shopkeepers, agricultural workers, transport drivers, electronics workers, restaurant waiters, and cablecar washers. And only one man was left in Neu Ulmsbad Square to watch the black and silver pantycars come tunneling out of the clouds.
“Is this part of it?” asked the man called Kilimanjaro West.
A bird-of-paradise woman paused in her flight to be astounded.
“Yah, you stupid or something? That’s the Love Police, you know?”
“The what?”
“Fug! You are stupid! Never heard of West One?”
And because, somehow, she could see that he indeed had not, she seized his arm and dragged him across Neu Ulmsbad Square to the waiting ’lectrovan and the forest of waving, beckoning arms in its open rear. A thrust sent the stranger sprawling all knees and elbows across the collected Raging Apostles. The bird-of-paradise woman thumped down on the seat beside him. Suddenly she could no longer think why she had brought him. There was a sharp smell of burnt-out fireworks in the crowded van.
“Come on, come on!” shrieked the driver. The pantycar was settling on its belly jets as the three aeronauts made good fastening their collapsed gliders to the roof rack and swung inside. “About fuggin’ time, too!” the driver screamed, gunning the engine and sending everyone over everyone else as he accelerated down Finneganstrasse.
“Hey, who you got there, Kansas?”
She did not want to say that she did not know, that she had, for an instant, no more, no less, been as compelled as if the eternal clouds had opened and the lasers of God beamed down upon her. “A recruit,” she said. “I thought we could use him.”
“You what?” the driver screamed again. “Fuggin’ Yah, Kansie, he could be anyone, anything, nuh? You want us all to get Social Counseling, eh? Everyone up in West One?”
“Yet, he did seem, at least to me, to be an unprogrammed element, a true locus of spontaneity,” said the bearded man beside the frenzied, sweating driver.
“Unprogrammed, spontaneity, fug, he’s dangerous, put him out.” The driver swerved the crammed ’lectrovan around a procession of Eleventh Day Redemptorists.
“Just because he’s a stranger doesn’t mean he’s dangerous,” said the bird-of-paradise woman. “What is the point of being an alternative to the Compassionate Society if we don’t hold alternative values? What I’m hearing is pure nona dolorosa hurt-me-not straight out of kindergarten.”
“There is a value in unprogrammed elements in a programmed world,” said the bearded man, attempting conciliation. “I’d say give him a try. We measure our own humanity by how we respond to the unprogrammed, the unpredictable.”
“And he damn near made the event,” said a large and odorous trog wedged against the door.
“Love Police damn near unmade it.” A man shook his hair free from a sweaty head-mask. “Joshua, I’ve said this before, it’ll bear saying again. I don’t go with these big, big theatrical happenings. Small-scale stuff; interactive microdrama, ultrarealism, that’s good. This sort of thing is too flash. It gets us noticed. It’ll get us disbanded.”
The bearded man smiled, shrugged. The bird-of-paradise woman who had rescued the man called Kilimanjaro West removed her mask also, and he saw that her face was the image of that other man who had criticized.
“I sometimes wonder just why you are a Raging Apostle, Brother dearest, if you won’t put yourself on the edge for your art. Play it safe, play it along the line; sometimes I wonder if you really want to change anything at all. Live dangerously, Kelso, live for the moment. I think you forgot that, somewhere back down the line.”
“Kansas, I’m telling you, you don’t know a thing, not a thing. Joshua, any more of these big happenings and I’m out. An ex-Raging Apostle.”
“Ex-Apostle, or ex-Raging?” asked a new voice.
“Deva, you just …”
“Well, Citizen Unprogrammed Element,” said the bearded man from the
“Is this part of it?” asked the man called Kilimanjaro West.
A bird-of-paradise woman paused in her flight to be astounded.
“Yah, you stupid or something? That’s the Love Police, you know?”
“The what?”
“Fug! You are stupid! Never heard of West One?”
And because, somehow, she could see that he indeed had not, she seized his arm and dragged him across Neu Ulmsbad Square to the waiting ’lectrovan and the forest of waving, beckoning arms in its open rear. A thrust sent the stranger sprawling all knees and elbows across the collected Raging Apostles. The bird-of-paradise woman thumped down on the seat beside him. Suddenly she could no longer think why she had brought him. There was a sharp smell of burnt-out fireworks in the crowded van.
“Come on, come on!” shrieked the driver. The pantycar was settling on its belly jets as the three aeronauts made good fastening their collapsed gliders to the roof rack and swung inside. “About fuggin’ time, too!” the driver screamed, gunning the engine and sending everyone over everyone else as he accelerated down Finneganstrasse.
“Hey, who you got there, Kansas?”
She did not want to say that she did not know, that she had, for an instant, no more, no less, been as compelled as if the eternal clouds had opened and the lasers of God beamed down upon her. “A recruit,” she said. “I thought we could use him.”
“You what?” the driver screamed again. “Fuggin’ Yah, Kansie, he could be anyone, anything, nuh? You want us all to get Social Counseling, eh? Everyone up in West One?”
“Yet, he did seem, at least to me, to be an unprogrammed element, a true locus of spontaneity,” said the bearded man beside the frenzied, sweating driver.
“Unprogrammed, spontaneity, fug, he’s dangerous, put him out.” The driver swerved the crammed ’lectrovan around a procession of Eleventh Day Redemptorists.
“Just because he’s a stranger doesn’t mean he’s dangerous,” said the bird-of-paradise woman. “What is the point of being an alternative to the Compassionate Society if we don’t hold alternative values? What I’m hearing is pure nona dolorosa hurt-me-not straight out of kindergarten.”
“There is a value in unprogrammed elements in a programmed world,” said the bearded man, attempting conciliation. “I’d say give him a try. We measure our own humanity by how we respond to the unprogrammed, the unpredictable.”
“And he damn near made the event,” said a large and odorous trog wedged against the door.
“Love Police damn near unmade it.” A man shook his hair free from a sweaty head-mask. “Joshua, I’ve said this before, it’ll bear saying again. I don’t go with these big, big theatrical happenings. Small-scale stuff; interactive microdrama, ultrarealism, that’s good. This sort of thing is too flash. It gets us noticed. It’ll get us disbanded.”
The bearded man smiled, shrugged. The bird-of-paradise woman who had rescued the man called Kilimanjaro West removed her mask also, and he saw that her face was the image of that other man who had criticized.
“I sometimes wonder just why you are a Raging Apostle, Brother dearest, if you won’t put yourself on the edge for your art. Play it safe, play it along the line; sometimes I wonder if you really want to change anything at all. Live dangerously, Kelso, live for the moment. I think you forgot that, somewhere back down the line.”
“Kansas, I’m telling you, you don’t know a thing, not a thing. Joshua, any more of these big happenings and I’m out. An ex-Raging Apostle.”
“Ex-Apostle, or ex-Raging?” asked a new voice.
“Deva, you just …”
“Well, Citizen Unprogrammed Element,” said the bearded man from the
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