The reverend pointed to the building’s entrance and said, “These people are peaceably assembled to protest an inequity that is being perpetrated inside this building.”
His amplified voice carried across the grassy square.
Jacobi said, “They’re blocking a public walkway.”
“And they will continue to block it until this building is closed permanently,” said Umber.
ACTION
For several breathless moments, Jacobi stood in silence, glaring at Reverend Umber. Umber stood as immobile as a statue, hands on his hips, still puffing slightly.
Tapping his truncheon into the open palm of his hand, Jacobi said, “You’d better tell them to disperse, Reverend. Otherwise there’s going to be bloodshed.”
Umber seemed to draw himself up a little taller. “On your head be it, then.”
Jacobi nodded slowly. “No, Reverend, it’s gonna be on your head.” And he jabbed Umber in the midsection with the end of his baton.
Umber oofed and staggered back a couple of steps. The whole crowd of demonstrators clambered to their feet.
“No!” Umber shouted, his amplified voice ringing across the plaza. “No violence!”
The crowd stood uncertainly, shifting on their feet, waiting for the next blow.
Jacobi raised his nightstick over his head, held it there for an endless moment, while Umber squeezed his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders, waiting for the blow.
At last Jacobi opened his fingers and let the bludgeon fall, clattering to the ground.
“The hell with it,” he muttered, turning around and walking past the other guards, into the Chemlab Building’s entrance.
The crowd stood frozen, unmoving. The remaining security guards slowly retreated toward the building’s entrance. When the last one entered the lobby, the glass doors swung shut.
Raven turned to Alicia, standing breathlessly beside her. The two made their way through the crowd to where Reverend Umber stood, looking surprised, dumbfounded.
“They just… went away,” Umber said, almost in a whisper.
“And we’re still here,” said Alicia.
Raven turned to the crowd and made a sitting motion with both her hands. “Sit down,” she shouted. “This isn’t over yet.”
Evan Waxman rose slowly from his desk chair, the scene from the entrance to the Chemlab Building filling his wall screen.
“Get back out there, you idiots!” he yelled at the screen. “Get rid of them! Drive that rabble out of there!”
But the security guards remained inside the building, the demonstrators out on the grassy park ground.
Whirling toward his desktop phone, Waxman shouted, “Security chief. Now!”
The security chief’s hard-edged face appeared on the wall screen, three times larger than life.
“Did you see what just happened?” Waxman demanded.
The chief nodded, tight-lipped.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Not much I can do.”
“I want that sergeant broken, fired, thrown out!”
“And what good would that do?” the chief asked.
“You find somebody who knows how to obey orders!”
The chief shook his head slowly, almost sadly. “Mr. Waxman, think for a moment. My guards are citizens of Haven, just like the people you want them to hurt. They’re not storm troopers. They’re not even Green Berets. They live with those people. They’re part of this habitat’s population, just like you and me.”
“And they can get away with refusing to follow orders?” Waxman bawled.
“Looks that way,” said the chief.
Umber was the only person standing. The crowd dotting the little park was sitting, or crouching, their eyes on him.
So far, so good, Umber thought. He could see more people coming into the area and sitting down on the grass or the paved walkway.
He spread his arms and said, “We may be here for quite a while. I suggest you pick people from among yourselves to go out for meals and bring them back here.”
“And then what?” a deep male voice called from the crowd.
“And then we wait here until Evan Waxman agrees to shut this narcotics factory down. Permanently!” He shouted the last word.
The crowd stirred. No cheering, but they were obviously moved.
Raven turned to Alicia, sitting on the grass beside her. “We’re going to be here for a long while,” she said.
So that’s what he’s trying to do, Waxman said to himself as he watched Umber’s performance.
Shut down the narcotics manufacturing. Stop producing Rust. Cut off this habitat’s main source of income.
He smiled grimly as he stared at his wall screen. So we’ll just have to wait him out. Let his followers sit there and twiddle their thumbs. Sooner or later they’ll get tired of this charade and go home.
Time is on my side, he told himself.
NIGHTFALL
“This isn’t very exciting,” Alicia said to Raven.
In the orbiting habitat of Haven, the cycle of day and night was artificially controlled. The habitat’s lights dimmed to a twilight level at a predetermined time, then went down to evening and finally the darkness of night—all controlled by the habitat’s automated lighting system.
The two women were still reclining on the grass in front of the Chemlab Building. The crowd of demonstrators was still sprawled all around them. The lights had dimmed to their twilight level more than ten minutes earlier, but hardly anyone had left the park.
Reverend Umber was sitting with them, gnawing on the last bit of faux chicken meat that one of the demonstrators had brought from the habitat’s cafeteria.
“How much longer will we have to stay out here?” Raven wondered.
Umber shook his head. “Until they capitulate.”
Alicia said tightly, “Or until our people get tired of this and go home.”
Umber frowned slightly. “Several people have already left,” he said.
“Can’t say I blame them,” Alicia replied. “After all, they do have homes. With beds.”
“And bathrooms,” Raven added.
“Some of them have come back, though,” Umber pointed out.
“But our numbers are dwindling,” said Raven.
Umber shook his head. “They’ll grow again tomorrow morning, you’ll see. We’ll get stronger.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” said Alicia, without a trace of reverence in her voice.
Evan Waxman was still in his office, still watching the scene on his wall screen.
Stalemate, he grumbled to himself. We can’t get our technicians into the building; production today has been zero.
But, he reasoned, they can’t leave the entrance area. Once they do, we can move in our people and start up the production lines again.
If that idiot sergeant hadn’t caved in to those demonstrators this would all have been over and done with hours ago, Waxman fumed.
The security chief studied Jacobi’s hard-bitten face as the sergeant stood unhappily before his desk.
“What happened out there, Franco?” the chief asked.
Obviously uncomfortable, Jacobi frowned as he answered. “I just couldn’t do it. Whack Reverend Umber? Knock him down? Bloody his head? You try it.”
For several long moments, the chief remained silent. At last he said, “So that’s how ‘passive resistance’ wins. It depends on the decency of the people they’re resisting.”
“I suppose,” Jacobi muttered.
“Waxman’s pissed with you,” the chief said. “Wants you boiled in oil, at least.”