at all, but no way for the crazy hobo.
Spotting Isaac’s expression, Bikie cleared his throat and added:
“For rebellion and to Elvis! And we’ll drink to you too now, boy.”
“To Elvis,” said Isaac, raising his glass.
“I vowed long ago to destroy this evil, and you came in very handy. To have enough balls for fighting these days you have to be mad as a hatter or really, truly tough. As for me, I’m ready to fight and I will!”
And Bikie wacked the table so hard, his glass hopped up and broke.
The Collective Mind Agency reacted fairly calmly to the protest demonstrations, which in time petered out almost completely. Violations of the law were a matter for the police and the Agency tried to keep out of things and not participate in any open conflicts. People who had been cured of fatal illnesses came out voluntarily in support of Collective Mind: they and their relatives were the Agency’s most aggressive supporters, often showing up at meetings of protesters with poster saying: “You are advocating our death”.
The relatively harmless attack carried out by Mr. Elvis-Henri was stridently branded an
“act of terrorism” by the press, which discussed it for a whole week. The flames of interest were fanned by the site of the crime – calm, respectable Monaco, which in former times had hardly ever figured in the crime reports.
When the Department of Orange Energy of the Paris police received the summary
investigation report of the Monaco incident, basically no one took much interest in it. Only Commissioner Pellegrini, as the head of department, was obliged to familiarize himself with the document, and he started leafing through the file. A standard case of an attack carried out by a solitary fanatic. Boring.
Pellegrini’s father was Neapolitan; his mother was a Frenchwoman from Bordeaux. He
was born and grew up in Paris, but he considered himself an Italian who had inherited the character traits of both nations. When necessary, his rapid, impulsive, Italian-style gestures coexisted quite comfortably with his subtle French tact.
Pellegrini’s face seemed rough-hewn out of heavy granite, with powerful cheekbones and
a large forehead. The broad stripes of the bags under his small, brown eyes lent his face a masculine brutality and intense astuteness. The deep folds on his slightly sunken cheeks and around his mouth created the impression that his mind was constantly engaged in strenuous thought. He was tall and stately, and his bearing made it clear that he was an ex-army man.
Pellegrini had served in Africa for a long time before coming to work in the Drug Control Department of the police.
He worked very efficiently and could have become the department chief, but it didn’t happen.
But despite everything, he did eventually rise to become the head of the new, prestigious Department of OE. Now everything was sure to change. Pellegrini thought he could really spread his wings and show everyone what he could do… How very wrong he was.
Six months later his friend Gautier downloaded his creativity out of patriotic
considerations. He tried to persuade Pellegrini to go along with him and other officers. He pictured to him how they would have a wonderful life by the sea, somewhere in Bordeaux, while their creativity would continue working for the good of their homeland and the world. Pellegrini refused: he had realized his dream at least in a new department with such a promising future, and he wasn’t willing to abandon with his new position.
Initially, Pellegrini’s work had been interesting and new technologies made catching
criminals easy. But pretty soon the Agency grew so powerful that Pellegrini’s job became pure routine. And not only his job, but practically all police work.
Pellegrini read the report of the attack without much interest, thinking that it would be good to feel the tenderness of the southern sun right now. He decided to take a trip to the scene of the “notorious
Spotting Isaac’s expression, Bikie cleared his throat and added:
“For rebellion and to Elvis! And we’ll drink to you too now, boy.”
“To Elvis,” said Isaac, raising his glass.
“I vowed long ago to destroy this evil, and you came in very handy. To have enough balls for fighting these days you have to be mad as a hatter or really, truly tough. As for me, I’m ready to fight and I will!”
And Bikie wacked the table so hard, his glass hopped up and broke.
The Collective Mind Agency reacted fairly calmly to the protest demonstrations, which in time petered out almost completely. Violations of the law were a matter for the police and the Agency tried to keep out of things and not participate in any open conflicts. People who had been cured of fatal illnesses came out voluntarily in support of Collective Mind: they and their relatives were the Agency’s most aggressive supporters, often showing up at meetings of protesters with poster saying: “You are advocating our death”.
The relatively harmless attack carried out by Mr. Elvis-Henri was stridently branded an
“act of terrorism” by the press, which discussed it for a whole week. The flames of interest were fanned by the site of the crime – calm, respectable Monaco, which in former times had hardly ever figured in the crime reports.
When the Department of Orange Energy of the Paris police received the summary
investigation report of the Monaco incident, basically no one took much interest in it. Only Commissioner Pellegrini, as the head of department, was obliged to familiarize himself with the document, and he started leafing through the file. A standard case of an attack carried out by a solitary fanatic. Boring.
Pellegrini’s father was Neapolitan; his mother was a Frenchwoman from Bordeaux. He
was born and grew up in Paris, but he considered himself an Italian who had inherited the character traits of both nations. When necessary, his rapid, impulsive, Italian-style gestures coexisted quite comfortably with his subtle French tact.
Pellegrini’s face seemed rough-hewn out of heavy granite, with powerful cheekbones and
a large forehead. The broad stripes of the bags under his small, brown eyes lent his face a masculine brutality and intense astuteness. The deep folds on his slightly sunken cheeks and around his mouth created the impression that his mind was constantly engaged in strenuous thought. He was tall and stately, and his bearing made it clear that he was an ex-army man.
Pellegrini had served in Africa for a long time before coming to work in the Drug Control Department of the police.
He worked very efficiently and could have become the department chief, but it didn’t happen.
But despite everything, he did eventually rise to become the head of the new, prestigious Department of OE. Now everything was sure to change. Pellegrini thought he could really spread his wings and show everyone what he could do… How very wrong he was.
Six months later his friend Gautier downloaded his creativity out of patriotic
considerations. He tried to persuade Pellegrini to go along with him and other officers. He pictured to him how they would have a wonderful life by the sea, somewhere in Bordeaux, while their creativity would continue working for the good of their homeland and the world. Pellegrini refused: he had realized his dream at least in a new department with such a promising future, and he wasn’t willing to abandon with his new position.
Initially, Pellegrini’s work had been interesting and new technologies made catching
criminals easy. But pretty soon the Agency grew so powerful that Pellegrini’s job became pure routine. And not only his job, but practically all police work.
Pellegrini read the report of the attack without much interest, thinking that it would be good to feel the tenderness of the southern sun right now. He decided to take a trip to the scene of the “notorious
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