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Authors: David Weber
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career opportunity would not be the very smartest decision he’d ever made.
Besides, what else was he going to do with himself? The people who’d hired his services in the Talbott Sector were among the wealthiest individuals in the explored galaxy. Not very nice people, perhaps, but filthy, obscenely rich. If he was looking at a mandatory shift to the private sector, it made sense to find the employers with the deepest pockets when he did.
“I see,” he said, laying the book reader on his small desk and pushing back his chair to stand. “When do we leave?”
April 1921 Post Diaspora
“I wonder sometimes what we did to piss God off. We probably could have handled just the damned bugs!”
—Adam Šiml,
President, Sokol Sdružení Chotěboř
Chapter Five
The fifteen-year-old doubled over with a harsh, explosive grunt as the riot baton’s head rammed into his belly like a hammer. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Not immediately. He just stood there, both hands grasping at the anguish while his shocked diaphragm tried to suck in enough air for a cry of pain.
It hadn’t gotten that far when the same truncheon hammered the back of his neck and clubbed him to his knees.
The Chotěbořian Public Safety Force trooper never even blinked as he used his armorplast shield to smash the fallen boy to one side. He was already choosing his next target as the CPSF waded into the crowd of “anarchist terrorists and hardened professional agitators” half-filling the enormous square called Náměstí Žlutých Růží at the heart of the city of Velehrad.
The high school and college students who’d flooded the capital with such high hopes saw the Safeties coming, but there was no way for anyone in the demonstration’s leading edge to get out of the way. The crowd behind them was too dense. They were trapped between their fellow protesters and the oncoming riot police. Most of them dropped the placards demanding new elections—or the armloads of yellow roses—they’d been carrying and raised empty hands above their heads. Here and there a handful flung themselves at the riot-armored troopers instead of trying to surrender, but the options they’d chosen made no difference in the end. The Safeties had their orders, and neural stun batons and old-fashioned nightsticks rose and fell with vicious, well drilled efficiency.
Many of the newer victims did have time to scream as they were smashed to the street, and few of the CPSF troopers made any effort to avoid trampling them under their heavy boots. Indeed, more than one Safety took time to kick a fallen demonstrator squarely in the mouth in passing.
The demonstration’s rear ranks began to shred as the young people in them realized what was happening. Students scattered in all directions, but dozens—scores—were as unable to get out of the way as the lead ranks had been. They were grist for the mill, and the Safeties harvested them ruthlessly.
“Make examples,” their CO had told them, and the Chotěbořian Public Safety Force was nothing if not good at following its orders.
* * *
The soccer ball sliced towards the upper corner of the goal, but the leaping, fully extended keeper just managed to get a hand on it. She dragged it down and in, wrapping both arms around it and taking it with her as she hit the ground on a shoulder, then rolled back up on her knees with it clasped protectively in both arms.
Applause and whistles of appreciation spattered from the thinly populated stands, and the tallish, fair-haired man nodded in approval. Despite the nod, however, his attention was elsewhere, and he turned from the football pitch to frown at the brown-haired, still taller man standing beside him.
“I can’t believe even Siminetti was that stupid,” he said quietly, careful to keep his face turned towards the solid ceramacrete wall behind his companion. There were no security systems mounted to cover this particular spot, which wasn’t exactly an accident.
Besides, what else was he going to do with himself? The people who’d hired his services in the Talbott Sector were among the wealthiest individuals in the explored galaxy. Not very nice people, perhaps, but filthy, obscenely rich. If he was looking at a mandatory shift to the private sector, it made sense to find the employers with the deepest pockets when he did.
“I see,” he said, laying the book reader on his small desk and pushing back his chair to stand. “When do we leave?”
April 1921 Post Diaspora
“I wonder sometimes what we did to piss God off. We probably could have handled just the damned bugs!”
—Adam Šiml,
President, Sokol Sdružení Chotěboř
Chapter Five
The fifteen-year-old doubled over with a harsh, explosive grunt as the riot baton’s head rammed into his belly like a hammer. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Not immediately. He just stood there, both hands grasping at the anguish while his shocked diaphragm tried to suck in enough air for a cry of pain.
It hadn’t gotten that far when the same truncheon hammered the back of his neck and clubbed him to his knees.
The Chotěbořian Public Safety Force trooper never even blinked as he used his armorplast shield to smash the fallen boy to one side. He was already choosing his next target as the CPSF waded into the crowd of “anarchist terrorists and hardened professional agitators” half-filling the enormous square called Náměstí Žlutých Růží at the heart of the city of Velehrad.
The high school and college students who’d flooded the capital with such high hopes saw the Safeties coming, but there was no way for anyone in the demonstration’s leading edge to get out of the way. The crowd behind them was too dense. They were trapped between their fellow protesters and the oncoming riot police. Most of them dropped the placards demanding new elections—or the armloads of yellow roses—they’d been carrying and raised empty hands above their heads. Here and there a handful flung themselves at the riot-armored troopers instead of trying to surrender, but the options they’d chosen made no difference in the end. The Safeties had their orders, and neural stun batons and old-fashioned nightsticks rose and fell with vicious, well drilled efficiency.
Many of the newer victims did have time to scream as they were smashed to the street, and few of the CPSF troopers made any effort to avoid trampling them under their heavy boots. Indeed, more than one Safety took time to kick a fallen demonstrator squarely in the mouth in passing.
The demonstration’s rear ranks began to shred as the young people in them realized what was happening. Students scattered in all directions, but dozens—scores—were as unable to get out of the way as the lead ranks had been. They were grist for the mill, and the Safeties harvested them ruthlessly.
“Make examples,” their CO had told them, and the Chotěbořian Public Safety Force was nothing if not good at following its orders.
* * *
The soccer ball sliced towards the upper corner of the goal, but the leaping, fully extended keeper just managed to get a hand on it. She dragged it down and in, wrapping both arms around it and taking it with her as she hit the ground on a shoulder, then rolled back up on her knees with it clasped protectively in both arms.
Applause and whistles of appreciation spattered from the thinly populated stands, and the tallish, fair-haired man nodded in approval. Despite the nod, however, his attention was elsewhere, and he turned from the football pitch to frown at the brown-haired, still taller man standing beside him.
“I can’t believe even Siminetti was that stupid,” he said quietly, careful to keep his face turned towards the solid ceramacrete wall behind his companion. There were no security systems mounted to cover this particular spot, which wasn’t exactly an accident.
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