“Just grant me a percentage on the amounts we extort from corporations. This will please me. You’ll have to check with your superiors, I imagine, and they will want to see the proof that the plan will work. I understand that.”

“A reasonable man, very good.” Gypsy nodded, then sat forward again, leaning his elbows on the table. “I have been thinking of possible venues for our emergence. Communications and power seem the most efficacious.”

I shook my head. “Save them for later. I have a key one in mind. It will work perfectly, and at minimal risk to us.”

“Really?”

I smiled, first at him, then at Elle. “Oh, yes. From the start of our campaign, the government will know it’s in deep shit.”

Manville, Capital District

Basalt

Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere

4 February 3133

I explained my choice of target and watched Gypsy’s expression move through shock and disgust to amusement and admiration. By the end of my discourse he looked almost giddy and the pressure of Elle’s knee on mine had grown much greater. Gypsy was even willing to let me lay a bit of a trap for the Cat—more because it served his purposes than mine, but we both would be amused.

Though I made great protestations against it, with eye and touch and the mouthing of silent regrets, Gypsy whisked Elle away to attend to some details on my plan. She, for her part, made similar mouthings and gave me a very warm hug as we parted. The pressure from her knee transferred to other parts of her anatomy as applied against mine which, while quite thrilling, could have been preface to difficulties later.

It took several days to put things into place, since the plan was as dependent upon atmospherics and climate as anything else. In fact, the raid part of the mission looked ready to go off very well. The facility we needed to penetrate had incredibly lax security. As a stalking horse we called in and had delivered an order of pizza to the night crew, and the hovercar sped to the door with nothing more than a cursory glance.

Where Gypsy indulged me was at the next meeting of the staff, held in yet another location. He announced that we were going to begin with my plan, though trying to accelerate the timetable, since our master was a bit anxious about everything coming together as quickly as possible. Gypsy suggested that he would be double-tracking raids on my part with preparations for more solid military activity led by Catford. Then he invited me forward to explain my operation.

What I told them was that food and water were the most important things to a city the size of Manville. Using a holoprojection of the area, I showed how the mountains flowed down into the rivers, and how the rivers had carved the valley in which Manville sat, and how the rivers converged to form the Broad River, which flowed north to Contressa. I told them that the rivers supplied the water for the city, noted that several water purification and treatment plants had been built around the city, and pointed out that any disruption in water flow would cause a major problem in the city.

Up to this point I had made my presentation about as boring as humanly possible, which had Catford squirming. Once I saw I had him where I wanted him, all antsy and aching to do something, I shifted over into a much more enthusiastic mode of speech, and started things building.

“This operation will be one that requires extreme precision. It will be a commando operation, no doubt about it, undertaken under adverse circumstances. No two ways about it, the operation stinks, but once this first glorious blow is struck, the howls of anger and outrage will echo throughout the city. This attack could tumble the government all by itself, as a flood of resentment courses through every household. Because of the nature of the operation, we will have to choose the best we have to carry it out. Their victory shall be our victory, and the government will be sucked down the tubes as a result.”

I accented the military words, like “attack” and “victory.” Precision got emphasis, too. Catford, hearing that this one attack might decide it all, was inclined to scoff—based on his initial expression—but then he got to thinking. He didn’t want to be shut out. Even worse than not having a ’Mech to pilot was having one and finding out your efforts would not be required.

He raised a hand. “You’re describing the attack as a far more military operation than your initial discussions led us to believe were going to be coming off. Is that a fair characterization?”

I nodded. “Yes, this will require precision demolitions work. Some very good people are going to have to get their hands dirty.”

He looked past me to Gypsy. “While I see the logic of this plan, and I agree that water is vital, I am wary of Mr. Donelly being able to carry off a military operation. I think it would be best if I were to lead the actual penetration of the facility and to oversee the tactical aspects of things. I have no fear of getting my hands dirty at all.”

Gypsy frowned. “Are you certain, Major? This is Mr. Donelly’s operation, and you would be usurping his power.”

“No, no, not at all. He will be in command. I will just direct the military angle of things.” He stood and looked around the room. “Siwek, Johnstone and Bridger, your companies have cross-trained personnel in them who can handle this. I would think a dozen to eighteen people would be right for what you have in mind, Mr. Donelly.”

I nodded again, solemnly this time. “I’d thought of two dozen, but you would have a better idea about that than I would.”

“Indeed, I would.” The subordinates he’d mentioned by name nodded or raised hands to indicate they would go along with him. Catford moved to the front of the room and joined me beside the holodisplay. “Well, we have the people we need.”

Gypsy shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sam, but he does have the experience that would give him an edge here.”

“I know, and I just want this to work.”

“It will.” Catford grinned broadly and his lieutenants returned that smile with confidence. “So, which of these purification plants are we hitting?”

“We’re not.”

“What?” Catford looked at me angrily. “But after all you said…”

“Oh, water is very important, Major, in two ways. It comes in to the house and it goes out. Where it goes out, is where we go in.”

Needless to say, Catford’s face flushed—no pun intended—as the reality of what he’d volunteered for came to him. Others in the room were kind enough not to laugh, though smiles did occur when they recalled I said the job stunk. Catford, having claimed the glory of the assignment, and having avowed he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, was stuck.

He had to—no, I’ll resist that pun—fish or cut bait and he decided to fish. This was good, because I really did need his people to carry the whole thing off.

Two days later, after a day and a half of torrential rains, we put the operation into effect. When Manville’s downtown district had been created, the Broad River was channeled rather tightly within levees hidden by parks and walkways. Buried deep in the earth, paralleling the river, were massive storm sewers that handled all the runoff. According to the guidefiles I’d gotten at the store, and the wonderful tour of the storm sewers offered by Manville Public Service, during the storm season the sewers would actually carry more water than the river, and all of it had to flow to the water treatment plants before it could be allowed to run back into the river itself.