Wedged into one corner of the dimly lit room, Anik longed for the familiarity and comfort of his in silico world. He wondered how the others Users did it. They all existed in the intangible world of The Program, but they quickly adapted to this real life encounter. They flocculated into ever changing clusters, sipping on drinks and making introductions. With every fifth or so introduction, two apparent strangers, upon exchanging screen names would light up and embrace one another like old friends.
The site stirred something in him. When Zyn had suggested this non-virtual meeting, he’d protested vehemently insisting that getting that many Rioters together in one real place would end in bloodshed. “Bloodshed or scathing obloquies” he’d argued. “Either way, it will devastate the cause.”
Zyn had patted him on the arm her expression simultaneously placating and resolved. “The Rioters want something more than The Program. They will leap at the chance to meet in the flesh. You just wait and see, Anik.”
He should have believed her. Zyn successfully comprehended people and their motivations in a way that he consistently failed to. As she’d anticipated, in less than twenty minutes the gathered Users were now jovially tutoyering one another.
Zyn, ever advertent of his apprehensions, appeared at his elbow. His inability to mingle with the others had not escaped her. “You can’t stand on the perimeter all night and observe. That’s not why we’re here.”
Anik swallowed. “I’m fully aware of that Zyn, but I’m unable to do this.” He gestured vaguely at the mingling Users.
Zyn studied them and then turned her inquiring gaze on him. “No, I suppose not.” She took his hand in hers and faced the crowd. “Excuse me,” she called out over the rumble of conversation. “Could I have your attention please?”
Every face turned towards them. A cold sweat broke out on Anik’s brow and his heart began to pound.
“Thank you for taking the risk to be here tonight,” Zyn began when she had their attention. “None of our plans are possible without the courage and skill of each one of you,” she glanced at Anik, “but none of us would here without this man, my brother Anik.”
A murmur rose up in the crowd at the revelation, amazed to be face to face with their leader. Anik froze and considered bolting back to the safety and anonymity of The Program. Zyn squeezed his hand nodded to the enthusiastic crowd. “They’re here because of you, Anik. Talk to them.”
Anik drew in a breath and licked his lips. Zyn was right; they needed him. “Th-th-thank you for being here,” he stuttered before falling silent. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to regain some sense of composure. The crowd held their collective breath, waiting for him to continue. “I apologize,” he said forcing his eyes open, “I don’t have much skill with words.”
The Rioters chuckled, obviously thinking of his long essays and diatribes on the evils of The Program and its owners.
He laughed in spite of himself. “Allow me to rephrase. I don’t have much skill when it comes to public speaking. My true ability lies in the written word, but comfort and security must be put aside: our mission is too important.” He stepped forward, feeling a little more certain. “What we are undertaking is critical to the survival of the human race, but it is also potentially lethal. I don’t take that fact or your willingness to stand with us lightly. I will not suggest that this will be easy or that all of us will remain unscathed or that we will succeed in the end.” The Rioters bobbed their heads in fierce agreement. “What I can assure you is that I will fight side by side with you, as equals, until the bitter end.”
A cheer rose up from the Rioters and Anik found himself surrounded by smiling faces and offered hands. He looked at Zyn who grinned and shrugged; her plan had worked. No longer on the outside looking in, Anik grabbed the first hand he saw and shook it. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. What’s your screen name?”
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