Harry Turtledove - A Different Flesh

"You'd send them al to the preserves, then?" "That would be the ideal solution," Dixon said, seriously. Most of the people marching with him would given the plump man a yes at once. Three big track’s of land, together they were as large as a fair-sized commonwealth state, one in the Rockies, one on the plains, and one in the northwest woods, gave wild sims and their way of life a last stronghold in the FCA.

Trouble was, even a smal band of wild sims needed a large territory on which to forage. There wasn't enough land to accommodate the subhumans who now lived in civilized country, even assuming they wanted to trade modern lives for ones like those of their ancestors. "And in this not-so-ideal world?" the plump man asked All his raised eyebrow telling Dixon he knew all the objections that had popped into the demonstrator's mind. "As much freedom as they can handle," Dixon said. He jerked his chin at the Hall of the Popular Assembly. "at least freedom from being made into lab animals because they're too much like us."

That eyebrow, damn it, climbed higher. "'As much freedom as they can handle,' " the plump man echoed. "I –can’t imagine a more dangerous gift, for either the sims or the people who give it to them." His eyes followed Dixon's stubborn chin to the portico of the Hal . Someone was handing the greencoat chief a rolled-up piece of paper. The fellow resumed, "I would say, for example, that our esttemed constabulary has just been granted al the freedom they can handle."

“Yes," Dixon said unhappily. He knew a writ when he the. Somebody on the committee had fouled up; the side was supposed to keep the greencoats off people's backs until the protest broke up by itself.

He turned to say that to the man who'd been walking him. The fellow wasn't there anymore. Dixon spotted him walking purposefully down the street in the direction he’d been going before he fell in with the demonstration. In the plump man's perspective, that made good sense. He was tempted to disappear himself.

The greencoat chief put a hailer to his mouth. The static belched from it as he turned it on made everybody look ray who hadn't already.

One of his assistants ceremonously unrolled the writ.

'h-oh, trouble," Melody Porter said from in front of them. They'd been in a lot of the same classes at the Philadelphia Collegium since they were both freshmen four years now, he thought, bemused. They'd been to lots of demonstrations together, too. Melody was even more Strongly committed to justice for sims than he was. She came by it honestly; she was the great-great-grandaughter of Henry Quick, the trapper who'd really founded the sim justice movement.

Kiln an altogether different vein, Dixon thought marching with her was one of the things that made protests while.

After a few more seconds of fumbling, the boss greencoat got the hailer working. His aide handed him the paper. "Pro bono publico," he intoned, his amplified voice filling the square with formality. Dixon wonderes how many horrors had been perpetrated "for the publi "Pro bono publico," the greencoat repeated for the sake of the record and for the benefit of everyone this side a complete nerve-dead deafness. Then he got down to business:

"A court has declared this rally a danger to public order.

Those who do not disperse in the next five minute will be liable to arrest."

His blunt demand jerked the protesters out of thei chant. People shouted back at the greencoat: "We're peaceable! Why aren't you?"

"Can't stand to hear the truth, eh. And a cry that started a new chant:

"Justice for sims, and for people tool" Even so, Dixon noticed that the marcher’s picket signs, which had been steady, began to jerk as if pelted by hailstones.

People were having second thought Few were leaving, though.

The officer with the hailer knew his job. He kept the pressure on, loudly announcing each minute as it went by. The greencoats shook themselves out into a skirmish lin "Time's up," the chief announced.

The line moveed forward. Dixon took off his spectacles and stuck them In the hip pocket of his breeches.

Sometimes these affairs stayed polite, sometimes they didn't. The world turned blurry A greencoat emerged out of the blur. He was carrying a club. His voice conversational, matter-of-fact, he ask Dixon, "You going to take off, kid?"

Before he answered, he heard Melody loudly say "No"to what had to be the same question. That kil ed the few shreds of hesitation he had left. "No," he said, trying to I sound as firm as Melody had.

The greencoat only shrugged. "I arrest you, then, constituting a danger to public order." Formal langu done, he went on, "Come along quietly?"

"Sure."

"Al right, then. put down your sign, you won't get extra trash-strewing charge on account of it." Dixon did.

He fit his spectacles back on. The greencoat waited till he was done, then gave him a light shove. "Over that way, me boyo." He sounded more bored than anything else Dixon thought, a little resentfully. Justice for sims was too important to be handled as part of someone's routine.

Even with his spectacles, Dixon did not see what went wrong. Maybe a protester whacked a greencoat with a picket n. Maybe a greencoat thought one was going to, and swung first. Maybe a greencoat swung first for the hell of it.

However it happened, it happened fast. What had been a peaceful process turned ugly all at once. Demonstrators swung greencoats, and pushed them away when they tried to arrest them. Like the genie in the legend, once violence was of the bottle, it did not want to go back in.

She greencoat who was urging Ken Dixon along sudl y pushed him in the back, hard. He went down to his knees. His careful y replaced spectacles flew off his nose. He heard a crunch as a greencoat running toward the wing fight smashed them with his boot.

Melody screamed as she got the same treatment he just got. "Leave her alone!" he shouted. He tried to get to his feet to go help her.

A club exploded against the side of his head. He went down. He tried to get up again, but his legs didn't want to what he told them.

He had made it to al fours when a greencoat landed on him, knocking him down again.

"You're not going anywhere!" the greencoat bawled in his ear. It was his greencoat; he recognized the voice. He was irrationally pleased he was able to recognize anything.

The greencoat yanked his arms out from under him. His face in hit the pavement. The greencoat jerked his arms behind his back clapped manacles on his wrists. He had thought the roaring pain in his head left him immune to hurts. The bite of the manacles' metal teeth convinced otherwise in a hurry.

come on, you stinking sim-lover!" the gleencoat muted. He hauled Dixon to his feet, frog-marching him toward a constabulary motorcoach. Two more greencoats were waiting at the steps. They grabbed him, flung him inside.

He almost fel over somebody inside the motorcoach moment later, somebody almost fell over him Crawling with his hands locked behind him was almost lmpossible. Because he had to, he managed to lurch his way up or one of the motorcoach's hard, comfortless seats.

"Are you all right, Ken?" He hadn't even seen Melody the seat in front of him. Concern in her voice, she went on

"You're bleeding."

"I suppose so," he said vaguely; he felt something warm' and wet trickling down his cheek and jaw. He leaned head against the bar-reinforced glass of the window. Then he looked at Melody again.

Above one ear, blood matted her short, sandy hair. "So are you."

"I know." Despite the blow she'd taken, she stil had wits about her, and she was furious. "The bastard groped me, too when he was wrestling with me to get the manacle on. I Clawed him pretty good, I think, before he managed to."

"Good for you." Dixon leaned against the window again; talking and thinking hurt. Someone sat down beside him. He hardly noticed. He was watching the greens finish off the demonstration.