Dark Sky (Keiko) (12 page)

The uncomfortable feeling in Drift’s gut crystallised into the sort of apprehension that simultaneously dried his throat and reminded him exactly how long it had been since he’d last emptied his bladder. It wasn’t that he was scared … exactly. Not yet. But he had the sudden notion of how Micah had actually felt in that story he used to tell about when his patrol had once walked into a minefield without realising it.

He leaned forwards, interrupting whatever the conversation had morphed into while he’d been distracted. ‘Everyone finish your drinks. We’re leaving.’

‘What?’ Jia waved her glass in objection. ‘This ain’t bad!’

‘Why?’ Aleksandr asked him at the same moment. ‘What is it?’

‘There are half a dozen people in this room with guns,’ Drift said, keeping his voice as low as he could. ‘I don’t want to find out why.
Don’t look round!
’

Aleksandr froze, then returned his gaze to Drift’s face and nodded slowly. ‘You’re right. We should leave.’

‘I thought Uragan law said no guns?’ Kuai asked, frowning.

‘It does,’ Drift replied quietly, staring hard at Aleksandr, ‘which is why I’m a little surprised you’re not more shocked, my friend.’

Aleksandr got to his feet, the legs of his stool scraping over the floor as he pushed it back while he muttered something in Russian to Pavel, who blanched and hurriedly downed his drink. His husband looked back at Drift. ‘Do you want to leave, or do you want to talk?’

Drift ground his teeth. He’d encountered security doors easier to read than the older Shirokov. ‘Oh, I’m fine with leaving, so long as we’re not going to run into anything worse out there.’

Aleksandr shrugged, eyes flickering from side to side. ‘Who can say?’

‘Fine.’ Drift really,
really
missed the reassuring weight of his pistols on his hips right now. ‘Let’s get out of here, and then you can tell us what the hell’s going on.’

They were halfway to the door when they heard a swell of chanting from outside.

‘That can’t be good,’ Jia said, looking around anxiously at him. Drift pushed forwards and opened the bar door to take a look out into the boulevard, now relatively dimly lit in imitation of a city at night. It wasn’t that he thought it was going to be anything but trouble heading for them, but it was usually better to know exactly what manner of trouble you were facing.

The chanting was coming from his right, borne from the throats of a mass of Uragan citizens moving slowly up the street and effectively filling it widthways from shop front to shop front. His Russian wasn’t good enough to make out much of what that many voices were raggedly shouting, but they were carrying placards and banners strewn with slogans in Cyrillic script and a whirling, yellow-on-black pattern that was repeated over and over: a simplified depiction of a spiral galaxy.

The symbol of the Free Systems.

‘
Shit.
’ Drift ducked back in, brain whirling. A few faces had turned towards the doorway as the noise had leaked in, but the bar in general didn’t seem to be aware of the approaching mass of humanity yet. However, one or two of the patrons he’d pegged as carrying guns seemed to be taking an interest. ‘We’ve got a full-blown Free Systems protest going on out there.’ He cast a look at Aleksandr, whose face had taken on an even more hangdog expression than usual. ‘This anything you want to talk to us about?’

‘Discontent has been brewing,’ Aleksandr replied, speaking urgently but quietly, ‘there have been some small protests, always put down quick by authorities.’ He grimaced. ‘This also why we want to leave. This planet not safe now.’

‘Uh, did I just hear “put down by authorities”?’ Kuai asked. ‘Should we still be here?’

‘No,’ Drift admitted, ‘but I don’t fancy going out front. Maybe there’s a back—’

The bar suddenly exploded into noise; not the chatter of assembled drinkers or the chants of the protesters outside, but the full-blown wail of a
politsiya
siren. It took Drift a second to realise that the sound was coming from the speakers, which until a second previously had been emanating nothing but quiet, upbeat background music. Clearly, when the Red Star Confederate had built this city they’d ensured that no one would be left unaware of any civic emergencies.

Words cut through the noise, a female voice speaking in firm, strident tones over the sirens. Drift grabbed Aleksandr’s shoulder and raised his voice to be heard over the din. ‘What’s it saying?!’

‘Is standard emergency broadcast!’ the Uragan shouted back. ‘All citizens remain calm, stay indoors until told!’ All around them, the bar’s customers were milling in various different levels of panic; several pushed past to the doorway, then retreated much like Drift had when they saw what was outside. Others crowded to the windows, trying to find out what was going on.

‘Yeah, fuck that,’ Drift said decisively. There was a crush of anti-government protesters coming up the street one way and the local law would likely be coming down it the other way very shortly, which meant the last place he wanted to be was stuck anywhere nearby, especially when there were people with guns in the immediate vicinity. Suddenly the reason for Muradov’s comment about the likelihood of gunrunning was becoming uncomfortably clear. He pointed towards the rear of the bar and gave Jia a shove to get her moving. ‘That way, before it all kicks off!’

Labirint was crowded and most people were moving towards the front of it, so it took a combination of agility and strength to fight against the tide, but suddenly they were through. The bartender, a bear of a man with a thick black beard long enough to brush his chest and touched with grey near the roots, took half a step away from his bar and held up one hand to stop them. His eyes flicked from one face to the other and he clearly settled on English as some form of
lingua franca
. ‘You stay!’

Drift debated pushing past him, but only for half a second; there wasn’t enough space and he didn’t fancy being grabbed by an angry Uragan ogre, so he settled for looking as urgently sincere as he could and waving his hands to indicate how very serious everything was. ‘Big problem! Riot outside! People with guns in here! Guns!’

‘
Da.
’ The bartender’s left hand reached under the counter and came up holding a genuine pump-action shotgun; not exactly the cutting edge of firearms technology but more than enough to greatly inconvenience them all, especially at such close range. He worked the action to rack a shell and aimed the barrel straight at Drift’s face. ‘I know. You stay!’

Drift’s brain started pin-wheeling away, but his body took over admirably in its absence, raising his hands and even stuttering out a shaky ‘
D-da
,’ of appeasement. He glanced over his left shoulder and saw that his companions had followed his example, which was reassuring. He didn’t have either of the Changs down as the type to suddenly launch themselves at an armed giant, but you could never be entirely sure.

He looked back questioningly at the bartender, who gestured with the barrel of his weapon for them to return to the front of his premises. Drift turned smartly and ushered the others away with outstretched arms, taking the opportunity to check on the other patrons he’d pegged as being armed while he did so. At least two of them were looking at him and his companions, which was precisely the sort of attention he’d hoped to avoid, but it was too late for that now.

Suddenly the callbeep of his comm went off in his ear. He instinctively moved one hand towards it to answer, but a shout from his right arrested him; one of the patrons had pulled a handgun and was pointing it in their direction. Drift froze, then carefully lowered his hand again, but while everyone seemed to have been facing the wrong way to have noticed the bartender’s firearm, this new development had attracted attention. Someone screamed, heads turned and there was an abrupt scramble for the doorway.

Beside him, Drift heard Jia’s callbeep going off, but the man covering them – the slightly balding one Drift had noticed earlier – still had his weapon trained on them and the little pilot showed no signs of moving to answer it. Probably for the best; the bar had exploded into near-panic now, and that was a bad situation to be in when people had guns. Especially when Drift was not one of those people.

Shouts from the street outside dragged his attention towards the front of the bar again. About half a dozen patrons had fled into the street, but the mass of chanting Free Systems protesters – and why had they come this far only to stop in place? – didn’t appear to be an attractive proposition for them. Instead they turned to the left and began to flee the other way … directly towards the dark line of riot police which had materialised since Drift had tried to leave via the back door.

There were about twenty officers, fully kitted out in body armour with full-face helmets and small but undoubtedly powerful loudhailers on the shoulders, armed with shockguns, shocksticks and large, rectangular flashshields. Still, the mob outnumbered them by at least ten to one, if Drift was any judge, and that wasn’t counting anyone in the buildings on either side of the street. Some of whom had guns …

‘
Me cago en la puta
,’ he breathed, then raised his voice a little so the Changs could hear him. ‘This isn’t a protest, it’s a goddamn
trap
!’

As a rule, riot police were rarely likely to respond well to people running towards them. The small group of ex-patrons suddenly spasmed and fell as dark, snub-nosed guns spat what Drift could only assume were shockbolts: small, short-range devices that pierced the skin shallowly and delivered a single, powerful electric pulse sufficient to cause brief loss of muscle control. They were theoretically non-lethal but were capable of causing heart failure, especially if someone was hit by more than one, but that didn’t seem to be of great concern to the advancing
politsiya
.

The mob roared and resumed chanting whatever slogan it was they had – probably something about freedom and justice, it usually was – but they didn’t press forwards. Apparently emboldened by this, one of the
politsiya
activated his loudhailer and his stern voice filled the air, tinged with metallic distortion. Drift couldn’t make out much more than ‘go’, but he didn’t need to; the protest was undoubtedly being instructed to disperse and return to their homes, probably with threats of arrest for anyone who didn’t comply. However, while this message was being delivered the
politsiya
continued their steady advance … and now they were level with the main windows of Labirint.

Whereupon, everyone inside the bar who was armed hauled out their guns and started firing.

Glass shattered and fell outwards and the screaming started in earnest, as patrons switched from apprehensively watching one gunman to seeking cover from multiple ones. Drift dived to the floor, dragging the Changs down with him. So far as he was concerned the Shirokovs could look after themselves, and indeed they hit the deck a moment later, cowering face down and covering their heads with their arms. Labirint’s windows were full-length, and even from his poor vantage point Drift could see the riot squad staggering and falling under the fire. Four were already down and another fell backwards, blood erupting from his thigh. Two or three others had pulled themselves together and turned their flashshields towards the bar; the electrified surfaces were meant for corralling rioters, but they would provide at least some protection from small-arms fire. Another one had dropped his shield and was fumbling behind him, then wrenched around a bulky, wide-barrelled weapon which had apparently been slung in the small of his back.

Drift just had time to yell, ‘Gas!’ before the launcher thudded with a violent release of previously compressed air and a small, dark shape trailing yellow fumes arced through the broken windows and skittered across the floor. A moment later the trickle became a flood, and breathing inside Labirint suddenly became impossible.

THE SMALL GAMES
room of the Otpusk Gostinitsa was filled with sound.

‘Hah!’

‘
Hah!
’

‘Urgnnk!’

‘Yes!’

‘
HAH!
’

‘Oh, you
bastard …
’

‘Booyah!’ Apirana punched the air as the holographic air puck he’d propelled towards Jenna’s goal with a mighty sweep of his right arm fizzed through her shambolic defence and sounded a buzzer. ‘7–4! Game
over
!’

Jenna scowled at him while synthesised trumpets officially announced his victory, her quick breathing sending strands of red-gold hair quivering where they’d fallen in front of her face. Holo-hockey was not an exertion-free pastime. ‘Don’t do it.’

Apirana grinned at her. ‘Don’t do what?’

‘You know what.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean … this?’ He cleared his throat, stood straighter and lifted his voice in song: ‘
E Ihowā Atua, O ngā iwi mātou rā …
’ He’d never been the best at carrying a tune and he was a little short of breath after his exertions, but he managed the first couple of lines of the Maori version of ‘God Defend New Zealand’ before he was interrupted.