Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [96]
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 guerre of 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 guerre was 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.
“We’re all nervous,” she told them. “It’s not just you guys, but everyone who’s participating today. After this, everything changes. There will be no backing down, no fading back into the shadows. After today, we overthrow the council or we die trying. So if any of you want to change your mind and give up, now’s the time to do it. Your last chance.”
They watched her as she spoke, their faces rapt or frightened or both. A couple of them said, “I’m staying in,” and one, who Michelle knew only as Cividon, said, “It’s about time.” No one chose to withdraw, for which Michelle was glad.
“Let’s get into place, then,” she suggested. The others agreed and they moved out, toward the parade route.
The parade was slated to run for twenty blocks, or about two kilometers, with a couple of right angles along the way and then a last sweep up the wide, gently curving arc of Epindeis Way, named for one of Cyre’s most famous military victories over its longtime foe Taleraa. Michelle’s group went to the last right turn before the final march up Epindeis, arriving just as the parade passed that