Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Lola knows that she herself is a powerful weapon, and trains remarkably hard to keep her edge, even though her equal doesn’t exist. Yet she knows that despite her power, the most interesting thing about her is her knowledge of technology. She may not be an engineer, but she knows enough about the technology of weapons of the future to send engineers down the proper paths, and so most of her day is spent trying to recall everything she remembers about technology, so it can be compiled and recorded in binders with red, top secret labels by engineers and researchers. Inès’ days are spent in a similar fashion, except that her knowledge is, of course, more biased towards consumer products and general use, some of which they are hoping will show useful results soon, particularly as Inès has shown them how to hook up Julie’s phone to be charged; other than her own smartglasses and Lola’s phone, it is the most sophisticated computer on earth.
However, after only a few days, just as it becomes a routine, things are interrupted in the late afternoon,
“Adjudant-Chef deLeroy, we have orders for you. Several days ago, a demonstration began at the Université de Paris, and it has spread to include many trade unions and various other malcontents. Today, most of Paris has been shut down, and the CRS have been overwhelmed by the scale of the riots. A large crowd is currently moving towards downtown and we – that is, you, Adjudant-Chef, will discourage them from doing so.”
“What do you expect me to do?” asks Lola.
“Improvise, Adjudant.” Says the Colonel. “We do not wish this to turn into a disaster where half the city is burnt, as happened in the Detroit. We also do not want to see the army crushing people in the streets with tanks. Or underfoot, in your case. But I know also that you can handle single individuals gently and precisely, and, just the presence of a 150 meter tall woman should discourage most people.”
“By your orders, Colonel,” says Lola. “I was hoping that my introduction to the people would be more… positive.”
“Don’t worry. It is positive. Most people want order restored. You will depart Vincennes following the abandoned rail line; the right of way is wide enough for you to pass, and anything on the right of way is vacant and scheduled for demolition anyway. Head them off from getting to the center of town. We need this to be over.”
“I understand, mon colonel” Lola stands up and straightens her uniform. “Everything on the abandoned rail line is vacant, though? What about the buildings above the tunnel?”
“Those are rather new. Avoid them if you can.”
“And it’s a little narrow. It looks like maybe 15 or 20 meters wide? My shoulders and hips are taller than these buildings, of course, but if I walk at all normally… I’ll try to be careful. Can’t I use the river instead? Or go around behind? “
“We want you to be come into view in front of the rioters, to send them back towards the edge of Paris, or to scatter, not to drive them towards the center. Be careful. Good luck… and remember, we want a tour de magie, not a tour de force.”
“Understood, sir.” Lola salutes and sets off, adjusting her beret as she walks. She feels a little nervous, more nervous, even, than facing off against cyborgs in combat, or assaulting terrorist bases. This time, it’s like being on stage, for every step she takes will be public.
The abandoned railroad here is two tracks wide, just about enough space to put one of her boots down without breaking anything to the sides. She puts her weight down gently, and nothing major seems to happen as the sole of her boot, itself a little over six stories tall, sinks a few meters into the ground. A window breaks as the pressure from 35,000 tons of giantess displaces the landscape. Lola has discovered that everything is more fragile than she thought it would be. She can knock over buildings simply by stepping near them roughly, the force of her steps like an earthquake in the immediate vicinity. But a broken window is no big deal, and so she continues, shuffling her feet carefully along, other than stepping over a few bridges. Most of the buildings seem to fare well enough from her passage, though one that seems to have been closer than the others catches the cloth on trouser leg with the edge of a roof, causing most of the metal of the mansard roof to be torn away, falling into the passage.
“Good job so far, Adjutant,” says the radio. “Try to hurry things up, though. Most of those buildings are already vacant, most of this neighborhood is to be rebuilt soon.”
Finally, the tunnel; it disappears under a building, and comes out perhaps two hundred meters further along. The right of way has a little more space here as well.
“The building in front of you, Adjutant, is new and should not be damaged.”
Lola raises a hand in the air, thumbs up. The building is taller than many in the vicinity, nearly waist high. Not a challenge to jump over, really, but her landings are, by necessity, spectacular. There’s just no way that 35000 tons can drop 100 meters without it being rather kinetic. She drops as low as possible, then jumps, trying to put as much force into her arms as possible, but even so she feels her boots sink a few more meters into the ground, and as she rises into the air, she watches the façade of a building collapse, as her body dives forward over the buildings in front of her. She pulls her feet in and her body rotates in a somersault, over the building, still rising, until gravity takes over and she starts descending again. Even though it’s Earth, and normal gravity, it feels like a strange mixture and took some adjustment. She feels as heavy as she’d expect, but everything falls so slowly, seemingly. She hits the ground, and bits of gravel and stone and steel track fly out as though from an explosion. She stands back up, and squeezes past the buildings carefully. The way widens as she continues, the railroad sitting on a brick viaduct that she assumes they don’t mind her wrecking, as no bridge on earth can handle her weight. Her other foot leaves boot prints the length of a railcar in the street. She walks through the abandoned rail station, kicking up a cloud of dust as masonry is crushed underfoot, and turns into the wide lane between the plan Voisin high-rise buildings. A crowd is approaching, and a line of police is falling back, a bus lies in flames in the road, and the crowd is breaking windows of storefronts.
“Very good, Adjutant-Chef. Take control of the situation,” says her radio.
Lola takes a couple steps forward through the parks, then stops. She catches herself just before casually leaning on a building, then steps over the police line. Her boot crushes the burning bus, grinding out the flames, and her other foot comes down just in front of some charging rioters. They fall down as its impact shakes the street. She stands hands on hips, feet apart, in between the two sides of the riot. The chants fade out as the shock of seeing her wade through a large building and take up position takes over. Both sides of the combatants cease, rioters stop throwing rocks and bottles, the police put down their clubs for an instant, in awe of her presence, pausing, to hear what she has to say.
“Paris is under martial law,” she says quietly. “All civilians will clear the streets immediately. You will put down your weapons immediately. You will start walking home, in groups of no more than five people, and I don’t want to see any of you on the streets in an hour.” She pushes up her sleeve, to show an old-fashioned wristwatch. “If I don’t see all weapons down in ten seconds,” she says, tapping the glass, “I’ll have to start arresting you myself. I’ll be careful, but you might not be comfortable in my jacket pocket.” She bends over, as if she’s about to touch her toes, in a huge arch that’s architectural in scale. The rioters haven’t moved yet, but rocks and clubs and bottles are dropped, one by one, as they see her eyes, large as a store window, only barely above them, glance towards the second hand of her enormous watch, then blink.
At nine seconds someone throws a Molotov cocktail, which shatters on her boot. “You can’t – oof“
The protester’s shout is cut off as Lola traps him between two fingers, then drops him into a pocket of her uniform, as there’s a clatter of objects being dropped all through the crowd. Her eyes scan the crowd carefully. “Anyone else? Good.” She stands back up, then looks at her watch again. “You have one minute to start heading back home, starting, now.” She holds her wrist in a position where they, as well as she, can see it. As the seconds run down, another rioter shouts, “We have a right to speak. You don’t have to follow unlawful orders.”
“You have no right to trouble the public order. What is this?” she says, moving her boot to flip the now-flat burnt bus out. “What are these broken windows, looted shops, fires? I have no hesitations about my orders. And you have five seconds- four – three- two-“ She stops her countdown as nearly the entire crowd begins retreating, but for two people who she snaps up. She puts one in the same pocket as the first, the right pocket of her jacket, but notes the second is a woman and so she decides to put her in the left pocket.
“Move along, move along,” she says. “Or there’s plenty of space for all of you in my jacket.”
As the crowd walks off, she follows along slowly, watching small groups break off for the various buildings or side streets, once in a while looking disapprovingly or shaking a finger at groups who slow down or who seem to be regrouping.
“Well done, Adjutant,” squawks her radio. “You may bring the arrestees back to the base for processing.”
Lola quickly decides that somersaulting over some buildings with several people in her pocket is probably not the best idea for keeping them in good health, and so decides to take a longer way around up the median of the expressway and then around the edges of the city.
As she enters the large park where two of the paired lines of skyscrapers meet, coming down the other branch is a new group of rioters, and an unfortunate surprise.
“Mom?” asks Julie.
“Julie? What are you doing here?” asks Lola, ignoring, for the moment, the swarm of tiny people behind her daughter.
“What are you doing here, Mom? I was like, looking around the city, and I talked to some of the protestors, and they seemed really cool, so I thought, like, why not hang with them a bit? You know?”
“I most certainly do not know what you mean. We deLeroys have a reputation for loyalty to the Republic to keep up. How dare you do this? Do you even know what you are protesting for? Or against?”
“You are one to talk, Mom. Do you even know what you are defending?”
“I am defending order and France. You have no idea what you are doing.”
“Pay attention, Mom. There’s a lot of injustice here. These people are trying to accomplish our ideals: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!”
“So is the Republic. Revolutions hurt as many people as they help; slow progress will build our future, Julie.”
“We know what the future should look like, we should take this chance.”
The people in the square are clearing the area, sensing that it’s dangerous to be around when giants dispute.
“Both of you should be ashamed,” calls another voice, as Inès enters. “Julie. It is true that deLeroys have always been faithful to the Republic, and have refrained from an active role in politics; I think that we’d be wise to do the same here. Anyway, do you know who you support today? A riot instigated by communists, with the goal to try to bring the same type of government to France that only a few years ago murdered millions in Russia and China. Some equality that is!” Addressing the entire crowd, Inès continues, “You should all be ashamed. If France had the sort of government you dream of, Lola would have been ordered to squash you all to paste.”
“You see, Julie,” starts Lola.
“Your side in this, Lola, isn’t perfect either. Julie is right, that this time is full of injustice and inequality, compared to where we are from. No one in this has anything to be proud of.” Raising her voice just a little, Inès says, “All of you need to go home, and reflect on how to really make this a better country.”
No more words are spoken, by any of the giantesses, or even most of the rioters, and the events of May were finished.
