Art Pact 14
The drones were gaining on us - two types of them now, the old-fashioned hovering things with their quadruple fans, and some chrome-shelled void things that made a disturbing vibrato hum as they flew. We barreled around the corner, capes streaming behind us, dodging around early-morning pedestrians and leaving a wake of confused sightseers behind us. Every so often someone would spot us coming and stand directly in our path, camera out, causing us to swerve violently around them. At least one of them must have got whipped in the face with the edge of my cape, but I had no time for either outrage or sympathy. We reached Bridge Street and accelerated up the straight, Brunch catching up with me when I had to slow down to avoid a half-asleep rickshaw driver.
"They're gaining on us!" he reported pointlessly.
"I know."
"We're not going to escape!"
"I KNOW."
I tried splitting up, veering off down Belham Crescent. The bad news was that there were enough drones to split up as well, so I'd gained nothing in terms of escape. On the bright side, though, it did give me several valuable seconds free from Brunch's inane babble, during which I could catch my thoughts. The drones probably had a limited power supply - the newer ones more so than the old ones, I would guess. That meant that in the long run time was on our side. In the short run, however, it was against us - and so against us that our current run promised to be very short at all. I got a few extra seconds by dodging back down the connecting alley to Bridge Street again (causing the drones to pile up into a tight cloud as they braked to follow), but there was no doubt that they were going to catch one or both of us in the next minute if we didn't come up with a plan.
I shot out of the alley so fast that I almost hit a parked car, leaping over the bonnet to land in the middle of the road - to my alarm, behind not only Brunch but those drones that had chosen to chase him rather than me. Now we were in four groups - Brunch at the lead, his pursuers behind him, me behind them, and finally the remainder of the drones bringing up the rear. I prayed that the drones weren't somehow able to communicate with each other.
My prayer was answered. It wasn't the answer I wanted.
As we came to the river, Brunch was still going strong. But his would-be-captors suddenly wheeled out to the left and right, forming a huge arc in the air ahead of me - or rather, I realised, a set of pincers. They were still travelling forwards, but slowing down so that I gained on them. Perhaps they were hoping that I hadn't noticed, or perhaps they just couldn't stop fast enough to close the net on me instantly. Either way, it gave me a few seconds, a vital few seconds. I veered right, and leapt.
The bridge, the neat mid-point of Bridge Street, was a flat-topped set of arches with a low, easily-vaultable guard rail on either side of it. I figured a short fall, then swim to safety. But there's a problem with bridges. The problem is that they're unpredictable. Most of the time, there's nothing under them but water. But every so often there's a boat.
There was a boat.
I saw on my way down that I was going to hit it. It was one of the Egyptian-Tour boats, a hull made of carbon fibre but molded and woven and painted to make it look like it was Nile reeds. There was a wooden deck on it, extending the whole length of the craft, and a small party of tourists and guides, all of them staring up at the caped figure now descending rapidly towards them. I just had time to make out one of the tour guides saying:
"...and if you look up to the rear of the ship..."
...before I hit the deck at the stern end. The boat, absorbing the impact of my landing, rotated around its mid-point and threw its bow up into the air, catapulting an earnest-looking young woman in a day-glo cagoul in a perfect arc along the length of the ship towards me. I barely had time to put up my arms before gravity and momentum deposited her neatly into them.
"Uh, hello," I said awkwardly.
"Bonjour!" she replied, displaying what I thought to be considerable sang-froid under the circumstances.
I replaced her on her feet.
"They're gaining on us!" he reported pointlessly.
"I know."
"We're not going to escape!"
"I KNOW."
I tried splitting up, veering off down Belham Crescent. The bad news was that there were enough drones to split up as well, so I'd gained nothing in terms of escape. On the bright side, though, it did give me several valuable seconds free from Brunch's inane babble, during which I could catch my thoughts. The drones probably had a limited power supply - the newer ones more so than the old ones, I would guess. That meant that in the long run time was on our side. In the short run, however, it was against us - and so against us that our current run promised to be very short at all. I got a few extra seconds by dodging back down the connecting alley to Bridge Street again (causing the drones to pile up into a tight cloud as they braked to follow), but there was no doubt that they were going to catch one or both of us in the next minute if we didn't come up with a plan.
I shot out of the alley so fast that I almost hit a parked car, leaping over the bonnet to land in the middle of the road - to my alarm, behind not only Brunch but those drones that had chosen to chase him rather than me. Now we were in four groups - Brunch at the lead, his pursuers behind him, me behind them, and finally the remainder of the drones bringing up the rear. I prayed that the drones weren't somehow able to communicate with each other.
My prayer was answered. It wasn't the answer I wanted.
As we came to the river, Brunch was still going strong. But his would-be-captors suddenly wheeled out to the left and right, forming a huge arc in the air ahead of me - or rather, I realised, a set of pincers. They were still travelling forwards, but slowing down so that I gained on them. Perhaps they were hoping that I hadn't noticed, or perhaps they just couldn't stop fast enough to close the net on me instantly. Either way, it gave me a few seconds, a vital few seconds. I veered right, and leapt.
The bridge, the neat mid-point of Bridge Street, was a flat-topped set of arches with a low, easily-vaultable guard rail on either side of it. I figured a short fall, then swim to safety. But there's a problem with bridges. The problem is that they're unpredictable. Most of the time, there's nothing under them but water. But every so often there's a boat.
There was a boat.
I saw on my way down that I was going to hit it. It was one of the Egyptian-Tour boats, a hull made of carbon fibre but molded and woven and painted to make it look like it was Nile reeds. There was a wooden deck on it, extending the whole length of the craft, and a small party of tourists and guides, all of them staring up at the caped figure now descending rapidly towards them. I just had time to make out one of the tour guides saying:
"...and if you look up to the rear of the ship..."
...before I hit the deck at the stern end. The boat, absorbing the impact of my landing, rotated around its mid-point and threw its bow up into the air, catapulting an earnest-looking young woman in a day-glo cagoul in a perfect arc along the length of the ship towards me. I barely had time to put up my arms before gravity and momentum deposited her neatly into them.
"Uh, hello," I said awkwardly.
"Bonjour!" she replied, displaying what I thought to be considerable sang-froid under the circumstances.
I replaced her on her feet.
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