She also saw more and more people wearing a completely blank mask devoid of any facial features. They came in a variety of skin tones, but with only eye-holes to see out of. They tended to move through the crowd in groups and, from their body-language, appeared wary, always looking around for possible threats where most people ambled along enjoying the sun.
She'd given her inner Ondo access to her sensory perceptions. She spoke to him inside her head. “Do you know what those plain masks are?”
“I don't. I've reviewed images of previous carnivals, and I could find no one wearing them. It seems to be a new innovation.”
“It looks coordinated. You think they're Concordance agents?”
“They already control the military and the temples, and they have full oversight of events on the ground. Would they need to infiltrate the crowd, too?”
“If they did, I guess they'd wear masks that didn't mark them out. This is something else, rebels or troublemakers.”
“Most likely,” said Ondo. “Stay away from them. If it comes to violence, make sure you're not caught up in it. Remember, the Temple disciples aren't particularly peaceable, either. They're certainly not afraid to attack those they consider infidels. Their approach to religious conversion has traditionally been … assertive.”
She followed a phalanx of the blank-masks, keeping a few metres behind. They were trying to force their way through the crowds filing into a square, but the press of bodies was already too great. One of them indicated a side-passage between two of the taller buildings and pushed that way, leading the others. Intrigued, and trying to look like she wasn't, Selene followed.
A maze of alleyways zig-zagged between buildings, through dusty yards. She had no maps to show where they led, which ones were dead-ends. Several times she caught a glimpse of the rainbow crowds between the walls. The group she was trailing appeared to be locals, familiar with the shortcuts and hidden ways that any city-dweller would know. They ran into a courtyard, high walls obscuring them from the crowd, and stopped abruptly.
Selene stopped, too, a few metres back, hiding behind the corner of a yellow building, trying to understand what was going on. She carried a finger-sized blaster strapped to her ankle, completely illegal on Migdala. She drew it now. Up ahead, there were shouts of rage, and the group of blank-masks were suddenly fighting someone. They'd pulled wooden staffs and short, stabbing blades from within their clothing and were swinging them as they jockeyed for position. They'd been ambushed by a phalanx of the City Guard. The latter were armed with blasters, but in the confined space couldn't safely use them. Instead, they'd drawn charged batons and were swinging them at the blank-masks. The guards were outnumbered, but more disciplined. A blank-mask charged with a roar and the guard stepped back to avoid the attack, then swung their baton round to crunch into the side of the blank-mask's head. There was a spray of blood and the blank-mask crumpled to the ground.
The sight whipped the other blank-masks into a renewed state of fury, and for a minute or more the dusty courtyard was a blaze of clubbing and punching and kicking. The cries of agony from both sides were loud, but would be inaudible to the thronging crowd of revellers only a few metres away.
When it was done, three of the blank-masks lay still on the ground, their blood clumping in the dirt, but all five of the City Guards were down, unmoving. The remaining blank-masks, four of them, limped away from the scene, holding or supporting each other. Selene crept forwards, wary of attack herself but not wanting to lose sight of those she was following.
It was immediately clear that this was no simple brawl or arrest: the two sides had fought with fury. They'd been trying to kill each other. Her enhanced sensors could pick up the beat of someone's heart, the thrum of blood in their veins and the air in their lungs, even the sparkle of electrical connections in their brains, so she could tell immediately that two of the blank-masks were dead, while the third was in a bad way. Their headgear had given them no protection from the bludgeoning of City Guard batons.
Four of the five guards were dead, crushing blows inflicted on their craniums, vital organs punctured by stabbing blades even through their armour. The surviving one sat propped up against a wall, head slumped in unconsciousness. The fight had been vicious. Selene stepped forwards, senses alert.
She knelt in the dust beside the surviving blank-mask. Carefully, she tried to lift the covering from the person's head. It refused to slip away and the person – a young man – twitched. She saw why: the side of his skull had been staved in, and one side of the flimsy mask was embedded in the wound, snagged on jagged shards of bone. The wound bled freely, which at least meant pressure wouldn't be building up against his brain, but he wasn't going to live long without proper medical attention.
She crossed to the City Guard, who had been stabbed two or three times. Her abdomen was a mess of blood and purple tissue, but her heartbeat remained reasonably strong. She might survive. A red light on a comms device upon her belt flashed insistently: by the look of it an alarm had been raised. Reinforcements and perhaps paramedics would arrive soon, if they could push through the crowds.
This prone woman was the
