Moxyland - Lauren Beukes [60]
'I understand his motivations better than yours. At least he's committed to a revolution–'
'Don't be like this.'
'–not just play-play in amateur hour.'
His shoulders slump, but I can't afford sympathy. He has to face up to his erroneous thinking. He nearly fucked up the whole gig with his interruption. It's not like I was going to hurt her. It was only intended to scare. Part of the act. I was in control at all times. It's not like it felt good.
'You need to get over yourself, Ash.'
'Really? I need to get over myself. I'm the play-play amateur? At least I'm not nice middle-class boy pretending at hardcore revolutionary.'
'Fuck off.'
'You know what the difference is between us? When all this goes bad, you can go running back to the family homestead in leafy Houghton – and the rest of us fucking can't.'
'I would never.'
'I'm afraid for you, Ten,' he says, something in his face caving.
I'm not made of vibracrete. I pull him to my chest and we just stand like that for long minutes. Until he murmurs, 'We have to call off the pass protest.'
I pull back, the better to gauge if he means it. 'We can't. It's all fucking arranged. We've been planning it for months.' And we have. If I think about the effort involved… to abandon it now? It's impossible.
It's going to be the ultimate, to demonstrate the divides in our society between the Emmies and the Zukos and the corporati with their goldplated all-access passes and the things they do to keep us in our place.
'We can't, Ash. I'm sorry. The gamehack has already gone into effect. All those FallenCity players won't know what hit them. It's going to happen no matter what, now, and if we're not at the forefront, then someone else will be, and they will fuck it up. You think you can stop those kids going? Zuko will lead it personally if we don't. Do you know what the end result of that would look like? Those kids running rampant with the players?'
'I can't. Tendeka. You shouldn't. I'm tired. It's too much.'
'One more, okay, baby? Just one more. Then we can lie low, I swear. This is massive. This is the culmination of everything. You can't let this incident throw you off. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I admit. It got away from me. I won't let it happen again.'
'No more putting the kids at risk. No more violence.'
'Not from us.'
'Because if there is…'
Toby
The footage from the security cams in the gallery is playlisted on all the newscasts, animal rights activists gone seriously mental, and there's all kinds of uproar, from the Minister of Safety and Security swearing to step up measures against terrorism to arts critics alternately decrying it as a tacky publicity stunt or lauding it as bold political theatre that outstrips any performance art done previously. Or, to put it another way, kids, it's huge, and my exclusive eyewitness is piggybacking off it beautifully.
It's not that there weren't plenty of people with cams and chamo clothing, but I was the only one with the smarts to jump up on the bar to lock down the best angle.
My report went out this morning – the edited version with extra commentary. I've already had an offer to syndicate Diary of Cunt from a producer on MTV.
But maybe you want to watch that again? I can do it easily, you know. Just hit 'replay'.
KENDRA ADAMS'S SHOW is a sell-out. Her shockingly intimate portraits taken on old photographic stock interplay light and
texture like a Dutch Master. The effect of using disintegrating film means the work is inherently flawed, inherently damaged. Her first exhibition has been an unprecedented success, every work snapped up in a bidding scrum that forced the prices up to eight times the sticker. Not bad going for a girl who dropped out of Michaelis Art College six months ago. No insult to the artist or the striking technical mastery demonstrated in Unspoken – a woman's jawline arching out of shot, delineated against a twist of stair well and the arc of city lights, or the harsh reality of a homeless woman being defused, or the witty statement of Self-Portrait,