1
Sanders soaks in the scene, cars waiting to make the intersection and others just starting to cross. Several vendors selling snacks at the edge of the street. Hundreds of people transiting sidewalk, far too many to observe them all.
“Heading for the door sir,” the headset speakers relay, as the text box in the top right corner of the suit’s HUD announces DAVIS.
“Roger Davis, just give me a ten second count.”
Sanders sweeps his gaze up the steps in front of the courthouse to the door. Empty and elevated above the rest of the street the stairs make the client vulnerable and exposed.
“Alright folks, look lively. Eyes up for anything coming from further than the street. If they move it’s going to be from out of our reach.”
A board on the HUD lights up green by each of the names and then the table vanishes again. Sanders grins, enjoying the simple pleasure of operating combat equipment above military grade. Peacekeepers shift anxiously on the steps, pretending to watch the street itself but all the while continuously sweeping their gaze over the heavily-armored security personnel.
“Ten.” Davis says lighting off the electronic timers on each of the team members’ HUD.
“Alright bring the IFVs and the car,” Sanders says hefting the massive rifle into his shoulder and lifting it closer to the ready. On the stairs the guards follow suit raising their own miniature versions.
The counter shows a four as a large eight-wheeled, armored and heavily-armed bellows wheels-squealing around the corner. In tow, a small light civilian vehicle swings around the corner followed by another infantry transport. The counter reaches one and the doors to the courthouse open at the same time as the three vehicles arrive.
In tight formation, the security detail shifts, Sanders ascending the stairs halfway, Davis descending one quarter, Thompson and Allen drawing in from the sidewalk to the base of the stairs while the four additional personnel let go of the side of the trucks and step down onto the sidewalk.
“It really has been a pleasure to see you again, your honor, but truthfully I would prefer if we met under different circumstances. Maybe dinner with the family this weekend?”
The judge pales noticing the eight towering suits of armor below, “Why yes, dinner would be perfect! I’ll bring Julia!”
“Great! Alright I’ll send you the details and have a car pick you up.”
With that the client, Jake Owens, turns and descends the stairs two at a time. Davis collapses and follows Mr. O. down the stairs, descending alongside Sanders once he reaches him.
Thompson turns and opens the door on the car and waits until Mr. O. is seated before closing the door.
For the brief moment the door hangs open it becomes apparent to anyone looking that the vehicle is heavily armored. Sanders frowns, noticing the look on a few bystanders’ faces taking note of the door.
“Alright take us out,” Sanders says over broad comm.
Grabbing a handhold on the side of the lead truck he steps up onto one of the plates while sliding the battle rifle back into the sheath on his back. On his hip he unclips a large machine pistol. The two IFVs roar to life lurching forward followed in the middle by the small maglev car. Sanders waits for the convoy to start moving and the tension to abate before asking the boss how the meeting went.
“Well boss man?”
“Those pricks are going to file an injunction that the weapons we moved into orbit contain “genetic modification weaponry”. They claim that because the weapons are designed for Grendel's use, they are genetic modifications equipment. Bastards!”
“What did the judge say sir?”
“Oh he’s on our payroll but it’s going to be out of his hands. They are filing it with the commerce committee. Going to have to see who is actually buying this shit and see if they have any pull with the committee.”
“Somebody
Sanders soaks in the scene, cars waiting to make the intersection and others just starting to cross. Several vendors selling snacks at the edge of the street. Hundreds of people transiting sidewalk, far too many to observe them all.
“Heading for the door sir,” the headset speakers relay, as the text box in the top right corner of the suit’s HUD announces DAVIS.
“Roger Davis, just give me a ten second count.”
Sanders sweeps his gaze up the steps in front of the courthouse to the door. Empty and elevated above the rest of the street the stairs make the client vulnerable and exposed.
“Alright folks, look lively. Eyes up for anything coming from further than the street. If they move it’s going to be from out of our reach.”
A board on the HUD lights up green by each of the names and then the table vanishes again. Sanders grins, enjoying the simple pleasure of operating combat equipment above military grade. Peacekeepers shift anxiously on the steps, pretending to watch the street itself but all the while continuously sweeping their gaze over the heavily-armored security personnel.
“Ten.” Davis says lighting off the electronic timers on each of the team members’ HUD.
“Alright bring the IFVs and the car,” Sanders says hefting the massive rifle into his shoulder and lifting it closer to the ready. On the stairs the guards follow suit raising their own miniature versions.
The counter shows a four as a large eight-wheeled, armored and heavily-armed bellows wheels-squealing around the corner. In tow, a small light civilian vehicle swings around the corner followed by another infantry transport. The counter reaches one and the doors to the courthouse open at the same time as the three vehicles arrive.
In tight formation, the security detail shifts, Sanders ascending the stairs halfway, Davis descending one quarter, Thompson and Allen drawing in from the sidewalk to the base of the stairs while the four additional personnel let go of the side of the trucks and step down onto the sidewalk.
“It really has been a pleasure to see you again, your honor, but truthfully I would prefer if we met under different circumstances. Maybe dinner with the family this weekend?”
The judge pales noticing the eight towering suits of armor below, “Why yes, dinner would be perfect! I’ll bring Julia!”
“Great! Alright I’ll send you the details and have a car pick you up.”
With that the client, Jake Owens, turns and descends the stairs two at a time. Davis collapses and follows Mr. O. down the stairs, descending alongside Sanders once he reaches him.
Thompson turns and opens the door on the car and waits until Mr. O. is seated before closing the door.
For the brief moment the door hangs open it becomes apparent to anyone looking that the vehicle is heavily armored. Sanders frowns, noticing the look on a few bystanders’ faces taking note of the door.
“Alright take us out,” Sanders says over broad comm.
Grabbing a handhold on the side of the lead truck he steps up onto one of the plates while sliding the battle rifle back into the sheath on his back. On his hip he unclips a large machine pistol. The two IFVs roar to life lurching forward followed in the middle by the small maglev car. Sanders waits for the convoy to start moving and the tension to abate before asking the boss how the meeting went.
“Well boss man?”
“Those pricks are going to file an injunction that the weapons we moved into orbit contain “genetic modification weaponry”. They claim that because the weapons are designed for Grendel's use, they are genetic modifications equipment. Bastards!”
“What did the judge say sir?”
“Oh he’s on our payroll but it’s going to be out of his hands. They are filing it with the commerce committee. Going to have to see who is actually buying this shit and see if they have any pull with the committee.”
“Somebody
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