"Dispatch, this is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve."
Detailing orders, she snagged her jacket and headed out the front door.
It took them six minutes and twenty-eight seconds from the notification to Roarke's swing to the curb in front of Cyber Perks. She timed it. And she was leaping out of the car before the brakes stopped squealing.
At a run, she spotted the black-and-white and the uniforms she'd ordered.
"No one leaves," she snapped, flipping out her badge, then sliding it shield out into the waistband of her trousers.
The noise blasted her the instant she walked through the doors. Cyber-punk rolled like a tidal wave, swamping the voices of patrons and beating violently against eardrums.
It was a world she'd yet to explore, and it was jammed elbow to groin with a motley throng who sat at counters, tables, cubes or airskated between stations. But even in the stupendous confusion, she saw the order.
Freaks with their painted hair and tongue rings were strewn across a section of color-coded table space. The geeks, earnest faces and sloppy shirts, were huddled in cubes. Giggly teenage girls skated in herds and pretended not to notice the packs of teenage boys they sought to allure.
There were students, most of whom were gathered in the cafe area trying to look sophisticated and world weary. Pocketed with them were a smatter of the standard urban revolutionaries, uniformed in sleek black, which students worshiped.
Scattered throughout were the tourists, the travelers, the casual clientele who sought the atmosphere, the experience, or were simply scoping out the place as a possible fresh hangout.
Where would her man fit?
Tracking the room, she strode to the glass kiosk marked Data Center. Three drones in red uniforms sat on swivel chairs in the center of the tower and worked consoles. They kept up what appeared to be a running conversation through headphones.
Eve zoned in on one, tapped on the glass. The boy, with a smattering of fresh pimples on his chin, looked up. He shook his head, attempted to look stern and authoritative, and gestured to the headphones on Eve's side of the glass.
She shoved them on.
"Don't touch the tower," he ordered in a voice that was just waiting to crack. "Stay behind the green line at all times. There are open units in the cafe. If you prefer, there is currently one cube available. If you wish to reserve a unit for – "
"Kill the music."
"What?" His eyes darted like nervous birds. "Stay behind the green line or I'll call security."
"Kill the music," Eve repeated, then slapped her badge on the glass. "Now."
"But – but I can't. I'm not allowed. Whatzamatter? Charlie?" He whipped around in his chair. And all hell broke loose.
The roar that burst out of the crowd outdid even the computer-generated ferocity of the music. People leaped off stools, out of cubes, screaming, shouting, cursing. A wave of them charged the data kiosk like peasants storming the king's palace. Full of fear and fury and blood lust.
Even as she reached for her weapon, she took a wayward elbow on the chin that rapped her head back against the kiosk and exploded a fountain of white, sizzling stars in front of her eyes.
And that seriously pissed her off.
She kneed a green-haired freak in the groin, stomped hard on the instep of a wailing geek, then fired three blasts at the ceiling.
It served to stop most of the momentum, though several bodies tumbled or were simply flung in the general direction of the kiosk.
"NYPSD!" She shouted it, holding up badge and weapon. "Kill that fucking music. Now! Everybody back off, go back to your seats or stations immediately or you'll be charged with rioting, assault, and creating a public hazard."
Not all of it got through, and some of her orders were lost in the swarm of voices and threats. But the more civic minded, or cowardly, slunk back.
One of the teenage girls lay sprawled at Eve's feet, airskates tangled. She was bleeding from the nose and weeping in jerky hiccoughs.
"You're okay." Eve nudged her as gently as she could with her foot. "Sit up now."
The shouts from various sections were gaining strength again. Civic duty and cowardice wouldn't hold on for long against mob passion.
"Nothing will be resolved until I have order, until I have quiet."
"This is a guaranteed virus-free zone," someone shouted. "I want to know what happened, I want to know who's responsible."
So, apparently, did a number of other people.
Roarke cleaved his way through the crowd.Like, Eve thought as she watched him,a sleek blade slicing through a jumble of rock.
"A virus was uploaded into the system," he said softly. "Corrupted the units. All of them, and from all appearances, simultaneously. You've got a couple hundred very angry people on your hands."
"Yeah, I got that part. Get out of here. Call for backup."
"I'm not leaving you in here, and don't waste your breath. Let me talk to them while you call in the troops."
Before she could argue, he began to speak. He didn't raise his voice. It was a good technique, Eve thought as she slipped out her communicator. A lot of people stopped yelling to try to hear what he was saying.
She could hear him fine, but she didn't understand half the cyber-speak he was rattling off.
"Lieutenant Dallas. I have a situation at Cyber Perks, Fifth Avenue, and require immediate assistance."
As she detailed the circumstances, she watched another portion of the mob quiet, slip back to tables. By her head count they were down to about fifty hard cases, spearheaded by the revolutionaries who were blathering about conspiracies and cyber-wars and communication terrorists.
It was time, she decided, to change tactics again. She zeroed in on one man. Black shirt, black jeans, black boots, with a shock of gilded, deliberately disordered hair.
Eve stepped up in his face. "Maybe you didn't hear me tell you to go back to your table or station."
"This is a public place. It's my civil right to stand and speak."
"And it's within my authority to deny you that right when you use it to incite a riot. When you or anyone claiming that right is responsible for bodily harm or property damage." She gestured to the young girl who sat up, still weeping quietly as a friend mopped at the blood on her face. "They look like terrorists to you? Or him?" She jerked a thumb back to where the boy she'd spoken to had his terrified white face pressed against the kiosk glass.
"Pawns are used and discarded."
"Yeah, and kids get hurt because people like you want to masturbate your ego in public."
"The NYPSD is nothing but a soiled tool used by the hands of the right-wing bureaucrats and demigods to crush the will and freedom of the common man."
"Come on, stay on target. Is it communication terrorists and cyber-war or is it bureaucratic demigods? You can't cover all the bases at one time. Tell you what. You go sit down and I'll have somebody come over to listen to all your fascinating theories. But right now there are some people in here who require medical assistance. You're hampering that, and my investigation of what transpired here tonight."
He smirked at her. Always a mistake. "Why don't you finish violating my civil rights and arrest me?"
"Okay." She'd already planned her move, and had him cuffed before he could think to resist. "Next?" she asked, very pleasantly even as backup streamed in the door. He was shouting again as she passed him to a uniform.
"Not bad," Roarke commented. "For the soiled tool of right-wing demigods."
"Thanks. I need time to re-establish some order." She scanned the faces. "He's not here anymore."
"No," Roarke agreed. "He's not here. I'd say he was out before your uniforms arrived. Why don't I talk to the data crunchers? See what I can find out for you?"
"Appreciate it."
She interviewed and released the injured first, then sprang the under-twenty and over-fifty crowd. Out-of-towners came next, then the remaining women. Even as she took data, formed impressions, listed names, she was certain her bird had flown.