Fanning out, we began a systematic exploration of the upper levels of the entire university, reporting to each other on local links. Charles volunteered to join me. We took the north tunnels, closest to emergency external shafts and farthest from the administration chambers. The tunnels were dark but warm; the air smelled stale, but it was breathable. Our feet made hollow scuffing echoes in the deserted halls. The university seemed to be in an emergency power-down.

Charles walked a step ahead. I watched him closely, wondering why he wanted to be so friendly when I had given him so little encouragement.

We didn’t say much, simply stating the obvious, signaling to each other with whistles after splitting to try separate tunnels, nodding cordially when we rejoined and moved on. Gradually we moved south again, expecting to meet up with other students.

We explored a dark corridor connecting the old dorm branch with UMS’s newer tunnels. A bright light flashed ahead. We stood our ground. A woman in an ill-fitting pressure suit shined her light directly into our faces.

“University staff?” she asked.

“Hell, no. Who are you?” Charles asked.

“I’m an advocate,” the woman said. “Pardon the stolen suit. I flew in through the storm about half an hour ago. Landed during a dust lull and found a few of these abandoned near the locks. We were told there was no air in here.”

“Who told you that?”

“The last man out, and he went in a hurry, too. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Where is everybody?”

The advocate lifted her face plate and sniffed noisily. “Sorry. My nose hates flopsand. The university was evacuated seven hours ago. Bomb threat. They said a bunch of Gobacks had dumped air and planted charges in the administration chambers. Everybody left in ground vehicles. They took them overland by tractor to an intact train line.”

“You’re brave to come this far,” Charles said. “You don’t think there is a bomb, do you?”

The woman removed her helmet and smiled wolfishly. “Probably not. They didn’t tell us anybody was here. They must not like you. How many are here?”

“Ninety.”

“They voided the reporters before they evacuated. I saw you on LitVid. Press conference didn’t go well. So where are the rest of you?”

We led her to the dining hall. All the far-flung explorers were called in.

The advocate stood in the middle of the assembly, asking and answering questions. “I presume I’m the first advocate to get here. First off, my name is Maria Sanchez Ochoa. I’m an independent employed by Grigio BM from Tharsis.”

Felicia stepped forward. “That’s my family,” she said. Two others came forward as well.

“Good to see you,” Maria Sanchez Ochoa said. “The family’s worried. I’d like to get your names and report that you’re all safe.”

“What’s happened?” Diane asked. “I’m very confused.” Others joined in.

“What happened to Sean and Gretyl?” I asked, interrupting the babble.

“University security handed them over to Sinai district police early yesterday morning. Both were injured, but I don’t know to what extent. The university claimed they were injured by their own hands.”

“They’re alive?” I continued.

“I presume so. They’re at Time’s River Canyon Hospital .” She started recording names, lifting her slate and letting each speak and be recognized in turn.

I looked to my right and saw Charles standing beside me. He smiled, and I returned his smile and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Will someone take this outside and shoot it up to a satcom? None of the cables or repeaters are working, thanks to you folks.” Ochoa gave her slate to a student, who left the dining area to get to the glass roof of the administration upper levels.

“Now, some background, since I doubt you’ve heard much news recently.”

“Nothing useful,” Oliver said.

“Right. I hate to tell you this, but you didn’t do a thing for your cause by acting like a bunch of Parisian Communards. The Statist government planted its own bombs months ago, political and legal, far away from UMS, and they exploded just two days ago. We have a bad situation here, folks, and that explains some of the delay in getting to you. The constitutional accord is off. The Statists have resigned, and the old BM Charter government has been called back into session.”

The battle was over. But we were small potatoes.

Ochoa concluded by saying, “You folks have wrecked university property, you’ve violated laws in every Martian book I can think of, and you’ve put yourselves in a great deal of danger. What has it gotten you?

“Fortunately, it probably won’t get you any time in jail. I’ve heard that former Statist politicos are shipping out by dozens — and that probably includes Connor and Dauble. Nobody in their right mind is going to charge you under Statist law.”

“What did they do?” Charles asked.

“Nobody’s sure about all that they’ve done, but it looks like the government invited Earth participation in Mars politics, sought kickbacks from Belter BMs to let them mine Hellas — ”

Gasps from the assembly. We had thought we were radical.

“And planned to nationalize all BM holdings by year’s end.”

We met these pronouncements with stunned silence.

We stayed in the old dorms while security crews from Gorrie Mars BM checked out the entire university grounds. New rails were manufactured, trains came in, and most of us went home. I stayed, as did Oliver, Felicia, and Charles. I was beginning to think that Charles wanted to be near me.

I met my family in the station two days after our release, Father and Mother and my older brother Stan. My parents looked pale and shaken by both fear and anger. My father told me, in no uncertain terms, that I had violated his most sacred principles in joining the radicals. I tried to explain my reasons, but didn’t get through to him, and no wonder: they weren’t entirely clear to me.

Stan, perpetually amused by the attitudes and actions of his younger sister, simply stood back with a calm smile. That smile reminded me of Charles.

Charles, Oliver, Felicia and I bought our tickets at the autobox and walked across the UMS depot platform. We all felt more than a little like outlaws, or at least pariahs.

It was late morning and a few dozen interim university administrators had come in on the same train we would be taking out. Dressed in formal grays and browns, they stood under the glass skylights shuffling their feet, clutching their small bags and waiting for their security escort, glancing at us suspiciously.

Rail staff didn’t know we were part of the group responsible for breaking the UMS line, but they suspected. All credit to the railway that it honored charter and did not refuse service.

The four of us sat in the rearmost car, fastening ourselves into the narrow seats. The rest of the train was empty.

In 2171, five hundred thousand kilometers of maglev train tracks spread over Mars, thousands more being added by arbeiters each year. The trains were the best way to travel: sitting in comfort and silence as the silver millipedes flew centimeters above their thick black rails, rhythmically boosting every three or four hundred meters and reaching speeds of several hundred kiphs. I loved watching vast stretches of boulder-strewn flatlands rush by, seeing fans of dust topped by thin curling puffs as static blowers in the train’s nose cleared the tracks ahead.

I did not much enjoy the train ride to Time’s River Canyon Hospital , however.

We didn’t have much to say. We had been elected by the scattered remnants of the protest group to visit Sean and Gretyl.

We accelerated out of the UMS station just before noon , pressed into our seats, absorbing the soothing rumble of the carriage. Within a few minutes, we were up to three hundred kiphs, and the great plain below our ports became an ochre blur. In a window seat, I stared at the land and asked myself where I really was, and who.