He was just about to go in search of a proper drink when the sound of a gong reverberated throughout the room. In front of the curtains at the far end of the room stood Cody Cignetti-Dwyer, his long hair loose and flowing down the back of his tux. He waited for the noise in the room to die down, then smiled around at them.
"Hi!" He let one hand slide casually into his pocket. "Everyone having a good time? Great! That's just great. I know this is going to be a little difficult with glasses in your hands, but I'd like you all to make some noise to welcome the lady who brought us here today, the woman with the vision behind FireStorm — ladies and gentlemen, this is Sara Stromer!"
As the crowd around him erupted into whoops and cheers, Sam felt a little uncomfortable. Applause he could manage, but shrieking like a 1960s teenager at a Beatles concert had never been part of his repertoire. Politely, he patted the hand holding his glass with his free hand and smiled in the direction of the platform.
The curtains parted to reveal Sara, tall and statuesque in a columnar white dress, her dark hair swept into an elaborate updo. She posed for a moment, taking in the ovation without directly acknowledging it, then stepped forward. She raised a slender hand, silencing the room in an instant.
"I feel a tremendous sense of connection with everyone present tonight." Her words rolled slowly from her lips, her enunciation clear and her tone warm. "Thank you. I thank each one of you for joining us. I can hardly believe that this dream of mine, the meeting of minds, is finally happening — and I am grateful to all of you for allowing that to happen. If you take nothing else away from the Mind Meld, you can at least take this: you have made me unutterably happy."
Under normal circumstances, her words would have left Sam fighting to stifle a laugh. His tolerance for this kind of thing was low, and it would not have been the first time that he had needed to fake a coughing fit to cover an involuntary snort of derision. But there was something about Sara Stromer that gave him pause. He was sure that a part of it was the precision and control in her delivery.
Yet there was something else, something Sam could not quite put his finger on. It was something to do with the fact that she really appeared to believe herself. Cody had "snake-oil sales" written all over him, but Sara… Sara was wholehearted. When she shifted her gaze around the room, making eye contact with one delegate after another, it no longer felt like a cheap trick being used to sell an idea. It felt personal. It felt real.
Her eyes locked with Sam's from across the room and for a moment he froze, seized by sudden alarm. Can she tell what I was thinking? he wondered, then dismissed the thought immediately as she moved to the next person. Of course she can't. She's just good at what she does, that's all. I should be taking notes. I could do with being this persuasive when I get home and start looking for a new job.
"Before I officially welcome you to this dinner," Sara continued, "I would like to make sure that everyone is on equal footing. In this room we have the technologists: the software developers, the engineers, and the programmers. We have the leaders: the politicians, the state representatives, and the chief executives. We have the visionaries: the designers and the spiritually advanced. And we have the people who inhabit other disciplines or who defy categorization altogether. You know that we have brought you here in search of new ways of thinking, doing, and being. You know that I strive to bring people together, to forge and strengthen connections among different types of mind. Look around this room. Take a few moments to make eye contact with people you have never met. Let yourself question who they are, what they do, and what they have to offer this meeting. Resist any temptation to guess how the worth of your own offering compares to theirs. If you are here, in this room, we hold that you are equal."
Does that include the waiters? Sam watched the little army of staff members, who had retreated to the background for Sara's speech. He expected to see a few eye rolls, surreptitious checks of watches or phones, or just blank, indifferent faces. Instead, the whole line of waiters was rapt. They hardly even blinked as they hung on Sara's every word. Sam had never seen anything like it.
"To the outside world, people such as you are seen as the elite — high achievers, high earners, and perhaps even household names. To us, you are all those things — but you are also neophytes. No doubt some of you have been through a period of spiritual experimentation. Maybe you've done some meditation, you might even have done a Vision Quest before — but believe me, there is no journey quite like this one. During the next ten days, we are going to work together to turn simple concepts into radical ones. Concepts such as openness, acceptance, and honesty. Everyone believes that they understand these words. Most people would even claim that they practice, or at least they try to, these things in day-to-day life. But we believe that we can all go further. We can do more. We can really live these claims."
Something drew Sam's eye across the room full of still listeners. Perhaps it was a tiny flicker of movement or perhaps just an awareness of a reaction. Whatever the reason, he turned his head a little and caught sight of Nina in a shimmering blue cocktail dress. To the casual onlooker she might have seemed to be listening with polite interest, but Sam had learned a little about the facial expressions of Nina Gould. That careful politeness was accompanied by a slight raise of her left eyebrow, always a sure sign that in the privacy of her own head she was eviscerating the arguments being made by the speaker.
Sara extended a slender arm in a sweeping gesture toward the buffet. "The first step in your journey will be to free your bodies from the many poisons and inhibitors that we are guilty of consuming. To help you on your way, we've designed tonight's dinner to reflect the diet of our ancestors. Everything you'll eat tonight is natural, free range, and organic. It's hunted, gathered, and prepared by hand — we know the origins of this food from start to finish and can provide that information if you like. Your journey into FireStorm begins now. Enjoy!"
The gong sounded again and the curtains swirled back into place, concealing Sara. As one, the servers surged forward and lifted the lids on the oversized dishes, filling the room with the mouthwatering aromas of braised meats and vegetables. Sam had taken the precaution of remaining close to the tables, so he was one of the first to grab a plate and start loading it. There were whole fish baked in salt, chargrilled chicken cooked with lime and mango, along with roasted beets, carrots, and squash. Slabs of pink steak were piled next to a vast volcanic stone, so hot that the air above it shimmered. One by one the servers threw the steaks onto the stone and seared them exactly to each person's satisfaction. Sam took his well done, with a hearty scoop of avocado salsa on the side.
"Blue, please." Sam heard Nina's voice behind him, just as he was about to move away from the steak server. He decided to wait until she had her food, then ask her what she had made of everything they had just heard.
"Really standard nonsense," she said, taking a bite of the barely cooked meat. "Mmm, this is good. This would be absolutely perfect with a decent glass of red wine. I'm not impressed by all this fruit juice."
"Is that what it is?" Sam examined his newly refreshed blue drink. "I thought it was a bit weak."
"Did Jefferson not tell you what to expect, or were you just not listening? This is how the whole thing's going to work. The entire Vision Quest. No booze. It's a toxin that you can't allow into the temple of your body or some such shit. Same with anything starchy — no bread, no rice, and no potatoes — nothing agriculture or processed. If you can't just stab it or pick it off the tree, you won't be eating it until you're home."