Most of my Stair Boys were covering that. More people died and were injured every year during the celebration than were probably saved in the original incident, which made it a rather inefficient and ironic miracle.
I had Valia with me, because she had been helpful talking with Hobardi before, and five other Kommilaire, just in case we ran into some errant Marchers trying to celebrate each other to death.
We indeed ran into several groups of people alternately vomiting, fighting, and making out.
Drunks were hard to deal with. And if they’re drunk enough to be dry-humping electrical junction boxes in the middle of the street, you knew they were well beyond listening to any lecture on propriety you might give them.
We had a good method for dealing with drunks provided there were few enough of them. We just blasted them with cold fire extinguishers for about twenty seconds.
At first they would laugh. Then they would choke. Then they would feel their skin freezing. Your body is good at getting you undrunk really quick. Or at the least making you put your clothes back on and stop licking buildings.
A few more interruptions and we were in the Sublime Order of Transcendence’s part of town and no one was having any fun. Maybe Hobardi wouldn’t be such a bad Governor after all. At least he kept things sedate. But I would look absurd wearing a toga and headdress.
The sexy secretary told me Hobardi wasn’t seeing anyone. She took my inquiry as a request. I had not said it as such, however, and ignored her, walking past.
She jumped up, pulled her miniskirt down with both hands, and scooted over to try and stop me from proceeding further.
“The Grandmaster is not taking visitors,” she said firmly.
Valia punched her in the nose, sending the woman sprawling across the floor.
She saw my look and shrugged.
“She annoyed me.”
We wound through the compound looking for Hobardi.
“Hank,” Valia said.
I turned and saw the Order’s mutant. The tall, thin man wearing dark glasses and smelling of acid.
“You are trespassing,” he said in a dead voice.
“I need to talk to Hobardi. He sent me a message,” I said.
“The Grandmaster is occupied with his meditations,” the mutant answered.
“Is that a code for something? If he’s got diarrhea, I’m not going to embarrass him, it happens to us all. I just need to ask him a few questions.”
The mutant put his fists on the sides of his temples and pushed inward.
“What?” I asked.
I looked at my Kommilaire. They didn’t know what he was doing either.
He then grabbed his own neck with both hands and squeezed.
“What’s he doing?” Valia asked.
“Are you trying to tell me something? Is Hobardi sick?” I asked.
“Maybe he’s sick?” one of my Stair Boys said.
The mutant stopped, pursed his lips, and then dug his fingers into his sides, under his ribs.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“Maybe he can’t talk,” Valia whispered. “Are you saying ‘sides’?” she asked the mutant.
“Skin?” a Stair Boy said.
“Suicide?” another guessed.
The mutant put his thumbs into his mouth and seemed to be biting them.
“Uh, teeth. Tongue,” I blurted.
“Thumbs. Like money? Do you want us to pay you?” Valia tried.
The mutant stopped, looking annoyed. He then put his right hand to his side, made like he was lifting something and then held his finger and thumb out in an obvious display:
“Gun! Pistol,” I said.
I turned around to my Kommilaire to see if they agreed.
They all had their pistols drawn with blank expressions.
Hmm.
The mutant held his hand forward and flexed his index finger.
Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!
All my Stair Boys shot me!
“You know,” I said to the mutant, “I’m bulletproof, right? Those are just guns.”
Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!
“I mean, it’s annoying and all. But what do you hope to accomplish? Though it’s a cool mutation you have. What is it? Some kind of mind… mind-thing?”
Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!
“Right,” I sighed.
I drew one of my rifles and cocked it.
The mutant made a jerky series of motions with his fingers and I was suddenly being hit and kicked and grappled by my Kommilaire. All of whom weighed a tiny fraction of me.
They were disturbing my hair and my clothes a bit, but that was it.
Valia had her legs on my chest and was hanging off my gun, trying to wrench it away. She’d have an easier time trying to tow Belvaille with a space-donkey—if there was such a thing as space-donkeys.
“I don’t want to shoot you, guy. Not many of us mutants left. But you’ve kind of mind controlled my Kommilaire and you’re wearing sunglasses inside, which is a pet peeve of mine.”
He made the finger-pistol movement again.
“We already did this,” I sighed.
The Kommilaire all got off me, picked up their pistols and put them to their own heads!
“Drop your gun,” he told me.
I dropped it.
“Look, I really just want to talk to Hobardi. He’s not under arrest or anything. Take it easy.”
“And I said he’s not seeing anyone. Now leave!”
I began walking backwards the way we came when I saw something strange in Valia, who was to my left.
Her skin began to ripple and shift, like it was a bed sheet and air was being blown under it. The features on her face began to droop like they were about to fall off her skeleton. This mutant was melting her!
The mutant had moved closer now that he thought he had the upper hand. I quickly resolved to grab him. I couldn’t let my people die.
I stretched out my arm and leaned forward. I was right on target to put my hand on his chest and pin him down, which would certainly crush him.
Closer.
Closer.
And then he apparently saw what I was doing and hopped away, which put him well beyond my reach.
Now I was just falling. Or waiting to fall. It seemed like it was taking a long while.
When I finally touched ground, I smashed through the thin floor and I was falling again, head-first this time. Who replaces the steel floors on Belvaille?
I briefly saw another lit room I descended through and hit another floor.
Which I also ripped through, continuing my fall.
I came to a stop against the stout basement, landing on my head and then flopping over onto my back.
It was raining Kommilaire.
They came spilling through the destroyed floors above, flailing and cartwheeling and ultimately landing pretty ungracefully, often on me.
But they didn’t seem to be mind controlled any longer.
The mutant was here too. I tried to extricate myself from my Stair Boys without injuring them further. Some were moaning and holding sprained or broken bones which had been caused from their fall.
As I gently scooped my employees to the side, I pulled myself closer to the mutant, who was himself recovering from his drop.
If I could get to him before he came around…
He saw me and his eyes went wide—he had lost his sunglasses. He made the finger-motion again.
Most of my Kommilaire didn’t have their pistols, but a few did. And they dutifully put their guns to their own heads.
“What’s your name? We can talk this through,” I said.
“Blam!”
I looked back, panicked, expecting to see a dead Kommilaire. Instead I saw Valia standing, holding her smoking gun.