Despite the State’s best efforts, it was impossible not to notice the anger among the crowds lining the streets. Breeze stared through the window of the limo at the faces beyond, as the car trundled far too slowly along the narrow secure lane. Glancing the other way, she noted that Vijay wasn’t even looking out, focused instead on his tablet. She placed her hand against the soft material of his trousers.
“Why did this event have to be in the outer city?”
“Because that’s where the factory is,” he replied without glancing up.
“But look at this place.”
He did, lowering his tablet and gazing out both windows, and then up through the transparent, tinted roof. The dark gray apartment towers stretched high, leaving only a thin strip of pale sky at the very top. The facades were grim and showing their age, nets protruding every ten stories to catch stray garbage or brickwork. Many of the lower floors were dedicated to commercial ventures, signs in windows advertising various inexpensive services, while at street level reinforced doors were rolled back to reveal stands of goods for sale.
In front of those, pressed behind barriers manned by armored police, were the local citizens of Terra. They dutifully lined the streets, watching with grim stoicism as the long parade of cars slowly passed.
At no time did Vijay’s expression change from one of casual interest.
“It’s a typical city on Earth,” he said finally. “Could be Miami, could be Baghdad, could be Longreach, but it happens to be Munich. They all kind of look the same.”
“Wretched is what it looks like,” she replied, frowning. “I’m sure even Munich has a gated section.”
“Yes,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it affectionately, “but the gated section doesn’t have any factories in it. And that’s what we’re here to celebrate—the revitalization of Terra’s industrial might. Hopefully the new factory will bring some life back to this ward.”
Breeze couldn’t see how a scattering of new jobs made a difference to this monolithic slum, but she knew that it was the hope. And hope was what politicians had to sell.
Central Europe as a whole had been particularly hard-hit by the rebel disruptions to trade, and ever since the Civil Defense Headquarters had been destroyed by a Centauri surface sneak attack, there had been little law and order to protect what businesses still survived. The result had been a year of rapid decline for the whole region and a swelling of Munich’s population as the destitute trundled into the city looking for work.
Looking at the heavy police presence outside, Breeze wasn’t worried about civil strife. What frightened her most were the rumors of new cases of the Gray Death. Another outbreak might deal with the overcrowding, but she wasn’t going to be part of the cull. She’d been sure to visit the booster clinic before making this trip.
“So who do you need to speak to today?” she asked, “and when do you want me at your side?”
“I always want you at my side,” he said with a smile. “But today I need to try to talk to Sheridan alone, and I’m sure a few of the Triton-based miners will want to corner me to discuss import channels.”
“Why do you need to talk to Sheridan? He’s not even in government.”
“He has a lot of influence, both in Parliament and with the general population. He’s been making concerted efforts to raise his profile here on Earth, and it’s working. If he can influence both Earth and Mars, he’s a man I want on my side.”
“I thought you two were political enemies.”
“In Parliament, yes.” Vijay shrugged. “But in the real world we have to get the job done.”
Breeze sat back against the leather seat, admiring her husband anew as he returned his attention to his tablet. Brilliant, hardworking, and above all practical. He lacked charisma, but she was happy to provide that at his side. As a team, they were unstoppable.
The car finally pulled up to the main gate of the new factory. The grim crowds were noticeably further away, barricaded on the far side of the square, and security was overt. Armored police thumped between fixed gun positions, and patrol cruisers traced slow orbits overhead. A red carpet had been laid out through the factory gates to the road, and on either side, behind velvet ropes, crowds of cheering citizens waved Terran flags. Through the car windows Breeze spotted the locations of the news teams and considered where to position herself when walking alongside Vijay. Huge screens had been placed on the factory walls to project the arrivals to the public, a live feed that was visible clear across the square.
The door opened and a wave of hot, stinky air washed into the cabin. Breeze was thankful that the tinted windows hid her face and she busied herself with sliding across the rear seat as gracefully as possible while Vijay stepped out into the lights. She gave him a moment to be imaged on his own, then reached out to take the hand he extended back to her.
Getting out of a limousine in a form-fitting dress was an art she’d been practicing, and with relief she planted her feet on the carpet without incident, then stood up at her husband’s left side. There was a roar of approval from the cheering crowds, which she answered with her most winning smile. It seemed as if the PR machine was still working hard to cultivate the idea of Minister Shah and his wife as the new power couple in Terran society.
A shy little girl was led forward to present Breeze with a bouquet of flowers. Breeze bent down to accept them, smiling radiantly at the child’s nervous features.
“Thank you so much,” she gushed, although her words were muted by the roar of a police cruiser ascending overhead. “They’re beautiful.”
The girl managed a smile in return, bravely standing her ground and accepting Breeze’s fingers against her cheek. The moment lasted long enough for the media to grab their images, then the girl was led away. Breeze straightened with the bouquet and took Vijay’s arm to stroll past the cheering crowds.
There was a schedule to keep, and even higher-ranking politicians still to come, so the moment on the red carpet was short-lived. Within moments Breeze found herself through the factory gates and into the relative quiet of the main manufacturing floor.
A large central space had been cleared, many of the production machines jammed against the outer walls of the vast room. Breeze scanned for security points and any possible hiding places where assassins might lurk. Too many public figures had been killed in the past few months, and today’s gathering would be a prime target. There was no pattern to the assassinations, though, and Breeze wondered if the killings were secretly ordered by the State, and not the rebels.
On an impulse she gripped Vijay’s arm tighter.
One of Vijay’s staffers relieved her of the bouquet and offered a drink. Another staffer stepped up to Vijay’s other side, her tablet discreetly in hand to support him in his upcoming discussions. Most of the guests had already arrived, so it wasn’t long before Vijay was introduced to the CEO of a local mining corporation. Breeze smiled along at the standard chit-chat about government support for the protection of local exploitation, and listened to Vijay’s smooth reassurances which ultimately lacked any solid commitment. An agreement was made for the CEO to meet with a senior official in the Ministry, and the interview concluded.
“Ah,” Vijay said, leaning in, “there’s one of the Tritonian magnates I need to talk to. Would you excuse me, dear?”
Breeze noted the dour, pale little man whose entire appearance screamed that he was from Triton, and was suddenly glad to be freed from the next conversation. She glanced around the room.
“Of course. Is there anyone you think I should talk to?”
Vijay scanned the room. “Wes Taal has just arrived. This event has nothing to do with Defense, and I know he’s irritated to be here. Maybe you could brighten his day?”
“Thanks.”
He kissed her on the cheek and strode off, staffer in his wake. She slinked over to her new target.
Minister of Defense Wesley Taal did indeed look rather grumpy, standing off to the side of the central mingling space and speaking quietly to a man in uniform. It was a colonel from the Corps, and Breeze quickly assured herself that she hadn’t crossed paths with this officer before. Confident that she was free from recognition, she promptly ignored the officer and turned her full gaze upon Minister Taal.
Taal’s eyes met hers with a degree of curiosity, then sudden recognition. A politician’s smile split his features and he willingly grasped her outstretched hand to kiss it.
“Mrs. Shah, how nice to finally meet you.”
“Minister Taal, how good of you to come. It’s so important that senior members of Parliament show their support for the revitalization of this region.”
“Yes,” he said, not quite hiding a sigh. “Especially with all the other matters to attend to.”
“Sir,” the colonel growled, “I’ll get the team working on those numbers for you.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
The colonel slipped away.
“And how are you enjoying these events, Mrs. Shah?”
“I enjoy supporting my husband, and the good work he does for the State.”
A chuckle. “About as much as I do, then.”
“Perhaps not quite as much,” she offered with a smirk.
“Vijay has been an excellent member of the party for years, but since the attacks last year he’s really shown his true form. You have a good man, Mrs. Shah.”
“We’ve been together since not long after those attacks—he wasn’t even minister yet when we first met. I’m very proud of how all of Parliament has rebounded from the attack”—she smiled—“but Vijay has been truly exceptional. Thank you for supporting him.”
Taal was the senior member of the Progressive Party in Parliament and in a sense Vijay’s boss. The Progressives were the largest group in the five-party coalition that formed the current government, but alliances sometimes shifted and few positions in Parliament were secure. With all the newbie members elected after the attacks, Vijay’s promotion to minister had been as much due to his relative seniority as it had his competence. Breeze’s job in the political world was to ensure that her husband remained in everyone’s good graces.
“I understand you served in the Astral Force,” Taal said. “So did I, although years ago.”
“I served in my own, small way,” she said carefully. “Nothing as important as what you did.”
“We all do our parts, and every veteran is important. Thank you for your service.”
“Thank you, Minister, for yours.”
He laughed, eyes scanning the room.
“We’re both veterans—can we cut the political formalities?”
“Gladly.”
“I’m Wes. May I call you Charity?”
“Of course. You can call me Breeze, if you want—it was my nickname when I served.”
“They called me Skip—you don’t want to know why.”
She laughed, surprised at how relaxing it was to speak to a fellow veteran. It wasn’t company she’d ever sought, but the military had been a big part of her life for years, and she couldn’t deny the bond created by service. For a remarkably long time she stood at the edge of the factory floor swapping war stories with Wes and genuinely enjoying his company.
Their chatter was interrupted by an announcement that the President was about to begin his address. An obligatory hush fell over the room and all eyes moved to the dais where De Chao Peterson, the President of Terra, was taking his position.
Peterson had been vice-president at the time of the attacks, thankfully away on holiday when the President had been killed in her State residence. Always a hawkish influence on government, Peterson had used the Centauri attacks as justification for doubling the budgets of the police and the Ministry of Internal Security, cracking down on any suspected dissidents with ruthless speed.
Breeze still gave thanks to whatever god existed that her own court-martial had taken place right after the attacks, and been overshadowed by the political jockeying that had consumed all government energies in the vacuum of power. By the time Peterson had consolidated his position and started his putsch, Breeze’s lawyers had worn out the State prosecutors, who fell under pressure to go after higher-profile targets.
She’d slipped through the net, and now she stood in the very presence of power as an invited guest.
Peterson’s public persona hardly matched his actions over the past year. Of middling height with the stocky, powerful build of a scrapper, he looked out over the assembled crowd with a kindly expression. His hair was cut very short—a testament to his years in the Army—but it was a glittering silver that somehow softened his square features. His suit was modest and his manner was gentle. To the people of Terra he gave the impression of a favorite uncle—humble and fair, but firm when necessary. From her distant vantage point Breeze could barely see the man himself, but a screen broadcast his speech, larger than life. The screens outside were also broadcasting to the people in the streets.
His speech was typical. Praising the hard work of the Munich people, he declared the opening of this new factory as a triumph, and lauded the continuing technological advances of Terran industry. New weapons were coming on line, which would stop the rebels in their tracks.
“You should see some of the new tricks we’ve developed,” Taal said. “Technology we didn’t even know could exist a year ago.”
If he was talking about the Dark Bomb, Breeze was only too familiar with it—but drawing attention to that fact was never a good idea. If he was talking about anything else, she didn’t really care.
No speech from the President was complete without a combative statement toward the rebels.
“It is with great satisfaction,” Peterson boomed, “that I can report another victory in the war against terror. A recent assassination attempt by the rebels was thwarted by our brave security forces. One rebel was captured, and he has admitted to his treason. Justice will now be served.” The screen overhead suddenly shifted to the familiar scene of an execution chamber. An interested murmur rippled through the crowd.
“Who was the attack against?” Breeze whispered.
“Sheridan,” Taal replied. “In his hotel room after a fund-raiser. Thankfully we had Special Forces operatives embedded. Otherwise I think we’d be looking for a new leader of the Opposition.”
Breeze shivered. No one was safe these days.
The execution chamber was a clinical steel and plastic, with the chair located in the center. The prisoner was led in from the left. Breeze had seen enough public executions over the years, but something about this one captured her interest. Who was this terrorist? What kind of person could infiltrate Terran security, and come so close to killing one of their leaders?
The prisoner was a man, tall and clearly fit under his orange coveralls. His hands and feet were shackled, forcing him to shuffle toward the chair. He did so on his own, though, angrily shrugging off any attempt at guidance from the guards. He sat down in the chair, head high and face pointed defiantly at the camera. His lips moved as he said something, but the State never transmitted audio from the execution chamber. The prisoner was clamped into the chair.
“For crimes against the State,” an off-screen voice boomed, “this rebel, John Ford of Centauria, is sentenced to death.”
Blades shot from the sides of the chair, sliding into his torso, followed immediately by a deadly surge of electricity through the metal. The prisoner’s defiant expression collapsed in overwhelming pain before sagging in death. His body continued to jerk as the last of the electrical charge shot through him.
“Justice is served,” the off-screen voice declared.
A round of applause erupted from the gathered crowd in the factory. Breeze instinctively joined in, but her eyes searched for her husband. Vijay was next to Sheridan—the assassin’s target—and neither man displayed any sense of satisfaction as they dutifully clapped. Even from her distance, she saw Sheridan cringe slightly as someone patted him on the back.
“Sheridan’s a good man,” Taal commented. “I’m glad we didn’t lose him, even if he is the biggest threat to our ruling coalition.”
“Is he?” Breeze heard herself ask.
“Of course he is.”
She looked up at the Minister of Defense.
“He’s a good man,” he repeated. “Like your husband.”
Breeze suddenly wanted very much to be back next to Vijay, political tactics be damned. This was a cold, dangerous world, and she felt the need for some warmth.