Delayne had thought the crowd leading into the headquarters compound had been thick, but at least movement was not so constricted. Now amongst the masses teeming on the grounds staring up at the glass platform upon which Liya's execution was beginning, Delayne desperately wished he did not have to be where he was, doing what he was.
His target was the western walls. He had been admitted into the compound some ten minutes ago. One would think it was enough time to simply move from the compound's entrance to the walls by his left some few hundred meters away, but he had not found it to be so. There were too many people. Every inch he gained through the tense, tight pack of bodies required some tugging or tussling; and lanky as he was, it was no easy task. Not to talk of the discomfort of carrying what was hidden in his throat.
Finally, he was near his target. Though he had some steps more to go, the walls loomed in front of him. A quick glance up at the sun told him he had little time left. His head was constantly on the swivel, looking out that he had not been noticed. He could not afford to be caught, not now.
He slipped between a yelling couple, running into the back of a man who was as wide as two men together. The further he moved forward, the harder it was turning out to progress.
An idea flashed in his head. He began wriggling his way to the left, as sideways movement was easier. Upon reaching the wall, he found that his idea was correct. Moving along the wall, at the edge of the crowd was faster. With a few taps, pulls, shoves, and fiery glares, he fought his way further from there. In two minutes he was at his target.
He never even spared the glass platform a glance. His mission was to help stop whatever was going on there, and if he failed, he did not want to see the outcome that would then follow.
Trash littered the area at the foot of the wall. Delayne stumbled to his knees, collapsing into the heap of trash. He lay there hunched, as if sick.
A hand gripped him by the shoulder. "Are you okay!" a voice from behind him called.
Delayne turned around, offering the concerned woman a cross between a grimace and a smile. He signed to her and a translation followed from the device over his mouth, "Just ate something funny, I think. I'll be fi—" He whipped back to the trash, ripping off his translator in the process, and began retching into the pile of discarded bags and cups and food containers.
He hunched over well, making sure the woman had no view of what came out of his mouth. He hoped she would think it was just vomit, and not the longish rod he pulled carefully from his throat. The black device, like a thin baton, was slick with saliva in his hand. He turned it, clicked the single button at the top, and set it deep within the trash. Then he stuck two fingers in his mouth, and down his throat, forcefully triggering himself to throw up a mess of the six boiled eggs he had stuffed down before departing for his mission.
It was an uncomfortable sensation, but one he was more than happy to experience. When he rose from his crouch, grabbing his translator and wiping his mouth as he turned around, the woman who had been concerned for him was staring at his vomit, her face in a comic state of barely hidden disgust. He flashed her a grin. He took back the translator, and promptly departed the area.
As he made his way away back towards the compound entrance, choosing to go along the walls this time rather than through the crowd, he sent a message on his MiraLink:
Done
***
"It's on," Germaine called, his eyes glued to the holo transmission of the execution on his MiraLink. "They're sending reinforcements to the gate."
Gringe could hear; the screams and shouts from around the block as civilians fled the headquarters' gates in panic. He had told Praet to make sure her group prioritized limiting civilian casualties, but Wilda's response to the threat might be excessive. And he had no delusions that she cared for the people one bit.
That was not his concern at this moment, however. The message he had been waiting for just popped up on his MiraLink. "We're up," he called to Germaine.
They emerged from the side of the abandoned kiosk having discarded the large clothes they had used in concealing their ExoSuits. And they began running. Germaine was a physical specimen himself. He managed to keep level with the District Head as they sprinted for the western wall, but soon Gringe began to pull ahead, his innate speed proving too much for Germaine.
In mere seconds, they were before the wall. Without slowing down, Gringe leapt, sailing through the air. Instead of crashing against the wall and then to the ground. However, he dug his fingers into the concrete surface and started climbing. He had scaled some meters up the wall already when he heard the thud of Germaine sticking to the wall below him as well. There was no time to waste and so he did not wait.
With most of Wilda's security focused on Praet, Whylan, and Scott, their path to the glass platform should have been clearer.
***
Aliyah watched Wilda's face darken with fury—her lips curled and her nostrils flared—as she received the news of the intruders from the guard. "Have anyone available head over there and end them." Wilda stared at the ground as the guard swivelled away to carry out her order. She remained there, thinking out her next course of time. Soon she looked back up. "It is time," was all she said.
And it was all the saying that was needed.