Kyle could hardly believe what she was saying, even though he had seen it for himself. “The police do that? Aren’t they supposed to uphold the law?”

“They do,” Michelle says. “But we’re not supposed to be living here, and congregating inside The End is definitely against the law.”

“So it was okay for them to just move in and start killing? I didn’t see them trying to disperse the crowd, or make any arrests.”

“In other parts of the city they would have, okay, but not in The End,” Jackdaw pointed out. The little man moved constantly, his leg twitching, fingers tapping. “Rules are different here. Life is cheap, okay?”

“They’re right, Joe,” Michelle told him. She sounded sincere, but everything he was hearing was so outrageous he wasn’t sure what was real. “They don’t like us being here, and they use any excuse they can to try to drive us away.”

“Away where?” Kyle wondered. “I thought this was pretty much where people went who don’t have anyplace left to go.” He’d been living here for many months, and though he’d heard horror stories, none of them had been as bad as what he’d just seen. Police here seemed to have a habit of picking on individuals, but he’d never seen or heard about an organized attack on a whole neighborhood.

“It is, okay, that’s the thing,” Jackdaw agreed. “But you have to understand the power structure here, Joe. The rich like to be rich, and they don’t want a bunch of poor people running around making things unpleasant for them. That’s what we are in The End. The lowest of the low, as far as they’re concerned. They can do whatever they want, and get away with it.”

“So the authorities know about this? Condone it?”

“Joe,” Michelle said. “We’re giving you the shorthand version here. If you’d like, we can talk all about the socio-economics of it later. The gist is, the division of rich and poor here in Cyre is an enormous gap, more of a chasm, with less and less middle class all the time. The very poor, which is most of those in The End, are considered disposable in order to make room for the new poor, which used to be the middle. The authorities wouldn’t really mind if a plasma bomb wiped us all out, except that it might be a bit of a public relations problem. When they catch us breaking the law, though—even a ridiculous law—they have no problem with killing as many of us as they can.”

“That’s crazy,” Kyle muttered, shaking his head. “It makes no sense.”

“You’ve been here long enough to know better than that,” Michelle reminded him. “You know about the gulf between the rich and the rest of us.”

“Yes, yes.”

“And you have heard of other altercations. The one last month, when seven teenagers were shot by the cops? Remember?”

“Of course. I just hadn’t put it all together into a pattern yet.”

“It’s a pattern,” Alan said, the first time he’d spoken. His handsome, lined face was grave. “Just not a pretty one.”

“Can’t something be done?” Kyle asked.

“We’re working on it, okay?” Jackdaw said. “But we need more time.”

Kyle almost laughed, but he realized that would be a bad idea and contained it. “You?” he asked, trying to keep the disbelief from his voice. “What are you, some kind of revolutionary group?”

“A revolution is exactly what’s needed,” Roog said.

“But ... you’re not very many. Especially against such an entrenched power structure.”

“We have friends,” Michelle told him. “Supporters. We are more than you see here, many more. Now tell me, Joe Brady. Was I right to trust you?”

Kyle wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. He felt certain that they were fighting a hopeless battle, unless their “friends” were far more numerous and powerful than they were. This tiny group couldn’t hope to battle Cozzen’s authorities on their own, much less the rest of Cyre. There was, though, the flame of righteousness burning in their eyes, the fire of those who believe they’re on a sacred quest, and Kyle knew better than to underestimate people who thought that way. These were true believers, and from what he’d seen today there was every chance that their cause was just.

Which still didn’t make it hiscause. He had served Starfleet because he believed in the things Starfleet stood for, which included accepting the basic decency of all beings, and striving for equality and fairness. Hazimot, he had known, had not come close to measuring up in those areas, which made it a perfect place to hide from Starfleet. But he hadn’t reckoned on the cost of life in such a backward society making itself known in such a direct and immediate fashion. He had hoped to live on the sidelines until he felt ready to go back and take on Starfleet himself. The sidelines had shifted, though, and suddenly he seemed to be straddling the center, expected to take a position one way or the other.

While he contemplated, Jackdaw had jumped up and run out the doorway. Now he came back in. “It’s all clear out there,” he announced. “We can go back out anytime.”

“I don’t think it’s fair of us to expect Joe to make up his mind this second,” Michelle said. “We’ve thrown a lot at him in a short time, and it’s been a traumatic evening.”

“As long as you’re sure he won’t turn us in,” Melinka said, her tone one of warning.

“Will you, Joe?”

“Of course not,” Kyle promised. He wouldn’t, either. Certainly not before he had amassed a lot more information. Even if he wanted to, at this point any claim he made would be his word against theirs, and they could probably get him locked away for a very long time if he tried to make trouble for them.

Besides, he had no reason to. So far as he could tell right now, they were on the side of the angels.

As if to underscore that idea, Michelle stood up and then offered him a hand, helping to hoist him to his feet. When he was standing, she was very near him, and he could feel the warmth of her body, smell the slightly salty tang of her skin. “Let’s go home, Joe,” she said. “And I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

He hadn’t had a better invitation all day.

Michelle’s apartment, like the others in this building of illegal squatters, wasn’t luxurious, but she had made it as comfortable as possible. She had brought in what seemed like tons of fabrics and covered the windows, the walls, the furniture, with loose, draped fabric that made the place at once intimate and inviting. Her bed was mounded with mismatched pillows, most of which had ended up on the floor over the space of the last forty minutes or so. Kyle lay back with his head against one of them, his arms behind his head, and Michelle’s head rested in the crook of his right arm. One hand trailed across his stomach and chest as they talked, toying with the small hairs there. Candles burned on a nearby table, adding their aromas to the mingled scents of man and woman.

“So I hope this wasn’t just a ploy to win me over to your cause,” Kyle said softly, stroking Michelle’s long, soft hair.

She playfully punched his solar plexus. “How can you even say that?”

“You have to admit the timing is a little suspect. We’ve both lived here for ages, but nothing like this ever happened until tonight.”

“Strong passions run deep in me,” Michelle told him. “They get mixed up sometimes. Politics and fear stir things up.”

“And I just happened to be available?”

She laughed and slapped him again. “Are you tryingto be a jerk, or does it really come that naturally to you?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why I’m here,” he said.

“You’re here because I find you attractive. Because I thought we could bring each other pleasure, and once again, I was right. I told you I trust in my own judgment. Is that too complicated for you?”

“Maybe too simple,” Kyle replied. “I’m a pretty complicated guy.”

Michelle turned and boosted herself up on her elbows, looking at him. Her lips were soft and pink and the way they felt beneath his was one of his very favorite recent memories. “None of us are here because we’re easy cases,” she said. “In The End, I mean. The ones who can just go along and get along don’t wind up here. Only the interesting ones do. The ones with stories to tell. You’ve got a story, don’t you?”