Midnight Sun (48 page)

“
Tech-Cor
is
always
looking
for
new
talent.
Get
your
degree
and
come
see
us.
”

“
Hmph,
college
ain't
my
thing,” Thomas shrugged and stood upright,
“
so
I
guess
I'm
stuck.
”

“
Speaking
of
stuck.
I
need
to
get
home
and
catch
some
sleep.
I
work
late
nights, but that
doesn
’
t
mean
I
get
to
skip
the
office
in
the
morning.
” H
e
put
the
Audi
into
gear
and
placed
his
hands
on
the
steering
wheel.
“
See
you
next
time,
Thomas.
”

The
guard
gave
a
quick
wave
and
Farrah
pulled
away
slowly.
He
drove
out
of
the
port
onto
the
road,
following
the
right
fork
which
turned
into
C
Street
half
a
mile
later.
Once
in
the
open,
he
accelerated
across
the
bridge
until
he
was
at
the
T
hird
A
venue
light.
He
stopped,
waited
for
green,
then
moved
slowly
through
the
crowded
six-block
width
of
the
downtown
Anchorage
area.
Two-thirds
of
the
year,
Anchorage
is
very
quiet
after
ten
o'clock
on
weeknights,
quiet
to
the
point
that
the
streetlights
are  switched from the standard “red, green, yellow” configuration
to
only
flashing
yellow
beacons
from
ten
p.m.
until
six
a.m.
But
once
the
summer
sun
rises
and
the
snow
vanishes
from
lawns
and
sidewalks,
the
city
springs
to
life
like
Brigadoon.
With
unbounded
energy,
the
people
of
Alaska
pour
into
the
streets
to
enjoy
the
three-month
reprieve
from
both
darkness
and
cold.
Downtown
and
suburbs
alike
are
filled
with
masses
who
spend
their
time
alternately
playing
and
working
during
the
non-stop
daylight
hours. This
is
especially
true
on
the
weekends.

Even
on
this
Monday
night,
a
multitude
of
bodies
milled
about
the
downtown
restaurants
and
bars.
Much
to
Steven's
dismay,
Alaska,
a
mostly
conservative
state,
was
not
immune
to
the
same
hedonism
he
so
despised
back
in
Britain.
The
past
week
had
carried
with
it
a
particular
example
of
the
twisted
lives
of
liberal
culture.
The
annual
Diversity
Pride
D
ay,
a
local,
highly
controversial
event,
was
being
celebrated
throughout
the
downtown
area.
Gay
and
lesbian
couples
walked
openly
arm
in
arm
through
the
city
streets.
As
he
drove
past
the
intersection
of
4th
and
C,
he
was
disgusted
to
witness
two
young
men
kiss
each
other
on
the
lips
on
the
street
corner.
A
black
rage
filled
his
being,
and
the
few
sparks
of
mercy
left
in
his
heart
evaporated.

Five
blocks
later,
he
was
relieved
to
be
able
to
scrub
the
vile
image
from
his
mind
as
he
passed
the
Delaney
Park
S
trip
and
witnessed
a
group of men fighting for possession of a ball in a
late-night
football match
taking
place
o
n
the
unlit
field,
the
low
sun
stretching
the
shadows
of
the
goal
posts
and
the
players.
Steven
yearned
to
get
out
of
the
car
and
join
them.
He
absolutely
loved
football
,
or
as
t
he
Americans
called
it, soccer
,
and
had
played
earnestly
back
home
in
Britain.
It
was,
in
his
mind,
one
of
the
few
almost
redeeming
inventions
of
W
estern
culture.
He
had
played
some
while
in
the
States,
but
did
not
find
a
great
challenge
in
it,
especially
among
men
his
own
age.
A
few
Americans
knew
how
to
play
soccer
fairly
well,
mostly
younger
men,
but
the
vast
majority,
in
his
opinion,
put
on
a
rudimentary
game
at
best.