Immunity Index by Sue Burke (best fiction books of all time txt) 📗

back up at the State Capitol building with its white dome and columns like the federal Congress building. It made for a pretty sight, for all the ugly laws that came out of it.

A knot of people had gathered around a juggler on the wide sidewalk in front of City Hall. A tall man and a little robot were tossing balls at each other. This would be the perfect way, she realized, for a crowd to gather until it was time to protest.

Hetta led her toward the juggler. “So just act like we were walking somewhere else and found ourselves here.”

Yeah, discreet. They watched and let themselves be entertained for a minute.

The juggler suddenly stopped. “The show’s over,” he said with a smile. “Go home. Now.” Avril got the message. But why? Why no protest? People were groaning with disappointment.

Hetta tugged at her sleeve. “Let’s go.”

She’d find out why later. Right now, be a good mutineer. Do what you’re told. Don’t even look back. Casually, they began walking uphill toward the capitol, no hurry, nothing suspicious.

A deafening whine sounded behind them. Avril couldn’t help looking, even though it didn’t sound like drones. Security robots had appeared, a lot of them, centaurlike and huge, ten feet tall and super fast, and they were rushing to form a ring around Cal and Celia Ruiz and the other people at the street corner. The robot’s sonic cannons, aimed inside the ring, would be incapacitating. Celia held her hands over her ears and collapsed.

Avril stared, even though her eardrums rattled as if they were going to break out of her head. Was that the police? Hetta had said—no, those couldn’t be city police robots. Now human officers were running toward the centaurs, and they wore helmets and armor with stars-and-stripes insignia: federal agents.

Hetta tugged on her arm. “Run!” She took off, and Avril followed her. The situation was bad, probably worse than she understood.

They dashed around a corner and stopped when a big building stood between them and the weaponized robots. Avril’s ears rang and ached, but her head no longer felt like it would explode.

The protest had been found out. Would she be found out? They’d all been spotted for sure, they’d all be identified, even her with the visor over her face, and then, well, people disappeared sometimes.

“Let’s go back to campus,” Hetta said. “Calm down.”

Calm down? Oh, yeah, she was panting and shaking. She took some deep breaths. Relax. After a minute, they headed back to campus like ordinary students who had just found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time while they were out for a stroll down State Street, looking for lunch.

Hetta wanted to stop for Turkish kebab, but the shop was closed. A lot of restaurants were closed.

“It’s an artificial crisis,” Hetta complained. “There’s enough food. But only some businesses get it.”

“Only some people,” Avril answered. Hetta looked at her hard for a moment, then nodded.

They settled for some second-rate takeout sandwiches from a big chain that apparently had political clout. Before they’d reached the campus, they both received a message on their phones from the university administration:

“All students must return to their residences immediately. Classes are canceled and the campus is closed. Students who fail to report in a timely manner will be subject to arrest.”

“Is that because of the protest?” Avril asked.

Hetta stared at her phone. “Maybe.”

“What else could it be?”

“I don’t know.”

Avril was pretty sure Hetta did know. And she was getting tired of being discreet. “Who’s the other one … like me in Milwaukee?”

“I don’t know. I saw her at a training session. We don’t use names much, and I didn’t even get a good look at her, but I thought you were the same person.”

“I need to get in touch with her.”

“I’ll see if I can find out.” Hetta didn’t sound hopeful—but Avril wanted to meet that woman and meet Irene more than anything else she’d ever wanted. There had to be a way.

University police centaurs stood sentrylike in front of classroom buildings, and squad cars were circulating. In the Dejope Hall lobby, Hetta ran off—“I gotta talk to someone”—leaving Avril alone at the elevators, wondering if she should chase after her.

“Why is campus being shut down?” she asked the group of people waiting for the elevator, trying to sound as innocent as she could.

“No one knows,” a girl answered, and she and everybody else were staring at their phone displays, searching for news. One student turned and went to the front doors, and as he approached, a directed whine sounded. He backed off, holding his ears.

“They were just waiting for a reason to shut this place down,” he muttered. No one had to ask who they were. A couple of students started crying. Avril wasn’t that afraid. Was she frustrated? Angry? Yes, very angry.

“We need to fight back,” she said.

No one answered. One student had a coughing fit. He must have caught that minor cold, if anybody could believe the Prez, although that cough sounded more than minor. They rode the elevator in silence.

In her room, she eventually found what she hoped was reliable news, and it was all bad, protests shut down violently in other cities. She paced from one side of the room to the other, six steps each way. She felt trapped, jailed, confined to the building, and she decided that the shutdown had to be related to the mutiny somehow. Exactly what had happened to Celia Ruiz? Was any of this even legal? Everything seemed to be legal if it served the Prez.

The knob on the dorm room door clicked, and Shinta walked in carrying a duffel bag, her eyes narrow with anger. She’d been at a regional swim meet in Illinois.

“Why in the name of all that is holy is there a lockdown?” Her voice was hoarse.

“I don’t know. There was a protest, but way over at City Hall, so I don’t know if that’s why.”

Shinta sighed dramatically and dropped her bag on her bed. “I