and one in English read, “Back to Earth with the Harlot of Babylon.” He had no idea what that was about. The crowd didn’t seem violent, but there were surges and ripples, and clutching hands from those closest to the police line. Three press people had cameras in a prime location, clearly having prepared for this eventuality, and Highland approached them. It might be okay. It certainly seemed routine to her and them.
“Thank you for coming out today,” she said into an offered mic, which was wired into a PA. “I’m glad to see my supporters, but I am also glad to see those with concerns and issues. This is the type of interest and activism we need, if we are to progress…”
This speech sounded much more earnest and productive than the canned platitudes inside. She might pull this off. He waited and watched his sector, though the police seemed to have most of the eager crowd controlled and restrained. Some of these people were aggravated, but none of them seemed violent enough for an immediate threat.
Then he heard a pistol shot.
Yes, one never could predict.
Elke heard the report. This time it was real gunfire. She identified it as a pistol, and swung her shotgun up as Shaman and Alex shoved a gawking Highland down the sidewalk and under the vehicle skirt. The principal was covered, so she dialed for recon, shot a round over the crowd, and ducked and rolled.
Three rounds had been fired so far. Bart was in the vehicle and sparking it. Aramis and Jason flanked her behind the shield, close together and spilling out. She drew back a bit so they could get friendlier, trusting on her earbuds to have correctly reported direction.
The crowd was in chaos, running in all directions. That was mostly good. They’d disrupt a gunman. However, they would also conceal him if he ran, as he probably was.
The image flashed up on her glasses and showed nothing useful in that small format. It did, however, show the local police well-mixed with the crowd and subduing apparently at random. Clicking off the image, she could see it live. They had stunners, obviously scaled up to maximum, old-fashioned batons, and boots. There were a lot of them.
A faint smile crossed her face while she scanned for active threats. This wouldn’t do Highland’s image any good at all. She wondered, in fact, if it were deliberate.
It had been an entire nine seconds since the shooting started, and Alex’s voice said, “Withdraw.”
She replied, “Babs moving,” and skittered back, with the shield between her and the last known threat direction.
She reached the skirt, swung behind the ladder’s plate and said, “Babs covering.” Jason acknowledged, rose to a crouch without using his hands, then did that silly-looking dance step to slip back, feet never leaving contact with the ground. Silly looking, but very effective.
“Argo covering.”
“Musketeer moving,” Aramis said, and bounded back holding the shield. They scurried up the ramp in turn, though Elke found herself very clumsy moving backward. The steps were serrated for traction, and caught on her boot sole pattern. She noted that for followup.
They boxed around Highland and coaxed her into the vehicle. As soon as they were inside, Bart engaged the drive and they rolled away, as another platoon of police arrived to break heads.
Elke shrugged to herself. She’d seen it in so many places she couldn’t keep track. The only difference was how the power was applied. In some places they used hands, fists, sticks and stunners. Some used incapacitance gas and blinding lights. If need be, they had stun fields and pain stimulators. In the nicest societies, it was all done with money and political power without the need for violence.
But the peasants were always kept in line.
As hirelings, they had many of the advantages of the upper castes, without most of the ties. It was a system that worked for her.
The cops here popped some kind of clear gas that emanated in shimmery waves. Ahead of it, people clutched at their faces. It seemed to be some kind of sulfide thiol that carried a tremendous stench, similar though less potent than their own variety. Then the cops waded in swinging sjambok style whips, using the stinging, flicking tips to herd people, slowly at first, but faster. A second echelon had stunners set to a strong tingle. They did seem trying to avoid actual injury.
Highland looked amused for just a moment, then started to protest, accompanied by mild histrionics. She obviously had no concern about troublemakers getting smacked. She only cared that she be seen as compassionate. There were truly two complete sides to her, and one was a pure facade.
Still, so far Ripple Creek wasn’t taking the blame, and Elke didn’t see a need to use any significant force.
Once seated, the woman took a breath and said, “Well, that was positive.”
Jessie said, “They weren’t a friendly crowd.”
“Not at all, but the imagery is good.”
That confirmed it for Elke. The woman craved headlines, and would manufacture them if there weren’t enough. However, that suggested a possibility.
“Ma’am, regarding the harassment incidents.”
Highland looked up, and looked curious. “Yes?”
“If we are able to completely destroy incoming devices, then there’s no way for the press to scale them. They will be reported only as potential explosive devices in our log.”
Alex was paying attention, but letting her take the discussion.
“That’s true,” Highland said. “Would you be able to report for my releases as to the level of danger?”
Yes, she would want to claim the points. “I can report the range of possibilities to your staff,” she said, indicating JessieM. “Our own files are kept secure unless officially requested.”
Highland twisted her brow and thought. Elke was offering the opportunity for them to exaggerate to the limits of feasibility, unhindered.
“That sounds worthwhile. If we only report the information, it’s up to the media how they interpret it. I know one or two who’d enjoy having their own experts comment.”
She looked over at Alex, who nodded.
“We can give you a properly phrased release after each mission. Please understand we will not be confirming it officially. It will be ‘based on information provided by her detail.’”
“That’s fair enough,” she said.
Alex gritted his teeth and Elke knew he was angry. To protect themselves, they were assisting this woman in her campaign, by fabricating a myth of her being heroic in stature, and an underdog in a power struggle. Somewhere between professionalism and duty to the team, detachment had gone for a raft trip down the rapids. Still, the compromise helped them do their jobs with less hindrance. And all politicians lied.
Jason was frazzled when they delivered Highland back to the compound. It had been a long, bathroom-short day with little food, some borderline combat, and the media circus was in full swing. “Shots fired” had turned into “major battle around the Minister’s investigation,” though it was hard to tell if she’d exaggerated or the press had, and if the latter, from incompetence or bias. She certainly wasn’t going to dial them down, though, when she derived benefit.
To be fair, the team wasn’t going to issue any corrections either. They had no intention of giving intel to the enemy, and if it was perceived as a more dangerous event, that was good for their PR. Two could play that game.
In the armory, everyone cleared weapons, ran basic cleaning, and parked them. They slid off their file cards and Jason logged them into their secure archive. It was as uncrackable as they could make it, shielded, and never connected outside. Those records were for intel, legal protection, and, hypothetically, counter for anyone trying to blackmail them.
He counted weapons easily enough, accepted the tallies on rounds fired-recon and smoke for Elke, none for the rest. That was something else they had different from the troops. While their rules of engagement allowed looser fire, their discipline kept them down. Even the six of them were out-heavied by a mob. Never outclassed, though.
“When this is done we should hit the rec center. Fresh air without armor, and hot food among people will be good for us.”
“Concur,” Alex said.
