At 10am the march would start. Hundreds of thousands of people would stream out of Anacostia and march west and then southwest, following the streets to Lincoln Park. Then straight west from there, down E street. Straight to the Capitol, where they’d been told barricades had been set up. Set up to prevent them from getting too close to the US Capitol Building, or anywhere near the National Mall, anywhere near the parade route the President would take from the Capitol to the White House after his inauguration.

But the march would make it to within sight of the great dome of the Capitol, would bring hundreds of thousands there in time for John Stockton’s second swearing in, to protest his administration’s policies, to stand up for their rights and call for justice for all those who’d been deceived and jailed and abused.

The plan was to do it peacefully.

But sometime along the way, he was sure, Breece or his proxies were going to strike.

And if Kade was right… that was all just cover, just distraction for something much bigger, and much more dangerous.

Rangan smiled and touched another mind, offered the man a download.

We can do this, he told himself. I hope.

Breece watched from the safe house, the Nigerian with him. The wallscreen was split, one half showing news coverage of the swelling protest in Anacostia Park. The other showing coverage of the preparations for today’s inauguration festivities at the Capitol.

His operatives in Anacostia reported all was ready. His electronic tools agreed.

And the real strike… Well, that was on rails now.

Breece checked the time. Less than four hours to go.

Four hours until the biggest success the PLF had ever had. Four hours until the greatest underdog victory of all time.

Breece smiled widely as he watched the screens. Today would be a day for the history books.

116
Incoming

Monday 2041.01.20

Zhi Li looked around the battlefield that Jiao Tong had become.

Last night had been long, terrifying, painful. They’d endured tear gas and rubber bullets for hours, lobbing back fuel-filled glass bottles that shattered on impact. They’d held the army back, just as the protests had at other universities, and at the massive gatherings at People’s Square, at Tiananmen Square in Beijing, at the squares in Hong Kong and Guangzhou and elsewhere…

But only because the army allowed them to. Only because they didn’t shoot live ammunition. Only because fear this new transparency, this new visibility to their own citizens and the world held them back.

And even so, they’d had bruises, broken bones, concussions, one girl burned badly when a Molotov exploded in her hand.

Daylight had brought an end to the fighting. Exhausted protesters ate what food they could, drank water piped in from the university buildings, napped, or swayed on their feet.