“Destination?” asked the faceless computer system.
Glaucon looked to Xenophon then spoke.
“Attica Main Terminal, take the expressway.”
“Thank you, our estimated journey time is seven minutes.”
With an almost unperceivable hum, the vehicle moved from the waiting area and onto the narrow road surface. Other vehicles made their way along the road with military precision. In Attica, it was illegal for manual control of vehicles on public highways. The overwhelming majority of the vehicles on the road were actually haulage and heavy load carriers, each making their way to a myriad of destinations and carrying a great variety of cargos.
“Main Terminal?” asked a confused Xenophon.
“Yes, you need to get off the planet. At least for a while.”
“Don’t you think that is a bit of an over-reaction?” he asked with some degree of scepticism.
Glaucon shrugged and turned to the side of the vehicle.
“Computer, show us the public news channel, local network.”
The wall flickered to life as a number of presenters started to speak as if directly to them both. Neither was interested in what they had to say as the video streams told them the full story. An aerial view of the capital showed columns of protestors occupying the capital buildings, and a great number of fires were burning throughout the streets.
“How did this happen so quickly?” asked Xenophon.
“Listen, I don’t think you realise quite how hated the Thirty are. With the military protection of the Laconians gone, it’s like the victims of murder and rape now have access to the prisons. They want vengeance, and they aren’t going to stop, not for a while anyway.”
“I wasn’t one of them. I don’t understand.”
“You’ve said it enough yourself. This is now mob rule. Until democracy is fully restored, and order is brought to the streets, you can expect vigilante violence and hangings.”
Xenophon slumped back and watched out of the windows of the vehicle. They were moving at least ninety kilometres an hour, and scores of other vehicles were doing the same. The further they made it from the capital, the less of a military and security presence could be seen.
“This isn’t right. There should be city militia forces even out this far.”
“Xenophon, listen to me. With the Thirty gone, anybody with links to the old regime will be in hiding. Only a fool would stand at his post as the mob runs riot. This is going to get ugly before the end.”
“Before?” demanded Xenophon angrily. “My father has already seen the ugly end.”
Glaucon nodded in agreement.
They sat in silence and watched the live streams from across Attica as news of the departure of the Laconians spread. It started as a number of confused reports and quickly expanded into a vast story that engulfed the planet. Security forces melted away in a matter of less than an hour, and the two watched in amazement as every single major city was absorbed by public demonstration and celebration. It was the end of the oligarchy, and it couldn’t be long before the return of the vaunted democracy. After a journey that seemed to take a whole day, they arrived at the main terminal. They moved from the transit station as quickly as possible. They made it thirty metres before somebody in the crowd recognised the two of them.
“One of the Thirty! It’s the City Prefect!” shouted a woman. A man nearby reached out and grabbed at Glaucon. In one swift motion, he unhanded the man and threw him backwards.
“Keep off me,” snapped Glaucon.
“You, you’re helping him escape!” added the man as he staggered back. He looked to the crowd starting to gather near them.
“Traitors, both of them!” shouted a woman from the back.
Xenophon pushed past the people that were milling about near the entrance, dragging Glaucon behind him.
“Come on, we really don’t want to be here!”
They moved away and joined the masses of others who, for one reason or another, felt they needed to leave Attica, and fast. The crowds were increasing by the minute, and it was clear that at some point soon, the place would probably have to close, or at the very least restrict the numbers arriving.
“Is it me, or are there a lot of people who don’t want to stay?” Glaucon asked.
“We need to get to departures before it fills up!” said Xenophon.
They ran through the foyer but hit huge crowds for the local transport gates. It seemed most people wanted to escape to the moons or other planets in the system. The local vessels were by far the most common and also the cheapest. A ticket to one of the moons would cost the equivalent of one or two months’ salary. Any further, especially out of the system, could cost ten times more, and a price only the richest could afford. The place was overwhelmed.
“We can’t stay here. The mob will force this place to be shut down to stop anybody escaping. You need to get out of here,” said Glaucon.
“Me, what about you?”
Glaucon smiled, “Look, they want you, not me. I’m not the guy that colluded with the Thirty.”
“Colluded? I think you underestimate their capacity for anger.”
As if to emphasise the point, a group of four men moved in to block their way.
“What?” demanded Xenophon.
“The shortest of the group took a step closer and held up an identity card. We’re bounty hunters, authorised by the provisional authority to bring in former members of the occupation forces and their accomplices.”
“Like hell you are,” said Xenophon, who then tried to push away from them. One of the men grabbed his hand and tried to place a pair of handcuffs on him. Another stepped closer to Glaucon to do the same. Xenophon tried to struggle, but two more grabbed hold of him.
The first bounty hunter slipped the metal frame of the cuff around Xenophon’s wrist and continued speaking.
“We know who you both are. There’s a bounty out from the provisional authority already. Other members have already been taken into custody.”
“Yeah, buddy, it’s payback time,” said another.
Glaucon gave Xenophon a quick look, an almost pleading, questioning stare that only the two friends could ever have identified in such circumstances. They moved quickly into action. First Xenophon pushed the man backwards. As he stumbled, Glaucon flicked out his leg and smashed it behind his knee. The man fell flat on his back with a crash. The two then leapt on their attackers with a ferocity that was completely unexpected. They rained blow after blow on the men until they were on the ground or running. The fourth man fumbled with the baton on his belt, but it was all too late. In less than ten seconds, all four were unconscious and on the floor.
“We have to move. We’re attracting too much attention.”
“Where? This will take hours, and they’ll just come and drag us away.”
They moved from the scene of the fight and ran down the nearest flight of steps that took them to the older part of the terminal. There were less people there, but it was still crowded.
“Do you have any money?” asked Glaucon, panting from the exertion of the fight and from their running from the scene. They moved to the end of the corridor and took shelter near one of the many automated ticketing machines.
“One sec,” said Xenophon as he fumbled about in his pocket. For a second he thought it was missing, but then he found it.
He pulled out his wallet, a small and rather old-fashioned leather item now rarely used by citizens. All that was required these days was the ID card. It gave access to money, security systems and transport. Provided one carried the item, they could carry out all of their day-to-day tasks. Some people were being fitted with biometric chips in their bodies that were doing away with the cards altogether. Xenophon slid out the card and checked it was still in one piece after the scuffle. It was a small plastic device with a large holographic image of his face on it. He held it out and pressed his thumb onto a patch near the base of the card. It flashed three times, and then displayed a simple chart outlining his credit account.