Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

The young woman then looked up. “I can’t get a signal in here,” she said in Alex’s general direction.

He casually tapped Bart and they started rolling.

“It’s one of the vehicle’s reinforcements, against electromagnetic effects, including pain stimulators, directional energy weapons and electrical capacitance.”

“I see,” she said. She almost seemed to be in withdrawal, denied her outlet. Perhaps he was too hard on her. It was her livelihood she was being temporarily deprived of.

The vehicle swayed in maneuvers, though it had a tight turning radius.

“We’re out the gate,” Bart announced.

“Good. Function check. Ma’am, we’re testing our weapons momentarily.”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded, looking up from her work. “I thought you had already.”

“They don’t want us to do it on base.”

She rolled her eyes. At least they both agreed on that much.

From the top turret, Aramis said, “We have a clear radius.”

“Bart, drop the hatch. Quickly, folks, with cover.”

Highland and Jessie both seemed familiar with the process and covered their ears.

The rear hatch eased down a few centimeters, then dropped with a bang that shook up dust. Elke skipped down, fired her shotgun into the dirt, swung it and slung it, raised her carbine and shot, dropped it on its sling, drew pistol and shot. She reholstered, turned and came back, as Jason stepped back and did the same with his weapons. He swapped positions with Aramis as Elke swapped with Bart while he and Shaman shot, then Aramis and Alex brought up the rear.

“Done,” he announced, and Bart, already back in the driver’s cabin, ran the ramp up at maximum speed. Aramis fired one short burst up above. Sirens were already audible on base, as the military responded to the “threat.”

Alex sighed. He’d hear about that later. There was always some territorial dispute between branches. Increasingly, the military was run by MilBu, emphasis on the Bu. All their patrols should be testing weapons before venturing outside the wire.

That wasn’t his problem at present. His problem was keeping this woman alive, along with her tagalong.

“We will be at the first location, Maharin Square, in a few minutes. We will need a few moments to check the area, and the dignitaries.”

“Keep your hands off them, please!”

“We will. They’ll be scanned, and they won’t even notice it.”

“Good. Does this bulletproof vest show?” she asked, turning her torso. She spoke loudly and clearly, obviously used to crowd noise, over the drivetrain noise.

“It doesn’t show, but be aware some styles of modern bullets can penetrate it, and it doesn’t cover extremities.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, though not as haughtily. “I am grateful for it.”

She suddenly seemed quite a bit more personable. Some of that was likely stress reduction and familiarity, but some of it was most likely also part of her act. He didn’t trust anything she said or did, and it wasn’t paranoia; she’d not gotten where she was by being nice, and they already knew she’d waste them to get in a shorter line at the coffee counter.

The city had chaotic architecture. Unlike other troubled worlds, like Salin, Mtali had been colonized by groups with money. There were religious groups with tithe support, and corporate investment to boot.

Some of it showed.

They drove along a main thoroughfare with a median park between the ways, and the houses were a strange blend of Western U.S., Colonial French and Arabic. They were tall, with courtyards, and overhangs, the upper levels built out.

But just past that were classic government-architectured blocks of apartments, with laundry hung on balconies, and parted out vehicles in the dead areas below. Alex kept a scan up. It wasn’t likely this vehicle stood out from any other military transport, but that alone might draw fire.

The commercial district next was typical of downtown. Deluxe shops and lodging in various styles from several eras spread across the blocks, but they weren’t crowded. The colonies had space from the start, and decent levels of technology. Their cities started off roomier than those on Earth and kept spreading out instead of up.

Maharin Square was on their left, up ahead. Some of Cady’s team plus their subcontractors, some Army troops, and local cops had the area ringed. They weren’t sure the locals were safe, but that was the point. The hired goons were more reliable than the rabble, the cops more reliable than the goons, the Army better than the cops, and Ripple Creek had only to worry about any few who might manage to get within.

The press turned toward their vehicle, probably cued by JessieM, and started their feeds. Bart pulled past, took a turn and another, and came from the cross direction. That also put the primary hatch closest to where she’d stand. Details like this had been worked out in advance for previous clients, but were largely instinctive now. Every location was a threat zone, every person a threat, and they all planned accordingly.

By radio, Cady said, “We’re clear.”

Alex gestured to Bart, who popped the side door. Aramis pushed it open and stepped through. Elke followed, being about the same size physically as Highland, with her uniform coded to similar colors. There was a swell in the crowd noise that tapered off as Highland and JessieM stepped through and down. The cheers climbed again. Jason and Shaman were next, with Bart following Alex.

Highland stepped up to the podium, waved in an arc, smiled for the vid crews, and launched into her speech.

Aramis tuned out the blather. She was a politician, so she could say nothing and say it very well. He kept track of Cady’s men Lionel and Edge. They’d worked together before and he trusted them for backup. Or, if they led, he’d back them. It was reassuring.

Not everyone outside the cordon was thrilled. There was a group with signs, including one very sophisticated holographic imager, showing an aerial picture of Highland with horns. This was definitely a more sophisticated dump than Salin.

It was three minutes in when the action started.

Something flew in a high arc and he swung toward it, opened his mouth to sound a threat, and instead said, “Eggs incoming.”

He sighed and stepped in front of Highland, as Elke and Jason pulled her back behind the podium and threw up its shield. The egg splatted harmlessly on his helmet and dripped down his ear and neck in a cold gooey trail. A second one splashed across the crown, and he dodged a third. Elke had taken one and several others flurried around.

Then the smell hit him. These had been left in the warm sun for a while, but not where they could actually cook, just rot.

In his earbuds, Alex said, “We’re departing. Speech is over.”

“Roger,” he said, and backed under the vehicle to take the lower hatch. He scrambled up from the dust, and Shaman handed him a wad of rags to clean the slimy gunk.

Highland was seated, had a bottled cocktail, and said, “The Ripple Creek guards were attacked with hurled eggs, probably by some faction angered at their status as paid contractors.”

JessieM pressed send, and Aramis seethed. No, you bitch, they were throwing at you, because of your status. We took the hit. And fuck you very much. It was understood that “security” could be used as an excuse for a lot of things, and the company, and the team would take the heat for missed appointments, delays, intrusions. This was a new level of contemptibility.

Highland didn’t even inquire as to how he and Elke were. All she asked was of Alex, “Can we proceed to the next location?”

Alex kept his attention on her as he said, “I see no reason not to at this time. If the threats escalate it may be advisable to pull the plug.”