Re: The Show Must Go Off

[Herr D]

Miners began to arrive. Slowly at first, only in fighter teams armed to the teeth. Then small groups and then random-sized groups. The arenas filled. I chose the largest arena with an announcer podium and waited. When the arena screens began to go through startup routine, I rebooted my internal modem, wary of some trick. Any stray signal would be disguised by massive carrier waves and Upclose’s self-protective measures. She wasn’t an idiot. No one would be able to completely disguise a continuous transmission in real time to this many ‘leaky’ signal receivers. I guessed right. She hadn’t actuallly stolen the footage. She’d just planted a function to broadcast it straight from it’s source on that particular server with fake signal traces from out in the asteroid field. The opening stuttered and restarted as the server crashed. She wasn’t trying to hack my head anymore. I peeked and realized she was three hallways away at a kiosk–or had been. It was now fried. I checked footage to discover she was headed for Arena Row. Someone else was headed for me. I didn’t recognize him at first. It was the first guy to meet me here. He walked up to me, offering a handshake. “Your protectors must be happy with you.”
I shook his hand. “Yes.”
“What do they want us to do? They’re not planning a riot. Not their style.”
“They want you to enjoy the show.”
He blinked. “Um. Ok? Call me Thrash. Is there anything I can get you?” Ah.
“I could use some water. But more importantly I need to know if anyone was near Doors 22 or 24 within three hours of the quake. We’re not asking for rats. We’re asking for people to admit they were near to eliminate people with clear consciences.”
Thrash nodded. “Five minutes,” he said, and he squeezed into the crowd.
A lot can be accomplished in five minutes . . .