Free Freehold by William C. Dietz Page B

company a week earlier, but feared Roop's party was making inroads with the independents. And, since the two political parties were roughly equal in size, the independents would very likely settle the issue.
    Once again Stell went over his plan, searching for flaws or acceptable alternatives. But no matter how many times he did so, and regardless of logic, it felt good in his gut. He remembered the orderly rows of alert faces. The backdrop of scorched duracrete. And the sickly sweet smell of death that surrounded the brigade as they listened to him speak. They stood at ease, listening attentively, smiling and nodding their encouragement, as though listening to a favorite child recite his lessons. They admired and respected him, but, with the natural cynicism of the lower ranks, they also thought him a bit naive, and maybe a little crazy. He, in turn, admired and respected them, but couldn't understand how they could accept his idea so passively, so unemotionally. They didn't scream objections or cheer with enthusiasm; they simply accepted his suggestion like they had accepted a thousand orders, with cheerful acquiescence. So when he was finished, they voted their approval, and climbed aboard the transports that would take them to the spaceport. But among their ranks there were some with whom his words and ideas hit home, expressing feelings they'd had but couldn't find words for. One was Sergeant Flynn, who stood watching as he stepped down off the ammo case, looking at him almost the way the devout would regard a saint. But she was toward the rear of the milling crowd, so he didn't see her.
    Stell's thoughts were interrupted as a tall, thin man with thick black hair mounted the stage and called the session to order. Glancing around, Stell thought there were a surprising number of empty seats, until he realized they weren't actually empty. Each was filled with a faint, almost transparent, holo of the Senator to whom it was assigned. As the lights were dimmed, the holo took on more substance, until it was difficult to tell them from their flesh-and-blood neighbors. Evidently, some of the more distant Senators chose to remain at home rather than travel to the capital.
    As the man with the black hair droned through the minutes of the last meeting, Stell's eyes were drawn again to the powerful flow of the river. He allowed his mind to merge with the peaceful blueness, releasing all tension and gathering strength for the coming battle. Although it would be fought with words rather than weapons, it would be a battle nonetheless, and maybe the most important in the brigade's history. The opposition would bring superior numbers to the conflict, and they would be armed with fear and greed. Stell felt sure that Roop's actions were somehow linked to thermium. But Roop had been present during the Zonie attack. And he'd been wounded to boot. So it seemed unlikely that he'd arranged for the attack. Anyway, Stell's strategy depended on surprise, compassion, courage, and the desperation of the planet's citizens. “Remember son, timing is everything,” Strom had counseled him many times. “The power of a secret weapon lies in the timing with which you use or reveal it. So don't let ’em know what you've got till the last second, and then use it to the limit.” With that in mind, Stell forced himself to wait patiently.
    With routine matters finally out of the way, the black-haired man introduced Kasten, and as the President mounted the dais, Stell admired his poise and presence. Kasten appeared relaxed and seemed to be enjoying himself. There was a spring in his step and a gleam in his eye. As the polite applause died down, Kasten's eyes swept the audience, gauging the Senate's mood. He chose his words carefully.
    “Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate, fellow citizens of Freehold, thank you. The matter before us today is serious indeed. How we deal with it will determine our future, and that of our children's children. We are deciding