Chapter 23: Center Stage (Part I)

Andrew arrived at class late due to evacuated students clogging the Memorial Union. Over half the campus had lost power, another talkative student explained. Nobody knew if it affected any of the buildings along University. So he went to class anyway.

The lecture hall looked about half full, and the TA stood near the front pulling transparencies out of his backpack. Andrew nodded to a few of the fellow students he’d recognized from lab, they smiled back and hunted down their own seats in the broad auditorium. He noticed that almost everyone in the room sported some sort of political button from one of the many campaigns across the campus. He couldn’t have been bothered to notice himself; he had too much work to do. Unlike previous years, however, he actively had to avoid them the volunteers stood so thick. His fellow classmates probably had the right idea: get a button and maybe they’d leave you alone.

“We’re getting a late start today,” the TA said into the microphone. “Professor Hurley has been caught up in some of the confusion on campus today. So I’m going to take a moment of your time before class starts. If nobody minds.”

A murmur went through the seated crowd.

The TA already had a slide placed in the projector and it came up over the white board.

The towering image of Emily Early dominated the center of the Arizona flag. Her eyes seemed to sweep over the crowd, taking them in, assessing and calculating their merit. Words floated over her portrait but they could not be read so much as they burned themselves into the psyche of all on looking. Andrew found he could not look away.

“Come to a benefit concert for student government today on Hayden Lawn.” Every word resonated through the room as if spoken aloud. “Tell your friends. Spread the word. And remember: Vote Early.”

The earlier murmur left a silence over the room.

“It’s time,” said the TA. His own eyes never left the image on the wall. His voice sounded matter-of-fact like he expected everyone in the room to understand him. “There are extra buttons for anyone who needs some to give to their friends. Class dismissed.”

The murmur returned to the crowd as people shuffled out of their seats. Soon students clustered into small, talkative groups as they stuffed books into backpacks, zipped them up, and hoisted them onto shoulders. Andrew felt embarrassed that he didn’t know exactly what just happened, but he didn’t want to be seen just sitting in his seat. What a strange way to cancel the class. So when the girl next to him walked in his direction, pack on her shoulder, he grabbed his own and headed for the exit.

“Hey,” she said behind him.

Andrew glanced back, it was Julie Ang, one of his on-again off-again lab partners. She hadn’t been coming to lecture for the past week or so and he didn’t know why. It struck him as ironic this day when he finally saw her they’d been let out early. A “Vote Early” lapel pin smiled out at him from her shirt as she touched his shoulder.

“Here.” Julie handed him a button as they walked out of the room. “You probably want one of these.”

“Thanks,” he said as he pinned it on and together they trickled with the rest of the group into the hall.

The shuffling of feet faded from the room behind as the doors all slowly creaked automatically back into their brackets and latched shut. The projector buzzed, forgotten, still on even though the TA had grabbed the transparency before he followed the rest of the class out.

The far door opened and a single man ploughed through carrying several poster rolls and a briefcase. He took three steps into the room, raising his voice to address the students.

“Sorry everybody,” the professor said. “There’s been some events that have…”

The moment he reached the top of his stairs he noticed abruptly that he’d been talking to an empty room.

With step one out of the way—step one apparently being conscripting Roger into service and then leaving him hanging—she called her brother to let him know about the power outages across campus. Including her encounter with the extremely large gremlin.

“Are you serious?”

“As a hard drive crash.” Elaine brushed her goggles back up from her face and looked over Hayden Lawn as she passed by. The number of people stopping to double-take at her odd state of affairs seemed fewer than usual—wearing her goggles in broad daylight tended to address a certain type of attention which seemed lacking. Muttering and pointed fingers guided her gaze to the grassy area in front of West Hall.

There the beginning of a scaffolding in the beginning stages of construction slowly grew from the ground, surrounded by greasy fingered workers. Several cargo trucks parked themselves along the byways approaching the lawn and people carried materials from them to the stage area. A row of gas powered generators thrummed with throaty resonance in a row to the side of the construction, thick cables weaving like vines through the lattice of the scaffolds. The activity subdued the normal bustle of the tablers along the lawn to a dull roar. Nearby, a kiosk team worked at dismantling their temporary workplace and packed boxes into an open bed truck. Other tables sat abandoned, lonely among the midday ASU crowds flowing from class to class.

Elaine watched, trying to take in the meaning of it.

A crinkling rustle turned her attention behind her to the Hayden Stacks. The tall building with its tiny windows and sandy-grey exterior stood against the washed white-blue Arizona sky like a monolith dedicated to data storage. She knew it well, giant repository of books and knowledge, but what happened there she didn’t expect to see. Giant banners unfurled themselves from the top and skittered down the sides, unrolling themselves like giant royal tapestries. The men who cast them down appeared like black birds, perched atop the horizon of the edifice, contrasted against sky.

Vote Early, read the giant banners, flying the colors and symmetry of the Arizona flag. Join us for a promotional concert for the students of ASU to enjoy the activities of student government. Sponsored by Emily Early.

“I’m not sure that’s even permissible through the bylaws?” Elaine muttered to herself. That made another strange effect of Emily’s suspension-of-the-rules field—perhaps that’s what she’d sensed from the Dean of Engineering when he tried to support Emily as a candidate. He must have known something like this was going to go down. How could the campus administration not be in on it? After all, they did set and maintain the rules and if they chose to remake or break them they would be at the center of it.