“Move along, please,” a commanding voice ordered. A uniformed policeman stepped into the intersection, waving Evan forward with a curt gesture.

Evan nodded, thankful for his arrival. They traded tight smiles as Evan hurried across the intersection, knowing each other for members of the Cult of Liao. The officer would keep prying eyes focused away from Ijori Dè Guāng activity.

Dodging into the commercial park, Evan pulled a light cotton mask down over his brow. An overhead streetlamp had been broken out the night before, and not repaired. Beneath that his people waited. Whit Greggor lurked into the shadows with a large piece of iron—a prybar good for jimmying doors. Two other Ijori Dè Guāng members were busy connecting their own equipment into a working laser.

One of them had already cracked the lamp’s utility box and run a pair of cables out onto the cement walk. “Late,” he said, helping to wrestle the laser onto a stabilizing tripod. He was a utility worker with the Yiling suburbs. The man did not know who Evan was at all.

“Get set up,” Evan said by way of apology.

It took moments, well-rehearsed the week before and waiting only for the power amplifier Evan delivered. The fourth man, retired infantry, pulled amber goggles over his eyes and took up station behind the laser’s handgrips. “Charging… ready,” he said.

Evan looked over the hedge at the Grand Arch entrance, the well-lit guard booth, and a small cluster of late-nighters who debated crossing the grounds or walking down to the accident site. The acrid scent of burning plastic drifted down on a light breeze. He nodded.

“Fire.”

The laser pulsed, stabbing sharp spikes of sapphire energy through the night. There were a few screams, more shouting. The police officer’s whistle shrilled sharply, directing people back—away from the park—just move it! No radio call as yet. Confusion of the moment.

Evan stood rigidly still, feeling the warmth radiating off the overheating laser as it scoured and sliced and cut and stabbed.

Then it was over. The Ijori Dè Guāng members broke down their equipment faster than it had gone together. Evan took the power amplifier and they split in three directions. Whit Greggor stayed with him until clear of the park, then left Evan alone as the student staggered back through the streets, making his escape.

Behind him, the first sirens of the night finally sounded.

Evan lounged at a bistro table outside YiCha’s Gourmet Coffees, sipping a citrus-blend juice. He sat with his back to the shop window—the best choice he had, considering—and his eyes glanced left along the street, right toward the intersection, then straight through traffic toward the busy monorail stop. The sun barely peeked over the roof of a nearby mall, its rays slanting down the narrow street, jumping over the curb and a double-wide sidewalk, and warming the left side of Evan’s face. It looked to be a beautiful day, part of Liao’s deep autumn wonder that ended with a short winter season during the Terran standard months of June and July.

Left again. Right.

Got him.

Evan paused with the insulated cup half lifted to his mouth as David Parks skulked around a corner, keeping his back toward the wall. Parks moved at the edge of Evan’s peripheral vision, but there was no missing his Caesar-cut red hair or the black range rider trench he so adored.

Parks reached into his coat. For a weapon.

With a quick spin and toss Evan could have dashed his entire cup right into the David’s face—except that it wouldn’t do much for the other man’s temper, and the juice was still too fresh and cold to be wasted. Instead, Evan finished his sip as he brought up his left hand, resting casually in his lap until now, and formed a two-fingered gun that he aimed back over his shoulder.

“You’re dead, David.”

David leaped forward and snaked his thick arm around Evan’s neck, locking it in a stranglehold. Evan tensed, but forced himself not to react as his friend throttled him. “Tomorrow, Evan. I’ll get you tomorrow.”

Jenna Lynn Tang walked up just as David gave an extra squeeze and then released Evan. Behind her followed Mark Lo. “I think you’ve said that three days running, Dave.” She offered Evan a weary smile. “Me, I’ve been assassinated every day this week.”

“All for the good of the movement,” David told her. “Got to be ready.” He didn’t say for what, though everyone knew he spoke of the Ijori Dè Guāng. He talked about joining up all the time. Dropping Evan a too obvious wink, he turned for the coffee shop door and disappeared inside.

Jen slipped into a vacant chair at the small bistro table. Gathering her tight braids into a loose collection, she secured them behind her with a red band. Jen had pale skin and green eyes the color of polished jade. She had also paid for some cosmetic surgery during her sophomore year at the Conservatory, adding just a touch of epicanthic fold at the corner of each eye. Evan found the effect very appealing.

“I’m gonna grab a coffee,” Mark said by way of offering.

Jenna thought, then shook her head. “Nothing for me.” Evan picked up his cup and sloshed it around. He was still good. Mark ducked inside, and Evan’s smile faded a notch as soon as the other cadet was out of sight. He hadn’t called Mark, who had obviously spent another night at Jen’s. Mark would not find this morning’s event amusing.

“Something wrong?”

“Where’s Hahn?” Evan asked, covering his lapse by staring back the way his friends had come. Hahn Soom Gui was crossing the nearby intersection—against the light, of course, walking as if the world would move out of the way for him. A hoversedan blasted its horn. Safe behind red-tinted aviators, Hahn was oblivious.

“Got stopped by some admirers,” Jen told him, amusement playing richly through her melodic voice. “I think they’re planning a rally.”

“Again?” The academic year was only into its fourth month, and already Hahn had helped organize five pro-Capellan events.

“Something has people stirred up,” Jen said, and she leaned across the table. Her eyes were brightly interested. “Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that?”

He might. Evan fought back any reaction. His friends might be ready to march in campus demonstrations—all but Mark, anyway—but they were also candidates for The Republic military. The less they knew, or had confirmed, the better. Very soon Evan would have to make a hard choice: cadet corps, serving in the local militia most likely, or underground.

“Might have something to do with the new rumors,” he said, dodging away from the opening she’d given him. “I hear a new JumpShip passed through.” Which was the only way to get stale news from of the rest of The Republic these days.

“We heard that, too.” She nodded in greeting as Hahn walked up. “Fighting on Terra. Who would have thought?”

Devlin Stone might have, Evan did not say, or The Republic’s current Exarch, Damien Redburn. Terra was no more a true Republic world than… than… well, Liao.

“Fighting on Terra. Northwind. Achernar.” Hahn Soom Gui stopped behind Evan because he knew how much it irked the MechWarrior candidate. Evan shifted his chair as Hahn struck a pose. “In the dark times no one can tell friend from foe, only brother… from other.”

Hahn’s delivery was polished and perfect; he could have been reciting lines from any well-crafted political speech. And he’d likely made the expression up in just the last few moments. Evan was the eldest among their little campus cabal, and a training Mech Warrior, but there was a real reason why Hahn, an armored corps cadet, was the group’s leader.

Not just the fact that Evan preferred to remain out of the spotlight.

“Not bad,” Jenna said, playing it down. But Evan saw the light blossom across her oval face. Hahn inspired. Hahn led.