Free Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1) by McCullough Crawford

course, need to be dedicated to someone. Give it some thought, and we’ll discuss possible candidates in more detail next time.
    There is a general murmur of agreement and much shuffling of paper as the men and women of power stub out their cigars and drain their drinks of choice before heading for the exits, each plotting about some way that they can turn this entire incident to their advantage while maintaining the appearance of collaboration.

Chapter 12
    Foothills of the Western Mountains
    A University Campus
     
    The car banks hard around the curve onto the freeway, its lateral acceleration pushing Jon against the door. Momentarily, the relative force subsides, as the car dodges to the outside of the curve around a pothole; but his respite does not last long before he is plastered once more against the door. Up ahead, he can make out the end of the curve. The road is clear between them and the straight portion of pavement that allows them to merge with the rest of the traffic, which means that the car’s speed only increases to eat up the empty distance. Thankfully the curve ends, and Jon’s organs return to their normal upright positions, but before he can relax into the embracing confines of the car’s seats, it accelerates forward with as much verve as it took the corner. With the assistance of the car’s motion, Jon settles back into his seat to watch the other cars slide behind them as if they are parked.
    The only sounds in the car are the noise from the engine and the whoosh of other cars as they fall behind. The relative silence remains until they reach the top of the hill leading out of town. The driver, realizing that anything resembling interesting driving is past, reaches for the radio and clicks it on, allowing a news broadcast to fill the small car’s cabin.
    “Today a previously unidentified branch of the Resistance announced plans to quote: ‘strike terror into the heart of the institution of corruption’ and to ‘bring about the downfall of order, freeing the hounds of chaos amongst the sheep,’” the reporter begins. “This threat was delivered this morning, the five-year anniversary of the Bay City University Riots, during which the soldiers of an entire regiment of the army, along with their command staff, sacrificed themselves to stop the spread of hate from where it was breeding in the halls of academia.”
    “Just listen to that crap,” the driver of the car says. “I’ve yet to meet anyone in academia who actively spreads hate on the scale they’re talking about, let alone anyone who’s capable of doing any scheming not relating to securing funding. If you want to know who really does the spreading of hate, all you have to do is pay attention to one of these stupid networks.”
    Jon nods in agreement, as you are supposed to do when your thesis advisor makes some point she seems particularly fond of. Realizing that she is driving and therefore will not be looking at him, he substitutes his nod with a vaguely affirmative “um-huh…” which hangs in the air as the car drives through suburbs that separate the university from the city. The radio continues blabbing along as only talk radio can, indifferent to the people listening and indifferent to the opinions that might exist beyond its world of punditry.
    Jon, by now, is as used to the way his advisor drives as he thinks he’ll ever be. Over the last summer, she took him to another conference at her old school that would have been a sixteen-hour drive away for anyone but her. They made it in a little less than twelve. Today, she can’t go nearly as fast as she had that trip. The suburban highway they are cruising along is too crowded, which allows Jon to relax enough to glance over at her behind the wheel. Today her normally shoulder-length curls are bound up into a bun on top of her head, and her lips, which usually break into a smile so easily, are pursed. Her jaw line is sharp, and he can see the muscles in her neck bulge