Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [80]
“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 his cause. 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