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It was almost dark when Jet drove the trans am around to the front of the diner. “Get in cityborns, we’re going star tripping.”
Party barely caught the flashlight Jet threw at him. “We’re going what?”
When nobody moved, Jet hopped out of the car and started herding everybody outside. “Star tripping! Vamos, vamos, let’s go.”
Everyone let themselves be herded, albeit with a chorus of bewildered questions.
“What’s wrong with doing whatever it is right here?”
“Can’t we do it inside?”
“But you said drugs are bad??”
Jet bundled the last of them into the Trans Am. “It’s too rocky here, do you wanna split your skull open? We’ve gotta go where it’s sandier. No drugs, Sunshine, it’s a game."
“This better be good,” Ghoul muttered, squashed in the middle backseat between Party and Kobra.
“Don’t knock it till you try it, brat. This is a time-honored desertborn tradition.” Jet gave Ghoul a mock glare in the rearview mirror. Ghoul stuck his tongue out at him.
They drove out to the bottom of the dunes. The night sky was cloudless, stars aglitter through a vast inky canvas.
“Oh, this is perfect,” Jet said happily as they all tumbled out of the car. “Ghoul, stand over there, look up, pick a star to stare at and spin around until I say.”
“What? No!”
“Just do it! Party, give me that flashlight. Ghoul, spin.”
“Fine, O spaceman.” Ghoul craned his head up and started turning. “Hur hur, I’m Jet Star, the One True Desert Born, and this boring as hell pastime was passed down to me from my great, great, great, not so great, great grandfa — ”
Jet clicked the flashlight on in his face, and Ghoul pitched to the ground.
“What the fuck, Jet!?” he sputtered, completely disoriented.
He tried to get up but only succeeded at falling down again, even more spectacularly. The Girl squealed with laughter. Party cackled and pointed, clutching his ribs.
Even Kobra huffed appreciatively. “How does it work?” he asked Jet.
Jet shrugged. “Beats me. The combination of motion and sudden light makes you lose all sense of direction for a minute, I guess.”
“Rad.”
Ghoul finally recovered enough to wobble over to Jet and snatch the flashlight. “Hilarious. Gimme that.”
Party wiped tears from his eyes, still chuckling. “Your face! Jet, that is awesome.”
“Laugh it up, punk, you’re next.” Ghoul waved the flashlight at him threateningly.
And so the evening went. Party insisted it wouldn't work on him, only to take a comically ungraceful tumble. The Girl shrieked and giggled madly every time she went down and sprung up immediately to shake the sand from her curls, begging to go again. Kobra was the most amusing to watch collapse, floundering into a tangled heap of ridiculously long limbs. Eventually Ghoul pretended to forget about the flashlight during his turns and kept tripping them up with his foot instead, which he thought produced even funnier results. (“Use the damn light, jackass!” Jet told him finally, spitting sand after a particularly impressive faceplant. “It’s called star tripping, not star flashlighting!” Ghoul protested.)
They all spun and staggered and fell and laughed helplessly till their sides hurt at the sight of each other stumbling around like drunk scarecrows — even Kobra, who Jet rarely heard laugh out loud.
At last the game degenerated into the five of them sprawled out in the sand, too exhausted to think about driving back. It had been a quiet spell in the zones, these past few months, so it was safe to camp out. Kobra brought over an impressive heap of blankets that were stashed in the trunk. Ghoul scrounged enough dry brush for a tiny campfire. They all took turns holding the flashlight under their chins and inventing stories about Destroya and Mad Gear and the Witch. By the end of Jet’s long, rambling legend about the adventures of Mike Milligram, the Girl’s head was nodding.
They puppy-piled up with the Girl curled against Jet’s chest, one of his arms around her and the other snuggled tightly by Kobra, who was back to back with Party. Ghoul, somehow, was sprawled contentedly across all of them.
That night, there were no dracs on patrol. That night, for once, they could sleep with their guns within reach but not in hand.