A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [72]
With the influx of reinforcements, the crowd was intimidated into backing off. After all, these people weren’t part of the movement; they had been only momentarily inspired by the destruction of the video works. More than likely, they’d be as docile as ever once this day was forgotten.
Unless, Dan’nor couldn’t help but add, there were other days like this one. Other incidents of sabotage, other Civil Service raids on suspected conspirator gathering places.
As this occurred to him, the mob was contained and moved away from the bar. The man behind him let go of his arms, knowing he couldn’t penetrate the wall of citizens that had formed between him and his father. Before long, they were forced all the way to the wall.
Dan’nor himself had his back to the screen. The man beside him-the one who had restrained him from helping Trien’nor-was bathed in the lurid light of the Conflicts. Some battle or other crawled behind them, a fitting backdrop to the more immediate violence before them.
Minutes later, the crowd had more or less subsided. It was still surly, but it had no heart left. The Civil Service agents had skillfully carved out the ringleaders, those most inclined to rebellion.
Dan’nor couldn’t see very much-not with all the bodies that pressed against him. But as the citizens’ noises diminished, a voice rose above them. An even voice, a trained voice. Obviously, one of the Civil Service officers.
“Tonight,” he said, “you were spared the presence of criminals in your midst. Apparently, you were unaware of them, and of their crimes-or you would never have attempted to defend them as you did. In the future, all law-abiding citizens will provide more cooperation-or they will be considered criminals themselves-and treated as such.”
The door opened and there were scuffling sounds-as of prisoners being dragged out against their will. Then the blue uniforms must have filed out after them, because those he could see dwindled in number. Finally, they were gone altogether.
This night, Geordi’s fellow workers had built their fire on the other end of the bridge. Normally, they would have slept on the side where the armored ones had decided to settle-but as if at an unspoken signal, understood best by those who had been here the longest, they’d placed the ravine between themselves and the newcomers.
The switch didn’t seem to bother anyone, however. Everybody drowsed off before true darkness fell-everyone except Geordi himself. He waited just long enough to establish that all the others had closed their eyes.
And then he made his move.
He stole away from the dying fire. Slunk out onto the bridge as silently as he could. Crossed it, hugging the fiber guides and supports on one side, so as to minimize his chances of being seen. He felt the thrumming of the wind in the planks, the subtle swaying of the entire structure as it displayed its meticulously crafted resiliency. Caught glimpses of the ravine, deep and black and hungering beneath him.
Finally, as he neared the far terminus, Geordi slipped down from the wooden surface and took to the jumbled face of the cliff. Making good use of all the hand-and footholds provided, he moved sideways for ten meters or so before pulling himself up onto a ledge.
The drivers’ fire was now almost directly above him, marked by a trail of spitting embers and thin, whitish smoke. The wind, noisier up here than usual, carried the sparks past him into the updraft from the ravine, where they became lost among the plentitude of stars. He could hear the snapping of the wood as it burned, the rough-edged ebb and flow of voices.
Unlike the workers, it seemed, the armored ones were still awake. He’d prepared himself for this possibility-it would just mean additional care on his part.
Holding his breath, he climbed a little higher, pressing himself into the gravelly incline-hoping fervently that he wouldn’t dislodge a sizable rock and send it crashing down onto the ledge. Fortunately, he was familiar with this particular slope, though he’d never given it such close attention