This pronouncement was met by cheers and warm applause from the audience. Roog waited for it to finish and went on. “The Cyrian plutocracy is at that point now. They are willing to kill us—kill the majority—because we are inconvenient to them. That’s always—always—a sure sign of a plutocracy that has lost its way, with a leadership that has lost its collective mind. Individual members of government may still be sane, but the government itself is insane. Unsound. Mad. The time has come to stop fighting back with words—words can only influence those sane enough to hear and understand them. The time has come for action!”
A much louder roar of applause went up this time, and Kyle found himself hoping the government didn’t have spies in the neighborhood. This room was deep inside a large building that might have been a luxury hotel, in its prime, but to have contained the noise this bunch was making, he hoped it was still well soundproofed.
“I can’t promise you that victory will be easy,” Roog said when the applause had abated. “It won’t be. I can’t promise you that it will come without sacrifice—and you, of everyone in this nation, have already sacrificed plenty. It will not. I can’t promise that you will all be here to taste the fruits of your efforts—the fresh taste of freedom, of self-governance, of economic possibility. You won’t be.
“We are talking about a struggle, and in a struggle there are casualties, and some will die, and others will be injured, and along the way there will be dark days when you wonder if it’s worth the pain and the loss and the heartbreak. So I say to you today, look at yourselves. Look at those next to you, behind you, all around you. Look at your families, your young. It’s for them that we must fight. For yourself, of course. But also for your neighbors, your loved ones, and your offspring. For everyone that you know, and everyone you are ever likely to know. Because we fight for justice, and there is no justice if justice is selective. Justice must stand for all if it is to stand for any!”
When the crowd broke into more sustained cheers, Kyle turned to Michelle. “She’s good,” he said.
“She knows how to work a crowd,” Michelle agreed. “If she could address thousands, or tens of thousands, all at once, we’d have a revolution today and economic justice tomorrow. But she would be killed before she could get a word out, if the government knew she was doing this. As long as the struggle has to remain secret, it’ll be a hard road. As it is we need to rely on these people spreading the word to friends and neighbors, but doing so discreetly.”
“And that’s really what you think will happen? Revolution?” They had talked about this several times in the weeks since the police attack, but he kept pressing her on the point. He knew the success of such a movement was a long shot, and the more he got to know her the more he didn’t want to see her hurt or killed.
The rally over, the audience began to stream from the building, out into the glare of midday suns. Michelle and Kyle went with the flow, but as the crowd dispersed, they found themselves alone on one of the winding streets. “Of course it is,” she replied as if he had just asked the question. “We’re both from Earth, Joe, and we’re both from the United States. We know that revolution can succeed when the cause is just and the people are behind it.”
“We also know how rare it is to have both of those elements in the right balance,” he countered.
She took his hand and squeezed it. “That’s why we need the right people in the right positions, Joe. Like you said, you know something about strategy. I haven’t asked you any questions about your background, your history, and you haven’t asked me any. I appreciate that about you, and I respect your privacy. But I think it’s time we came clean. If we’re going to succeed—and I mean the revolution, but I also mean us, you and me—then we need to know each other. We need to understand what we can each contribute.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him, taking his other hand and holding them both in hers. “My name really is Michelle. Last name Culhane. I ... broke some laws. Not on Earth, I only lived there for a few years, as a girl. My parents were rovers, wanderers, and I lived on a dozen worlds by the time I was twenty. After that, I struck out on my own and did pretty much the same. But I didn’t always run with the most reputable company. There was an incident, on Blue Horizon. Lovely place, but bad things can still happen in nice surroundings. I killed a person—two people, actually. It was justified, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t illegal. I ran. I can tell you more about it if you want to know.”
“No,” Kyle said, somewhat taken aback by the unexpected confession. “I mean, maybe someday, if you want to talk about it. If it’ll help you. But I trust you, I don’t need the details.”
She kissed him tenderly on the cheek, and then on the lips. “Thanks,” she said, drawing away. “For the trust. I like that.”
“You taught it to me,” he replied.
“So what’s your story, Joe? That’s not your name, is it? It doesn’t quite fit you, it’s like you’re wearing someone else’s shirt.”
Kyle shook his head. “No, no, it’s not my name.” He felt a moment’s hesitation, but then, emboldened by her confession and by his own growing feelings for her, he decided to tell her the truth. “My name is Kyle Riker,” he revealed. “I work—or used to, anyway, for Starfleet. I’m a civilian but I serve as a military strategist for them.”
“That’s perfect!” Michelle blurted out. “I mean, a trained military strategist. You could do wonders for the revolution.” She looked at him, a smile on her face. “Sorry, I interrupted, didn’t I? I do that.”
“That’s perfectly okay,” Kyle said. “That’s pretty much the story.”
“You’re here for a reason,” she prodded. A wind blasted down the street, flaying them both with her hair, and she laughed. Over their heads, a purple skray winged by, shrieking at them. They were, as far as he could tell, the local version of pigeons, and every bit as unappetizing.
“Someone was trying to kill me—well, either ruin my career or kill me, I guess. Someone associated, in some way, with Starfleet. I’ve had some pretty traumatic experiences in recent years, and I guess that one was the topper. I more or less flipped out and ran. I still intend to go back, but before I do I want to figure out who I’m up against, and why. So far I keep coming up blank, which is why I’m still here.”
“Maybe it’s not something you can find out from a distance,” Michelle suggested. She squeezed his hands again. “Maybe you just need to be there. Not that I want you to leave, of course. Especially not now.”
“I understand, Michelle. And you could be right. You probably are. But now ... now you’re here. I’ve screwed up before, and it’s like some kind of second chance. Fourth or fifth chance, maybe.”
She smiled once more. “I’m glad that matters to you, Joe. Or should I say, Kyle?”
“Stick with Joe,” he urged. “It’s safer that way.”
“I like Kyle better,” she told him. “That is a name that fits you. It’s stronger. Joe is nondescript, and you’re anything but. I’ll call you Joe, but in my heart you’ll be Kyle. Is that okay?”
He couldn’t help feeling glad that events had conspired to send him to Hazimot, where he could meet such an exceptional woman. That made three amazing women—Annie, Katherine Pulaski, and now Michelle Culhane—who had opened their hearts to him. How did a man get to be so lucky?
At the same time, he recognized that, while illness had claimed Annie, he alone had been responsible for the fact that he wasn’t still with Kate. He’d have to take care not to make the same mistakes again, because Michelle seemed like the kind of woman he could spend a lifetime with.
“That’ll be fine,” he said finally. “Just fine.”
“And will you help us?” she pressed. “You don’t have to fight if you don’t want to, but will you advise us? Help with strategy?”
“Let’s keep talking about that,” he suggested. “Give me time to come around. From what I’ve seen so far, you have more passion on your side than you do prospects.”