Stations of the Tide - Michael Swanwick [83]
“Shit!” Chu turned away irritably, swung back again. “Listen, you don’t know the way things are here—”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“You don’t! I—look, I can’t talk to you like this. Climb up out of the flier. Stand on your own two feet and look me in the eye.”
He raised the metal tube slightly. “You’re in no position to give orders.”
“Shoot me, then! Shoot me or talk to me, one or the other.” She was so angry her eyes bulged. Her jaw jutted defiantly.
The bureaucrat sighed. With poor grace he clambered out of the flier. “All right. Talk.”
“I will. Okay, I took Gregorian’s money—I told you when we first met that the planetary forces were all corrupt. My salary doesn’t even cover expenses! It’s understood that an operative is going to work the opposition for a little juice. It’s the only way we can survive.”
“Reconfigure for flight,” the bureaucrat said to the flier. He felt sick and disgusted, and yearned for the clean, empty sky. To judge by Chu’s expression, it showed on his face.
“You idiot! Gregorian would’ve had you killed if it hadn’t been for me. So I left the occasional dead crow in your bed. I didn’t do anything any op in my place wouldn’t have, and I did a lot less than some. The only reason you aren’t dead now is that I told Gregorian it wasn’t necessary. Without me, you’ll never come back from Ararat.”
“Wasn’t that the original plan?”
Chu stiffened. “I am an officer. I would have brought you out alive. Listen to me. You’re completely out of your depth. If you have to leave me behind, then don’t go to Ararat. You can’t deal with Gregorian. He’s crazy, a sociopath, a madman. With him thinking I was his creature, we could have taken him. But alone? No.”
“Thank you for your advice.”
“For pity’s sake, don’t…” Chu’s voice faltered. “What’s that?”
Voices floated in the air, and had in fact been in the background for some time, a babble of cries and shouts rendered soft and homogeneous by distance. They both turned to look.
Far below, the pens of evacuees crawled with motion. Fencing had been torn down, and the crowd flowed after retreating handlers. Batons swung, and the sharp crack of wood floated above the swirling noise. “The fools!” Chu said softly.
“What is it?”
“They brought out the people too early, bottled them together too tightly, handled them too roughly, and told them nothing. A textbook case of how to create a mob. Anything can set off a riot then, a cracked head, a rumor, somebody giving his neighbor a shove.” She sucked thoughtfully on a back molar. “Yeah, I’ll bet that’s how it happened.”
The cattleboat was separating from the dock, its crew hoping to isolate the riot ashore. People desperately leaped after it, and fell or were pushed into the water. The evacuation officials were regrouping downriver, behind a clutch of utility buildings. From here it was all very slow and lazy and easy to watch. After a moment Chu squared her shoulders. “Duty calls. You’ll have to kill yourself without my help. I’ve got to saunter down there and help pick up the pieces.” Abruptly she extended a hand. “No hard feelings?”
The bureaucrat hesitated. But somehow the mood had changed. The tension between them was gone, the anger dissipated. He shifted the tube from one hand to the other. They shook.
Far below, a roar went up as behavior dampers exploded in orange smoke at the front of the mob. The thought of going down there horrified the bureaucrat. But he forced himself to speak up anyway. “Do you need help? I haven’t much time, but…”
“You ever had any riot training?”
“No.”
“Then you’re useless.” Pulling a cigarillo from one pocket, Chu started down the hill. After a few steps, she turned back. “I’ll light a candle in your memory.” She lingered, as if reluctant to break this last contact.
The bureaucrat wished he could make some kind of gesture. Another man might have run after Chu and hugged her. “Say hello to that husband of yours for me,” he said gruffly. “Tell him I said you were a good little girl while you were away.”
“You son of a bitch.” Chu smiled, spat,