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eimarraBodyguard of Lies is a serialized science-fiction novel updating once a week on Tuesdays. If you missed last week’s episode, Talking to a Client, it can be found here. You can catch up on the entire serial on this page with a description of the story and links to all published episodes.
Bodyguard of Lies
Episode 37
Business is a Riot
Albion’s image disappeared. Sabra glanced over her shoulder at Leo. “Should I get him back? The door seems to be controlled from inside.”
“And one of your little disk things won’t work?”
“Fresh out,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to pick up more, and the friend I get them from has other worries right now.”
“Who doesn’t?” Leo stared around the room. “Think there’s a back entrance somewhere?”
“Probably, but judging by the set-up here, it won’t be any less secure. These people may be religious nuts, but they’re not idiots.”
He ignored her crack about the church. Peace wasn’t something most people understood, not truly as a way of life. It was all he wanted, peace. Not that he’d ever really have it without a family, but he could try.
“Any ideas?”
She shrugged. “Do what he says? I agree with you. After seeing Gareth hopped up on that stuff the other day, the last thing I want is a bunch of idiot peds running around with it in their system — think of the carnage that would cause at the arena — but he’s the one in control.”
Leo headed for the doors. Might as well go back to Vuest. If the mercs had returned by now, maybe they’d have more information, proof that he could give Albion.
Chanting outside the building grew louder. He hadn’t noticed it when it started, but it had been growing for a while. He paused with his hand on the door, staring out at the crowds, packed shoulder to shoulder across the street, blocking all traffic, ped or motor.
Sabra moved up next to him. “We can’t get through to the heli. Not right now.”
He shook his head. He’d recognized some of the chanters as Albion’s helpers. Perhaps this was a new custom, a rite he hadn’t heard of, though it seemed a little loud. Still, they were peaceable people.
The gunfire started after the door closed behind them. Sabra spun to try to re-open it, but a bolt had snicked into place. Leo wasn’t worried yet. He stepped into the street to weave his way through the massed chanters.
A third of the way across, someone hit him in the head. He swiveled to see who had struck the blow, and the next one struck his face. He swayed, but the press of the crowd was too great for him to fall.
He ducked and shoved forward, trying to get away from the violence. The chanting pounded in his ears, and he still couldn’t make sense of what they were saying — Green and something about reikatine.
Were they saying they didn’t want it out on the streets? Or they wanted to get rid of it entirely? He shook his head; he couldn’t tell. He stumbled into another chanter, who shoved him back. This time, the crowd didn’t stop his fall.
Feet hit him in the stomach, along his legs. He brought his arms up to cover his face. A foot hit him in the ear; he couldn’t tell whether it was deliberate, and he wasn’t about to look.
Someone stood over him, legs pressed in to either side of his torso. He heard blows and grunts, and Sabra’s calm “Back off.” Calm? Perhaps not; he felt someone whiz over his head, and felt people falling beside him.
He risked a peek.
She’d cleared a region large enough for him to stand up, and he took advantage of it to scramble to his feet. He remained bent over near her, though, nursing his ribs and stomach. He was going to need the mercs’ med bay; he couldn’t tell his own doc or his wife how this had happened.
Vid cams zoomed by overhead. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to tell anyone. This didn’t bode well for his company; he shaded his face with his arms and hoped he wasn’t too late.
Sabra shoved into the crowd, wading through the masses who had fallen to bickering among themselves. An occasional person shoved back, but quickly gave way, willingly or otherwise. Leo traveled in Sabra’s wake, glad he had her with him.
They made it to the building with the heli and darted inside. A few people had made a refuge of the stairs, and one tried to keep them back.
“This is our spot. Go find your own.”
Sabra picked her up and dropped her over the edge of the stairs. She didn’t fall too far, only to the next landing, but the other refugees huddled against the wall and let them pass.
On the roof, Sabra pointed to the vid cams circling the crowd. “If we take off now, one’s sure to follow us.”
“You have a better plan?”
She frowned for a moment. “If I had a grenade launcher, I could cause a distraction. I don’t suppose you have one in your heli?”
“Hardly.”
“No, you don’t look the type.”
He pondered whether to take that as an insult or compliment. She probably didn’t mean it as either, just an observation. He wasn’t the type to wield weapons himself; he had his mercs, his bodyguard, to do that for him.
And he tried not to think about how much violence they did.
“Any other ideas?” she asked.
“Get in the heli.”
If he’d already been seen, he had nothing to lose. And it wasn’t as though his heli was hidden under anything up here. He took off, diving down and away on the opposite side of the building. He caught the telltale flash of light off a lens to his right, but he kept going. Too late now to stop.
Time to get back to his headquarters, back to safety among his warriors. Time to think about whether the reikatine was worth this trouble, and who else was after it and willing to riot for it. He ignored the police choppers flying overhead; they wouldn’t want him. Not yet.
~~
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Originally published at Erin M. Hartshorn. You can comment here or there.
