him looking at it. "Oh." He waved his hand through the middle of the hologram "Just a hologram, I've got money, but not enough that can waste water." He said with a sad smile.

Aaron nodded to the empty chair on his side of the desk and the club owner nodded. Aaron sat as the owner started talking. "So, word on the street is that you're not just a great DJ but that you know, people." The club owner veered into the end of the sentence as casual as he could, which wasn't much at all. Aaron nodded once. "So if you did me a, favor, what kind of favor would you expect in return?" He awkwardly asked again.

Aaron had been through this process many, many times. "First, I'd need to know just how big a favor you need me to do." He asked.

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The sun was coming up and Foster had been rolling around town and ignoring his phone for five hours. He didn't want to talk to Junker, little Tod, or Daniel. He was smart enough to know he was never going to be a full member of the Windward Sails but he was also furious because people he thought of as friends seemed perfectly content to string him along.

An hour after he left the diner he had stopped long enough to tear the almost three year old Windward Sails pledge patch off his jacket. It felt like he was tearing off his own skin. Windward Sails was his fathers church. He had grown up around and come of age properly thanks to these men and their betrayal hurt him deeply. It also left him without protection or income and he needed both.

Getting a job like his brother and finding a new club made him equally sick to his stomach. His mind swirled in chaotic circles. What to do? Where to go? What to do? Where to go? The longer her rode the tighter the mental circles became.

The sun was coming up and Foster saw a piece of paper was stuck to the left front wheel of his board. He stopped and crouched down to grab is off his wheel. Before he tossed it away a name caught his eye.

Neon Halo was playing a festival. Setting Sails and many other bands from many other sects were going to be there but Neon Halo was the prize. He could finally experience New Wave Retro live and in person rather than the bootlegs he had siphoned from the feed. He could go without retribution or questions or bringing shame to his family. His father's father's father was pirate rock royalty and the line would remain unbroken for generations to come, or so his father had decreed before his death.

The paper had distracted him to the point that he had lost track of his surroundings, so when the door to his left open he was caught completely off guard. Four industrial goth's came out of the building and practically ran right into Foster. The male in the lead was dressed all in white.

The sun was coming up and Foster was going to die.

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Daniel nodded. "But you did make it out." He said with a smile. "Not only that but you were able to get the package. You're quick on your feet, determined, and have a sharp mind. All things we value very highly." He assured Foster.

Foster leaned forward slightly. "Enough to finally grant my petition to join?" He asked.

Daniel smiled awkwardly and shook his head. "Not yet." He started.

Foster looked like he might start screaming but kept himself to an acidic whisper. "Two years Daniel!" He hissed. "What else could their be to consider?" He spat. Daniel shrugged and Foster sat back against the booth in frustration. "Can you at least tell me what's in the package?" He asked.

Daniel leaned forward, his eyes filled with excitement. "Never before heard Deck Hands studio recordings." He admitted with a huge smile. "From their first album!" He tried to keep his excitement to a whisper. "They were found out in the desert somewh -"

Foster exploded. "I almost died for some recordings of songs everyone's already heard!" he snapped.

Daniel held up his hands and looked around the empty diner. "Woah dude! Relax, it's not the recordings of the songs that are important, it's the stuff they recorded between the songs. The banter, the arguments, the inspirations." He smiled. "These are our saints and you've delivered them to us Foster. We owe you." He explained.

Foster nodded. "Sure you do, just not enough to make me a full member." He spat as he leaned over, shoved his hand into his pack, pulled the package out and tossed it at Daniel. Daniel almost fumbled the catch which gave Foster enough time to grab his bag and shuffle out of the booth. By the time Daniel was out of the booth Foster was at the front door. "Later Pops" He said disappearing into the night.

Pop looked to Daniel "That'll be three fifty for the pie." He said pressing the button to lock the door.

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Foster didn't go home. His older brother was most likely already drunk but not passed out yet and Foster had no desire to be the dumping ground for the last twenty four hours of disappointment that was his brothers life.

Not far from his family's apartment there was an all night diner. Foster has seem many dusty sun rises from behind the diner's dirty shielded windows. It was the closest thing to home he could think of.

With time to kill he took the booth furthest back in the corner of the diner. He ordered a soda and a slice of artificial cherry pie, set his pack on the table, pulled the main compartment zipper open and grabbed the med kit. He shoved his bag under the table. "Hey Pops!" The line cook and owner of the diner stuck his head out of the kitchen. "lock the door would'ya? I'm leaving my stuff out here while I get cleaned up." Pop nodded and pressed his hand into a command console on the wall, locking the doors.

Foster ducked into the bathroom tenderly. The adrenaline from his daring escape was wearing off and he was starting to feel the effects of the cuts and bruises the guards had gifted him. He carefully took his jacket and shirt off, and tried not to look at himself in the mirror. He thin in a generally unhealthy way, which didn't really bother him because everyone in the fringes was. he took a quick assessment of his wounds and opened up the med kit. First things first he sprayed each wound with bath'n'a'can. Antiseptic spray that burned more than any bath that he could ever remember taking.

Once the burning faded, he sealed each wound with skin tape. He rolled the applicator back and forth like a tiny vacuum cleaner. He'd done this more times than he could count and watching the artificial skin cover up the bloody mess of his actual body fascinated him every time. In less than a month it would flake off like real skin and in the case of minor wound he likely wouldn't even have a scar, Some of the large slashes would be nothing more than permanent brush strokes of forgotten pain. Lastly he dry swallowed his last two pain pills and then closed up his kit. he dropped his shirt back onto his body and slid into his jacket carefully so as not to aggravate the wounds underneath their bandages. Once he was dressed he exited the bathroom and went back to his table. Not long after Pops brought out the soda and pie, and unlocked the door on his way back into the kitchen.

By the time Daniel arrived the pie was a distant memory. He sat across from Foster and waved pop off as he came out of the kitchen. He looked Foster over in silence. "You look tired." He finally offered.

Foster nodded. "Better to be tired and alive, than dead and well rested." He replied.

Daniel nodded. "Where's the package." he asked. Foster wiggled his left leg which had both straps of his backpack wrapped around it. Daniel nodded again. "All right then, hand it over and you can go get some sleep." He held out his hand.

Foster shook his head slightly. "Did you know the building was the Shadow Church?" He asked. Daniel looked at the decor on the walls of the cafe, avoiding Foster's gaze. Foster felt the pain meds dulling his rage. "Daniel! The ONLY reason I made it out of there alive was because of lucky door timing!" He snapped.

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Aaron saw his best friend in the world, Vince sit down next to his girlfriend.  And turn the filter on his headphones so they could talk. “And where have you been?” He asked Vince.

Vince pointed at his girlfriend. “Calliope had to finish out your transition set.” He said.

Calliope blew Aaron an exaggerated kiss. “You’re an artist!” She complimented. “Unlike the guy who took over.” She glared at the DJ currently working as the dance floor continued to lose people.

Aaron turned his headphones for a second to hear what the DJ was playing, grimaced and turned his music filter back on. Vince pulled a folded up paper out of his pocket and tossed it over to Aaron. “Thought you’d want to see that.” he said.

Aaron picked up the flyer and unfolded it. It was a flier for a music festival headlined by DJ Sorcha. There were a ton of other names on the flier but the biggest shock was that it wasn’t just a Goth festival, it was a pirate metal, industrial goth, and new wave retro festival. DJ Sorcha, Setting Sail, and Neon Halo. He looked up from the flier. “What are these numbers?” He asked Vince.

Vince smiled. “Co-ordinates. That’s where the party is.” Vince explained.

Aaron glanced back at the flier. “Why not just tell people which club this is happening at?” He asked.

Vince laughed. “Because it’s not happening in a club, hell, it’s not happening in the city.” He said with a smile.

Aaron looked up from the flier in surprise. “You’re kidding.” He said.

Calliope nodded. “I looked them up myself. It’s a patch of desert about twenty five miles outside the city.” She said clapping her hands. “You know what that means.” She was bouncing. “Road Trip!” she practically squealed.

Aaron looked back down at the flier. “I can’t go.” He said handing the flier back to Vince.

Vince was shocked. “We have to go!” He said.

Aaron nodded. “I’d love to go but I just got a job here at the club. I don’t want to lose my spot.” He admitted.

Vince’s face lit up. ‘They picked you up!” He almost shouted. Aaron nodded. Vince waved a waitress over. “Drinks on me! My buddy just became a paid DJ. We’re getting screwed up tonight!” The waitress nodded and wandered back to the bar.

The rest of the evening was a blur of music, light, and the fuzzy company of his closest friends.

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Aaron’s set at the Shadow Church was over, and discounting the guards chasing out a lone pirate infiltrator it had been a good set. The dance floor stayed full, the color patterns and the dancer’s enthusiasm seem to be generally upbeat and he had received no complaints.

 He had a three song transition set to give him and the replacement DJ time to trade off. He thumbed a control on his glove and the lights in the back of his white trench coat shut off. The cords that plugged him into the club’s sound system unhooked and recoiled back into his jacket. The next DJ stepped and started to get himself plugged in and set up.

Aaron stepped off the stage and was met by the booker for the club. The booker gestured to his earphones and Aaron turned the dial on his to filter out the club music. “Good set.” The booker complimented. “We’ve got an opening on Thursday nights, you want it?” He asked. Aaron nodded excitedly. The synthesizer mask he was wearing covered the huge smile on his face. The booker nodded and handed him a business card. “I’ll give you a call on Monday and we’ll get the specifics worked out.” He said before he walked away to handed another crisis.

Aaron was in a Daze. He had covered the ninety minute set as a favor to a friend who was too sick to get out of bed and had gotten a job out of it. Not that one set a week was much of a job but it was one set a week at the Shadow Church which was easily the fanciest club in the district.

He was deep in his thoughts and almost walked by a table full of his friends, he would have walked by them but Freya snagged his wrist. He stopped and looked down at her brilliant smile. “Where you off to in such a daze?” She asked.

He saw that her headphones where filtering the club music out as well and he pulled up a seat next to her. “I just got a job.” He explained, still in a daze.

Frey hugged him in excitement. “That’s great!” She let go of him. “I’m not surprised though that set was incredible. We were on the floor for almost an hour.” She confirmed.

Aaron looked around the table and noticed several empty chairs. “I’ve been off stage for almost fifteen minutes, you’d think everyone would want to come congratulate me.” He commented sarcastically.

As if he himself summoned them the rest of the gang left the dance floor and took their seats. Freya smiled at him. “Look at that, Power you didn’t even know you had.” She laughed at his shock.

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The other side of the bridge was friendly territory, it was home. Once he touched down he coasted to a stop and kicked his board up. It was long past sun down and the second shift workers were well into their evening’s entertainment. Foster was still miles from Safe Port, the bar where he was to deliver his package but on this side of the bridge he was already among family.

He dropped his board to the street and made his way into the district, families had come out of their homes and every street he passed down there was another feast, another pick up band filling the alleys with ancient music that bound the souls of all who danced to the past, stronger than any blood ever could. This was the music that made their blood flow, He set his audio filter so he could hear the music as he rolled through the streets. He smiled and acknowledged those who raised their glasses to him as he passed. Among friends, he found himself in no hurry.

Safe Port was open but you’d never know it from the outside. Foster kicked his board up and it magnetized to his leg as he thumbed the button to split the board in half at his knee. He walked around the corner of the building and stepped into what was both the back alley of the bar and also the front entrance. The back alley was filled with a small army of questionable characters. Two tired looking men in torn gray plants and faded purple tunics were sitting on boxes, one of them was dealing hands from a sun worn deck of cards. Leaning on the alley wall opposite them was another fellow in gray and purple with a plain black eye patch over his right eye, his left eye was closed and he was strumming out a lazy tune on an electric guitar. At the far end of the alley, Daniel was perched against the wall, His electric purple cavalier hat angled low to cover his face, and the neon purple feather pinned to the right side pulsed through patterns of purple and black. The smoke from Daniel’s Cigarette curled up slowly around the brim. He wore a galleon coat that had been stitched with fiber optic thread, purple lines of electricity crawled the crisscrossing patterns they had been stitched into from ankle to shoulder.

Foster made his way down the alley, bobbing and weaving around the guardians of the club. Daniel did not look up when he spoke. “How did it go?” He asked, letting more smoke slowly dance its way into the sky.

Foster shrugged. “Oh you know, same shit, different day.” He tried to play it off as he pulled the package out of his jacket and handed it over to Daniel.

Daniel checked the contents of the package and saw the bloody hole in Fosters jacket. “That good huh?” He nodded to the wound as he pocketed the package in one of his own inner pockets.

Foster nodded. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, but unless you need anything else, I’m going to head home.” He said turning toward the opening of the alley just in time to see the woman from the club and a ten guard’s roll up behind her. He cursed under his breath as she locked eyes with him.

Daniel didn’t move off the wall. “Something we can help you with, Veronica?” There was disdain in her name.

She pointed a black opal fingernail at Foster. “He broke the rules, my master demands retribution.” She spat.

Daniel tossed the butt of his cigarette and lit another, the glow of his lighter revealing the left half of his face. “If he so desires then let him come and take it.” The light died and smoke crawled out of the darkness.

Veronica clenched her fists and postured in fury toward the alley but did not enter it. “I HAVE KILLED MEN FOR LESSER INSULTS!” She growled.

Daniel shook his head calmly. “I think you see insult where none exists.” He replied with an even tone.

For a second everyone seemed to freeze. Daniel calmly tossed his half smoked cigarette across the alley way and lifted his head for the first time. The lamp light from above revealing a deep scar on the right side of his face. Veronica took a half step back in surprise. “You!” Her men got nervous. “They said you were dead!” She uttered in disbelief.

Daniel reached in the darkness of his jacket and pulled a mini gun out from under the long body of his jacket. It was hanging from a strap around his shoulder the head of the six barrel rotator pointed at Veronica and her men. The other men in the alley way all stood and revealed the guns and knives they were carrying as well.

Veronica held her hands up in surrender. “It doesn’t have to go down like this.” She said

Daniel squinted. “We are men of action, lies do not become us.” The mini Gun roared to life and Veronica and her guards shot into the air bouncing off the walls and launched themselves at the men in the alleyway.

Foster pulled his sword out of his jacket but was stopped from entering the fray by Daniel. He handed him the package. “Go home kid, keep this safe, I’ll drop by in the morning to pick it up.” He turned his attention to the fight and caught a guard lunging at him with a quick burst of fire that dropped him to the ground.

Foster was thumbing the control for his board when Daniel whistled and a fire escape ladder dropped down. He nodded to the ladder. Foster nodded back and made his way up and away from the fight. 

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Foster knew his survival depended on one thing, getting out of the back alley run he was stuck in. He sub-vocalized for a route back to safe territory and after a split second a green neon line drew an escape route. He followed the directions without question. The line directed him to the fire escape ladder that led up to a third floor balcony. He thumbed one of the buttons on his wrist control and his board elongated, straps shot out of the base and held the board halves to his feet. He scrambled on top of a trash bin and the wheels of his board flipped up to the top side so he could climb the ladder without getting them stuck.

The guards stopped and clambered over each other to be the first up the ladder after Foster. When he got the third floor balcony he unzipped a small pouch on the inside of his jacket sleeve and dropped a press button one inch wide by half inch tall by half inch thick explosive. It bounced off the ladder and fell into the open trash bin. The guards looked down in confusion and the explosive went off rocking the trash bin into the ladder knocking two of the guards off the ladder and one the rest into the alley.

Foster checked to see where the green line was leading him. He followed the balcony around the corner of the building and when he reached the end of the balcony the line went straight down. He looked over the edge and saw the road the line was leading him too. He was technically in the higher class slums, the hill he was looking down on was a road that led to the black market district. Hundreds upon hundreds of illegal businesses that no one cared about because the black market economy got more real business done for more of the population than the above ground consumer economy did. The hill was massive. Gravity alone would give him more speed on his board than his the on board engine could ever pump out. The only thing that worried him was what he would need to do to control that speed. Certain death behind him and very possible death below him. He considered his options for the eternity between two heartbeats and in the silence between songs, he jumped.

He thumbed the board control and it had returned to skating form by the time he hit the hill. He crouched low and focused on his balance and prayed that no people or cars came down the cross streets. The neon of the black market shops blurred by him in a multi colored light speed blur of electricity that he had only ever seen before on drugs. The green line was razor straight as he continued to pick up speed. He thumbed a control on his glove and checked the rear facing cameras on his bag. He saw that three of the guards had made the leap and were crouched into the suicide run maybe a hundred feet behind him.

The hill dove under an overpass and in the blink of an eye he was out of the black market district. The city opened up into an area that had never really recovered after the last of the great quakes. Foster saw that he was coming to a massive bridge that had fallen away in the middle. He also knew that there was no amount of speed he could have reached that would get him over the gap the green line had been leading him too. The guards cleared the black market district. Foster followed the green line.

He hit the bridge and it curved up a little arcing over the now dry river bed. He said a prayer to the Gods of Techno and pressed the button to expel the tiny accelerant canister to give him the last little bit of speed from the board. A split second later he was skating on thin air.

He pressed a button on his glove and front strap of his board let go of his foot and the back part of the board shot the front half like a grappling hook at the far side of the bridge. The board hit hard the wheels opened up and drilled into the road hard. The back part of the board quickly reeled Foster toward the other side as he began to lose altitude.

He checked his backpack camera again and saw the three guards guards had slowed to a stop at the very edge of the broken bridge. Foster pulled another explosive from his coat sleeve and threw it into the air behind him. It exploded and a pattern of fireworks created a skull and cross bones in neon blues and greens. The lead guard turned away from the symbol and the other two followed him to find a safe way across the river bed.

Melody and Harmony: Page 3

Foster hit the outer airlock door hard. It budged just enough to let him know he could force it open with some effort. Effort he was willing to give at the moment. As he shoved the outer airlock open the inner airlock was being forced open as well. He got the door open enough to slide through, it clamped shut on his bag and had to yank it roughly past the door. He turned and ran into a waiting club guest. His eyes hadn’t gotten used to the fading sunlight and he dropped his sunglasses over his eyes which reset his headphones and restarted his music. The person he had run into was the contact that he was supposed to meet in the first place. He grabbed the guy’s jacket. “Give me the package!” He shouted in his face.

The guy panicked, he looked from Foster to the outer airlock door reopening, then back to Foster just in time to catch a fist to the face. The contact hit the ground unconscious and Foster quickly fleeced him for a small brown package pulled from an inner pocket on his jacket. Yelling from inside the airlock alerted Foster to the fact that it was time for him to go.

Foster pulled his minimized board off his bag, thumbed a button on his board control and by the time his board hit the street it was full size. He hopped and pushed the drive stick forward, taking off like a shot. By the time the club’s guards made it past the door he was half a block down the street. The club guards ran after him and in midstride rollerblade wheels popped out of their shoes and they rolled up on Foster in a six man mob.

The woman in the suit emerged from the airlock and looked down at Fosters contact who was coming back to consciousness. The woman knelt down and the first thing the contact saw was her poisonous eyes glaring at him. “What was in the package?” She asked with barely contained rage in her voice.

Fosters glasses showed him a rear view of the guards catching up to him. Each was wielding carbon fiber batons that were outfitted at the tips with any number of horrible customizations, be it electrified tips, or blades that came a quarter inch out of the baton and were several inches long. He gripped a gray plaststeel handle on the bottom of his jacket and pulled, revealing a strip of inch and a half wide that went ridged as it hit the open air. Once the cloth was completely removed he had a functional short sword.

The first guard reached him and Foster turned around completely to block the guard’s baton strike with his sword. In no time at all Foster is practically surrounded by rollerblading guards trying to stop him. Unable to fight all six guards He takes his board off autopilot with another button press on his glove control and rather than trying to fight the guards he uses the terrain of the alleys they are racing through to gain distance and single out the guards as much as possible for attacks. Its tiring work, and while the guards aren’t very good skaters or very good fighters, the cramped quarters of the alley way allow the guards to get cheap shots in on Foster more often than he would have liked. When he took a baton to his temple he realized there was no way he was going to win the fight and needed to escape the guards, of which none had dropped back even though almost all of them were bleeding profusely.

Melody and Harmony: Chapter 2

Once the airlock door closed behind him, Foster lifted the shades of his headphones and turned the dial on the left ear of his phones until it switched from blue to green. His music gave way to a song playing in the club. He couldn’t make out much of what lied in the darkness beyond the dance floor but the dance floor was packed with people. Every dancer had lights wired into their clothing that built patterns of light in time with the music. The more dancers synced to the same song the more insane the patterns became. So while there were probably two hundred dancers on the floor, each person using their bodies and an expression of faith, the patterns of light and color united them, a visual prayer to gods they could only hear on the dance floor.

The DJ was all the way on the far side of the dance floor, standing on a stage against the wall. He was lit from below by tiny blue spotlights. He wore a white leather trench coat. In the back of his coat he had white spot lights that were aimed at the wall making it look like he had grand wings of light, like and angel. Thick wires protruded from the shoulders and neck of his coat. They led to the clubs speakers and sound systems. His face was obscured by a Neon white armored mask that covered his nose and mouth and wrapped around his neck. He had a separate pair of impossibly neon white sunglasses that completely covered his eyes. Even if he could have seen his face.

Foster would have had no clue who the DJ was. He took a seat at a small table and was immediately greeted by the waitress, her outfit would have been plain if it had not been augmented by sound reactive lighting. Her dress danced for her even when she could not. The volume of the music in the club required her eyes to speak for her, she gave a welcoming smile and Foster nodded, she nodded back and gave a tiny curtsey before sure left him alone again.

Foster sat and watched the dancers and listened to the music, until a more formally dressed associate arrived at his table. He saw her mouth moving but heard only the music. He reached up and turned his left ear dial from green to red, causing the music of the club to fade away and leaving only the voice of the woman in the plain black suit.

She slowly pulled the chair in front of her out so she could sit. “You are new here.” She said taking her seat.

Foster nodded trying to look calm. “Just came in for a drink.” He replied.

She nodded. “We have many fine beverages.” She gave a fake, predatory smile.

Foster nodded slowly. “I am grateful for the hospitality.” He thanked her carefully.

She waved his thanks off. “Not at all, The shadow Church is one of the finest clubs in all of Melody.” Her gaze sharpened. “Most people don’t even know how to find it.” She smiled but it was a warning.

Foster’s eyes darted around the club, over the dancers praying to music he could no longer hear, trying to spot the guards in the crowd. “I was following directions given to me by a friend.” He said not looking back to the woman.

The waitress returned with a drink on a tray. She delicately picked up the drink and carefully bent over to set it on Fosters table. Foster looked at his drink and then back to the woman in the suit. She smiled. “You must be blessed to have such knowledgeable friends.” She complimented him, and gestured to his drink.

He didn’t break her gaze. “Yeah, I’m a lucky guy all right.” He sighed.

As if he had a spasm Foster kicked the table at the woman in the suit. The drink splashed on arms of her suit jacket as she brought them up to protect her face. Foster scrambled for the airlock door which had just let other guests in and was slowly closing.

The woman took off her suit jacket carefully as the arms were smoking intensely. Guards from the club moved to her side. “I want his head!” She shouted.

Foster barely made it through the inner airlock as the door closed with a thud.

Melody and Harmony: Chapter 1

Four miles an hour. That’s how fast Foster liked to set the engine on his skateboard when he rode down the Harmony’s sidewalks. He loved the beat his wheels pounded out every time he went over the divots in in-between the concrete slabs. With his headphones on he couldn’t hear them but he felt the CLUNK-CLUNK of each one as he rolled over them and it pulled the music from his ears all the way down to his feet.

He lived a few miles beyond the electric blue environmental shield that protected the wealthy Melody’s inner city, he had never been under the shield and had never given it much thought. He was a fringer, just as his parents, and their parents, and their parents before. He loved the feeling of the unfiltered sun on his back as he rode through the unshielded slums of Melody. He wasn’t worried about cancer, or sunburns, everyone’s clothes had protective UV layers built into them and like all but the poorest of the fingers he never went outside with uncovered skin and always in the early morning or late evening just before sunset.

It was evening shift change now. Foster didn’t look anyone in the eyes as they were either leaving or starting work. He knew in his heart that he was never going to be one of the wage slaves, trading his life for slightly less than his family needed to survive. He had grown up listening to his father talk about that life and now as a young adult he feared it greatly.

He rode into a street side marketplace. Hundreds of carts were loaded with questionable food, second hand electronics, and scraps of clothing. He rode through the shoppers, leaving ripples in the waves of people he passed by. The band of his over ear headphones were sunglasses dark enough to hide his eyes from everyone who tried to catch his attention.

He slipped out of the market as quickly as he had entered it and turned down an alley. He stopped his board next to a large sky blue steel door. The color had not always been sky blue. The years of sun had caused it to fade from a much more remarkable blue. He picked his skateboard up off the dirty alleyway and held it in his left hand. He knocked three times on the faded blue sky door with his right hand.

It felt like the door was never going to open, which is what alerted him to the fact that he was beginning to get nervous. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves, but when the door opened slowly his heart beat kicked up a notch.

The automated door creaked and screeched as it opened up to him presenting an airlock lit by neon white light. The walls were white and completely bare. He stepped into the airlock and noticed the giant one way mirror on the wall. The outer airlock door closed behind him.

In the upper corner by the outer airlock door there was a speaker that had been spray painted white. “Stow your board.” It squawked.

Foster looked into the one way mirror for a second and then slowly slid his back pack off his shoulders. The backpack was covered with cloth patches that were styled to resemble pieces of an old pirate treasure map. He released the clips of two straps on the back of his bag and pressed a button on his wrist control. The board folded up until the wheels nearly touched each other. He took the folded up board and held it to the bag with the straps he clipped back in place.

With his bag back on his shoulders he stood back up and looked back into the one way mirror.

The inner door of the airlock opened much faster and much quieter. A song came through the inner airlock door and Foster could feel the beat in his chest. He pressed a button on his wrist command and his music in his headphones gave way to the music of the club as he stepped inside. 

Melody and Harmony Trailer

Melody and Harmony. The last of the mega cities, where music flourishes as religion, dance clubs are churches. The mainstream genres rule the inner city where the wealthy and powerful are covered by an environmental shield. Beyond the shield the fringes of the city are the territory of the subgenres and their fiercely loyal street congregations. Beyond the outer walls of the city, nomads roam the desert riding on ancient junked busses and piecemeal motorbikes bringing primal drumming to the wasteland shanty towns to sing the faith of the old gods to the forgotten and the waste landers worship them for it.

When several DJ’s from the most popular sub genres declare a temporary peace in the city of Melody the news of a unified concert to be held in the desert spreads quickly. All of the genre faithful left the safety of their territories in the heart of summer to venture out past the relative safety of the outer city walls and made their way to the festival grounds.

For Daniel and the rest of a rag tag band of unassociated believers the journey to the festival would not only be the highlight of their summer, it would change their lives and the twin cities, forever.

Beginning September 7^th experience a dystopian coming of age narrative unlike any other.

Melody and Harmony.