After they had walked for a while Michelle leaned into his arm. “This might be real,” she said. “It really, truly might.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Yeah, but ... it’s always seemed like kind of a pipe dream, you know? Like something we wanted to happen but not necessarily something that would. Or something that I could help bring about. But now, it seems like it’s all those things.”

“You definitely helped bring it about,” he assured her, happily inhaling her scent.

“I know. It feels funny.” She laughed, then released him and did a pirouette in the street. “I’m a star.”

“A star of the revolution,” Kyle agreed. “George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and you.”

“Wrong revolution,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him. “But right idea.” The smile vanished from her face again. “What if it’s a bad idea?”

“What, revolution?” Kyle asked. He had struggled with the concept many times himself. Maybe armed conflict wasn’t the way to change social conditions here.

“What if history is effectively over?” she wondered. “I mean, maybe the time for revolution was hundreds and hundreds of years ago. The universe is a different place now. What impact might an upheaval on Hazimot have on inter-galactic trading partners, on the Federation?”

“Well, Hazimot’s never going to be accepted into the Federation without some serious changes,” Kyle pointed out. “As for the timing—I think each planet has to move forward on its own timetable, regardless of what’s going on elsewhere. Obviously conditions in Cyre are egregious, and the rest of the planet’s not much better, if at all. If it’s time for revolution here, then it’s time. You can’t worry about how people who’ve never set foot on the planet are going to feel about it.”

“Good answer.” Michelle beamed at him. “That’s why I love you, Joe,” she said. “You’re always thinking.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“Second best,” she corrected, leaning in for a kiss.

She broke the kiss when they both felt the ground shudder, and not in the good way. They froze in place and listened. A low rumbling sound infiltrated their consciousness now, growing nearer. “What is it?” Kyle asked.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t like it,” she replied. “It sounds like ... like trouble. At the least.”

The mood of the neighborhood changed as the sound increased. Over the rumble they could hear a voice now, broadcast through some kind of loudspeaker, repeating the same brief message over and over. People came running past them, fear glinting in their eyes. Kyle grabbed one by the shoulders, stopping him from his mad dash. “What is it?” Kyle demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Troops,” the Cyrian said, his eyes wide with fright. “Lots of them.” He broke away from Kyle’s grasp and kept running.

“No ...” Michelle’s lower lip began to tremble. “They can’t ... it’s too soon.”

“They can,” Kyle countered. “It’s not what I would do because it’ll increase public resentment against them. But if they can put an end to the revolution immediately, before it gets off the ground, then they might not care what the populace thinks.”

“But we’re not ready,” Michelle said. “Nobody is.”

“That’s precisely the point of it,” Kyle told her. “To make sure nobody gets ready.”

The closer the troops came, the louder the sound of their machines of war. The ground was literally shaking now, buildings vibrating. A bit of stone fell off one nearby and exploded into dust on the ground.

“What are we going to do?” Michelle asked. “We need to find the others.”

“No,” Kyle said. “Not just now. Not with those soldiers nearby. The last thing you want to do is to congregate in one place. Then they can simply take out the leadership all at once.”

“You’re right,” Michelle said. “Let’s just go home and wait it out.”

With no better plan coming to him, Kyle agreed to that, and they started back toward the building in which they both lived. As they reached their street, though, the first troops were coming into view, around a bend. They wore full battle armor, black and gray with gold trim, and carried rifles. Locals stood on the streets and watched them march. Behind them, the vehicles hove into sight, massive troop carriers and battle tanks. Unlike most Hazimotian vehicles these didn’t float a short distance off the ground but rolled forward on gigantic wheels that tore up the old streets of The End as they came.

And now Kyle could make out the words coming over the loudspeakers. “Remain in your homes,” the voice instructed. “Do not attempt to hinder our advance in any way. Stay inside and out of our way. We are looking for a few troublemakers. If you deliver them to us, then the rest of you will not be harmed. These are the individuals we want.”

Kyle felt his veins go cold at the announcement, but he and Michelle remained on the side of the road, arms around one another.

“Kiana ser Totkis,” the voice went on. “Gisser Struitt. Melifin Pate Brionn.”

“Those are all the fake names,” Michelle said, breathing a sigh of relief. She smiled nervously. “They don’t really know who they’re looking for.”

The soldiers were closer now, the first rank of them almost even with Michelle and Kyle. They let their gazes wander across the buildings, carefully looking at everyone on the sidewalks. They looked young and nervous. From what Kyle had seen, this was the same kind of force that Cyre would have sent into battle against its enemy neighbors.

Suddenly Michelle tensed in Kyle’s arms. “Except ... oh, no.”

“Cass wis Tinerare,” the loudspeaker voice continued. “Kyle Riker. Senager Millish.”

“I guess I should have had a nom de guerretoo,” Kyle observed.

“For now, we want those individuals only,” the voice said, almost too loud to make out now as the vehicles came closer. “And if they are not delivered to us within the hour we will start knocking down The End, building to building, until the whole area is flattened.”

A rush of conflicting emotions coursed through Kyle. The End was, literally, the end of the line for most of its residents, the place they lived only because there was no place else that would have them. For him, it had been a hiding place, somewhere he could find the anonymity he sought. But it had become more than that—in so many ways, it had become the first real home he’d had in a long time.

But the soldiers had his name, his real name. And if he kept quiet, those who had taken him in would be displaced, or killed.

The worst that could happen, he figured, was that he’d be arrested. When he was able to prove that he had spent the day watching the parade at a tavern, he would likely be released. Possibly, because his name had come into it, Starfleet would hear and he’d be released into their custody. But he’d spent long enough evading them anyway—it was, he had been starting to think, time he straightened that mess out once and for all.

Michelle stood fast beside him, holding tightly to his arm. The troops continued their slow, inexorable march down the street, their vehicles shredding the pavement as they went. The loudspeaker voice started up again. Kyle glanced at Michelle and freed his arm from her grasp. At the questioning look in her eyes, he turned away and stepped into the street.

Immediately, a dozen rifles were pointed at him, and the march halted.

“I’m Kyle Riker,” he said.

The soldiers held their weapons on him but didn’t speak. One of the troop carriers opened up, though, and an officer emerged, followed by the head of a Cyrian male Kyle had never seen. The Cyrian looked at Kyle, then at the officer, and waggled his hand. No, that meant.

The officer scowled at Kyle. “Stop this foolishness,” he said. “Proceed!”

“But I amKyle Riker,” Kyle insisted.

“No,” Michelle said, pushing past him before he could stop her. “No, he’s lying. Iam Kyle Riker.”