Rebel (The United Federation Marine Corps) (6 page)

“You bitch!” he gasped out, looking at Michi with unveiled hate.  He swayed as Michi just took in the sight, all hesitation about their mission now gone. 

She should have attacked again and closed the deal instead of admiring her handiwork.  He stepped back and reached for his Jamison, pulling it out.  Michi tried to close the distance, hoping to connect before the woozy jack could pull the trigger.  She was afraid she would be too late.

She just started to leap into a superman punch when the jack crumbled in a heap.  Michi was so focused on him that she didn’t realize what was going on.  It took her a moment to take in Tamara, all 40 kg of her, standing above the jack with a truncheon in her hand.  She had a huge smile on her face.

“That was fucking brills,” she said, looking down in awe at the weighted leather club in her hand.

“Who’s the samurai now, sister?” Michi asked, totally taken off guard. 

Nowhere in their admittedly spotty plan had Tamara been involved in the fighting.  She was supposed to set it up and Michi was supposed to close the deal.  And where had that nasty truncheon come from?

“Where did you have that thing?” Michi asked.

“My bammers leave nothing to the imagination, but the cozy’s pretty loose.  And like I told you, no one gets past the glitter.”

“I gotta give you cred,” Michi told her. “I think you saved my ass.”

“I think I did, too!  You may be the Samurai Highlander, but I can sure be your robin,
[8]
” she said.  “Every hero’s gotta have her robin.”

“OK, you’ve got the job.” Michi said as she nudged the jack with her foot. 

He was breathing smoothly, to Michi’s relief. 

Some freedom fighter I am
, she thought. 
Happy when a target lives
.

She bent over and took the Jamison out of its holster.  She looked it over for a moment before sliding it inside her cozy.

“Uh, as my second robin duty, you do know that you can’t fire that.  It’s keyed to that guy’s bios.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“And if you power it up, they can track it to you.”

“What, you think I’m stupid?” Michi said as her heart fluttered.

Actually, she hadn’t known either of those two pertinent facts.  She had even thought about trying the first Jamison out after she had gotten it home.  If what Tamara was saying was true, and Michi was sure it was, she would have had a platoon of jacks descending on her house, ready to take both her family and her into custody.  First Family or not, murder was a capital offense.

“So why do you want it?” Tamara asked.

Michi knew she should have put it back, but she was not going to back down.  It was the MacCailín stubborn streak.

“Just as a souvenir, nothing more.”

“OK, it’s your call,” Tamara said.

Michi instantly felt bad.  “Her call” would bring the weapon into Tamara’s condo.

“I’ve got a place I’ll ditch it for safekeeping.  But I want to send a message that this wasn’t some random mugging.  Shall we get out of here?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a pretty good idea,” Tamara said before walking over to look at the unconscious man. 

Michi thought she might kick the man, but instead, she leaned over and kissed him right on the lips.

“It’s only fair,” Tamara said with a shrug before the two left the alley.

They made their way back to the statue before silently splitting up.  Michi sat down on the statue’s base, just a citizen taking in the sights.  Tamara was supposed to leave first, but after
surreptitiously
ditching the pink cozy, Michi watched her approach two young salarymen.  Within a minute, she had her arm hooked around one of them as they started off.  She looked back at Michi and gave her a wink before getting into a deep conservation with her new companion.

Michi didn’t know how far Tamara was going to take it.  She did like her fun, and she had been pretty hyped after hitting the jack, Michi knew.  She also realized that a man and a woman leaving the Gut together would be less conspicuous than two single women leaving.  Was Tamara merely using the guy as camouflage, or was he going to be her release of pent-up energy?

Michi watched Tamara go into a bar with the man, waited another 15 minutes, and then got up and slowly made her way out of the Gut.  She was still pretty jazzed, and as she walked home, she was already planning her next strike.

Chapter 11

“Saint Chuck’s ass,” Tamara said as they watched the news feed.  “Is that because of us?”

The feed showed riot-geared jacks rounding up people in the Gut.  As indentureds didn’t have the credits to play there, other than a few moonlighting on the service side of the equation, most of the people getting rounded up were free citizens. 

“Do you know who I am?” screamed one florid-faced middle-aged man in the background behind the reporter.  “I’ll have your job,” he said before being dragged off in zipties, anything else he had to say lost to the feed.

Their jumping of the jack the night before had gone unreported on any news feed, but this was a new development.  Jacks tended to keep their hands off free citizens.  They had full enforcement rights over anyone on the planet, theoretically even to the company execs, but this type of round-up just wasn’t done.

“It has to be,” Michi answered.  “They’re telling us, you and me, I guess, that they are going to play rough.”

“I don’t think people are going to stand for it.  Don’t they need probable cause to arrest people like that?”

“I think so.  I’d have to take a look at the charter, though,” Michi said.  As a First Family, Michi had never much considered how the law was upheld on Kakurega.

“So maybe we need to lay low?  No more missions for awhile?” Tamara asked.

“Lay low?  How about lay off.  We hit them, but I think we’re done.  Let’s take this as a victory and leave it at that, OK?” Michi said as she watched the jacks haul off person after person.

“Quit?  Completely?  Some Highland Samurai you are?” Tamara grumbled, but without conviction.

Jumping a jack had seemed to be an adventure, a way to strike back.  But they should have known the security forces wouldn’t just meekly stand by while their own were targeted.  One could have been a freak occurrence.  Two, and two where Jamison’s were taken, were a pattern, one that the jacks had to address.  They had to know that they were arresting people who had nothing to do with the attack on the jack.  Oh, maybe they thought they could get lucky and find the culprit during interrogation, but this was a message, pure and simple. 

You don’t mess with Propitious Interstellar’s security forces.

Chapter 12

Michi’s feet hurt as she made her way down Hallison Street.  She had spent two hours at the studio, the first time she’d danced since Franz was killed, and her feet had paid the price for her absence.  It was a good hurt, though, a familiar one.  And familiarity was what she sought.

She’d had enough of hanging out at Tamara’s condo and wanted to get a taste of her old life.  She’d stopped by her family’s house first, ostensibly to pick up some personal belongings, but in reality, it was just to see the place.  Her parents weren’t home, but as she sat in the kitchen munching on some of Talla’s raspberry-mint tarts, the family maid let her know that her parents talked about her, and that they would welcome her back.

She was tempted to just stay until her parents came home.  She wanted to turn back the clock, to go back three weeks when she had a fiancé, a life she loved, and no worries.  But Franz was gone, and nothing was going to bring him back.  She chatted with Talla, eating a few more tarts than she should have just to prolong the visit.  Finally, though, she left and went to the studio.

A few of the others welcomed her back, and Melinda expressed her condolences on Franz’ death, but most of the dancers there left her alone.  Most probably just didn’t know what to say, she knew, but still, Michi felt ignored.  Michi lost herself in her positions, dancing until her feet cried for relief.  She stopped and sat up against one of the mirrors, listening to the thuds and squeaks of the feet of the other dancers on the studio floor, smelling the familiar odor of human exertion.  The smell, more than anything else, resonated with her, reminding her of the life she wanted back.

She tended to her feet, put her cozy over her dance clothes, and left the studio to make her way back to Tamara’s.  She wished she still had her Sullivan.   A cold wind was picking up, and it would be a 45-minute walk on aching feet until she got there.

She tightened up the cozy hood around her face and neck, put her head down, and walked into the wind, lost in her thoughts.  It would be so much easier to just go home and apologize.  Unfortunately, she had a stubborn streak that wouldn’t let her forgive and forget that easily.  She had lost her love, and her family didn’t seem to care.

With her hood up and her mind wandering, she didn’t notice the growing crowd noise until she came around the corner and into Prosperity Square.  Surprised, she stopped to see what was happening.  There had been several protests about the wholesale arrests over the last few days, but this had a much more organized feel to it.  There had to be 400 people in the square, all protesting Propitious Interstellar.  Quite a few people had placards decrying security force heavy-handedness, and more than a few held aloft placards with Franz’ photo on it and the date of his death.

That hit Michi hard.  She felt his loss every day, but she had never come out in public forcing people to remember him.  Yet here, at least 20 people were carrying his image, not letting the jacks forget what had happened.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching an elderly man who was carrying Franz’ photo.  “Where did you get that?”

“Up there,” he responded pointing to the right of the crowd and down 8
th
Street, one of the streets that radiated out from the square.  “It was a shame about the young man, so I chose this one.”

Michi looked to where he was pointing, but she couldn’t see anything.  She thanked the man, and then walked in that direction, leaving the square itself before spotting a van, the back doors open.  She shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was Cheri at the van, handing out ready-made placards. Michi made her way through the crowd and approached Cheri.

“Can I have one of those?” she asked.

“Sure, which one?” Cheri asked before looking up and seeing who was asking.  “Michi!  It’s good to see you again.  How are you holding up?”

Michi neglected to mention that they hadn’t seen each other at Cheri’s request, not hers.

“I’m fine,” she said instead.  “I’m surprised to see this going on, and I’m even more surprised to see Franz’ face being carried by so many people.  You could have told me.”

“Oh, Michi, dear.  We didn’t want to bother you.  Franz’ loss was shocking, and it hit so many of us.  And now, with the jacks abrogating the charter and arresting people without probable cause, well, more and more people are getting involved.  We need to show Propitious Interstellar that they can’t run roughshod over us.”

“No, it’s OK.  I just wish I’d known,” Michi said.  “Well, can I have one of those?”

“Oh, of course, dear.  Let me get you one.”

Cheri reached into the back of the van and brought one out, handing it to her.  Michi stared at it for a moment before recognizing the photo.  It was one she had taken herself at a picnic.  Franz was smiling at her, looking younger than his years.  Michi choked back any reaction as she took it, wondering where they had gotten the photo.

“Come on back when we break up, OK?  We can catch up on things,” Cheri said.

Michi took the sign and held it up, walking back to join the crowd.  She edged into the back, only then noticing the line of jacks arrayed in front of them.  This looked eerily like how they were positioned before Franz was killed, and she momentarily took a step back.

Hell!  They don’t scare me
, she reminded herself. 
I’ve taken a few of them down.

She pushed back up, picking up the “No Jack Authority!” chant being voiced by the crowd.

There was no stage this time, no set speakers. But someone out of Michi’s sight obviously had a bullhorn, and he was changing the chants every few minutes.  Michi spent the next 30 minutes chanting herself hoarse, yelling with every fiber of her body. She shook Franz’ picture as she chanted, using it as an exclamation mark.  Despite the chill, her energy and the close proximity of the crowd kept her warm. 

She knew that the jacks’ crowd surveillance would have already identified her as a participant, and this was not what she should be doing if she wanted to go back home, but she didn’t care. 

When the blast exploded, she felt the rush of heat go over her head.  It didn’t register for a moment, but the screams that started up did.  Ahead of her, a number of jacks were down hard while others struggled back to their feet.  Within moments, some of them opened fire on the protesters.  Michi saw a dozen or more protesters in the front ranks fall as they were hit.

People started to turn and run, a stampede to get away from the carnage.  The human current took Michi with it.  Not everyone ran, though.  A figure in a ski mask and dressed in black stepped forward against the crowd, people parting alongside of him as he raised some sort of weapon and fired back in the direction of the jacks.

Michi was almost pushed into his line of fire, but she was able to squirm back and to his side.  He pumped out three more shots, then pushed his way forward and out of sight.

Michi stumbled over a prone body.  She bent down to help the man up and was almost knocked down herself.  Another man stopped, and with both of them taking an arm, they picked the fallen man up and dragged him out of the way. 

Shots continued to ring out, some close by, some from the jacks.  Michi risked a glance back as she helped drag the man to one of the side streets.  Twenty or thirty bodies littered the square, most looking like protesters.  The man in black, the one who was firing, continued to advance, now that he was not blocked by the mass of people.  He kept firing, but then he stumbled and went down.

Michi turned her attention to getting away and out of the line of fire.  She lost sight of the square as she helped pull the man out and onto one of the side streets.  People were rushing by when the man struggled to his feet, wheezing, but assuring them he was OK.  The other man that was helping looked at Michi and snapped his head indicating that they should get out of there.  Michi could hear the stomping of feet, feet moving in formation from the square.  She looked at the man she’d helped.

“I’m fine, thanks to you.  Get out of here,” he told her.

Michi took the hint.  She started sprinting, only then realizing she was still carrying Franz’ picture.  She knew she should drop it, but she couldn’t.  Holding it in her right hand, she took off, ignoring the pain that still radiated from her feet.  Behind her, she could hear the firing die off while a voice coming out of a speaker in the sky ordered everyone to stop and lie on the ground.

Hell with that!

She quickly passed others who were also fleeing and didn’t slow down until she reached Tamara’s building.  She ran up the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator, and made it inside the condo.

It was then that the trembling started, and didn’t stop until Tamara got home from work, unaware yet of what had just happened.