Saga (27 page)

“We will not be helpless victims to her plans. Large numbers of my people, growing every day, are determined to oblige her to break their addiction. The strategy we have decided upon is to harass her until she yields. I want to emphasize that this is a nonviolent strategy. We have absolutely no wish to hurt any of you, not even the Dark Queen, especially not the Dark Queen. But we are embarking on a campaign of major disruption and property damage to imperial and governmental buildings. Obviously we cannot announce our targets too far in advance. But should you be working in one of them, please don’t panic. We ask you to leave the building, calmly, when you see us gathering or hear an alarm. It might also be an idea, in general, to stock up on food, water, and portable power supplies. Power stations are included in our plans.

“You seem to have your own social disputes taking place at the moment. This has nothing to do with us, and it would not be right for us to intervene, knowing so little about life here. If our method of struggle with the Dark Queen inadvertently assists the protesters, that was not our intention. So, with our deepest apologies, I hope you will at least understand our situation.

“Finally, with regard to the proof of what I have just said, many of you will by now have seen people in your vicinity appear or disappear. What you saw was the entry or exit of my people to and from your world. For those of you who have not seen this, even more striking displays of our entry and exit to and from Saga will soon be taking place. When our disruptive activities begin, we anticipate that the Dark Queen’s troops will open fire, shooting hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people, whose bodies will simply disappear; this is because they are destroying the avatar, but not the real person. When our avatars are destroyed, we simply make new ones and return. Because of this, the Dark Queen cannot win. Our number of lives here is inexhaustible. The sooner she recognizes that, and lets us go, the better it will be for everyone.

“I look forward to a time when our two worlds can explore in friendship our extraordinary relationship. Until then, please try to understand that our actions are directed not against you, the people of Saga, but against the Dark Queen.”

“Stop.”

“Nice one.” Milan led the clapping.

“You think it was clear enough? I didn’t sound completely crazy?”

“It was good. Crazy, but good.” He laughed and switched off the tank’s powerful forward beams. For a moment, we were blind, until our eyes adjusted to the gray light of the daytime factory interior.

“Right, now we have to get this out. I can post it onto forums. But what you really need is a major news broadcast.” Athena looked at Cindella.

“Yes, I have several thousand of us ready to take over a station.”

“Great. We’ll come, too.” Milan was enthusiastic.

“Are you sure? I’d rather you kept away; it doesn’t matter if any of us are shot.”

“Look,” he said as he patted the main gun. “I’ve got a big anarchist tank, and I want to use it.”

 

Four hours later, we were settled inside the tank, our coms system in place, ready to go. When I had taken up my position in the driver’s seat, I had again felt a pang of concern for Arnie. Perhaps after this I would, discreetly, check on him. The others were in the same seats they had taken for the race. We were all in for a bumpy ride, because none of us had any idea how to fix the anti-gravity.

“Erik and his people are waiting for us. Let’s go.” Athena had been keeping an eye on the Defiance forum, which was where we had agreed to post messages to each other under pseudonyms.

A cough, then a steady rumble. We were off again. With a squeal from the wheels turning inside the tracks, I turned us around and drove up the abandoned railway cutting. Our target, as agreed with Erik, was Newscast 1, the biggest broadcasting center in the City. As we rolled over the old railway ties, the whole vehicle jittered, our bags being noisily thrown up and down. Soon we were on a road and progress was smoother.

“Next right, Ghost.”

Our plan was to move as fast as we could, knowing that the tank was certain to attract police attention. So we were taking the overpass. It amused me the way the aircars all slowed to let me into a lane; normally they would jockey in an ill-tempered manner for a better position in the rows of traffic. Once in the fast lane, we could trundle along at a very respectable rate, the billboards flashing by, leaving only a subliminal message for their products.

“Anything?” Nathan asked, looking over his shoulder at Athena.

“Quiet at the moment.”

The turret of our tank rotated so that it faced behind us. A glance at the reverse view showed that a customized Mosveo Starburst was cruising along in our wake.

“Pow!” Milan pretended to fire and, as if the driver could hear him, the aircar dropped back a little.

“Junction eighteen please, Ghost.”

“How do I signal?”

“We can’t,” Athena answered after a pause.

“Milan, point that cannon left please and wiggle it a bit or something.”

In any case, as soon as I started to slow down and edge across the lanes, everyone gave me a very respectful berth.

“We have police activity up at Newscast 1. But it’s just on the traffic channel.”

“Must be Erik’s crowd gathering,” mused Nathan.

Soon we could see the problem for ourselves. Once we had turned into Raphael Street, we could see that traffic going up toward the broadcast center was at a standstill. The tall masts covered with satellite dishes that marked the position of Newscast 1 were still a mile away.

“Milan, turn your turret around; I’m going up the verge. Strap yourselves in everyone.”

The tank drove through the road barrier more easily than I could crush a soda can. With a bump, we hit the grass verge that divided the south-going traffic from the north-going, and now we were driving along, tilted over to our left. But that wasn’t the most uncomfortable feature of my plan. The tank shuddered, to the accompanying sound of a loud splintering crack. Soon after, there was another jarring moment, and an equally violent shattering noise. The problem was the billboards. Through the driving controls of the tank, I could feel their brief resistance each time we smashed through one, as well as the release as they gave way. Back in our wake were billboards with tank-shaped holes in them, some of which looked distinctly crumpled and one that had toppled over altogether.

“Good work, Ghost,” chuckled Milan through my earpiece.

A hundred billboards later, I felt distinctly queasy, but we had made it. A vast crowd of people was gathered around the broadcast-center gates. They were locked out, and a line of security guards faced them from the other side of the tall metal bars. Traffic police were trying in vain to move the crowd off the road.

“That looks like our cue,” Milan observed.

I revved the engine hard so that the people between us and the gate got the idea and parted, leaving a short, clear run to a now-worried body of Newscast 1 security.

“Here goes!” I warned everyone.

The gates were sturdy and our first collision merely bent them, the groans of the metal being drowned by the cheers of the crowd. I backed up and charged again. This time, we broke halfway through, and torn metal scraped along the tank’s surface, scarring Nathan’s paintwork. Something was stuck. A tug-of-war began as I tried to reverse, feeling the resistance of whatever was keeping us jammed. Then I changed tack and thrust the controls forward. I could feel the resistance give; we were inching forward. Then suddenly we were free, accelerating forward with a lurch and a scream from the gates; a huge section of metal bars had come with us, sending up showers of blue sparks as it was dragged along the road. The way was open, and the crowd poured through eagerly.

“Keep going down this road,” Athena directed me.

A huge parking lot was on our left, full of expensive aircars. To our right was the main broadcasting complex. We passed a series of squat, pastel-colored buildings, then a glass-and-steel tower with a large first-floor canteen. The workers in the canteen were lined up against the green-tinted window, watching with amazement as our tank headed an arrow-shaped mass of people running through their parking lot.

“This one.”

A wide curved-glass entrance fronted a sturdy brick building. The man at the desk looked up from his monitor, astonished. Erik’s people were pressing at the glass doors. I saw him, in his bright pirate avatar, at the front, gesturing to the guard inside that he should open the door. The man shook his head.

Another rev of the engine. By now, everyone around us understood my language; they backed away, even those security guards from the main gate who had run along with the crowd, shouting impotently.

Three bumps up the steps and an almighty crash, the loudest so far today. Our monitors showed that the entire front of the building had gone, covering the lobby and the ground outside with shards of broken glass.

“In we go. Pass out our bags, Ghost, please.” Athena was throwing open her hatch.

“So long, buddy. You did good.” Milan gave the turret a kiss as he climbed out.

It was much noisier outside the tank than I had expected. Several alarms were sounding, so the people all about were shouting, not to mention the security guards. Those nearest us, though, gave us a big cheer as we got down, dragging our bags and airboards after us.

“It’s back there, right?” Erik was with his friend, B.E., and they had schematics of the building in their hand.

“Yeah,” affirmed Athena. “The rest of your people should probably stay here. We need just fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll take charge here. You go on.” B.E. opened a metal briefcase on a table whose glossy magazines were scattered on the ground. He began to assemble a pulse rifle, using the parts from inside the briefcase.

“I thought you were going to be nonviolent,” commented Nathan.

“They don’t know that.” B.E. winked.

“Come on!” urged Athena.

There were people in the long, yellow-painted corridor. They ducked back into their rooms as we ran. Then we were charging through a large makeup area, full of mirrors and with two famous newscasters in their chairs, white smocks thrown over them, while layer after layer of makeup was painted onto their faces. Again, looks of astonishment.

“Here!” Athena pointed to a door labeled “Studio 1.” A red light was on: LIVE—DO NOT ENTER.

We entered.

“Shoo, shoo!” Milan ran over to the brightly lit desks, gesturing at the two presenters.

I went to the nearest camera; Erik came with me, sword drawn.

“Time to leave.” He pointed the blade at the cameraman’s throat. Once the cameraman had thrown down his headset and run, I took hold of the equipment. It was floating on an anti-gravity cushion, easy to move around despite its bulk. Nathan was still arguing with his cameraman, so Erik went over to settle it.

“I need you up here please, Erik.” Athena was behind us in a glass box, where two middle-aged men in suits were gesturing angrily at her.

Meanwhile, Milan was sitting on the newscasters’ desk, in the full glare of the studio lights. The presenters, a man and a woman, sat stiff and voiceless, like shop dummies.

“Say something to Camera One, Milan; I have you in shot.” I laughed as he gave the camera his big ugly monster expression.

“Hey, Ghost, cool.” He waved. “Well, good afternoon, folks. The news has suddenly gotten interesting, so for those of you lucky enough to be watching this live, sit down and pay attention. In a few moments, you are going to see the most important broadcast you’ll ever see. In the meantime, you probably want to admire my perma-tats.” He flexed his arms, and I couldn’t resist panning in on the writhing designs.

“We’re set.”

Over my shoulder, Athena was giving us the thumbs-up. Erik’s sword seemed to have persuaded the men to leave the control booth.

“Right, set your computers to record, because here it comes.” Milan’s face was off camera; I quickly turned back to him. “This broadcast is brought to you by Defiance. Watch, think about it. And get ready for some wild times.”

“The recording is playing,” announced Athena. “We should scram. Erik can keep an eye on things here.”

“Shame; it’s kinda fun.” Milan pulled his board from his shoulder and switched it on. “Lead on.”

As we snaked away from the building to the cover of some ornamental bushes, helicopters were arriving, rushing overhead with mighty beats of the air. From the back window we had used, it was impossible to tell how things stood out front, but the fact that we could still hear the cries and shouts of a large crowd was promising. Even if the police got past them in the next minute, they would be too late to stop Erik’s broadcast from going out.

“Where to?” asked Nathan.

“Follow me.” There were still plenty of hideouts that would suit us, in the old and abandoned parts of the City.