The man whistled again, and the figures disappeared. The man at the mike continued.
"So we kept watching the Senator, and finally today we caught something. This gentleman has a rather interesting story to tell."
The sniper was suddenly thrust forward.
"What were you doing here today?"
"I want a lawyer. You can't..."
The Oriental twitched. His fist was a blur as it flashed forward to strike the sniper's arm. The man screamed, but through it the crowd heard the bone break.
"What were you doing here today?" The questioner's voice was calm, as if nothing had happened.
"I..."
"Louder!"
"I was supposed to shoot at the Senator."
"Were you supposed to hit him?"
"No." The man was swaying slightly from the pain in his arm.
"Who hired you?"
The man shook his head. The Oriental's fist lashed out again.
"The Senator!" The man screamed.
A murmur ran through the crowd. The Senator stepped hurriedly to the front of the platform.
"It's a lie!" he screamed. "They're trying to discredit me. They're faking it. That's one of their own men they're hitting. It's a fake."
The man with the microphone ignored him. Instead he pointed to a policeman in the crowd.
"Officer! There's usually a standing order about guarding political candidates. Why wasn't there anyone from the police watching those rooftops?"
The officer cupped his hands to shout back.
"The Senator insisted on minimum guards. He pulled rank on the Chief."
The crowd stared at the Senator, who shrank back before their gaze. The man with the mike continued.
"One of the Senator's claims is that the corporations would do away with free speech. I feel we have proved this afternoon that the statement is a lie. However, our businesses, like any businesses, depend on public support, and we will move to protect it. As you all know, there's a war on."
He turned to glare at the Senator.
"It is my personal opinion that we should make war on the warmakers. Our targets should be the people who send others out to fight. However, that is only my personal opinion. The only targets in my jurisdiction are front-line soldiers."
He looked out over the crowd again.
"Are there any reporters here? Good. When this man took money to discredit the corporations, he became a mercenary, the same as us. As such, he falls under the rules of the war. I would appreciate it if you would print this story as a warning to any other two-bit punks that think it would be a good idea to pose as a corporate mercenary."
He nodded to his colleagues on the platform. One of the men gave the sniper a violent shove that sent him sprawling off the platform, drew a pistol from under his jacket, and shot him.
The policeman was suspended for allowing the mercenaries to leave unchallenged, a suspension that caused a major walk-off on the police force.
The Senator was defeated in the next election.
The young Oriental couple ceased their conversation abruptly when they saw the group of soldiers, at least a dozen, on the sidewalk ahead of them. Without even consulting each other they crossed the street to avoid the potential trouble. Unfortunately, the soldiers had also spotted them and also crossed the street to block their progress. The couple turned to retrace their steps, but the soldiers, shouting now, ran to catch them.
Viewed up close, it was clear the men had been drinking. They pinned the couple in a half-circle, backing them against a wall, where the two politely inquired as to what the soldiers wanted. The soldiers admitted it was the lady who was the reason for their attention and invited her to accompany them as they continued on their spree. The lady politely declined, pointing out that she already had an escort. The soldiers waxed eloquent, pointing out the numerous and obvious shortcomings of the lady's escort, physically and probably financially. They allowed as how the fourteen of them would be better able to protect the lady from the numerous gentlemen of dubious intent she was bound to encounter on the street. Furthermore, they pointed out, even though their finances were admittedly depleted by their drinking, by pooling their money they could doubtless top any price her current escort had offered for her favors.
At this, her escort started forward to lodge a protest, but she laid a gentle restraining hand on his arm and stepped forward smiling. She pointed out that the soldiers were perhaps mistaken in several of their assumptions about the situation at hand. First, they were apparently under the impression that she was a call girl, when in truth she was gainfully employed by the corporate forces. Second, her escort for the evening was not a paying date, but rather her brother. Finally, she pointed out that while she thanked them for their concern and their offer, she was more than capable of taking care of herself, thank you.
By the time she was done explaining this last point, the soldiers had become rearranged. Their formation was no longer in a half-circle, but rather scattered loosely for several yards along the street. Also, their position in that formation was horizontal rather than vertical.
Her explanation complete, the lady took her brother's arm and they continued on their way. As they walked, one of the soldiers groaned and tried to rise. She drove the high heel of her shoe into his forehead without breaking stride.
Julian rolled down his window as the service station attendant came around to the side of his car.
"Fill it up with premium."
The attendant peered into the back seat of the car.
"Who do you work for, sir?"
"Salesman for a tool and die company."
"Got any company ID?"
"No, it's a small outfit. Could you fill it up-I'm in a hurry."
"Could you let me see a business card or your samples? If you're a salesman..."
"All right, all right. I'll admit it. I work for the government. But..."
The attendant's face froze into a mask.
"Sorry, sir." He started to turn away.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Julian sprang out of the car and hurried to catch up with the retreating figure. "C'mon, give me a break. I'm a crummy clerk. It's not like I had any say in the decisions."
"Sorry, sir, but..."
"It's not like I'm on official business. I'm trying to get to my sister's wedding."
The attendant hesitated.
"Look, I'd like to help you, but if the home office found out we sold gas to a government employee, they'd pull our franchise."
"Nobody would have to know. Just look the other way for a few minutes and I'll pump it myself."
The man shook his head.
"Sorry, I can't risk it."
"I'll give you fifty dollars for half a tank..."
But the attendant was gone.
Julian heaved a sigh and got back into his car. Once he left the station, though, his hangdog mask slipped away. Things were going well with the fuel boycott. It had been three weeks since he had had to report a station for breaking the rules. He checked his list for the location of the next station to check out.
The mercenary was wearing a jungle camouflage kill-suit. The hammock he was sprawled in was also jungle-camouflaged, as was the floppy brimmed hat currently obscuring his face as a sunscreen. He was snoring softly, seemingly oblivious to the insects buzzing around him.
"Hey Sarge!"
The slumbering figure didn't move.
"Hey Sarge!" the young private repeated without coming closer. Even though he was new, he wasn't dumb enough to try to wake the sleeping mercenary by shaking him.
"What is it, Turner?" His voice had the tolerant tone of one dealing with a whining child.
"The tank. You know, the one the detectors have been tracking for the last five hours? You said to wake you up if it got within five hundred meters. Well, it's here."