The Trail of the Technology Tyrant!. Flwankie Psy.D. Wilco
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City was profound and wide-reaching, told him, “I know that club. It’s kind of retro, but it’s fun.”
“It’s a sure bet that these guys weren’t all part of the same swing dancing class,” said Web Hunter. “I’d say this club is a front for Doctor Luddite’s organization of evil!”
Donna smiled. “Want to go dancing?”
“Do I need to know any particular kind of steps?” asked Web Hunter.
“No,” said Donna. “Nothing like that.”
Two minutes later they were outside. Web Hunter took a small electronic device out of his duffel bag and pushed a button on it. Seconds later a jet-black stealth helicopter with “Web Hunter” written in white letters on its side swooped down out of the sky and landed near them. The helicopter was almost completely silent.
Donna looked at the copter. “Wow,” she said, awestruck.
Web Hunter shook his head and growled. “Hate this damn thing. Wish there was a better way to get around.” He opened the helicopter’s side door. “If we’re going to a young person’s nightclub, I’ll need a few supplies.”
He rummaged in the helicopter and selected a pair of earplugs, which he put in his pocket. He removed twenty-five fragmentation grenades, a pound of C-4 plastic explosive and a few fuses from the helicopter and placed them in the duffel bag. “There,” he said. He pushed a second button on the device and the helicopter lifted soundlessly into the air and flew away.
Donna nodded.
They had no trouble finding the club. The bouncer did not want to allow Web Hunter in with his duffel bag (“Club rules,” he shrugged), but Donna charmed him into allowing this one exception.
The club was packed with young people. Loud music was playing a PA system and the walls were decorated with Victorian wood paneling. The dance floor was packed.
“I recognize this song,” said Web Hunter, surprised. “This was already old-fashioned when I was a kid.”
Donna shrugged. “I said it was retro.”
Web Hunter grumbled. “It must be Doctor Luddite’s club. Blasted anachronism.”
Most of the crowd seemed to be drinking colorful vitamin drinks. Donna said that was the new hot thing in Frisco. Web Hunter was confused. The vitamin drinks seemed too “hip” and “groovy”—in other words, too contemporary—for this club.
On a raised platform near the dance floor sat the DJ booth. The DJ’s hi-fi equipment and eight-track players were cranked up to top volume. Web Hunter could see the DJ through the glass of the booth. He thought the man looked a little suspicious.
The music stopped. Over the PA system came the voice of the DJ: “Hope we’re all having a good time tonight!” The crowd cheered. The DJ continued: “We’ve got a special treat for you all. There are two corny altruistic do-gooders in the audience tonight!”
Web Hunter and Donna Matrix were suddenly blinded by a spotlight shining right onto them.
“I’d like you all to...” The DJ paused dramatically like an announcer in a strip bar. “...Kill them! Kill the interlopers!”
For the first time Web Hunter and Donna Matrix noticed the glassy look in the eyes of each of the patrons. The entire crowd began to shuffle slowly toward them, arms thrust forward. Each of them mouthed silently: “...Kill... the... inter... lopers...”
“Doctor Luddite, you fiend!” apostrophized Web Hunter. “You’ve hypnotized these innocent people with those insidious vitamin drinks!”
Donna gasped. “How can we fight them? They don’t know what they’re doing. We can’t hurt them!”
Web Hunter growled as the crowd surrounded them.
“But if we don’t,” continued Donna. “They’ll rip us apart!”
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