light illuminated the emcee. He coughed, went into his spiel. His voice boomed over the crowd, relayed away from the stage by a series of amps with timed delay synchronization with the further amplification. The crowd moved sluggishly about the foot of the tower, set in motion by latecomers straggling in. “So the question you should ask yourself is why the government is wasting its resources on a goddamned show.”
“All right,” Wolf said. “Why?” He was very tense, very still. The breeze swept away his sweat, and he wished he had brought along a jacket. He might need one later.
“Because their wizards said to—the damn social engineers and their machines,” Hawk answered. “Watch the crowd.”
“… Janis !” the loudspeakers boomed. And Maggie was onstage, rapping away, handling the microphone suggestively, obviously at the peak of her form. The crowd exploded into applause. Offerings of flowers were thrown through the air. Bottles of liquor were passed hand over hand and deposited on the stage.
From above it could not be seen how the previous month had taken its toll on Maggie. The lines on her face, the waxy skin, were hidden by the colored light. The kliegs bounced off her sequined dress dazzlingly.
Halfway through her second song, Maggie came to an instrumental break and squinted out at the audience. “Hey, what the fuck’s the matter with you guys? Why ain’t you dancing ?” At her cue, scattered couples rose to their feet. “Ready on the kliegs,” Hawk murmured into his headset. “Three, four, and five on the police.” Bright lights pinpointed three widely separated parts of the audience, where uniformed men were struggling with dancers. A single klieg stayed on Maggie, who pointed an imperious finger at one struggling group and shrieked, “Why are you trying to stop them from dancing? I want them to dance. I command them to dance!”
With a roar, half the audience were on their feet. “Shut down three. Hold four and five to the count of three, then off. One—Two—Three! Good” The police faded away, lost among the dancers.
“That was prearranged,” Wolf said. Hawk didn’t so much as glanceat him.
“It’s part of the legend. You, Wolf, over to your right.” Wolf looked where Hawk was pointing, saw a few couples at the edge of the crowd slip from the light into the deeper shadows.
“What am I seeing?”
“Just the beginning.” Hawk bent over his control board.
By slow degrees the audience became drunk and then rowdy. As the concert wore on, an ugly, excited mood grew. Sitting far above it all, Wolf could still feel the hysteria grow, as well as see it. Women shed chador and danced atop it, not fully dressed. Men ripped free of their coveralls. Here and there, spotted through the crowd, couples made love. Hawk directed lights onto a few, held them briefly; in most cases the couples went on, unheeding.
Small fights broke out, and were quelled by police. Bits of trash were gathered up and set ablaze, so that small fires dotted the landscape. Wisps of smoke floated up. Hawk played colored spots on the crowd. By the time darkness was total, the lights and the bestial noise of the revelers combined to create the feel of a witches’ Sabbath.
“Pretty nasty down there,” Hawk observed. “And all most deliberately engineered by government wizards.”
“But there is no true feeling involved,” Wolf objected. “It is nothing but animal lust. No—no involvement.”
“Yeah.” Onstage, Maggie was building herself up into a frenzy. And yet her blues were brilliant—she had never been better. “Not so much different from the other concerts. The only difference is that tonight nobody waits until they go home.”
“Your government can’t believe that enough births will result from this night to make a difference.”
“Not tonight, no. But all these people will have memories to keep them warm over the winter.” Then he spat over the edge of the platform. “Ahhh, why