Explain a Scene Poorly: Flag Steals a Band

Saturday January 30, 2173

21:51

FOX

Y’know, I guess I should be grateful the guy at least plays the drums. I sigh as I stand with the rest of the jazz ensemble in a small room backstage. Even though Flag explained everything, I didn’t comprehend I was. Y’know. Actually, in fact, getting up on stage and playing.

The room is tinged with the familiar smell of valve oil. I catch myself looking for G among the alto saxes and Ray among the trumpets, like this is one of the dozens of performances we did in school. Except the for instruments, those are notably different from the ones we played. No modulators or pitch-assistants on the woodwinds, and my drumstick handles feel naked without the vibrating panels to help keep beat. Nope, all old-fashioned hunks of metal and wood in here. It’s diabolical, truly. Japincatch expects every to be perfect beyond perfection, and yet they do absolutely everything in their power to shoot them in the foot—or hand, in this case, perhaps?

I grab the drumsticks and play through some rhythms in the air, tapping my feet in place of a kickdrum and hi-hat cymbals. My thread bing-boings about as I hit air. I glance around the room, eyes landing on Flag. Looks like we’re both on our preferred instrument tonight. She twirls the trombone back and forth between her hands. Poor thing, I hope it can play while dizzy.

Y’know, I hope G’s not too nervous out with the crowd. He wouldn’t be the only one, albeit for different reasons. I mean, lots of people get nervous before performances, but the kids in this room all look like they’re on the verge of complete and total panic. For them, not disappearing tomorrow is dependent on their performance tonight. No teasing people for messing up in band class the next day.

Famously—okay, maybe infamously—I once crashed the gong a whole measure and a half early during our end of year show and Kiki didn’t let me live it down for months. And she wasn’t even in the band! She is—was well and truly the only one who can—could best me in the jesting department. Ingrid usually didn’t partake. She has—had a knack for saying something deeply cutting and feeling terrible after. As for Margo, I so desperately wanted—No, no, no, this is still present tense—want to be smart enough to fully appreciate their jabs. Flag always assured me they were hilarious.

I follow Flag’s gaze to one trumpet player, who breathes almost as fast as her fingers press the trumpet’s valves. Faster, faster, until she’s wheezing.

“Woah, woah, easy,” a friend next to her says. “You’re going to do great.”

The trumpet player—Trumpist? Trumpetist?—shakes her head, sliding down the wall to the floor. “I’m going to mess up the solo and that’ll be it. I’m gonna fumble that one sixteenth note rift Mr. Riche wants me to play and I’ll get sent to an Institution.”

I frown. I mean, it’s been a while, but last I checked, solos are improvised. But apparently not anymore, thanks Japincatch.

Her friend crouches down next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Just . . . try and have fun. That’ll make it easier.”

“Fun? What’s fun about playing if messing up means you’re going to vanish the next day?” Noticing the stares, she glares at the other performers. “Don’t pretend the rest of you aren’t on just as thin ice.”

Flag comes over to me and murmurs, “Do you think we could take her with us?”

“Sure.” I grin. “I mean, why not take ‘em all while we’re at it, right?”

She gives me a sideways look. “That’s not a bad idea.” Flag’s face settles into a determined frown. “Forget the plan. I’m not leaving them here.”

I kinda meant that as. Y’know. A joke, but if Flag’s down for it . . . “Who needs a plan anyways? Now we just gotta figure out how to secret them outta the city.”

Nodding her head and giving a doubtful look to no one in particular, Flag says, “I have an idea . . . I just don’t know how much G’s going to like it.”

“Five minutes,” an automated voice says over a loudspeaker.

The panicking trumpet player wheezes. “I’m so dead.”

Putting on her most Flag-ish smile, Flag steps into the center of the room. “I have a better idea.” Flag barely has time to explain it before the automated voice announces it’s time to line up to go onstage.

Saturday January 30, 2173

22:22

RAY

            I didn’t get my good luck kiss tonight.

            A silly thing to complain about, but I lean against the stage and stew about it anyways, feeling the reverberations of the music through the wood. I’ve never thought I was superstitious, but I can’t deny I feel uneasy without it. The concert seems to drag.

            Craning my head back does nothing to show me the performers on stage, so I watch the audience. I pick out random people and guess what kind of tattoo they’d get. A line art flower on their leg. A partner’s name on their back that they’ll regret once they break-up. A full sleeve of gears and tech. A tiny snail on their wrist. A . . .

            I catch on a face in the front row. A man, not quite middle-age yet, in a sharp suit. Why do I recognize him? Maybe I saw him on the way in? Did I know him from the phantom-town?

            I’m dunked with a chill like jumping into deep ocean water. I do recognize him from the phantom-town, in the worst way. He was there the night we escaped, shooting at us as we flew away.

            Hands in fists, I stand up straight.

            G knocks on the stage and holds his arms out in a silent “what the hell?”

            I don’t back down. My head feels hot enough my hair might burst into flames.

            G knocks sharper this time. He waves his hands back in forth, shaking his head, and points to the people on stage. To Flag and Fox.

            But he’s right there. One of the monsters that could have killed our friends, and even if he didn’t kill them himself, he’s still a murderer. And he’s right. There . . .

            My com buzzes. G holds up his and points to it frantically. I don’t check mine. Whatever he has to say won’t change my mind.

            I take a step forward, nails digging into my palms.

            As the music crescendos into its finish, G risks hissing, “Ray!”

            The song finishes. The audience applauds. The band stands and bows. I turn visible again and punch the soldier in the face. The clapping gets replaced with cries.

            Again. Again. Again, and I’m screaming at him until he kicks me off and I hit the stage hard. Even with the wind knocked out of me, for the first time since we ran away, I’m overcome with a wave of release. Two sets of arms wrap around mine and pull me up onto the stage.

            Like the crowd isn’t half screaming, Flag, Gray-Suit on, shoots the soldier when he climbs after us, and then three more security guards as they rush the stage. The students have all run off now.

            “Backstage!” Flag yells over the rising shouts as she takes more shots to cover us.

            G, also gray, keeps a hand on my arm as we run into the wings. “What, what was that? What the actual hell was that?”

            Blood rushes in my ears. “He was there. The night we escaped.”

            “And what’s punching him going to do?” His voice is several pitches higher than normal.

            Flag glances over her shoulder at me, but with the hologram hiding her face, I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Shaking her head, she shoots an electrical box mixed in with the curtains. The whole theater plunges into darkness. My night-vison switches on to reveal Fox leading the whole band towards an exit.

            "Wait, all of them?” G stares at the seventeen students. “We’re taking all of them?”

            Flag shrugs. “Change of plans.”

            “Is now really a good time to be doing that?” he asks through his teeth. “And did you see the—”

            “Well, it was better a few minutes ago.” Flag looks to me.

            I turn away, guilty but not sorry.

            We file out a side door into an alley. Sirens come from the front of the building.

            “Fox, find a place to hide and then send out a beacon,” Flag says. “G, Ray, come with me. I’ll fill you in on the way.”