Free Rebel (The United Federation Marine Corps) by Jonathan P. Brazee

see this going on, and I’m even more surprised to see Franz’ face being carried by so many people.  You could have told me.”
    “Oh, Michi, dear.  We didn’t want to bother you.  Franz’ loss was shocking, and it hit so many of us.  And now, with the jacks abrogating the charter and arresting people without probable cause, well, more and more people are getting involved.  We need to show Propitious Interstellar that they can’t run roughshod over us.”
    “No, it’s OK.  I just wish I’d known,” Michi said.  “Well, can I have one of those?”
    “Oh, of course, dear.  Let me get you one.”
    Cheri reached into the back of the van and brought one out, handing it to her.  Michi stared at it for a moment before recognizing the photo.  It was one she had taken herself at a picnic.  Franz was smiling at her, looking younger than his years.  Michi choked back any reaction as she took it, wondering where they had gotten the photo.
    “Come on back when we break up, OK?  We can catch up on things,” Cheri said.
    Michi took the sign and held it up, walking back to join the crowd.  She edged into the back, only then noticing the line of jacks arrayed in front of them.  This looked eerily like how they were positioned before Franz was killed, and she momentarily took a step back.
    Hell!  They don’t scare me , she reminded herself.  I’ve taken a few of them down.
    She pushed back up, picking up the “No Jack Authority!” chant being voiced by the crowd.
    There was no stage this time, no set speakers. But someone out of Michi’s sight obviously had a bullhorn, and he was changing the chants every few minutes.  Michi spent the next 30 minutes chanting herself hoarse, yelling with every fiber of her body. She shook Franz’ picture as she chanted, using it as an exclamation mark.  Despite the chill, her energy and the close proximity of the crowd kept her warm. 
    She knew that the jacks’ crowd surveillance would have already identified her as a participant, and this was not what she should be doing if she wanted to go back home, but she didn’t care. 
    When the blast exploded, she felt the rush of heat go over her head.  It didn’t register for a moment, but the screams that started up did.  Ahead of her, a number of jacks were down hard while others struggled back to their feet.  Within moments, some of them opened fire on the protesters.  Michi saw a dozen or more protesters in the front ranks fall as they were hit.
    People started to turn and run, a stampede to get away from the carnage.  The human current took Michi with it.  Not everyone ran, though.  A figure in a ski mask and dressed in black stepped forward against the crowd, people parting alongside of him as he raised some sort of weapon and fired back in the direction of the jacks.
    Michi was almost pushed into his line of fire, but she was able to squirm back and to his side.  He pumped out three more shots, then pushed his way forward and out of sight.
    Michi stumbled over a prone body.  She bent down to help the man up and was almost knocked down herself.  Another man stopped, and with both of them taking an arm, they picked the fallen man up and dragged him out of the way. 
    Shots continued to ring out, some close by, some from the jacks.  Michi risked a glance back as she helped drag the man to one of the side streets.  Twenty or thirty bodies littered the square, most looking like protesters.  The man in black, the one who was firing, continued to advance, now that he was not blocked by the mass of people.  He kept firing, but then he stumbled and went down.
    Michi turned her attention to getting away and out of the line of fire.  She lost sight of the square as she helped pull the man out and onto one of the side streets.  People were rushing by when the man struggled to his feet, wheezing, but assuring them he was OK.  The other man that was helping looked at Michi and snapped his head indicating that they