The first tremor came as something of a surprise, even though everyone was expecting it. Shock pads beneath the enclosure diffused most of the movement before it reached the observers but even so, a majority of the smiles had turned to expressions of uncertainty, even fear. If a scream rang out, it couldn’t be heard above the dissonance.
From the safety of the bubble, Johnny looked out as the first ash fell on a landscape already smothered by snow. In the twilight, the grey cloud belched out by the volcano looked like yet another blizzard coming in. Or maybe an avalanche.
On a podium in the centre of the bubble stood the VJ. Clad in a skin tight synthsuit, he pounded the air with his fists then used his fingers to weave a complex pattern, as though playing an invisible instrument. In the near darkness, neon circuit prints pulsed and flared across the conductor’s body and Johnny’s ears were assaulted by yet another chord of cannon fire. The sound dampeners adjusted accordingly.
Johnny had been told the piece was called “Hekla”. It was arranged by an Icelandic composer by the name of Jon Leifs back in the 1960s and has the dubious honour of being known as “the loudest classical music of all time”. Apparently, the requirements for a performance of Hekla include four sets of rocks to be hit with hammers and an arsenal of steel plates, anvils, sirens, cannons, metal chains, a choir, a large orchestra, and an organ.
The choice of music was deliberate. The feeble looking bubble Johnny and all the other observers - members of the press, a handful of dignitaries and some minor celebrities - were standing in was actually perched near the summit of Mount Hekla, Iceland. In English, the name means “gateway to hell”.
Suddenly, as if Ragnarok itself were taking place, an arc of fire cut the sky. The flare extinguishes any of the remaining smiles and in the orange glow, the women can be seen huddling up to the men. In any other situation, some of them might have exploited such a moment of vulnerability. As it was, many of them were simply grateful of a hand to hold.
Even Johnny, the hard nosed, jaded hack that he was, couldn’t help but admit that the complete transparency of the protective sphere would, under any other circumstances, have made it almost forgettable. But the terrifying hostility of the environment meant that it was actually at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
It was the craziness of the idea that attracted him. Some European scientists had worked out that the seismic movements of a volcano could be run through a data sonification process and turned into audible sound waves, which could then be scored as melodies. For years, this technique was used to watch for the signature ‘tunes’ of an imminent volcanic eruption. But then of course, some crazy fucker with a nose for money and brain to back it up, worked out that he could reverse engineer the process, tweaking musical scores to actually cause an eruption. And the really, really insane thing, was that the resulting chaos was environmentally sound.
For the past ten years, governments worldwide had been periodically firing massive artillery shells into the stratosphere, deliberately attempting to create broad clouds made up of sulphur particles. This sulphurous fog was able to reflect the sun’s rays well enough to drop the Earth’s temperature by a whole 0.5 degrees Celsius at a time. Given that the planet was fucked and off world habitation was an expensive and nascent market, climate engineering was big business.
Johnny was now experiencing first hand how it had become big corporate business, especially for VGI19, creators and patent holders of the reverse sonification process. The gig he was on was sponsored by a sizeable satellite operator, Nexus Orbital, which had likely paid tens, if not hundreds, of millions of Eurodollars to show off its brand to the congregated press. Johnny had to hand it to them, it was one of the more memorable gigs he’d been too. And of course, Nexus got to help save the dying planet. Now that’s marketing.
Mount Hekla was now ejaculating like a frustrated teenager, hot orange lava spewing across the landscape in radiant rivulets which had all but surrounded the tall, glass-like structure the bubble was perched on.
Johnny looked down into the eyes of a purple haired PR handler who had pressed up against him. She had Sony-branded irises that matched her hair and Johnny briefly marveled at the infinity mirror effect as those sparkling orbs reflected her own image back in his mirror shades. She might have opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment an especially incandescent flare shot up from Hekla’s summit, accompanied by the furious banging of rocks. Besides, Johnny was not one to be moved by such romantic diversions. That and he was rapidly sobering up.
Back at the bar, it became evident the free booze had helped dissipate the general anxiety, and the show was coming to an end. A second skin, a tinted layer, had gone up around the sphere, presumably to fend of the increasing heat and searing glow. Overhead, Johnny saw the first copter taking off with its passengers, unheard above the din.
“Jesus!” Johnny muttered into his tumbler as he noticed a mass of purple curls bouncing towards him through the thinning crowd.
Seven seconds later Johnny clicked the latch on the cubicle, sat on the toilet seat and braced his boots against the door.
He heard a soft creak as the restroom door opened, but then there was silence. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and for some strange reason, Johnny felt as though time was standing still. He stared hard at the latch, almost certain it would suddenly click open, but a few heartbeats later the eerie silence was shattered by a couple of braying yahoos charging through the outer door.
Probably Z-list celebrities. A considerable amount of scuffling was taking place in the next cubicle followed by some indiscreet snorting. Most definitely Z-list celebrities.
Johnny exhaled, leant back against the wall and took another deep breath. Time to find a helicopter off this volcano.
