Where Freedom Reigns, There’s Dancing

This is a dystopian flash story inspired by the movie Swing Kids, set on Saturn's moon, Enceladus. I recently hand-stitched "Where Freedom Reigns, There’s Dancing" on a quilt for my cousin. I found it in her book Allison Abra's, Dancing in The English Style. The idea that dance was a rebellion and a release from their bondage stuck. I plan to use this story as a starting place for a novel or short story inspired by Joan of Arc.

A bomb drops, and Joan locks onto the frigid metal of the fire escape, sheltering her head in her chest. A dust cloud puffs around her, and she vibrates with the metal. They’d never aim for this neighborhood. It was likely dropped on the square. There’s another protest tonight.

She pulls over the railing, skittering onto the grated floor. The dark world glows red as she slips on her night-vision goggles. Dancing along the balcony, she peeks into each dark window. The apartment is empty of life but not of paraphernalia. Her source was correct; this guy is a collector. She slides her slip-lock knife under the latch, and the window slides up with no fuss. She steps into the room. The protest should keep law officials busy for a while.

Her jaw drops.

Glass shadow boxes line the walls; the spoils of those he murdered. Buttons, medals, hair clips, jewelry, and glasses pinned inside each one. All officers seem to have displays like these, but this is not what Joan is looking for. Her resistance doesn’t need trinkets—they need ID keys. ID keys are life for robs. Without one, you’re as good as dead. With the size of his altar, there must be hundreds of them. She slides open drawer after drawer.

A muffled, soft bell chimes—the elevator. Feet shuffle down the hallway. Joan presses her ear to the door. It can’t be him already.

“What were they aiming for this time, Mommy?”

“Another one of those protests. Why can’t they be happy here? They had a choice to come, so why keep on and on about Earth? They can never go back.”

Joan’s face tightens. She woke up here like all the other robs. The only ones with a choice are the ten percent who run Enceladus. For everyone else, it's a prison.

An ID key beeps, but it isn’t this door that opens. No child lives here. She glides into the bedroom and stumbles onto a shrine, like none she’s seen before. Her stomach lurches, and her head swims. She grabs the door frame as her body waves. Behind the bed is a massive mirror reflecting an entire wall covered with pegboard. Each peg has an ID key—hundreds of them. This officer is some sick bastard. Who wants to fall asleep and wake to this each day? Joan shakes her head to clear out the bubbles. She has a job to do. She tosses each key into her backpack. On tiptoes, she bags the top row.

An alarm sounds as she grabs the last key. Bright strobe lights activate in the suite. Shoot—it’s a dummy.

Joan’s out and down the fire escape before the police sirens flood the area. Slipping off her hood, she strolls into the convenience store across the street. She walks down the aisles, fingering items as any shopper would. She stops at the travel booth and scrolls through the images of holiday places on Earth. Places she’ll never see. There’s no travel allowed for robs. They’ll live and die as prisoners on Enceladus unless they can rally together to stop it.

Strobe-lit hover after hover land in front of the apartment building, five in all. He must be an important officer. She dances to the cashier and pays for a pack of gum and a water bottle.

“You don’t have a back door, do you?” Joan asks the boy, hunched over the counter.

He smiles mischievously and points to a soda pop poster. She presses the center, releasing a panel. She nods and steps into the shadows beyond.

“Hey, lady.”

Joan freezes. Could she have been wrong about him? “Uh-huh,” she answers, poking her head back through the doorway.

“You look a lot like that woman on the TV last night.”

“Do I?” Joan laughs. “I must have a doppelgänger.” She closes the panel and jogs down the long hallway and into the night. Dancing from shadow to shadow, she makes her way to the bunker.

The sky moans and light flashes. Droplets dance around Joan. She smiles. They’ll be okay tonight. As storms rage outside, the officers will hide in their holes. It rains a lot on Enceladus, which is why the resistance has been growing by strides. Soon they’ll overthrow their wardens.

She knocks five times on a rusted door behind a dumpster.

“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow,” croaks a voice from the speaker beside her hand.

She looks at the camera in the corner and sings, “It don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got that swing.” The lock releases, and she steps into the dark lobby.

Jomer pulls her in for a hug, and she squeezes back.

“Is Robin around?” Joan asks her big, burly friend. “I got the mother lode tonight.”

“Yup; she’s inside waiting for you.”

Jomer flips up a faux electrical panel and Joan opens her bag. His eyes widen as she drops key after key down the shoot.

“You weren’t lying,” he says in awe.

“This one was a sick bastard.”

Jomer shakes his head and turns from her. There are too many sick bastards. He leads Joan to the service elevator at the end of the hall. It has only one button—down. She drops her backpack. Jomer turns to give her privacy.

"Did you hear the bomb?" asks Joan as she slips out of her black jumpsuit and jacket.

"U-huh."

"How many deaths?"

"I don't know, but I heard it hit the square so it can't have been good."

Joan changes into a white t-shirt, blue elastic pants, and a pale pink wig. Only Robin and Jomer know her true role within the resistance. She’s understood for a long time that folks distrust anything they can’t understand. She steals for them, and they fear her. They need to be more courageous if they hope to sever their binds.

She stuffs her clothes into her backpack and hands it to Jomer as someone bangs on the door five times. He smiles and squeezes her shoulder. "My work is never done."

She kisses him on the cheek. “Thanks, friend.”

“No problem, Joan. Go and have fun. You deserve it.”

She presses the button, and he shuffles back to the door with her backpack over the crook of his arm.

The heavy metal elevator doors clang open.

“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow,” orders Jomer to the person on the other side.

The elevator slides shut on a scratchy voice singing, "It don't mean a thing..."

With each floor she passes, the hum of the bass grows, igniting a spark in Joan.

The doors open and the music floods in, riding rainbow lights. Joan takes a breath of hot, sweaty air and closes her eyes for a second to allow the energy from the room to flow over her. The bright hall is writhing with dancers. She spots Robin gyrating in the shadow of an eight-foot speaker. She too prefers the shadows—even here.

The music blares and joy is in the air. Tonight they will dance, and tomorrow they will resist.