That Nietzsche Thing by Christopher Blankley Page B

no mirth. “But I’ve
had enough excitement for the time being.” He shook his head. “Why
did they have to burn my lab?”
    “Must have thought you were trying to decode
Q. They couldn’t stand for that.”
    “God, I hope the disk arrays survived the
Halon...”
    “Thanks for everything,” I said, squeezing
O’Day’s shoulder. “Sorry for the mess. Let me know when you have
their location on the lowjack, okay?”
    “Will do,” O’Day said, grumpily. “And
Sasha?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Next time you need something decoded,” O’Day
gave me a weak smile. “Call the NSA.”

 
     
     
     
     

Chapter 10
     
    I wasn’t back at the Town Hall before O’Day
emailed me the address. But then, I wasn’t getting back into Town
Hall anytime soon, as Occupied Seattle was well on its way to full
WTO lock down. The Feds were forming skirmishing lines, all clad in
riot gear, as an angry mob taunted them across Westlake Square.
    The Feds looked undermanned, and I could see
why. Looking at the mob, I recognized many of my old comrades,
police officers and city workers, toting hunks of concrete and
taunting the riot cops. They weren’t in uniform, but it was
obvious. They were the ringleaders. The Seattle establishment had
turned out for a little street justice.
    I was of half a mind to step up to the line
and join right in, but with the Montavez case just about to break
wide open, I had no time to help out. It disgusted me to admit it,
but I needed Constantine and his TAC-30 unit to Special Ops their
way into the address O’Day had just sent me, before the
Rosicrucians figured out that they’d just stolen back an e-reader
with its lowjack broadcasting back to the mother ship.
    An official was addressing the crowd through
a megaphone as I pushed forward through the gathered mass of
humanity. People were screaming, brandishing bats and makeshift
clubs. They were ready for a fight, alright. The Feds were
dangerously outnumbered.
    I broke through the crowd and advanced on the
Fed’s line. Riot cops yelled from behind gas masks for me to get
back, but I raised my hands, with my badge showing in the right. I
just kept yelling “Constantine” over and over, until the wall of
riot shield parted and let me slip through. A bottle exploded an
inch to my right as I slipped through the Fed’s phalanx. I ducked
as the broken glass sprayed me. Fuckers. Guess I was marked down as
a collaborator now. I was going to have to watch myself.
    I found Constantine in his command trailer,
frantically yelling orders to his ops team at their consoles. I’d
only seen the mob in Westlake Square, but from the monitors I could
see he was dealing with similar gatherings in Pioneer, Hing Hay and
Steinbrueck. The masses had the Feds boxed in. No wonder
Constantine looked scared.
    “Get a reserve detachment to Yestler and
Fifth, right now!” Constantine bellowed as I climbed into his
trailer. He had his jacket off and his tie loosened. He looked
frazzled.
    “You ordered the reserve to Pike and—” a
bearded geek began to dispute.
    “Fuck! I don’t care!” Constantine growled.
“Just find me more men! And form a skirmish line at Yestler,
okay?”
    “We have movement, east down—” another voice
said.
    “They’re coming at Alpha Twenty’s flank!”
Constantine thrust an angry finger at an overhead, thermal map. He
must have had drones in the air, giving him a live feed. “Order
Alpha—” Constantine began. Then decided there wasn’t time. He
ripped the headset off the seated technician and hollered into the
microphone himself. “Alpha Twenty, wheel to your nine! Approaching
hostiles! I repeat—”
    But the battle had already begun. The riot
police on Pike were caught off guard as a mass of red blobs on the
thermal screen swarmed over a mass of blue blobs with ID tags.
    “Shit!” Constantine threw the headset back at
the shocked ops tech. “Pull twenty men of Westlake to reinforce
Pike. Where’s the ORV?” Constantine turned