Williamson, Michael Z - Freehold-Ripple Creek 03 by When Diplomacy Fails . . . (v5.0)

Author:When Diplomacy Fails . . . (v5.0) [., When Diplomacy Fails . .]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Highland did not like Ripple Creek. She’d been wary from the beginning, with good reason. When that incompetent but scheming snake in New York had assigned them—and she had no doubt it was the SecGen’s office that assigned them—she’d known it was to embarrass her, either by saddling her with their disregard for bystanders, or the bad press that followed them, or the way they’d choke down on her movements. So far, the smarmy fucker was three for three.

They were certainly competent at keeping threats away, even when they lost a man. Still, the Army had gotten him back for them. It hadn’t softened their attitude. Minor protesters were not a threat. She half expected the goons to follow her to the bathroom. In the meantime, they used stink gas, gunfire, explosives and vehicles, and had killed a newsworthy number of nobodies who’d follow Highland’s career like zombies. She was quite sure that had been the reason they’d been sent. The Special Service knew to intercept bullets and keep quiet. These trigger-happy clowns seemed to enjoy shooting people, and she was fairly sure their weapons did not have biometric locks. Not working ones, at least.

She would be in need of a new biosculp when this was over, and that before taking office. They even saw Jessie as a potential threat, not to mention Huble.

So it was time to pull in some favors, have the mercenary bastards marked as what they were. She could then separate herself, be magnanimous and fair, and regret it as they went down.

She just had to keep Cruk’s publicity people from covering them against her. So perhaps a call to Blanding was in order, to find some nonprofit group who could sue on behalf of the low-class rabble they’d blithely shot.

The next load that flashed made her grit her teeth and growl. She wanted something to bite, to chew, to rip with her jaw.

People wondered why she hated the common morons the Equality Party attracted. It was because they were morons. Enthusiasm didn’t equate to competence or even usefulness.

The slogan was, “Let’s position Joy on top!”

It was on flash buttons, on shirts, on hats and pennants.

Even worse, at a rally in Bangladesh, a crowd was chanting. The reporter waxed eloquent about the turnout numbers, but behind her it was easy to hear, “Joy on top! Assume the position!”

It might be enthusiasm and lack of familiarity with English idiom. It might be unintentional idiocy. Or, it might be the work of some shill from Cruk’s camp or even Hunter’s. And yes, his name was most certainly part of why she wouldn’t team with him. “Joy/Hunter” would have made this even worse.

It had to be stopped. Morons would ignore spelling errors, or even inadvertent insults. But a catchy phrase with innuendous potential would linger for years. She screened a quick message.

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