Shadow of Freedom

“So we’re going to begin contingency planning now. Especially after how effectively Captain Zavala’s squadron performed in Saltash, I don’t think it’s going to take wallers to support something like Mobius. A destroyer division or a couple of cruisers should be able to handle anything Frontier Fleet’s likely to be able to spare for rebel-thumping. I’m not going to disperse my main combat strength, but I want plans to peel off light forces to respond to any of these ‘Manticore-supported rebellions’ we hear about. We can’t do anything about the ones we don’t know about, and I sure as hell don’t want to encourage even more ‘spontaneous uprisings.’ For that matter, what I’d really prefer would be to turn up in the role of peacemaker before things get too far out of hand. In the real world, that’s not going to happen, though, and we all know it. So the way I see it, in this respect at least, we have no choice but to dance to the Alignment’s music…assuming Mesa really is behind it, of course. I’ve already sent a dispatch boat on to Spindle with my conclusions, and to be frank, I’d be delighted to have guidance from Baroness Medusa and Prime Minister Alquezar before things get even more lively out here. In the meantime, though, I’m not going to let Mesa get away with branding us not just as instigators of rebellion but as the sort of people who abandon our catspaws when the blood actually begins to flow.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“What the hell was Kazuyoshi thinking?” Kayleigh Blanchard demanded.

Almost a week had passed since the apocalyptic conclusion of Kazuyoshi Brewster’s attack, and she and Michael Breitbach sat at a picnic table in Landing’s Central Park. A checkered cloth covered the table between them, and their plates were piled with potato salad, baked beans, and hot dogs. Sitting out in the open was enough to make Blanchard nervous, but she knew Breitbach was right. Security forces paid less attention to people eating picnic lunches out in the sunlight where everyone could see them than they did to people who seemed concerned with hiding in the shadows. Their current table was on a little point of land, pushing out into the lake. Directional microphones could undoubtedly hear every word they said, if anyone were suspicious enough to point one of them in their direction, but there weren’t going to be any other diners near enough to overhear casual conversation.

Breitbach took another bite of his hot dog, chewed with every evidence of enjoyment, swallowed, and took a swig of beer. Then he shrugged.

“We’ll never know, for sure,” he said. “Personally, though, I think it was just as straightforward as it looks.” He shook his head. “Kaz and his entire cell just plain lost too many people they cared about. He didn’t kick an authorization request up the ladder because he knew damned well he wouldn’t get it, and he didn’t care.”

“But—” Blanchard began.

“Eat your hot dog,” Breitbach interrupted, and waited until she’d obediently taken another bite.

“I don’t say it doesn’t piss me off, because it does,” he said then, putting ketchup on his own hot dog as he spoke. “And it’s going to play hell with all our plans. At the same time, I can’t be too mad at him. I knew his family, you know. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. So, yeah, I understand exactly what was pushing him. I didn’t know the others, but from what we’ve seen, they were cut from the same cloth. And don’t forget—four members of his cell walked away clean. We haven’t tried to contact them yet, and they’re keeping their heads down just the way they ought to, but it looks to me like they’re probably the ones who didn’t lose family in the May Riots. They helped Kaz and the others get in, set up the van bombs, then got the hell out of the way.”

He put down the ketchup and bit into the hot dog again.

“You’re probably right,” Blanchard said after a moment. “And I’m like you; I can’t really blame them either, however much I wish they hadn’t done it. But what do we do now? Whether we like it or not, they were effective—and visible—as hell. Now that they’ve hammered Yardley’s bastards so hard, some of the other cells are going to want to hit back, too. For that matter, I’m thinking a lot of this ‘freelance’ stuff we’re seeing is probably our people.”

“Probably,” Breitbach agreed. “And it’s going to get even harder to hold them now that Yardley’s started arresting ‘dangerous dissidents.’” He grimaced. “Once people in general figure out how many people she and Lombroso are ‘disappearing’ it’s going to get really ugly. And once the Gendarmes get here, it’s going to get even worse.”

He seemed remarkably calm about the prospect he’d just described, Blanchard thought.

“So you’re sure now that Verrochio’s going to send them?” she asked, and he snorted.