Moxyland - Lauren Beukes [71]
One of the cops fires a chem cap into the thicket of the protesters, hitting Ashraf solidly in the chest, the impact knocking him back into the mass of bodies writhing on the floor.
By now, the Aitos have pulled Doyenne down, but now they look up, ears pricked forward as they pick up the telltale chem scent, and abandon their victim to bound towards the protesters.
The next bit is mess. Tendeka and his ragtag regiment yank out pangas. The first dog to reach them goes down with a meaty thwack more robust than the art thing, which goes to prove, kids, that the attack at the gallery wasn't in aid of animal rights at all. I file this for reference. Ten's bunnyhugger boyfriend would surely disapprove – if he wasn't a little preoccupied drowning in a sea of thrashing limbs.
The Aito howls, but comes straight back up, its lip hanging off its jaw, exposing the teeth. The kids shriek, more horror than rage, lashing out as much to keep it at bay as anything else.
It goes down under a torrent of blows, real Rwanda.
On the stairs, one of the cops raises her baton and then lowers it again, uncertainly. Several of the others are locked in a screaming match, because this shit is way outside the bounds of procedure. People aren't supposed to attack the dogs.
A sharp keening buzz undercuts the noise, a subsonic signal to the Aitos, which all lose interest at the same time. Together, they raise their heads, then bound back to the cops, to the tune of their master's audio, abandoning their targets.
It's only temporary. Trust me on this. There's gonna be a bloodrush for sure, and it's only going to get uglier. I'm preparing to scram, shifting my weight onto my knees so I can launch towards the exits, when something unexpected happens.
The cops wait for the dogs to reach them and then turn sharply and tromp up the stairs, withdrawing.
It's apparent no one knows what the fuck this means. There's a wailing from the other side of the hall, like someone has figured this can only signify heavy shit to come, but minutes pass. There's no indication that the cops are coming back.
People scramble to their feet, helping each other up, laughing in relief, or bleating. The civilians don't know what hit them. Even some of the gamers are displaying classic shock. Couldn't cut it in realworld after all.
I'm already up, halfway to the exits, when runt boy peels out from behind a pillar, and tedious deluxe, sticks his gun in my gut.
'Oh fuck off, Twitchy, the game's over.'
'We're gonna go find Ibis. And Doyenne,' he says, all steely determination, despite his hand shaking so hard he has to steady the barrel of his gun against my navel.
'You fragged a police dog, Twitchy. You think they can't trace your bullets?' They can't, but
I'm not gonna tell him that.
'Only with dye! I thought it was–' His left hand is switching the safety on and off relentlessly.
'Part of the game? Got carried away? Like that's going to stand you in civil rehab. It's still an attack on police property. If you're lucky, they might downgrade the charge to defacing police property.'
His eyes are bugging out, but he won't let up on that damn safety catch. On/off/on/off, not unlike his brain malfunction.
'But what about Ibis?' he whines.
'I'm sure Julia will be fine.' He winces at her real name, and the implication that I might know her on more intimate terms. Someone's crushing on their clan mate badly. 'Doyenne, though, she's gonna need a whole lot of patching up, thanks to you. You really