“Then what are you saying?” said Pale Dexter.
“If Bluemantle succeeds, citizens may choose to leave. If they leave, some may follow. We need to be ready for them. They will look to us, the Scene’s troika. We must be prepared to lead.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The crowd at Glade Park was growing. Troopers circled the area, glaring at those gathered in an effort to intimidate. The posturing was wasted. For the first time in decades, the citizens were unmoved.
Naylor observed them. “They’re getting cocky. I can feel it.”
“They’re enjoying themselves,” said Wella. “Quit worrying.” She had headed to Glade Park after visiting Chase at the hide in Rader. It had taken a while to find Naylor in the crowd, which was over a thousand strong.
“All it takes is one person, one over-enthusiastic kid to cross the line. Look at the troopers. They’re poised to pounce at the first excuse.”
“Relax. Everyone knows the stakes. And those stakes have just been raised a notch.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“There are rumours about the furnaces. Hundreds have walked out from there. Word is, the management have raised it with the A. Production has plummeted. They’re worried they’re going to face penalties.”
“Then that could be it. The A will just force us to go back.”
“They can’t do that. They can’t make us work.”
“They’ll find a way. Probably start arresting people, scare others into going back.”
She gazed at the crowd around them. “Something tells me it’s going to take more than that to scare this lot.”
–
While Wella and Naylor beheld the growing gathered, troopers and trucks were amassing around the Authority Complex, filling the parade ground and surrounding roads.
Wulfwin stood before an Ops truck, the contraband map spread across its bonnet. Two Special Forces Superiors stared in wonder.
“Let’s be clear,” said Wulfwin, “you haven’t seen this, alright?”
The two Superiors nodded, wide-eyed.
“Troopers on Nanso Heights have found a trail. Horse hooves, leading away from Lyun Mountain, heading north-east. Here,” he said, pointing to a location on the map. “Note how the area is remote. A few tracks, but no infrastructure to speak of.”
The Superiors stared at the map, attempting to absorb the layout of a landscape they’d never seen before and encouraged, since childhood, never to imagine.
“We’ll spread out,” said Wulfwin. “I’ll take this line. You fan out, following routes here and here.”
“Sir!” called a trooper, running towards them. “Chief of Command, sir,” she said, snapping to attention. “Permission to speak.”
“Denied,” said Wulfwin, pouring over the map, not looking up.
“Sir. Urgent news.”
He stood up and glared at the young woman. “I refuse you permission, and yet you speak anyway. How the fuck does that work?”
“Sir,” she said, holding out a piece of paper.
“This had better be good.” Wulfwin snatched the paper and scanned the contents. “For fuck’s sake…” He screwed it up, grabbed the map, which he rolled and stuffed inside his trench coat, and marched across the parade ground to Operations HQ.
The two Superiors were left standing beside the truck, still stunned by a map that was never supposed to exist.
Within moments of receiving the news, Wulfwin stormed into the boardroom where a number of the Commanders from the Council had reconvened. “I don’t believe this,” roared Wulfwin. “Tell me it’s a wind-up. Come on, make my day. Will someone please tell me this is someone’s idea of a fucking joke?”
Special Forces Commander Fentlow stepped forward, now the reluctant designated speaker. “It was handed in to the Exchange half an hour ago. We don’t know how long it’s been out or who’s behind it. But we do know one thing. This one’s different.”
He handed Wulfwin a crumpled copy of Bluemantle.
–
“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” said Wulfwin, his voice brittle. “This is our reason to act.”
The Commanders from the Council stood before him in the boardroom, their bodies rigid, braced for the full force of reaction.
“What do you propose?” ventured Commander Fentlow.
“Get your men down on the streets. Order to stop and search. Arrest anyone caught with a copy. Start outside the Exchange and in Glade Park. This must be why they’re there. Game’s over.”
“What about the plan? Half my men are on the parade ground, ready to mobilise.”
“Special Forces need to remain in the city and deal with this shit. I’ll have to make do with the Deaf Squad and Allears. I’ll also need a couple of Superiors.” He forced out the words as if pulling a barbed thorn. “Lore’s still laid up; I’ll need help herding his gimps.” He paced the room, mumbling as if talking to himself. “This… This fucking bullshit will delay everything. There’s still stuff to prepare. We’ll have to leave later. Which means we won’t get far before sundown. And now with a fraction of the men. And all the while, the Music Makers are getting away.” He trailed off, his fists clenched, strangling the pamphlet.
The Commanders waited in silence.
Wulfwin spun around, snapping his attention back to the room and his anxious audience. “Coordinate with the Police Commissioner,” he barked. “I want every officer and cadet, every spare trooper, out there, on the ground. Then I want every fucking copy destroyed and every citizen carrying one to suffer beyond fair consequence. The slightest resistance or reaction, then full assault. City-wide. Understood?”
–
Troopers swept through the streets, a starved swarm on the hunt.
Citizens fled, seeking shelter in their homes, down passageways, behind bins. Railmotors were halted between stations, while troopers climbed aboard and searched terrified passengers. In the taverns and street cafés, chairs were upturned, glasses smashed, stools hurled against shuttered apertures. In Drayloc Market, crowds ran through the gangways, tripping over guy ropes, crashing into stalls. And everywhere, like pennants peppering the ground, Bluemantle.
The units dispatched to the Exchange and Glade Park generated a different reaction. Citizens stood unfazed, arms out, offering themselves to be searched. Not a single copy
