Different Senses (60 page)

By twelve, I thought the event
would pass off peacefully. The impact on public opinion might not
be all the Nihan wanted, but at least they wouldn’t have given any
ammunition to the ‘crazy, violent indigenous’ pundits. Deciding
that there was no longer any need to worry, I began to list
appointments I needed to make with clients for the following week,
when I heard angry shouting in Kelon coming from the media
feed.

I turned the audio up and
dragged the screen closer. The camera coverage was all over the
damn place so it wasn’t easy to work out what was causing the
disruption, but then one of the reporters got a fix on it, and it
became clear. A group of men waving banners proclaiming themselves
to be part of “Kelon Pride”—whoever they were— had forced
themselves close to the speaker stage, and despite the attempts of
the crowd to stop them, three men managed to get up on the dais.
The Nihan weren’t happy and the pushing and shoving quickly turned
into straight out assault. Police scrambled up the dais stairs, and
I groaned as cops actually helped these bastards resist the Nihan
trying to force them off the stage. One of the Kelons grabbed a
microphone and berated the crowd for their disloyalty and
prejudice. People booed and shouted insults in two languages, and
balled up posters and one or two heavier objects landed on the
stage. Police muscled their way in from the edges, meeting angry
resistance. A cop pulled out suppressant spray and the crowd
heaved, trying to get away from the noxious stuff.

Cursed insanity, this was
exactly what I thought might happen. Could I help? I put on my
coat, grabbed my gun, but there wasn’t much I could practically do
now except be ready to help my friends, and try and follow where
the trouble was headed.

Then I heard a shot—not just
over the speakers in my office, but live. On the screen, I watched
as people scattered, screaming, directionless in their panic. No
one seemed to know where the shot had come from, so they were just
running. The gunman? No idea, and no indication which side they
were on.

Another shot, and I grabbed my
phone to call Madan. I fretted as he took too long to pick up, but
he finally did. “You and the kids need to get out of there now. Get
out, Madan. This is going to be a clusterfuck. Tell people to
leave.”

“Already on it.” He sounded out
of breath, rushing or pushing his way through the crowd, probably.
Then another shot. “Blessed spirit! Who the hell is that?”

“No idea. Move, Madan. Hurry.
I’m in the office. Head this way.”

I called Rupa, but got no
answer. Jyoti said she was already making a dash for it. On the
screen, Nihani youths threw bottles and rocks, and smoke drifted
across the city centre from the west. Police on cykes tried to
disperse the panicking crowd, but did nothing about the ranting
Kelons still holding forth from the dais, doing their best to whip
up anger and condemning the protestors. At this point, I didn’t
know if the crowd was paying them much attention but the sound of
them pissed me off.

I went out to the street.
Explosions ripped through the air, acrid smoke befouled it, and
sirens wailed from all directions. People fled down the street,
clutching the hands of wives, husbands, friends, children, dragging
their precious loved ones away from the threat. Police let them
through the cordon, making no attempt to pursue them. As they
passed me, the desperate Nihan shot me fearful looks, seeing only
the face of an enemy. Couldn’t blame them.

An anxious twenty minutes
later, I spotted Prachi, hand in hand with Vik, and Madan, his
wife, and Hamsa close behind them. “Quick,” I yelled, waving them
into the office and slamming the door behind them.

Prachi gulped in air, and then
hugged Vik. Both of them looked on the point of collapse and I
pushed a couple of chairs over to them. “By the Seeker,” Madan
said, clutching his wife Ubika tightly against him, “I never
expected any of that. Who are those people?”

“Shit stirrers,” I said, and
Hamsa nodded. “My guess is they wanted trouble, and they got what
they wanted.”

“There are shops on fire,”
Hamsa said, her voice shaking. “And someone was shooting. I’ve
never been so scared.”

I patted her arm. “Need
chai?”

“No, I want to get out of
here.”

“No chance of making it into
your neighbourhood. The police have closed everything off.”

“Our house,” Madan said, Ubika
nodding in agreement. “It’s in the outer suburbs. Safe and
boring.”

“Okay—everyone happy with that?
We can’t stay here.” I locked down the computers and media screens,
grabbed my current files. “Right. Out the back, and we make a run
for it.”

Six people in my little auto
was a crush, but none of my passengers would have preferred to be
among the people fleeing on foot. I told everyone but Madan to stay
low. The two of us had our weapons ready, and I for one was
prepared to use my gun to protect my people.

I kept an eye out for anyone I
knew, and wished I’d been able to contact Rupa. Jyoti sent a
message to say she and Chandana were safe, which was something.

We cleared the city area and I
judged it safe to sit up. Behind us, smoke rose from several
points, and emergency vehicles raced in the opposite direction.
Madan murmured, and the others joined in. “Praying for our
friends,” he said when I glanced at him.

They might as well pray for all
the good it would do. I turned on the audio for the news feed. We
listened to the grim reports in silence, wondering how many had
been hurt, if anyone had been killed. And just who “Kelon Pride”
was and who was behind them.

Closing the door behind us at
Madan and Ubika’s tidy home allowed everyone to relax, and while
Madan bustled off to boil water for chai, the rest of us sent
messages to our loved ones, wanting to know they were safe. The
answers came in thick and fast. No one we knew was hurt. Or rather,
we didn’t know if anyone we knew was hurt.

The situation in the centre of
town wouldn’t calm down for a while, Madan and I figured. We
settled down to drink chai and watch the news feed. “It was fine
until those people turned up,” Vik said. “But who was
shooting?”

“I couldn’t tell from the
vids,” I said. No one else had any idea either. “Madan, ever heard
of ‘Kelon Pride’?”

“Not specifically, but there
are a lot of pro-Kelon, anti-indigenous groups that have sprung up
in the last year. This is the most overt I’ve seen, though.”

“Not a good sign,” I said.

“Very little is, these days,”
he replied gloomily. “And to think we believed the high court
decision might be the start of a brand new era for our people.”

“It was...but there are a few
kinks to sort out.”

Prachi turned and gave me a
particularly sceptical look for that remark.

After a couple of hours, I
thought the disruption downtown would go on all evening, and
suggested to Madan that the others stay overnight. He readily
agreed, as did the youngsters. “Call me before you leave,” I
said.

“Are you going back?” Hamsa
asked.

I wanted to, but the cops who’d
let us through the barriers didn’t look like they wanted anyone
going the other way. “I’ll keep trying to make contact with people.
I just hope your community had plans for something like this.”

“No,” Madan said. “Not this
bad. They caught us out.”

“I’m sorry.” Meaningless, but I
was.

~~~~~~~~

Tara exclaimed with relief when
I turned up. “I wasn’t in any danger,” I said, hugging her and
making Nita giggle as I tickled her.

“
Everyone’s in danger,”
she said. “It’s
horrible.
”

That it was, and I
couldn’t offer any reassurances to her or to Yashi when he arrived
home with the boys. We tried to shield the twins from the news,
though they couldn’t help but hear about it from school and the
teachers. The garbled version they excitedly gave us about
the
banis
and hundreds of guns made about as much sense as some of
the news reports. Yashi refused to turn the media feed on after the
boys went to bed. “I’ve had more of this than I can stand. This
isn’t the way I want my family to live.”

“No one wants that,” I said.
“Least of all, them.”

I said good night after supper
and returned to my flat. There I flicked on the news feed. Plenty
of outrage and pictures of the burning shops. Nothing from my
father directly, though a spokesperson for the governor called for
calm and reflection. Other commentators weren’t so measured,
calling for enforced registration of all Nihan people, and
restriction of their movements until the people behind the rioting
were caught. No one appeared to be asking about the Kelon Pride
group, and that pissed me off. What had happened was such blatant
stirring up of trouble and emotions, and had clearly been
planned.

I looked up Kelon Pride for
myself. I expected they’d be some shadowy organisation hiding
behind a fake name, but no. They had their own information site,
their mission—“to take back the rights given away by government to
non-Kelons”—proudly stated on the first page, and the leadership
named, though none of the names meant a thing to me. The riot and
their members’ role in it wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Not that the
people involved in disrupting the rally were necessarily real
members of this group, or acting under their direction, of
course.

How had I heard nothing of
these people? How had my Nihani friends not known of them? Shardul
would have though, monitoring the hate groups as he had been. Had
he had any warning at all about what was likely to happen at the
rally? Did he know who was involved?

My finger itched to tap in his
number, etched in my memory even if erased from my phone’s listing
to remove temptation. I had tried to speak to him a few times after
that night, but he’d blocked my calls, and finally Rupa had
contacted me to ask me to leave him alone.

“Not that I agree,” she’d said.
“But he’s embarrassed, ashamed...and that’s not something Shardul
handles well. Give him time, Javen.”

So I had. Six months’ worth, in
fact. Was it enough, finally?

I pulled out my phone, looked
at it, put it away. No, not until I’d done more research. I wanted
to be able to have an intelligent conversation with him about the
concerns he would be dealing with, instead of making it all about
me and my feelings.

I worked at home next morning
but later, running an errand for Tara so she could take a nap, I
took the chance to swing past the office. The street looked normal
aside from the greatly heightened police presence. My ID was
checked at two points, and roads to the central market place were
blocked off. The entire shopping district was quiet, and I didn’t
see a single indigenous person on the entire journey.

At the office I pulled up the
Kelon Pride site again and called my father. “Javen, I hope you
weren’t caught up in what happened yesterday. We’ve been
worried.”

“No, I was fine. Helped some
friends get out of the mess and we stayed clear. Dad, who are these
people? I hope you kicked the chief of police’s arse over the way
they handled things.”

“
Son, please don’t tell
me my job. As a matter of fact, I
did
kick a posterior or two this
morning. Your indigenous friends carry some of the blame, though.
There were youths ready to fight, carrying projectiles and other
weapons, and they took the opportunity for violence as soon as it
presented itself.”

“But the opportunity was
presented by the Kelons. I saw the live report.”

“
Yes, they stirred things
up. The
banis
could have just left or let them have their say.
I know that might be a lot to ask of them, but I can’t say they
share no responsibility for what happened. People won’t believe me
when the evidence is otherwise.”

“Fine. But those guys?”

“Are being investigated.
However, speaking uninvited at a rally isn’t a crime. Throwing
rocks at people is.”

“And the gun fire?”

“We don’t know where that came
from. It’s a worrying development, but there were only half a dozen
shots fired. It wasn’t open warfare.”

“So you think I’m worried about
nothing.”

“
No, son. As governor, I
have to see both sides, that’s all. Trust me, Javen.
Trust
me.”

“I do, Dad,” I said quietly.
“Sorry to have worried you.”

“Just glad to know you’re all
right. Do your friends intend to keep on with the strike?”

“I don’t know. I can see
arguments for and against. They don’t feel they have a voice.”

“Well, you could pass on an
unofficial message that serious, well-behaved representatives will
be received respectfully at the governor’s residence. If we can
show non-antagonistic paths to resolution can have an effect, then
strikes and rallies won’t be necessary.”

“But Denge’s still free.”

“For now. Send your friends
over to talk. I’ll listen, explain. They’ll have a chance to be
videoed with me, and seen as equal partners.”

“Why not ask them
yourself?”

“You don’t think sending one of
my beloved sons as my personal envoy is personal enough?”

I grinned. “Good point. I’ll
pass the word. Thanks, Dad.”

“Thank you, Javen. See you
soon, I hope.”

I’d spent so many years
despising my father for what he did for a living, I’d never
appreciated how good he was at doing it—or that he was popular for
a reason. Love of his kids had persuaded him to look at his blind
spot regarding the indigenous population, but it was his own innate
talent for building alliances which made that examination worth
it.