She Bleeds for Us: The Galactic Consortium 3

Chapter 6

Gabriel intended to hurry home right after school. Their teachers recommended that, though none would say anything about what was going on.

However Gabriel got distracted by the number of people in the street and the direction they were heading. Curiosity got the better of him and he fell in with the crowd, marching.

The three eastern wards of Freetown were the poorest in the city. The third ward precinct station was as far from the seat of power as you could get. Unless you counted Gabriel's home. Their ghetto was on the hillside above the third ward, not even officially recognized by the government.

The yard outside the precinct house was small and Gabriel had never seen it so crowded.

"It's like this everywhere around the city," he heard one man say to another.

One of Barlay's men spoke first, talking about freedom and greater power for the masses. But he didn't refer directly to what was going on, and it was clear even to Gabriel that Barlay wasn't the source of whatever was going on, but merely trying to capitalize on it. A couple more men spoke about rising up for a better position in the world, taking back their power.

When did we ever have power? Gabriel wondered. It certainly wasn't in his lifetime.

Others in the crowd were seeing through the opportunism of these men. They jeered. "She bleeds for us," one voice cried out. "Barlay sure ain't no she. And he only bleeds for his own pocketbook." The crowd laughed at the man.

"Who is she?" Another voice shouted. "Who bleeds for us? A bunch of nonsense."

A loud crack of a stick on the ground captured Gabriel's attention. The crowd parted as the cracking continued. It was, impossibly, grandma.

He was so used to only seeing her at home, as grandma, that he'd all but forgotten who she was; the blind witch, respected and feared. The crowd gave way before her. She kept striking the ground with her walking cane, silencing the crowd.

She came directly beneath the two crates the men were using as a stage and she stood there, her face raised to the sky. Finally, she spoke. "If you haven't the courage to say it, best get off the stage and stand aside."

"Say what?" One of the speakers demanded.

Grandma turned back towards the crowd. "We know who she is," she declared. She pointed her cane at the sky and Gabriel's heart soared. "Her. The sky princesses, Sarasvat."

Gabriel smiled. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Holly, a single white face in a sea of dark ones, on the edge of the crowd. She leaned back and spoke quietly to another teacher.

"Sarasvat!" A voice cheered.

Another wasn't so charitable. "If she bleeds for us, wants to help us, what's stopping her? Let her come."

Grandma wheeled in the direction of the voice. "You know the answer to that, too," she shouted.

The crowd froze, an expectant hush descending. They knew. Even Gabriel knew. But no one said it. That would be crossing a line. That would be dangerous.

But Grandma was fearless.

"It's Bundu! President Bundu won't let her. They are helping in Guinea. You know it and I know it. They were even in northern Sierre Leone, but now he's kicked them out. He's afraid. If they come here and help us, how we will keep his hold on us?"

Now that it was out in the open, many voices were freed. "Let him stand aside. Let her come in!"

"If he won't stand aside, we will push him aside!" Another voice yelled.

"Barlay..." the first speaker began, but he was booed down and away quickly. The crowd didn't want a reformer. They wanted something completely new.

"There was a plague," a young woman was shouting. "They came to Guinea not two months ago. Ships came from the sky. The plague was cured. Why there and not here? Why?"

"We didn't have a plague," a voice answered.

"We've plagues enough," another shouted, "Drugs, disease, poverty."

Another man shouted, "Iceland, Kamchatka, Norway..." It was a litany of far away places, places no one would have talked about a year ago. Countries that either had, or were working on joining the Consortium. If they could do it, why couldn't Sierra Leone?

The precinct had been quiet, the authorities not intervening, but the crowd was growing restive and the police were as well. The chief appeared at the door to his precinct house with a bullhorn, sternly reminding them that this was not an approved political rally and loitering would not be tolerated. More officers in riot gear came from behind the station, lining up along the side of the small yard.

Concerned Gabriel pushed through the crowd to Grandma's side. "Grandma," he called to her, sliding his hand in hers.

She turned and smiled down at him. "Gabriel. This is no place for a little boy."

He scowled. He wasn't afraid. And he wanted to see the sky princess when she came.

"Nor is it for a woman of your age," a man said at Grandma's side. His tone was deferential. "You've done us a huge service, honored woman. Reminded us of our voices. But it would not do for you to be caught fighting the police in the street. Come, let us take you somewhere safer."

Grandma paused, considering the man's word.

"This revolution will not be won or lost today," the man persisted. "This is but the beginning. Come, you will speak as our elder in this. I promise."

Grandma let herself be swayed. She held tight to Gabriel's hand and he wondered if she went in part for him, to keep him out of harms' way.

The man was rich, living the very edge of the ghetto in a stucco house with four whole rooms. They even had a separate kitchen and bathroom. Most of the women gathered in the kitchen and cooked a sumptuous feast. All except two. Grandma sat on an old rickety wooden chair with Gabriel at her feet. True to his word the man treated her as an honored elder, having a young girl see she was brought food and tea.

The other woman was Holly. She spoke. "It's true. The consortium, the ones who follow Sarasvat," she added. "They have a huge project in Mali, at Bamako. They help people all over Africa. There are projects in Guinea, Senegal, Cote D'Ivoire, Ghana and many other places. I'm sure they would start projects here, too. If asked."

"President Bundu will not ask," the man snorted. "Never."

"He's warned foreigners to leave," Holly confirmed.

"But you didn't," the man commented.

Holly blushed. She brushed the hair of one of the girls, as she passed by carrying a platter of food. "The kids, my kids."

The man patted her back.

A second man spoke. "Bundu warns them away with rumors of unrest, protests. And in doing so, creates the very protests. What is his game?"

"He thinks he can control the protestors," Grandma said.

"We will see about that," the man declared. There was a ripple through the assembled crowd.

Gabriel felt it throughout the room, the fierceness of these men. They were done being controlled.