Moxyland - Lauren Beukes [59]
There is still a prevailing undercurrent of thrill, a rush from the violence – no one was hurt, apart from Khanyi Nkosi's thing. Everyone is on their phones, taking pictures, talking.
Toby is shouting above the ruckus, into his mic, like he's reporting live. There are even more people trying to wedge into the space, so that the cops, who have finally arrived, have to shove their way inside.
Self-Portrait is covered in a mist of blood. I move to wipe it clean, although I'm scared the blood will smear, will stain the paper, but just then Jonathan wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck. And now it's my turn to collapse against him.
'It's okay, sweetheart, everything's going to be okay.'
Tendeka
If there's one thing street kids know, it's how to vanish effectively. Ashraf is still shaking by the time we get to our refuge, a garage in a neighbouring apartment block. skyward* sent me a basic key SIM, that jimmies a signal to get in doors that aren't coded high security. It's a blunt hack job, but it works.
All the protests I've been involved in till now have been phone-based. Text msgs are the quickest, cheapest, most convenient way of coordinating and relaying information instantly. 'Someone arrested.' 'New rendezvous.' 'Take Strand Street, cops are waiting on Riebeeck.' But tonight there are no phones. No way of passing on msgs or warnings – or being tracked down.
'This is what we should be campaigning for.' I try to explain to Ashraf how we need to create an alternate economy that doesn't rely on SIM IDs and credit rates. We should all live like Emmie and our street-kid army collaborative. But he is too furious to listen.
'You told me the knives were just for show.'
'It's not about show. Not anymore.'
'Oh, cut the big talk. They're children, Tendeka.'
'They're disenfranchised. Society's dropouts, the lost generation. We're giving them a purpose.'
'Anyone can give a kid purpose! You can twist them whichever way suits you. Especially if you're letting them vent their aggression. You can't just put a leash on that afterwards.'
He scrapes his hands through his hair. 'I just don't know what you were thinking. This wasn't the plan, was it? This Lord of the Flies number you just pulled? Please tell me that.'
For once, his frustration leaves me unmoved. There are bigger things at stake than Ashraf's inhibitions.
'I don't need your stubbornness right now, Ten. God, you make me crazy. This fucks everything we've done. You want to talk violation? This – fuck, this is the moral opposite of everything we believe in. This is going to make the news in Tibet!'
'That's what I'm counting on.'
'You really don't get it. I mean, you really, really don't. Did you see the fucking cams in the gallery? Do you know the licence you've given them to crack down?'
'Looked right at 'em. That was the point. skyward* said we needed to make global news, to force their hand.'
'You don't even know who skyward* is. He's an avatar. A fucking online persona whose orders you blithely follow, like a lapdog. Roll over. Play dead. Drag a bunch of kids into what's going to be classified as terrorist action. You don't know anything about him.'
'I know he sends us first-class tech. Shit we'd never get our hands on. Shit so new they haven't even drawn up countermeasures on paper, let alone implemented them. The smear, the LEDs for the graffiti project.' I've let slip too much, but Ashraf is so angry, he doesn't even notice.
'So fucking what? How does he get access to it? You don't know who he is. What his motivations are. If it's even a