Stray Cat Strut-Chapter Fifty-One - Along for the Fun

Chapter Fifty-One - Along for the Fun

There was a strange surge of semi-religious action in early 2021. Most modern religions, from Christianity to the Islamic faith, couldnt handle the existence of extraterrestrial life, either life that was incredibly hostile and antithetical to human life, or the existence of multiple races so much more advanced than humanity that they seemed nearly deity-like.

The clergy scrambled to reason with their flock. And while they did so, new organizations and quasi-religions rose to fill in the blank left by the larger religions. From paramilitary groups that built themselves up as cults, to organizations that worshipped the god-like Samurai.

One of the final nails in the coffin on the great religions was the Protectors declaring that there was no magic to be found, no supernatural that they had observed, and that every miracle and disaster could be broken down into repeatable phenomena.

--Excerpt from The Rise of the New American Way. 2030

***

The route cutting across the green zone and towards the first shelter Id marked out happened to cross before the hospital. So, with a pang on my conscience, I had the driver pull up and stop before the large building.

Like most modern structures in New Montreal, the ground floor wasnt actually designed to be all that accessible for normal people. The real access, or accesses, were across the many sky bridges connecting to the blocky concrete building.

There were ways into the hospital from the ground, of course. Thats where most freight and supplies would come in from.

Based on what I understood of city infrastructure, which was pretty much jack except what Id picked up via osmosis, the majority of traffic on ground levels was made up of self-driving delivery and cargo and the occasional biker gang. Foot traffic was reserved for the truly desperate, the dumb, and the vagrants.

Cops wouldnt do anything for someone caught in a heap of shit on the ground, not unless there was some major incentive. It was one of the reasons why pretty young girls were told never to travel outside of a building.

I figured the exception was when riding in a pair of armoured cars with eight or so heavily-armed soldier types.

Our driver pulled up to a pair of reinforced double doors just by the entrance and slowed to a stop. Were here! she said in a sing-song-y voice.

I snorted and pushed my door open. Shed been kind enough to park just under one of the lower bridges, so the constant drizzle didnt immediately ruin my almost-dried hair. Still, I pulled up the hood of my stealth coat, just in case. And then the inside of my hood went transparent, because of course it did.

Monroe ran around the back of the car and made some arcane gestures towards the others. Soon enough there were three soldiers as well as Monroe with me, and each car had a guard as well as their driver keeping them safe.

Whenever youre ready, Monroe said.

I tried not to feel too self conscious as I moved towards the heavy, graffiti-covered doors. There was a plaque above them reading Patterson Research Hospital in bold stainless-steel letters. I paused by the door, spotted a paint-covered doorbell-screen to one side, then sighed. Theyre expecting us, right? I asked.

Monroe nodded. Yes maam. Our PMC and the security force here are linked.

I scratched at my cheek. Could I just ask that he call them up? Was that a bit too awkward? Could I have skipped this entire thing and done it over a vid-call? There was no point in beating myself up. Id just figure it out the next time. Got their number?

Ah, of course. Sorry, Monroe said. Ill tell HQ to tell them that were here.

And Monroe decided to take the blame.

I wasnt used to adults assuming that I was in the right--especially when I wasnt--but I could get used to it.

A bit of muffled babbling later, and the sergeant nodded. Theyre on their way, maam.

Just as soon as he was done saying so, the door slid open with a gust of antiseptic air.

The inside of the hospital, at least the one corridor I could see, looked like any other building Id seen, only with a whole lot more white. Standing in the entrance where two men and a woman, all geared up in vests and padded suits, shotguns held low by their sides.

I licked dried lips then waved. Hey, I said.

The guns lowered. Are you the escorts? the man in the lead said.

I nodded. More or less.

He locked eyes with me, scanning me up and down. You dont look like a Clenze operative.

Im not, I said. Im just some two-bit Samurai who came along for fun. I didnt know how to feel about the way all three of them stood taller at that. I decided to settle on smug. Were not evacuating just yet. I wanted to make sure everything was hunky-dory with you lot before moving on to, uh, another objective.

Hunky-dory? one of them repeated.

My next purchase was going to be a mask to hide my blushing.

We should be fine, the guy in the lead said. The patients that were easy to move have been evacuated already. The really critical ones were airlifted out. Its just the lower priority staff and the security teams left. We got permission to evac half an hour ago.

No patients? I asked.

He shook his head. Its a research hospital, maam. Didnt have that many to begin with.

Well that was something. Alright... hey, how many of you security folk are in here? And staff too?

Were a team of twenty-seven, he said.

I nodded. That gave me some ideas. Okay. The Clenze transports should be here soon enough. Meanwhile, were heading over to some of the shelters nearby. Try to get as many civvies out in one go as possible. Could I get you guys to help keep an eye on them?

I... dont think that would work with our protocols, he hesitated.

What if you fuck your protocols? I countered.

It must have been a pretty good argument, because he folded.

We all kind of just stood there for a bit, rain pattering off the walls and street, turning into little rivulets that carried discarded wrappers towards already-clogged sewer openings. Well, thats that. Well be back in a bit.

Your diplomatic skills are enviable.

I snorted as I reached the car, tore the door open, and hopped in. I do try, I said. Dont suppose you have something to help with that?

There are some items that can. Social prediction software that displays a persons mood, pulse and their physical condition to help you predict their responses. Or you could buy a very large gun. That has also proven capable of convincing most humans.

The driver looked over me, then to the others who were getting back into their own rides. That was fast. Where to now, boss?

That first shelter, the smaller one in the orange zone, I said as I shifted on the hard plastic seat. Couldnt they afford some cushions for these things?

The last door clacked shut, the cars engine turned on with an electric whine and we were off again.

I hung on to a strap anchored to the ceiling and kept an eye on the route ahead. If orange zones were supposed to be dangerous, or more dangerous at least, then there was a good chance wed be running into some xenos sooner rather than later.

Who decides on the zone colours anyway? I muttered.

The colours are designated based on the growth and danger predictions made by the AI companions of local Vanguard. They collate data from satellite and CCTV images, from deep ranging sensors and from the sensor suites mounted on some Vanguards equipment, then use that data to predict the threat level of each area. This is then reduced to a simple coloured system because most Vanguard dont have the patience or time to compute the actual information themselves.

Ouch, I said.

Sorry, our driver said. Couldnt avoid that pothole.

No problem, I said. So, uh, you got a name?

They call me Speedy, she said.

I blinked. Because you drive fast? I asked.

Nah, they caught me taking a lot of drugs, and it was either jail or joining this lot. Speedy twisted out of the way of a car parked in the wrong lane, then, when a Model Three jumped into our path from out between two trucks, she floored it and rammed the creatures head off.

I hung on to my seat and started looking for a belt.

***

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