There was no orator, nor any martyr. Instead, at the brow of the hill stood a cheerleader, capering like a court jester. It was no longer possible to hear him, even with his hand-held bullhorn. Once he'd begun shouting, the crowd-more than half a million-had picked up his chant and drowned him out: "MAR-TIAL LAW! MAR-TIAL LAW! MAR-TIAL LAW!"

A mile away, Foster Peixoto stood on his balcony, watching and listening. From so far away it was simply an immense roar, but he knew the words. A minute earlier, before the crowd joined in, he'd been watching on the telly, on a closed police channel, and had heard the chant begin.

Rumor and security reports had prepared the president and himself, and they'd perceived both opportunity and danger. But now, facing the reality alone, Peixoto feared, truly feared, a mob psychosis. He'd never imagined this volcanic potential in the people. What might happen next? An explosion of violence? A stampede, killing scores? Hundreds…? Lynchings? The beating to death of anyone pointed out as a Fronter, whether accurately or not? And however moderate?

As usual, the response was to be Chang's. A response prepared late and hurriedly, and based on faulty assumptions. They'd expected self-appointed spokesmen to make speeches or pep talks, not this primal chant. Chang will have to rethink his speech as he gives it, Peixoto told himself. Otherwise the crowd might start to move, to act. Fists clenched, he gestured. "Now!" He spoke his urgency aloud. "Now!"

The Golok wasn't aware he'd joined in the chant. Also he'd forgotten the child on his shoulders. His body knew it was there, and subliminally allowed for its presence, but his conscious awareness had been swallowed by the flames, the man cavorting so near them, the crowd consciousness, and above all, "MAR-TIAL LAW! MAR-TIAL LAW! MAR-TIAL LAW!"

The spell had no power of its own. It was a manifestation of the half million human beings in the crowd. Overhead, police floaters kept the hovering news floaters outside the "eighty-up, eighty-out limit." But one floater moved inside the limits unmolested, and began to circle the mound not greatly above it, at about the diameter of its base. On a spar projecting beneath, a powerful light now strobed. Not painfully, but the chant began to unravel, weakening, as more and more eyes followed the light. Then the cheerleader stopped; the chant staggered and died; and a great stillness spread through the crowd.

As if suddenly aware of the heat, the cheerleader moved partway down the grassy slope, farther from the flames. And from the floater, a voice issued. Boomed! After the great chant, it did not seem so loud, but in fact it was very loud. The entire crowd could hear it. The voice was one they all knew, from numerous public addresses over the years by Chang Lung-Chi as candidate, senator, cabinet minister, and eventually president. The most trusted and admired public figure of recent decades, at least.

With the death of their chant, the crowd's minds focused on the president's words.

"Citizens and friends," he said. "We have come together here to rescue our species and our commonwealth from a dual threat. A dual threat! A powerful, ruthless invader… and our own hard-won hatred of war and violence."

For several seconds the voice stopped, but the floater continued circling, the light still strobing.

"A hatred of war, a hatred that turned into a war against ourselves. A war by the Peace Front against its own species.

"But I have not come to you to declare war against the Peace Front. My hands-all our hands-are fully occupied with saving the human species from the invader. We will capture and prosecute the criminals who set the fires and committed the murders, also those who helped them, and those who directed them. But we must not-we must not kill the spirit of peace, the spirit of pacifism within us! If it were not for human pacifism, we'd have destroyed our civilization centuries ago, with nuclear war, or biological war, or some other depravity. Centuries ago! With the survivors, if any, driven back to the caves and hovels, to the fear, and ignorance, and superstition, and famine, and brutality from which our ancestors struggled."

The circling continued, but the strobing had stopped.

"The prime minister and I have not been open with you. There are matters we've kept from you, hoping to avoid the kind of violence that happened yesterday. But tonight you have opened our eyes and our minds to your awareness. Your readiness.

"A few weeks ago our new warfleet, under Admiral Soong, fought its first real battle with the Wyzhnyny armada. The Front was correct about that, though they got the details all wrong. Our fleet was greatly outnumbered, and the fight was brief and costly-a test of ships, weapons and tactics. But the Wyzhnyny losses were much greater than ours. And our losses have been more than made up in the weeks since the battle.

"And just days ago, a small fleet under Admiral Apraxin-DaCosta arrived in the New Jerusalem System. There it destroyed a smaller Wyzhnyny fleet." Again the president paused. "Then the New Jerusalem Liberation Corps was landed on its home world, and fought-and won!-the first human ground battle against the Wyzhnyny invaders.

"These victories were far from decisive. Overall, our forces are still severely outnumbered. But they are growing, and we can now say that things look hopeful. Not favorable yet, but hopeful."

Another pause. "You came here this evening and demanded martial law. Something our species came to hate and fear centuries ago, for good reason. But now you've decided it's necessary for the survival of humankind. So under the extraordinary powers granted by parliament for the pursuit of this war, and with the agreement-the pained, grieved agreement-of Prime Minister Foster Peixoto, I herewith proclaim-martial law!"

Remarkably there were no cheers.

"We avoided it as long as we could, and will continue it no longer than necessary. If we should continue it too long, we'll depend on you to let us know. But I do not imagine it will come to that."

Again a pause. Loosely the spell still held the crowd, the spell that had grown out of their mutual, deeply felt need, but quiet now.

"And now I have a request to make of you. I want you to do something further, for yourselves, your government, and your species. Do it as honestly as you know how." Again he paused, and when he spoke once more, it was slowly, deliberately, and less loudly. "If you believe you know someone who may have been involved in the terrorism of yesterday and last night, do not undertake to punish them. Instead, notify CLUES/TERRORISM on the Ether. Someone will investigate as soon as possible.

"Now I am going home to bed. You may want to do the same."

Most of the crowd left quietly. Others hung around talking, also quietly. The tall Golok left with the child, who slept now, draped over one broad shoulder. The man said nothing to anyone, but his long face looked thoughtful.