Severance (39 page)

§

Sergei crept forward, pistol held in front of him, a terminal
awkwardly mounted to the top of the gun with tape. Through the terminal, he
could see dozens of other security officers creeping forward doing the exact
same thing. It had taken them a few minutes to muster once the attack began,
and then a few minutes more waiting while the Othersiders overextended
themselves.

Lights flickered in the darkness as Othersiders scrambled
with their terminal lights. The terminal lights were badly unfocused and could
only usefully illuminate things a couple of meters away. Just enough to
navigate by or to act as a glowing beacon which screamed, “Shoot me!” Security
officers behind Sergei somewhere gladly obliged those requests, picking off the
lights as they flared up.

Not all of the gunfire in front of Sergei had stopped, but
all of it was blind, the Othersiders probably hitting themselves more than
anything else. Sergei’s team skirted the main battlefield, moving around to
pick the Othersiders apart from their flanks.

A red blur staggered out of a building in front of Sergei.
It could have been a civilian, but he shot it anyways. The blur crumpled to the
ground, and as he drew closer, he could see it did in fact have a pistol with
it.
Take that, armed blur.
He bent down and scooped up the pistol,
tucking it into the bag he had slung over his shoulders. He then slid a plastic
pair of binders around the blur’s wrists, snapping them closed. The rest of his
unit moved into the building, doing the same with their own blurs.

That basic, confused process repeated itself for what seemed
like hours, Sergei and his team calmly moving from building to building,
knocking out blurs, shooting at bobbing white lights in the middle distance,
then cuffing their victims and taking their weapons. Thorias had been adamant
they were to do nothing else, but the riot a week earlier had created more than
a bit of bad blood in the security corps, and despite the fact that the
subjects were completely limp at the time, Sergei saw at least a few cases of ‘subjects
resisting arrest.’ He didn’t partake in too much of that himself, but he didn’t
stop it either.
‘They Started It’
wasn’t security’s traditional credo,
but it seemed to be catching on now.

§

Leroy froze, blind, panicked. It was completely, utterly black.
Even the streetlights had gone out. Although maybe they weren’t on in the first
place — it was, after all, eleven in the morning. He blinked, again and again,
willing himself to see something. The terminal on his thigh squealed with
senseless shouting and cries.

A short distance away, a blinding bright light appeared, the
brightest thing Leroy had ever seen. Blinking, he realized it was a terminal
light held by one of his new friends. A salvo of charged particles thumped into
it, knocking down the light’s owner, shutting off the terminal.

“Shit,” someone said beside Leroy. It sounded like the smart
war guy. “I think they just shot the kid,” he said.

“No, I’m still here,” Leroy said.

“Cool. Other guy? You shot?” Silence. “Yeah, I think they
got him.”

“What do we do?” Leroy asked.

“Should probably stop turning on lights, I guess.” More
gunfire, this time coming from behind them. “That came from our guys!” smart
war guy said. “Hey, morons! Stop shooting!” Another volley of shots stitched
the ground, thumping into him. Leroy heard him moan and slump over.

Considering his options, Leroy felt his way around to the
other side of the planter, taking cover from the good guys. All around him he
could hear and see lights flickering on and off, shots snapping those lights
off. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the sound of confused moans. It
sounded like someone who had been knocked out in the first wave was waking up, complaining
of unexpected blindness. Leroy heard him stagger to his feet, then cringed as a
sudden glow from his terminal announced his position. More shots from the south
sailed over Leroy’s head, bringing the darkness back.

Eventually, the remaining good guys smartened up, and most
of the gunfire stopped, aside from some concentrated spurts off to his left
somewhere. Knowing he was in the worst possible place to be when and if the
lights came back on, Leroy rounded the planter and began crawling in a
direction that seemed like home.

It was slow and awkward going, bumping into benches and buildings
and bodies as he went. And somewhat worryingly, the spurts of gunfire seemed to
be getting louder. He changed direction, trying to crawl away from them. But to
no effect. Whoever was shooting was crawling a lot faster than he was. Or
perhaps not crawling at all.

“Where do you think you’re going?” someone said behind him,
someone probably not crawling. An impact in Leroy’s ass, then a tingling
sensation, then somehow, the darkness got darker.

§

Hogg approached the front of Kinsella’s garden well
apartment, weary to get this over with. It had literally been a very long
night, and he wasn’t in the mood for whatever nonsense was going to be hurled
at him next.

Hogg hadn’t known the attack was being planned — he would
have begged Kinsella not to proceed if he had, explaining as forcefully as
possible that a group of armed fools were still fools. As soon as he had heard
what was happening, he had rushed to the opposite side of the garden well to watch
the disaster unfold overhead. Watching their initial success and forward
progress hadn’t dulled his concern in the slightest, the whole time confident
that it couldn’t last.

He was right. He just couldn’t have imaged how right he would
be.

When the streetlights started to come on at their normal
hour, they revealed the last of the security forces retreating back to their
former defensive perimeter, leaving a couple hundred good guys trussed up on
the surrounding streets. Hogg had spent the rest of the night helping untie his
fallen comrades, the whole time under the guns — and within earshot — of the
mocking security forces.

He had expected some kind of rebuke from the mayor, though
imagined it would come accompanied by a group of armed thugs. Even though he’d
had nothing to do with the planning of the disaster, he knew that wasn’t going
to matter — the mayor didn’t seem like a man who concerned himself with fussy
details like that. Kinsella might even think Hogg had tipped Helot off. Hogg
would protest his innocence — that was at least worth a token effort — but
mostly he just felt resigned. Unwanted in one end of the ship and unpopular in
the other. He had nowhere left to go.

The guards at the door recognized him, one of them stepping
out of the way and holding the door open for him. It was the same pair Hogg had
duped when he went to ‘arrest’ the mayor at the arena. “Hogg, sir. You can go
right up,” he said with a smile. Hogg tried not to let the surprise register on
his face. This was a friendly visit? Neither had even cast a glance at the pistol
on his hip. Which meant he wasn’t walking into an ambush. What was it then? As
he rode up the elevator, he wondered if Helot would let him back on the cool
side of the ship if he shot Kinsella.

The doors opened, revealing one of the mayor’s many interchangeable
lackeys, who greeted Hogg, directing him down the hall to the mayor’s bedroom. With
the security forces no longer actively hunting him, Kinsella had finally let
his wig down and moved home. Entering the bedroom, Hogg found Kinsella’s aide Bletmann
seated in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, slouching over one of
the armrests. To judge by his blotchy, red face, Hogg guessed that he had been
crying. Stepping further in the room, he approached Kinsella, who was fully
clothed and sitting upright in his plush bed, back against the headboard. He
beckoned Hogg over, gesturing for him to take a seat at the foot of the bed.

“Sergeant Hogg,” the mayor began — the first time anyone
outside of his original team had mentioned his rank. “Henry here was the
architect of last night’s little…what are we calling it again? Let’s say, ‘Sloppy
Business.’ ” Hogg nodded once; that fit quite well. “Based on the results of
Henry’s ‘Sloppy Business’…,” the mayor spared a tired glance for his right hand
man, “…he seems to think that this war isn’t winnable.” Kinsella looked
pointedly at Hogg. “Tell me what you think about that.”

Hogg chose his words carefully. “He’s not far off. We
basically suck at this. But I don’t think it’s hopeless. The way they’re
digging in, there’s good reason to think Helot is going to take a long time to
try to detach again. I think we have time. And with time, we might be able to
do something.”

“That doesn’t sound very hopeless. Bletmann?” Kinsella said.

“With what army?” Bletmann moaned.

“With the troops we’ve been recruiting and training,” Hogg
said. “You should know about them. I’ve seen you there.”

Bletmann looked up, casting a woeful look at Hogg. “They’re
not going to stay. They won’t risk their lives for us anymore. Not after last
night.”

“I don’t know about that, Henry,” Kinsella said, a thin
smile on his face. “Something about having the lights turned out like that,”
Kinsella continued. “That might wake a few people up.
Is that irony?
Shit, I think that’s irony, isn’t it? We can use that.” Kinsella pounded his
fist into his open palm. “I would not be surprised if the news feeds get pretty
upset about this. And if some agitators maybe spend the next few days riling
people up, why, I bet our recruitment numbers will be just fine.” Kinsella
smiled; he clearly hadn’t been completely idle. “Sergeant Hogg, you’ve been
basically running the entire training program, correct?”

“I’ve had a lot of help from my officers.” He swallowed. “And
some help from some of your people of course. Which has been very…helpful.”

“Yes, of course.” Kinsella’s eyes flicked over to Bletmann
again. “I’m asking if you could continue doing that without Henry’s assistance.”

“Yes, sir, I think I could.”

“Good. I’m telling you to do that.” Kinsella looked at Hogg
for some sign of acknowledgment, seeming to be satisfied with Hogg’s single
nod. “In addition, do you have any thoughts on how we should best proceed,
strategically?”

“Strategically,” Hogg repeated. He wondered for a moment
what kind of strategy was appropriate for an army of angry morons and whether ‘strategy’
was even the right word to be working with. “That will depend on what your long–term
goal is, I suppose,” he said, playing it safe.

“Good. Very good!” Kinsella said. He clapped his hands
together three times. “Exactly the kind of question Henry never asked.” He
glared once again at his assistant, now quietly sobbing in the corner. “Our
long–term goal is either killing Helot or moving his ass out of that end of the
ship. Simple enough?”

Hogg bit his tongue. “Yes, sir. In that case, yes, I do have
a couple ideas how to proceed. I think we could…”

“I don’t need to hear them,” Kinsella interrupted him. “I
just need to know you have them. Thoughts are good. Need more of them around
here, I’m thinking.” Kinsella rubbed his hands together. “Because you’re in
charge of this whole shitshow now. I hope you’re up to it. The job’s had some
turnover issues.”

“So I see.”

The mayor clapped his hands together again. “Great! It’s a
deal.” He licked his lips. “Henry? Thanks for your services. You are of course
still welcome to serve in your former role. I could use some coffee in fact.
Please take your time getting it.” His gaze hardened. Bletmann meekly got up
and left the bedroom.

Hogg watched him go, then turned back to face the mayor. “He
meant well. Just a little out of his depth.”

“One of his jobs is knowing what his depth is.”

Kinsella flipped the covers off of him and got out of bed. He
walked over to the window, beckoning Hogg to join him. From there he could see
down to the southern end of the garden well. Hogg bit his lip. No wonder the
mayor was pissed; he must have seen every part of the debacle.

Kinsella looked over his shoulder for a moment, checking
that the room was still empty. “What do you know about Laura Stein and Bruce
Redenbach?” he asked.

Hogg blinked, surprised by the sudden change in direction
the conversation had taken. “I arrested the Stein woman. The other one shot
almost everyone else in my squad. Nice people. Why?”

Kinsella nodded. “You remember that thing the other night
with the van?”

Hogg nodded. A day after the riot, a couple of maniacs had
plowed a van through the back of one of the barricades. “What about it?” he
asked. Kinsella smiled. “It was
them?
” Hogg shook his head. “Of course
it was them.”

“It was,” Kinsella confirmed. “The Stein woman’s hurt,
though.”

Hogg opened his mouth, about to say
‘Good’
before
catching himself. Abrasive though she might have been, she had also apparently
been right.

“I ask,” Kinsella began, leaning against the window sill and
peering down the well, “because Laura Stein is supposedly the one who said I was
behind this whole plot. ‘Under interrogation,’ the feeds said.”

Hogg swallowed. “That interrogation never happened. I think
Thorias just made it up.” Hogg related the story of his capture of Stein, her
tale, and the phony report of an interrogation that Thorias released soon
after. “I guess it’s one of the reasons I didn’t try to arrest you too hard.”

A far–off look crossed the mayor’s face. “She said she’d figured
this out on her own?” he asked.

“She seemed to know more about it than anyone else. Knew
about it before your, uh, speech.”

“Hmmmmm,” the mayor said. Hogg winced. First, he locked her
up for something she didn’t do, and now he might have accidentally sent the
mayor after her.
That woman is going to hate me.