amateur propagandists like Orks First! They’re eating up the kid’s story with a fork and—"
"Quiet!" Carla leaned closer to the tiny screen. The camera was back on the ork girl, locked in a closeup that showed the tears at the corners of her eyes. Carla made sure the machine was set on record, for review later in case she missed anything.
"We were stopped outside an apartment a few blocks from here," Pita began, gesturing up the street, "by two Lone Star cops. There were four of us. Me, Chen Wah . . ." She paused, blinking furiously. "And two younger orks, Shaz and Mohan Gill. The cops took our simsense headset and . . ."
Carla glanced up as the car came to a halt. They were stopping for a yellow light. Cross traffic was light. "Let’s move, Masaki!" she said impatiently. "The pirate is going to wrap this story and disappear."
"This intersection is monitored!" Masaki protested. "I don’t want to risk getting a tick—"
Carla grabbed the wheel, slid across the seat, and punched her foot down on top of Masaki’s, depressing the accelerator. Masaki gasped in fear as the car leaped across the intersection, narrowly missing the oncoming traffic. Horns blared, but then they were through and racing along Rainier. Masaki glared at Carla as she released the wheel, then drove on, grinding his teeth. Carla was pleased to see that they were at last making some decent speed.
She returned her attention to the trideo screen. The pirate reporter was standing beside Pita, one arm draped protectively over her shoulders. He was talking earnestly into the camera, his eyes glittering with intensity.
"Most of us have gone through what Pita has just described." he was saying. "Lone Star seizes our property without warrant, stops and questions us without due cause, and talks to us in the most derogatory way they can think of. We live our lives in the Underground, afraid to venture onto the streets of our own city, shut out from the homes we once owned. Governor Schultz and Lone Star Chief Loudon have promised to ‘clean up’ Seattle. They pretend they’re talking about street crime. But anyone who remembers the events of 2039 will read between the lines and realize that the ‘housecleaning’ these humans are talking about is far more serious than the round-up that triggered the Night of Rage. We at Orks First! are about to bring you the true story of the links between our city’s ‘security’ force and the policlub that was notorious for—"
"We’re close now!" Masaki called out. "They’ve got to be around here somewhere." He weaved around another vehicle, cut off a truck, and pulled back into the curb lane.
The pirate’s voice was lost in a roar of static. The trideo screen had gone blue.
"Damn!" Carla thumped the dash above the trideo set. "We’ve lost the transmission."
"Doesn’t matter." Masaki wheezed, slowing the car. "There they are!"
Carla looked up. The ork girl was perhaps a block away, standing near the curb. Her body posture was hunched, frozen. She looked like a frightened animal, caught in the glare of headlights and uncertain which way to run. The pirate reporter lay at her feet, tangled in his tripod as if he had tripped over it. He was struggling to raise himself to a sitting position, to point something black he held in his hand. At first, Carla thought it was a portacam. But then she recognized the streamlined shape of a pistol. She was just powering down her window when shots coughed out from across the street. The ork reporter sagged to the ground, then went still.
"That’s gunfire!" Masaki said, slamming on the brakes. Around them, other drivers were also reacting, some accelerating away as quickly as possible, others spinning in tight fishtail turns. Two cars slammed together with a dull crunch and the scraping squeal of torn metal in the intersection ahead.
As their car skidded to a stop, Carla peered around Masaki. On the opposite side of the street, a man was tucking a pistol into a
"Quiet!" Carla leaned closer to the tiny screen. The camera was back on the ork girl, locked in a closeup that showed the tears at the corners of her eyes. Carla made sure the machine was set on record, for review later in case she missed anything.
"We were stopped outside an apartment a few blocks from here," Pita began, gesturing up the street, "by two Lone Star cops. There were four of us. Me, Chen Wah . . ." She paused, blinking furiously. "And two younger orks, Shaz and Mohan Gill. The cops took our simsense headset and . . ."
Carla glanced up as the car came to a halt. They were stopping for a yellow light. Cross traffic was light. "Let’s move, Masaki!" she said impatiently. "The pirate is going to wrap this story and disappear."
"This intersection is monitored!" Masaki protested. "I don’t want to risk getting a tick—"
Carla grabbed the wheel, slid across the seat, and punched her foot down on top of Masaki’s, depressing the accelerator. Masaki gasped in fear as the car leaped across the intersection, narrowly missing the oncoming traffic. Horns blared, but then they were through and racing along Rainier. Masaki glared at Carla as she released the wheel, then drove on, grinding his teeth. Carla was pleased to see that they were at last making some decent speed.
She returned her attention to the trideo screen. The pirate reporter was standing beside Pita, one arm draped protectively over her shoulders. He was talking earnestly into the camera, his eyes glittering with intensity.
"Most of us have gone through what Pita has just described." he was saying. "Lone Star seizes our property without warrant, stops and questions us without due cause, and talks to us in the most derogatory way they can think of. We live our lives in the Underground, afraid to venture onto the streets of our own city, shut out from the homes we once owned. Governor Schultz and Lone Star Chief Loudon have promised to ‘clean up’ Seattle. They pretend they’re talking about street crime. But anyone who remembers the events of 2039 will read between the lines and realize that the ‘housecleaning’ these humans are talking about is far more serious than the round-up that triggered the Night of Rage. We at Orks First! are about to bring you the true story of the links between our city’s ‘security’ force and the policlub that was notorious for—"
"We’re close now!" Masaki called out. "They’ve got to be around here somewhere." He weaved around another vehicle, cut off a truck, and pulled back into the curb lane.
The pirate’s voice was lost in a roar of static. The trideo screen had gone blue.
"Damn!" Carla thumped the dash above the trideo set. "We’ve lost the transmission."
"Doesn’t matter." Masaki wheezed, slowing the car. "There they are!"
Carla looked up. The ork girl was perhaps a block away, standing near the curb. Her body posture was hunched, frozen. She looked like a frightened animal, caught in the glare of headlights and uncertain which way to run. The pirate reporter lay at her feet, tangled in his tripod as if he had tripped over it. He was struggling to raise himself to a sitting position, to point something black he held in his hand. At first, Carla thought it was a portacam. But then she recognized the streamlined shape of a pistol. She was just powering down her window when shots coughed out from across the street. The ork reporter sagged to the ground, then went still.
"That’s gunfire!" Masaki said, slamming on the brakes. Around them, other drivers were also reacting, some accelerating away as quickly as possible, others spinning in tight fishtail turns. Two cars slammed together with a dull crunch and the scraping squeal of torn metal in the intersection ahead.
As their car skidded to a stop, Carla peered around Masaki. On the opposite side of the street, a man was tucking a pistol into a
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