I was surprised by a shout. “Hey you, get away from my cart. Police! Thief!”
I looked up and realized the driver had been shouting at me. Geeze. Hair-trigger much? “Sir, I wasn't…”
“Well, well, look who it is.”
That was a familiar voice, and not in a good way. I turned to find Officer Friendly leering at me, slapping his truncheon into his hand. Again with the cartoon posture, and I couldn't help a moment of amusement.
“Listen, I wasn't…”
“I think you were, lad. And we’ll be talking about it down at the station. About-face and march.”
He attempted to prod me with his truncheon and by reflex I swiveled my upper body to the right to let the weapon pass by. A slight nudge with my left arm ensured that the cops attempted jab would keep going. He scowled and brought the truncheon back in a backhanded swipe to my head. However, since I already had control of the truncheon-carrying limb with my left arm, I simply leaned back and guided it over my head. Hundreds of seconds of virtual kung fu training were coming together, and I wanted to whoop with joy, except you know… cop.
And speaking of, Officer Friendly was now in full umbrage, and began yelling for backup. It took me a second to realize that backup would come, not from the police force, but from passersby. People turn to the fracas and came at me, hands out to grab. It seemed neighborhood watch was a thing.
“Guys, I seem to have gotten in trouble with the law. I think we’re all going to have to leave town. Like, now.”
Bill replied right away. “What in hell did you do?”
“Looked in a wagon. I'm not kidding, that's all I did. Didn't even touch it, these people really have anger management issues.”
“Fine,” Bill replied. “We’ll meet downstream. Don't show off, Bob. Nothing inhuman, or un-Quinlan, you know what I mean.”
I did. My android body was capable of speed and strength that no Quinlan could possibly match. I needed to avoid making them think there was some super Quinlan out there. This exchange had only taken a mil or so, and people were still coming at me. I rolled off the outside of the first person’s grab, then took him around and pushed him into the next person. The pushoff allowed me to reverse direction, and I found myself face-to-face with another individual. His expression was just starting to register surprise when I pushed him into someone else, resulting in the beginning of the total tangle and allowing me to change direction again. I now had people going in three different directions trying to catch me. It took no more than a nudge to an off-balance pursuer and he was down, taking several others with him. Now I had an open space and I went for it, trying to keep my speed within Quinlan norms… right into Officer Friendly.
To his credit, he was probably used to this kind of chase. Or maybe he just guessed right. But there he was, right in the middle of my escape route. He grinned an evil grin as he opened his arms wide to keep me from going around him. Instead, I went straight at him. Before he even had time to register shock, I straight-armed him, ran right up his chest as he went over backward, and launched off his forehead as he hit the ground. That wasn't going to make me any friends, but then I wasn't planning on hanging around. I had a clear shot at the river now. A short gallop to the docks, a quick leap down to the wooden deck, ending with a long dive into the drink.
I heard splashes behind me as others gave chase, but I was out of direct sight now, and I could pour on the horses. Flat-out, I had about twice the speed of a biological Quinlan and I didn't have to come up for air. In seconds, I was far out of their reach. They would hopefully conclude that I'd simply doubled back or otherwise lost them.
“Clear of the town, waiting downstream,” I announced to the team.
“Hey, I have a great idea. Let's put Bob in charge.” Bridget glared at me, but I could see her trying not to smile.
“Yeah, yeah, bring it on,” I replied. “I got your delinquent right here.”
We all shared a chuckle, and Bill said, “So it went from you looking in a wagon, all the way to a riot?”
“In seconds,” I replied. “Literally, seconds.”
“I saw the fracas as I headed for the water,” Garfield added. “There were a couple dozen people involved, all yelling. I think some of them had started a fight each other.”
We lapsed into silence. We were all floating downstream on the river, linked hands and feet in the usual Quinlan way. The current was slow, no more than a few miles per hour. Walking speed, maybe slightly more. I tilted my head and closed my eyes, to absorb a little heat from the sun. It was midafternoon now, and we were far enough from Garrick to finally be able to relax.
In the distance, boats moved up and down river. The Quinlans had sailboats with proper triangular sail designs, which I could see tacking back and forth as they crossed the river northward, or in beam reach as they headed up or down river. I noticed though that there was a lot more down river traffic. I wondered if they tended to go back up river by circling around on one of the other main rivers. That would certainly be easier, if a little more roundabout. There were also boats the used one or more hounds on a treadmill as a source of motive power. That didn't strike me as terribly
