Ethel the Vigilante Granny

Ethel the Vigilante Granny Part 2

As she began to walk the streets again Ethel tried to absorb all the sights and sounds she had missed for 20 years. She came to a halt and closed her eyes, overcome by a sense of joy. Tears began to run down her face, she kept her eyes closed for some time until this stopped. Then, with her eyes still closed, she began to test the strength and limitations of her rejuvenated body. The first thing she noticed was she was no longer dizzy. She stood on one leg and held the posture. Even most young people were supposed fall over when they did that. It was something to do with the body's inability to control balance in the dark. And yet Ethel did not topple over and this was a good start. She put her leg back down. She was not afraid to look foolish and mentally unstable, because nobody in this part of town was important enough to recognise her. It made the location an ideal testing ground, free from the constraints of the social elite she had once been part of.

Her life would have to change now, she had no loyalty to friends who had never visited her. She kept her eyes tightly shut and resisted the temptation to turn on her sensory guard enhancements. Any idiot could use implants, she wanted to test the limits of her body's natural ability, God only knew the price she had paid to acquire it. Her training had included detailed study into the abilities of modified and unmodified human perception, much of which had strayed into the field of psionics and clairvoyance. Ethel hadn't seen the relevance at that time but now she appreciated the exercises she had been made to endure. She shut down all her senses apart from touch. A gentle breeze was blowing. The delicate touch of moving air surpassed all intoxication she had ever known and this was deeply humbling. Part of her was annoyed to find the hippy teachers were right but she let this pass; they had given her a gift of appreciation of simple pleasures and this was worth holding on to. Now she let her attention turn to her hearing, she could hear swearing so she refocused and blocked out all speech. The absence of sound meant that all she could feel were the vibrations in the air and in the ground. This reminded her that all things were connected. All life was sacred, even though many people were gits. Even in the midst of combat, no life must be taken on a whim because these vibrations of sound represented a shared orchestra of the tapestry of life. No one had the right to cut it, at least not without good reason.

Ethel began to relax her tight hold on her concentration, feasting on the banquet of smells and sounds. She relished the way her body could control the level of sensitivity of each mode of seeing. Ethel had been modified so that she could shut down any or all of the senses at will if the stimulation was too painful, or boost them if necessary in a hostile environment where every sound might indicate an adversary's intentions. Artificial back-up systems in her skin, her brain and hugging the nerves leading to her eyes and ears ensured she was always protected from excessive input, especially loud noises and bright flashes. Which was fortunate, because those automated systems were now giving her immediate warnings.

A riot had erupted. Feeling somewhat annoyed to have had her mental exercises interrupted Ethel reluctantly began to scan the sea of hoodies who appeared to be throwing things at each other. They were also beating each other senseless with large objects although very few of the miscreants appeared to be falling over. Ethel assumed they must be high on the most potent cocktail of drugs and VR programmes making them insensitive to pain, trauma and social niceties. They will really feel those bruises tomorrow morning, she thought unsympathetically. One hoodie (teenager, she quickly corrected herself) didn't seem as hostile as the others. She accessed her psychology files which informed her that it was rare to find any population whose members were universally hostile, but that in order to survive on the streets it was necessary to maintain an air of indifference, surliness and even an outright aggression to strangers. As a result it was difficult for any ordinary person to work out who was and wasn't a threat. Scientists were spending a lot of time trying to devise ways of measuring people's intent with real-time computer monitoring but they were encountering considerable technical difficulties. It was difficult, because in these times a smile was seen as the ultimate threat, for if a stranger smiled at you, it was undoubtedly a signal of their worst intent, a menacing, gloating leer preceding your worst nightmares made manifest.

"Hello." The hoodie said.

"Hello," Ethel said back. "Why are you recording the rioting?" Ethel said, pointing out the small camera which was hovering in the space between them but aimed squarely on the fighting.

"It's not a real riot. Pillow fight. We're protesting against the illegal abductions the MIB are doing." Ethel looked more closely at the youths on the rampage. She could see he was right, they were using pillows. These were curious times to be alive in, she told herself. But at least she was living.

"Won't the police break it up?"

"Oh no, there are no police. That's the problem."

"Oh, I see." Ethel didn't, but that was because her upbringing had taken place in secure communities. You didn't tend to worry about the police force when privately-funded guards took care of everything, and the MIB were the only police force with any status and power worth talking about. The two of them stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say, like two strangers at a British wedding.

"In a fight, which hand would you use?" The hoodie said suddenly. Ethel was about to explain how she was ambidextrous and her own enhanced muscles made it possible for her to knock out a trained soldier using either hand with equal ease. Before she could answer the hoodie looked at the sky and gasped. "Oh no." Ethel followed his gaze and saw a gaudily decorated hover ship rapidly descending towards them. It was a silent, triangular shaped pod with a black tinted forward window. There were openings on either side, and Ethel could make out black-clad figures clutching lethal looking equipment. The average citizen couldn't get authorisation for such a craft, and this one could probably carry about eight people. It wasn't marked with the MIB symbol which meant it was rich kids on a fun run. Ethel's enhanced glasses warned her a weapon was powering up. Sensing the imminent danger the pillow fighters began to panic and scattered, abandoning their brightly-coloured mock weapons in the street. Some of the fallen pillows glowed in the dark and a laser strobe tracked across them to pursue the fleeing crowd.

"I can use both hands," Ethel said to the teenager, but he had fled with the rest. No matter. She needed a workout. She locked onto the weapons on the hover-pod and fried them with a maser pulse. She saw sparks career around the open bay as a laser cannon shorted out. Smoke started to spill from the side of the stricken vehicle as other non- critical systems exploded under the strain of Ethel's military grade energy pulse. She even had the satisfaction of watching some of the upholstery catch fire, but the pod remained flying as she had deliberately avoided hitting the engine. She had no wish to bring down any flying vehicle on top of pedestrians. She kept watching as the heavily armed passengers closed the side hatches and retreated. People on the ground were still running and screaming in fear but Ethel knew they were safe for now. She had done her first ever act of community service and it felt good. She was looking forward to her next act of altruism already.