Slingers by Matt Wallace Page A

Hanoi.
     
     

THE GATHERING
     
    There are almost two hundred million people populating Vietnam now, and in its capital city ten percent of them have filled the streets around the World Factory, the largest manufacturing facility in the world. Its single, colossal steel shell looms over everything like the frozen radiance of some great explosion threatening to expand and sweep away the rest of the city in its wake. They say thousand-year-old Hanoi Citadel still stands in the very center of the factory like some fossilized heart.
    The Old Quarter is choked with standing bodies. Every seller and busker and pickpocket in the bazaar finished their business early in the day and they have either joined the crowd or retreated from it.
    So many blankets, umbrellas, and tents have overtaken the massive lawns of B aĐ ình Square that every inch of bladed green is obscured.
    On Hoan Kiem, Hồ Th iề n Quang, Bay Mau, and West Lake traditional wooden boats rub hulls with more modern crafts.
    The most staid crow ds seat themselves along the tree-lined boulevards of colonial Hanoi as if awaiting the processional of a parade through the streets.
    Travelers from all over the world have descended on Hanoi for the 63 rd Gathering.
    Hanoi is most scientists’ best guess for where the eye of the wormhole will open.
    Hanoi is where the world expects a slinger to fall.
    The Gathering is the biggest party ever thrown by humanity. It’s happening simultaneously in a dozen other cities and locales at this very moment. Half the known world converges on these few designated spots, bursting economies and ruining ecologies for weeks on end. The amount of alcohol consumed would drown nations. The level of noise created can shatter glass skyscrapers whole.
    The Gathering elevates human joy to its fullest expression. Children are conceived during the event by the thousands. Marriages are common on every street corner and in every clearing. Art—be it music or painting or dancing—is being created every moment, both commemorating and inspired by the event. A fellowship has evolved around team loyalty that turns strangers into friends upon sight, transcending all cultural, religious, and ethnic boundaries.
    The Gathering also displays the depths of human ugliness in a million vivid colors and shades. There are blood-soaked fights ranging from one-on-one battles to gang clashes to all-out citywide riots. The number of rapes has risen steadily for the last several years, necessitating an entire UN-created force to police sex crimes during The Gathering and shepherd prevention. Deaths from alcohol poisoning and drug overdose are also on the rise. The threat and execution of terrorism is so constant that it has become a vibrant source of gambling. 
    No one views these aspects of The Gathering separately. They see and experience the whole. The Gathering is its own reality, with all the facets contained therein.
    Besides, there are prizes to be won. There are games to be played. There are rivalries to rekindle, heroes to deify, and villains to burn in effigy.
    The Spiker Crews are going for new world’s records. They fly or bus or cart in thousands upon thousands of composite panels threaded through with wicked-looking artisan spikes and connect them into one gigantic bed, either filling the streets of cities or expanses of desert and countryside. Every year brings a larger bed than the last.
    No slinger has ever landed on a Spiker pad, but everyone is very excited about the possibility, especially all those without even the most rudimentary grasp of physics.
    There are other crews with their own variations on the same theme. The Jellies try in what is certainly eternal vain to “save” the slingers by inflating absurdly large landing pads. They also try to top themselves year after year, building bigger pads and decorating them more elaborately. No one is certain whether the massive air cushions are meant symbolically or if the Jellies are simply