Ch. 7: Protest - Part 2 | "Cereus & Limnic"

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Written Version

Thirty minutes later, Li peeled his attention away from his device and gazed out of the window as the buildings of Sacramento’s city center came into view.

To him, the downtown corridor seemed to open its jaws and devour the bus as it rumbled off of Interstate Five and on to J Street.

The morning sun reflected off of the shining glass window panes of the US Bank Tower.

Once a centerpiece of human economic progress, the nearly half-century old building now stood as a fractured beacon among crumbling skyscrapers.

Many of the other high-rise buildings that made up the city’s skyline looked no better than weathered old apartment complexes and were replete with shattered windows, failing power, and dilapidated interiors.

Li had taken tours of a few of the towers over the years and it wasn’t pretty.

The entire downtown area reflected old world values.

Obsolete.

Broken.

Ineffective.

As the bus pulled toward its stop at the Golden One Center, the sky appeared to darken.

A small patch of clouds blocked the blazing sun in an effort to stifle the heat of the morning.

Li spied discarded trash and food wrappers blown by hot gusts of wind tumbling down fissured sidewalks.

The people outside of the bus seemed not to notice or care.

Desensitized to the filth at their feet, they scurried by in haste toward some unknown destination, hands concealed or holding large signs, wearing improvised face coverings for obscure purposes.

Some walked, others jogged.

The scene produced a tightness in Li’s throat.

He knew the feeling well.

It was his body’s physical signal of readiness.

The equivalent of a warning sign in red letters before a hazardous road, prone to rock and mudslides.

While his bus decelerated, the roar of its engine drowned out the sound of voices out on the street.

But when it began to idle, and passengers began to trickle out, the unmistakable commotion of many vocal cords gathered in one place arrived at Li’s ears.

They didn’t sound happy.

The protest.

With a series of well-practiced silent movements, he keyed in his suitcase combination, unlatched the briefcase, and slid a silver three dimensionally (3D) printed M1911 into a shoulder holster sewn into his suit jacket.

He took extra precaution not to alert the drowsy younger man staring into his device across the aisle from him.

His weapon equipped, he stood up and made his way off the bus.

Li walked with a brisk pace down a side street, eyes forward, yet scanning, avoiding small bands of people with agitated faces on J Street.

After rounding the corner, he could see the backs of dozens of people holding signs, shouting, and shaking their fists in the air with vehemence.

The throng of protesters was so thick there was no way he would be able to take his usual direct route up to the capitol.

He needed an alternate approach.

His eyes shifted down L Street.

He could continue that way, but it appeared that more and more of the angry mob was spilling over onto the side street.

Although his face wasn’t very recognizable to the average person, he had been in the media a time or two in the past.

Every time it had been in relation to the organization, with each occurrence giving him more exposure to its enemies and detractors.

I need to get off of the street.

The tension seemed to be escalating rapidly on the other side of the block near the capitol.

I thought this protest was supposed to be peaceful.

“Hey, hey! I think that’s one of em’! One of the weird commune freaks from the news!”

The voice blasted from a large man with a protruding gut and full head of greying brown hair who separated himself from the group of protesters half a block from Li.

“Let’s go beat his ass!”

The man and two of his friends, both tall and lanky, advanced in Li’s direction, fists clenched, eyes of fury.

Two held protest signs.

The other appeared unarmed.

Though he saw no weapons, all three looked like the type to fight dirty, and probably would not hesitate to use the wooden rods of the sign to beat him down if given the chance.

Li thought about engaging the three men and subduing them, but in quick fashion abandoned the idea.

He couldn’t risk more bad press falling onto the organization’s shoulders because of his actions.

Due to his textbook knowledge of the downtown area, the perfect hiding place stood out clearly in his mind.

With long strides he turned back in the direction toward the highway and sheltered himself in a battered old parking garage.

Secure in his hiding spot in the shadows of the structure, he peered from around the corner just in time to see the three men standing where he had been only seconds before.

One faced in each direction.

As a result of the exertion, all three panted with open mouths, like a pack of wolves on the hunt.

They were drenched in sweat and had consumed most of their stamina running down the short block.

They darted their heads from left to right searching for him.

From his place of concealment, Li could read the protest signs. On the simple white board in handwritten red lettering read the words: “Down with Cereus! Down with Limnic!”

The other sign read: “Give me liberty and land, or I give YOU death!”

From the signs, Li’s vision floated to the man with the gut.

Then he saw the gun.

The large man gripped a glock so hard that the veins in his bloated forearm were visible.

So much for the peaceful protest.

Li’s left hand slowly moved to the sidearm concealed within his suit jacket.

His instinct caused his body to tense and sharpened his senses.

It was a familiar feeling that overcame him anytime he drew his weapon, even if it was only on the practice range.

It reminded him to exercise extra prudence while holding the power to end a life.

Li waited for several seconds.

One minute, then another thirty seconds passed before he dared to peer around the corner again.

When he did, his pursuers were nowhere in sight.

He scanned both sides of the street twice before returning his firearm to the holster in his suit jacket.

Too close.

A sound in his inner ear caused his muscles to go rigid.

It was a call from his telepathic communicator, or TP comm for short.

He dropped his shoulders, in a bid to relax himself and his mind.

The technique took some of the edge off, but his body was still in alert mode.

Answer call.

Rodan’s voice echoed in his head. “Where are you?”

“I got chased by some protesters. But I evaded them. Who told you this protest was going to be peaceful?”

There was an awkward silence before Rodan gave his response.

Damn, I’m not sure who provided the intel! I just read the first report that I received.

Ah fuck, how embarrassing!

I should have fuckin’ verified that shit.

Now other people might be in trouble too!!

Gotta think of a way to unfuck this…why did I drink so much coffee this morning, I really need to take a leak.

Rodan’s unfiltered thoughts filled Li’s mind.

It was giving him a headache.

“Rodan…your ‘mic’ is on…”

A soft musical tone played, then the connection went silent.

Li sighed heavily.

As amusing as it was to hear Rodan’s inner dialogue, he had no time for it right now.

The mass of voices, screams, and yells from the protesters seemed to be inching closer with every passing minute.

The melodic tone sounded again, signaling Rodan’s return to the call.

“My bad Li.” The volume of Rodan’s voice was lower than before.

“It’s ok. We need to verify that intel source. I saw an armed protester.”

“Is that right? You think someone slipped us bad info?”

“Yeah. And I want to find out who it was.”

Li put a mental break in the conversation.

Had it been Rodan’s careless oversight that gave them the incorrect information?

Or had one of his sources gone rogue?

He had made plans to meet with one of them that afternoon.

Perhaps he needed to contact him now and request an emergency meet?

The questions gave way to more questions, each one making him feel increasingly uneasy about the bizarre events of the morning.

The only thing that he was sure of was that he needed to get off of the street.

Now.

Continue.

“Can you send me a data map with the locations of the protesters? That will help me avoid them.”

“Sorry Li. Network has been shaky since the order went out this morning, so no can do.”  

The bass had returned to Rodan’s voice just in time.

It was accompanied by a mocking tone.

“You a super soldier though, so you should be able to get around a bunch of lightly armed protesters right? Compared to the shit you did in the war, this oughta be a walk in the park.”

Li rolled his eyes and forcefully exhaled air from his nose, forgetting to mentally block out the laugh that resonated in his and Rodan’s minds.

“You’re right. I’m getting too old for this.”

“Aren’t we all. Might be time to get some of those happy augmentations and retire in a digital haze. You know how a lot of people do nowadays.”

“I’m not quite ready for that. Not my style.”

“Oh yeah that’s right. You Mr. Integrity after all.”

Li became silent.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps scuffing the pavement made tension return to his body.

His hand went for his gun.

After thirty seconds, the sound faded.

He dared not peek around the corner.

“You still alive over there?” Rodan asked.

More impatient than concerned.

“Yeah. I need to move. I’ll see you, in say…twenty-five minutes?”

“Look if you can’t make it in under fifteen, you’re gonna buy me lunch.”

Li allowed himself to laugh.

“You’re on.”

The tone went dead, signaling the end of the call.

He pulled out his device and gave it the vocal command to open the map.

A 3D holographic map of downtown Sacramento appeared to hover above the surface of his device.

He rotated it with his finger in midair and mentally mapped his planned route to the capitol service entrance.

When he was sure he had memorized the turns, he closed the map and took a deep breath before he stepped out of his place in the shadows.

Now or never.

No one seemed to notice him emerge from the old parking garage.

His eyes scanned left, then right with practiced discernment.

Years of training converged, allowing him to detect potential threats while maintaining constant steady steps.

The sirens of several patrol cars rushed past him.

No doubt they were rapidly mobilizing to establish a perimeter around the block surrounding the Capitol Mall.

Taking advantage of the increased police presence, Li took long strides down 8th street, then took a sharp right turn on K Street.

Upon turning the corner, he witnessed a group of protesters throwing bottles, cans, and whatever else they could get their hands on at a group of uniformed officers manning a checkpoint.

One of the officers, a blonde woman with an ample chest and a thin waist, resorted to secondary force in defense of herself and clubbed an angry demonstrator on the side of his head.

He fell to the ground in a heap of sweaty flesh, no doubt unconscious from the unexpectedly heavy blow. 

At the sight of their fallen comrade, five of his friends became enraged and looked prepared to tear the woman and her squad mates to shreds.

Li’s heart bled at the sight of the overwhelmed and (most likely) outgunned cops, but he had no time to go to their aid.

His destination was less than two blocks away.

He hurried down the street and turned the corner onto 11th Street.

With the capitol building in sight, he slowed his pace to a brisk walk.

He was so focused on reaching his objective that he narrowly avoided being hit by an old Tesla that was speeding away from the direction of the protest.

Too many close calls this morning.

The final push to the capitol’s service entrance went without incident.

One sentry blocked his path when he reached the side of the building.

He was well armed, much more so than standard street cops.

Li wondered who he was working for.

“You have some business here?” he asked.

He was tall with thick black eyebrows and a matching mustache on a dry sand toned face.

It was the face of one who had spent long hours standing in the sun for no good reason.

Probably ex-military or local cop turned mercenary.

Both were bad news if they fought for the wrong reasons.

Mustache seemed as if he had been waiting for an excuse to draw and use his weapon all morning.

But Li did not provide him with one.

With diplomatic decorum, he produced his Cereus organizational badge, signaling that he was a high-level member.

The guard scowled in response, but allowed him to pass.

The chaos of the protest continued to unfold outside as he walked into the building.

The black service door slammed behind him, leaving an echo in his ears.

Inside the poorly lit service corridor he could no longer hear the screams, shouting, and the unmistakable pops and bangs of small arms fire on the other side of the door.

As he moved toward the service stairwell, he questioned the details of the morning, wondering why the protest had become violent and who fed them the bad intel.

He had a feeling that he wouldn’t like the answers to either of those questions.

Word of the day

neatnik - a person who is extremely neat about their surroundings or appearance (from the 1960s -nik as in beatnik)

Next: CH. 8 "Strategy Meeting"