The other person stood a head taller than him and had her blond hair of a length that covered her shoulders and her neck. She’d probably have tucked it back on the left side to see me better, but I knew her ear had been reduced to a melted nubbin and the twisted mass of scars on her cheek and neck were enough to make even the most battle-hardened vet blanch. A piece of machinery replaced her left eye, and the stainless-steel socket in which it had been set covered her from temple to forehead, along her nose and molded to the top of her cheekbone.

Isabel Siwek didn’t know me, but I knew her. She’d commanded a small militia unit on Acamar, in Prefecture V. She took her people out and put down a small protest by farmers, and put it down hard. She then burned four farms and a quarter of a small town, all the while claiming the farmers had done it to frame her. Janella had been sent in to oversee an investigation and Siwek refused to come in. Janella had been forced to bring her in and the resulting battle had left Siwek scarred and in a Republic prison.

How and why she was out, I didn’t know. That had all happened four years ago. I’d known of Janella then, but wasn’t dating her. When we started seeing each other, I did some background research, which is why I knew of Siwek.

Her reaction to the announcement suggested to me that she’d expected to command the second battalion. Moreover, her being seated near Catford had me thinking the two of them had already been talking together about how to run things. I could applaud their taking initiative, but given his ambition and her flexibility on ethical grounds, I was thinking having them together would not be the way to keep collateral damage to a minimum.

Gypsy waited for a moment until the tension in the room was just shy of boiling over, then clapped his hands. “Mr. Donelly was instrumental to the successful conclusion of a recent operation, and showed great insight into these things. I am very pleased to have him with us, and I know he will be able to handle his responsibilities without question.”

About a third of the people were willing to take Gypsy at his word, another third were waiting for me to prove it, and the rest of them wouldn’t have deigned to follow me if I was Morgan Kell leading them in a raid on a nursery school. It could have been worse, as far as the numbers went, but was probably as bad as it could get otherwise. Those who resented my intrusion clearly were wondering who I was. Until they knew, and until Catford and Siwek could be put in their place, I was going to have trouble.

But, as every good wolfhound knows, you just start taking the pack apart one wolf at a time.

Our leader smiled. “Our goal is to destabilize the government so as to more easily effect a change. My associate and I have done the basic research on Basalt and have begun to outline a number of operations that will bring us… Yes, Major Catford?”

Catford rose and pulled the crimson beret from his head. “If you will permit me, Gypsy, I’ve been checking some things out myself, and I think there’s some vulnerabilities here that we can exploit using some proven military strategies. With Captain Siwek and a few other company commanders, I have undertaken the development of operations protocols and plans that, when employed, will destroy the enemy’s ability to strike at us. Once we have done that, effecting a regime change will be a simple matter of seeing to it that the current leadership relinquishes control, voluntarily or involuntarily.

“Our research has pointed out the triad keeping the current regime in power. The Public Safety Department is a paramilitary group that will be powerless to stop us. They are underequipped and trained for crowd control more than outright combat. The Basalt Militia has a few ’Mechs, and a fair selection of military vehicles, but all are outdated and underpowered. Moreover, their pilots are green and will be no real threat in combat.

“By far our greatest threat will be the group of mercenaries being gathered by our opposition. We have ascertained the location of their headquarters and are willing to initiate investigations to further track opposition forces. With a series of lightning strikes, we can eliminate this force. We anticipate that collateral civilian damage will be kept to acceptable levels and restricted to marginal underclass populations, so the potential elite backlash will be minimalized.”

People listened intently, with heads nodding in agreement. Even Gypsy seemed to be open to this description, but not yet fully accepting of it. If this was the overture, I didn’t want to be hearing the rest of the symphony. Catford was composing a bloody lament for Basalt, and goal one for my mission was to close that concert before it ever opened.

While I had hoped this would come later rather than sooner, circumstances were really directing me to act immediately. I let my chair rock forward and I stood. “If I’m not mistaken, Major, you’re suggesting a direct military assault on a place like the Egg, to destroy the enemy’s cadre of warriors?”

“That eventuality was covered in our ancillary operations to ensure complete neutralization of the enemy opfor.”

“Ancillary?” I blinked. “You saw that as an afterthought? And your primary was, what, issuing a challenge to the enemy to go toe-to-toe in the northern flood plain?”

The sarcasm in my voice never even registered on him. “If you knew anything about ’Mech warfare, Mr. Donelly, or of Basalt, you’d know that the flood plain is hardly the optimal venue for combat.”

“What I know about, Major Catford, is a lot more than just ’Mech warfare.” I nodded toward Gypsy. “We’re not here to kill ’Mechs and machines. We’re here to kill a government, and I’ve had time and reason to think on that of late.”

Gypsy smiled. “Would you care to share your insights with us, Sam?”

I thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. It’s the only way to incite a reasonably stable and satisfied populace into wanting their government replaced. It will work. I call it Low-Intensity Terrorism. We do it right, and we might never need a ’Mech leaving a hangar.”

Manville, Capital District

Basalt

Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere

29 January 3133

I’ll give you the primer on Low-Intensity Terrorism pretty much as I gave it to them, and as you study the events on Basalt, you’ll see the natural evolution of things. The one favor I’ll do you is to leave their comments until the end. Most of the comments offered while I was talking were, funny or not, born of ignorance. The more I talked, the more people thought. It wasn’t until the end that those who had made up their minds before I started, started in on me.

Traveling between planets takes a long time. Since I wasn’t palling around with other people on the ship, I had a long time to think. What got me started was the effect of the grid’s collapse on folks. It made them uncomfortable, skittish and nervous. Before that happened they’d have described themselves as happy. Twenty-four hours later—or whatever constituted a day on their world—they were antsy.

Several other things went into the mix. It’s tough to peg when the first act of terrorism occurred. A case could be made for the plagues on Egypt. If we start it there, that’s the only instance where the killing of people has actually succeeded in winning a social cause. Then again, killing one person in every family is a far greater impact than any other terrorist group has ever managed.

Killing people never does the job, especially in a modern society. All it succeeds in doing is drawing the opposition together. It makes the enemy appear to be homicidally insane. People know inherently that insane killers can’t be trusted and that terrorism is extortion. There is nothing but the terrorists’ good word to bind them to ceasing their activity once their goals are met. Like any blackmailers, they can keep modifying demands indefinitely.