Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [100]
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 guerre too,” 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 am Kyle Riker,” Kyle insisted.
“No,” Michelle said, pushing past him before he could stop her. “No, he’s lying. I am Kyle Riker.”
The officer looked back toward the head sticking up from the troop carrier’s bowels like a turtle’s. The Cyrian wobbled his hand back and forth in affirmation.
“Cividon, you bastard,” Kyle heard Michelle mutter under her breath. He knew that Cividon must have been part of Michelle’s unit, the one who had been arrested after the parade. Cividon had turned on his movement’s leaders easily, Kyle realized. He knew only the false names, but Michelle’s false name had been real enough to cause this trouble.
She couldn’t have known that any of this would happen, or that a single other soul on the planet knew Kyle’s name wasn’t Joe Brady. If he had just kept quiet, there would have been no trouble.
If he’d kept quiet, though, The End would have been razed, its residents slaughtered.
He couldn’t have kept quiet then. Michelle wouldn’t have either. There really had been no other choice.
The weapons trained on Kyle shifted, aiming at Michelle. Kyle felt himself trembling. Michelle had been there, and visible, at the parade. Cividon had fingered her. She was in serious trouble, and he couldn’t figure out how to get her out of it. Even if he started something, there were too many soldiers, too many weapons, to fight.
“Michelle…” he started.
“Don’t, Joe,” she said urgently. “Old Earth expression. I’ve made my bed.”
“But…”
The officer pushed Cividon back into the troop carrier and climbed in himself. When only his own head remained outside, he barked an instruction to the troops. “Kill her!”
The soldiers didn’t hesitate. A dozen energy beams blasted at Michelle, all at once. One