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problem all along.”

“Since we cannot rewrite the past three thousand years, we’ll never know. In the meantime, our new cook will be serving lunch on the veranda shortly. I suggest you break the news to the twins. You’ve come to mean a great deal to them.”

Her stomach knotted. “I know. But they can’t be anywhere near me once the fighting begins.”

Sam gazed up the long gravel path, past the rose gardens, to the main house. There, Brayllen stood alone on the balcony. Tall, almost a man, yet as vulnerable as a young child. Sam prepared to add another layer of trauma to his life.

 

39

Danielson Outpost

       Appalachian Mountains

 

M ICHAEL NEVER IMAGINED A WEEK in the mountains would seem like a year. Time didn’t just slow down; it ran out of batteries. Monotonous patrols, heated arguments among leadership, brief and fitful sleep. And all the while, surrounded by an excruciating silence maintained since the dawn of humanity. They waited, hidden away like frightened roaches, as the reports rolled in.

Assassins killed three hundred Solomons worldwide. Chancellors turned in suspected insurgents. Millions demanded their Solomons sign a contract disavowing knowledge of the insurgency. In Europe and southeast Asia, three Solomon safe houses were breeched. Bodies were being stacked for incineration, and the peacekeepers would soon arrive to finish the job. And from the leadership? Michael sensed an unexpected streak of fear emerge in Rikard and Matthias.

“If our cells move too quickly,” Rikard said, “we risk fragmentation. We must have a unified endgame.”

“But the Guard is coming and …”

“We still have time to establish coordinated strikes. Trust me, Michael, we’ll move before the Guard clamps down.”

“What about Sam’s plan?”

She’d given him the bullet points in her third admin-stack message since they began communicating. She refused to stay far from battle, despite his pleas. Yet Michael was in no position to stop her. In truth, the plan made sense despite its insane objective. It fit the goal of reestablishing control before the Guard arrived and would prove the Solomons had more allies than enemies on Earth. Convincing the leadership was another matter.

“Michael, if Sam cannot pull together the other Presidiums on our timetable,” Matthias said, “all she’ll achieve is an end to her family name and greater fear among our sympathizers.”

“You said it yourself, Matthias. We can’t win without tipping the balance in the Chancellory. If we fight the assassin teams and the peacekeepers head-on, they’ll kill us all. Dude, seriously. I get it. You don’t want to lead your people to the slaughter. But that ship already sailed, if you get my speed.”

Each hour of inaction tormented Michael.

“We’re not a damn army,” he told the leadership. “But if we don’t act like one before they see us coming, we’re done.”

Rikard admitted his communications with other continental leaderships revealed the same developing schism within the ranks. As many wanted to bide their time as wanted to strike.

“There’s no consensus anywhere,” he told Michael. “If we gave orders to confiscate the weapons lockers and activate the silent contact circles, we might not have enough numbers among our own people. We’ll lose the battle as soon as it begins.”

“Don’t they understand this is the only chance we got? We’re gonna be full citizens or we’re gonna be dead.”

The arguments raged, and the unity they seemed to share in the first days of their seclusion now splintered. Michael knew how the vote would go if push came to shove; the majority wanted to strike. Yet most did not want to break ranks with the leadership. After all, Matthias and Rikard put themselves on the line long before most others joined the movement.

“I understand their hesitation,” Maya Fontaine said on the balcony while sharing a pipe with Michael. “They’ve spent years plotting in the shadows. They saw themselves as champions of the underclass, and they likely thought they could talk their way into equality. You see this conflict in them? Yes?”

“See what?”

“In their minds, they are hardened men. Warriors, killers. But in their hearts, they are politicians. Their hearts are leashes.”

“Let’s say that’s true. What do we do about it?”

“Demand they call a vote.”

“If they refuse?”

She pulled hard on the pipe and held the smoke inside.

“Slice off their heads, I presume.”

The smoke petered out in short bursts as she laughed.

“Maya, you are one scary gal. But you’re right about the vote. We have to force their hand. Sam is putting everything on the line for us, and I can’t stop her. I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna sit on my ass.”

He thought Maya looked younger and renewed in bright sunlight. She was far removed from the knife-wielding animal at Entilles. Maya kissed him on the cheek.

“There’s that Michael spirit. Charge in there now and make your demand. At the very least, you’ll have Carlos on your side.”

He sighed. “Great.”

Carlos Rivera had not let off on his vitriol since day one, demanding a full-frontal attack, regardless of the consequences. At one point, he suggested rivers of blood in the streets would turn Chancellors squeamish and lead to negotiations. Michael wondered whether Carlos had a death wish.

As it turned out, none of this mattered.

Michael entered the common room to find a half dozen Solomons huddled around a security holowindow, discussing data with feverish passion. He stepped in between them.

“What is it?”

Raimi Inhofe, whose work allowed them to establish limited outside communication via stream amp, described flickers rising from the mountains nearby.

“It’s our tracking beacons beyond the cascade. They detected human movement in the last fifteen minutes.”

The beacons formed a circular perimeter, acting as an early-warning system a kilometer from the outpost.

“How many?” Michael asked.

“Just five signatures, but cloaking baffles would disguise their numbers. The Guard uses them in urban warfare.”

“So, it’s them. They made

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