Finally, the time came to put talk aside and take direct action. Their first attack was meant to be primarily one of public relations, not military. Too many of Cyre’s vast underclass had already died in combat, drafted and sent to battle the unending supply of enemies in other lands. The goal was to oust the council with the least amount of military action, the fewest deaths. But that could happen only if an overwhelming number of the nation’s populace rose up at once.

Mahaross Ka Elstreth was the council member for Cozzen, and on this day he was in the city, officiating over the induction of Cozzen’s newest councilor, his third son, Mahaross Ka Ennis. A parade was planned, and spontaneous displays of patriotic pride were not only encouraged, but had in fact been orchestrated in advance by commercial allies of the councilors. A great many citizens would be watching, and the day’s events would be broadcast live throughout Cozzen and across the land. Two of Elstreth’s fellow council members would also be on hand to greet his son into the ranks of privilege.

The parade would not, if Michelle’s friends had their way, go precisely as expected.

On the day of the action, Michelle dressed quickly, anxious to get into position. But when Kyle tried to follow her out the door she pushed him back into a chair, palms flat against his chest, head wagging. “No,” she said. “You stay here. This isn’t your fight and you can’t get involved.”

He had to laugh. “Seems like I’m already pretty involved.”

“Among those of us on the committee,” she pointed out. “But not on the streets. The rest of them, the people who will be doing the dirty work, don’t know you—they don’t know anyone by name, so if any of them are arrested they can’t implicate anyone on the committee. We’ve all used noms de guerre.”

“That’s a good idea,” Kyle said. He knew that she had met with various planning committees while he worked—that while he had helped with the broad strokes planning, he hadn’t been around for much of the detail work. “But still, if you’re going to be out there I want to be next to you.”

Michelle shook her head again. “Absolutely not. Probably nothing will happen to me, and I’ll see you when it’s over and make passionate love with you. If, on the other hand, something does happen, the movement will need your skills to carry on.”

“My skills only go so far without someone like you to put my plans into action,” Kyle protested.

“Exactly my point,” Michelle said. “Someone needs to put this into action, and that’s me. If you object to me going out and acting, then we’ve got a problem.”

Kyle could see that arguing with her was going to be fruitless. In fact, he realized, in all the planning for today’s activities he had never been assigned a specific role. He’d thought that he would simply be accompanying Michelle, but now he realized it was because she knew he would object if she let him know ahead of time that he was being left behind. “All right,” he said, giving in for now. Another thing he knew was that when Michelle had made up her mind there was no budging her. “But you be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Michelle promised him. “I love you too much to not come straight back here when it’s over.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Kyle said. “And watching.”

“You do that.” Michelle kissed him several times, and then dashed out the door, her face flushed with the excitement of the day. Kyle felt a surge of disappointment that he wasn’t going with her, combined with worry that he wouldn’t be around to watch her back. But the plan was for a nonviolent action today, more street theater than revolution, so there shouldn’t be much danger.

In a way, this was what Kyle was used to. In his Starfleet role, he was the adviser, the civilian who stayed back while others executed his plans. He had, he was fully aware, been responsible for the deaths of thousands, over the span of his career—Starfleet personnel as well as aliens he would never meet or even see in person. It wasn’t something he thought about very often, because it was a difficult burden to bear. Because he was good at compartmentalizing, that was an aspect of his life that he kept tucked away and didn’t take out to examine very often. When he did, he just accepted that it ran in his family.

His father had been a military man, as had his grandfather. His grandfather, he remembered with displeasure, had also been a tyrant at home, a martinet, running his household as he would have a starship if he’d ever held a command position. But probably because of his violent temper he never was put in charge of troops, so he had taken his aggressions out on his family instead. As the oldest son, Kyle’s father was first in line when his purple rages came upon him.

Kyle’s father, in his turn, had sworn never to lay a hand on his family in anger, and had kept that vow. From his military service he took a different lesson, that of self-discipline, of keeping his emotions in check, of leading the fragmented unit of his family into functioning as a whole. Kyle had, he hoped, put more of his father’s lessons into practice than his grandfather’s. To a certain extent, he supposed, he was genetically doomed to a military career and all the attendant difficulties. There had been very few generations of Rikers, as far back as he’d been able to research, that hadn’t included soldiers. And while, of course, not every military person had emotional problems, he guessed there was probably some correlation. The traits that made for a good soldier—the ability to follow orders, to sublimate the individual for the unit, to kill without undue anguish—didn’t necessarily lend themselves well to getting along in a domestic situation. Will—poor, innocent Will—had had to pay that price as well, and that, as much as losing Annie and letting Kate go, was the central heartbreak of Kyle Riker’s life. He didn’t want to let it happen again, ever.

After a quick dash through the hot, dusty morning streets, Michelle met her unit at a designated spot near the fringes of The End. Those who were taking part in today’s parade disruption had split into nine teams of seven each. Michelle’s unit consisted of six people she’d never met before, who knew her only by her nom de guerreof Kyle Riker, which-she had taken in honor of the man who had done more for her, in a relatively short span of time, than all the men she had ever known. He’d inspired her, he’d guided and encouraged her activism, he’d offered brilliant strategic advice, and he had touched her, emotionally and physically, in ways she hadn’t believed she could be touched. The strangest part was, he seemed almost totally oblivious to it all, as if he couldn’t quite believe he offered all these gifts and kept wondering what hook it was that kept her near him.

Her unit was all Cyrians, except for her. That was fine, they’d blend in better with the crowds around the parade. Security was always tight around public events, especially when multiple council members were present, but unless there had been leaks, it wouldn’t be any tighter today than usual. Which meant there would be openings, and more would become available once things started to happen.

“I brought the reels,” one of them said. Her nom de guerrewas Alstatis, the name of an ancient Hazimotian hero whose exploits had entered the realm of myth. She opened a bag and showed off seven reels of extremely fine metal wire.

“That’s excellent,” Michelle said. From several blocks away they could already hear cheers and jubilation, either from the parade itself or one of the “spontaneous” demonstrations of support for the council. She didn’t really care which it was—both would serve their interests, which involved getting the largest audience possible for their action. “Everybody take one.”

The Cyrians, evenly split between males and females, obeyed her instruction without question. None of them knew who she was but they knew she was the leader here, a member of the cadre that had planned the action, and who would be in charge once the revolution began in earnest. They didn’t mind that; they knew they were the ground troops, the ones who would execute the committee’s plans, and that was fine with them. Michelle noted some shaking hands and dry swallowing as they divvied up the wire reels.