The guard leaned forward, studying my eyes. ?Retinal Kellis-Amberlee,? he said. ?Do you carry a med card??
?Yes.? No one with naturally elevated virus levels goes out without a med card if they enjoy breathing. I withdrew my wallet and produced the card, handing it over. He slotted it into the back of the testing unit. The green light stopped flashing, turned yellow, and finally turned a solid green, apparently having satisfied itself that my virus levels were within normal parameters and nothing to be concerned with.
?Thank you for your cooperation.? He returned my card. I replaced it in my wallet before sliding my glasses back on. ?Will your associates be joining us??
?Not today.? The scan of my press pass would have told him everything there was to know about our organization: Our work history, what our ratings share was like, any citations we?d received for sloppy reporting or libel, and, of course, how many of us were traveling with the senator and his group. ?Where can I find??
?Information kiosks are inside, up the stairs, and to your left,? he said, already turning toward the next of the waiting journalists.
Assembly-line hospitality. Maybe it?s not that welcoming, but it gets the job done. I turned to head through the glass doors into the convention center proper, where I could hopefully locate a bathroom in short order. The light had left dazzling spots dancing in front of my eyes, and the only way I was going to make them go away was by swallowing some painkillers before the migraine had time to finish developing. It was a small hope, but as I didn?t exactly relish the idea of spending the day mingling with politicians and reporters while suffering from a headache, it was the best one I had.
The air conditioning inside was pumping full volume, ignoring the fact that it was February in Oklahoma. The reason for the arctic chill was evident: The place was packed. Despite the xenophobia that?s gripped the world since the Rising, some things still have to happen face-to-face, and that includes political rallies. If anything, the rallies have gotten larger, growing as the smaller events dwindled. There?s always the chance of an outbreak when you gather more than ten or twenty people in one place, but man is by his very nature a social animal, and once in a while, you just need an excuse.
Before the Rising, Super Tuesday was a big deal. These days, it?s a three-ring circus. Beyond the expected political factions and special-interest groups, the convention center has exhibit halls and even a temporary mini-mall of service and sales kiosks. Place your vote for the next presidential candidate and buy a new pair of running shoes! You know everyone in here has been screened for signs of viral amplification, so have a ball!
The combination of sudden cold and the press of that many bodies was enough to make my impending headache throb. Hunching my shoulders, I began cutting my way diagonally across the crowd, aiming for the escalators. Presumably, the information kiosk would identify the locations of both the bathrooms and whatever was serving as a press staging area in this zoo.
Getting there was easier said than done, but after swimming my way upstream against the delegates, merchants, voters, and tourists who felt that the inconvenience of going through security was worth the chance to have a little fun, I managed to reach the escalator and stepped on, clinging to the rail for all that I was worth. I think the average American?s tendency to hide inside while life goes whizzing by is an overreaction to a currently unavoidable situation, but I?m still a child of my generation; for me, a large crowd is fifteen people. The wistful looks older people sometimes get when they talk about gatherings of six and seven hundred are completely alien to me. That?s not the way I grew up, and shoving this many bodies into one space, even a space as large as the Oklahoma City Convention Center, just feels wrong.
Judging from the makeup of the crowd, I wasn?t alone in that attitude. Except for the people dressed in the corporate colors of one exhibitor or another, I was the youngest person in sight. I?m better crowd-socialized than most people born after the Rising because I?ve forced myself to be; in addition to the paparazzi swarms, I?ve attended technology conventions and academic conferences, getting myself used to the idea that people gather in groups. If I hadn?t spent the past several years working up to this, just stepping into the hall would have made me run screaming, probably causing security to decide there was an outbreak in progress and lock us all inside.
That?s me. The eternal optimist.