The first multinational companies to roll into Camp Rosewater were Chinese. A handful of protesters including Emeka and Kudi pelted the lorry convoys with bottles of paint and tired slogans of resistance. It did not matter to the companies. They did not fear for the safety of their staff because their operations were entirely robot executed at this stage. They worked 24/7, tireless automatons, but at dusk, a few of the protesters took shots at the drones they used to keep track of progress. There were no police in Rosewater so there were no consequences. Legal consequences, at any rate. Private security and armed quadrupeds roamed everywhere and killed anyone caught too close to construction sites.
Emeka set an automatic cement mixer on fire and kissed Kudi while the flames warmed his skin. When he broke the clinch he saw Christopher a yard away, glaring, but silent.
“We’re going to fail,” said Kudi.
“Why do you say that?”
“Look around you. The people don’t want this development stopped. They want indoor plumbing, taps that run, smooth roads, carbon scrubbers, shit like that. This is the weakest demonstration in the history of civil disobedience.”
That night the lovemaking was fatalistic and all Emeka had in his mind was Christopher.