“I heard things got out of control on your end too.”

The governor’s voice carried a teasing note over the telephone. They had anticipated the possibility of a police strike from the beginning. They had begun preparing for one some time ago.

The reason was simple. Until disaster was staring them in the face, people never took anyone else’s warnings seriously.

Mr. President’s reputation in the Federation might be poor at the moment, but as long as the foundations of society remained stable, all of it could still be dismissed as political infighting.

No matter how vicious the rhetoric became, so long as basic order held, ordinary people saw only the street outside their front doors and whatever happened on it. They neither saw nor cared about what was happening farther away.

The attacks on Mr. President might even stir sympathy for him in some quarters and create an entirely different set of problems.

At the same time, this was meant to break the deadlock that had settled over the Federation. The public needed to feel as though a knife had cut into them, to feel the blood and pain for themselves. Only then would they understand that the things they had once revered were of no value to the country at all.

Pain would force their eyes open. They could no longer pretend to sleep through the warning; reality would force their eyes open. Nothing made the point more clearly than the contrast between chaos and the rule of law: some matters were not merely the responsibility of politicians. The public bore responsibility too.

That sounded rather official, but it was also the truth. If politicians wanted public support, they first had to accommodate the wishes of the majority.

Isolationism itself had arisen for precisely that reason. When people began paying attention to the war overseas, when they recoiled from the sight of young men dying by the thousands at the front, fear took hold.

Would their own children be sent away because of the war? Would they, like those soldiers, become nothing more than cold numbers printed on cold newspaper pages?

Families would die. Homes would be destroyed by shellfire. The entire country would stand on the brink of ruin…

The possibility of such a future terrified people. Isolationism emerged because it catered to the dominant sentiment of society.

Now, if certain ideas were to be corrected, certain things first had to be broken.

If the police did not strike, society would never descend into the kind of turmoil that frightened people.

If the police did not strike, the militia and the military would have no way to show the public that war did not always mean death and destruction. Sometimes it meant protection and renewal.

Behind Isolationism lay something pathological, an indifference toward war and soldiers that often bordered on hostility.

After the Federation Progressive Party replaced the Federation Conservative Party in control of the federal government, it moved aggressively to expand international relations. The vice president of the Federation Progressive Party had quietly traveled abroad to discuss mutual assistance and reciprocal arrangements with several countries.

Once certain issues were settled, they intended to deploy troops.

Of course, it was not for the sake of war. If the Federation joined a bloc, it was only natural that it demonstrate its value and capabilities.

There were still regions suffering localized conflict after the war, along with territories requiring military administration, and all of them faced severe manpower shortages.

After years of fighting, much of the population overseas had grown sick of war. It was said that the entire world had cheered when the armistice was signed, but before long, people had stopped discussing a war whose smoke had not yet cleared. They spoke even less about the things still happening now.

Large numbers of civilians demanded that the remaining servicemen be discharged and the armed forces dismantled. At the same time, the military could not recruit new soldiers. Naturally, no one wanted the remaining troops stationed in high-risk regions. But some jobs still had to be done.

The Federation was well suited to take on that role. Overseas deployment had already become inevitable. The next step was to let the public experience the atmosphere for themselves. War did not mean destruction alone. It could also mean protection, compassion, solidarity, and renewal.

The mayor of Sabine City sighed at the governor’s teasing. “Things are much worse than I expected. I thought these problems wouldn’t break out until next month.”

The governor offered a few words of reassurance. “Watch your own safety for the time being. We can’t move until November twenty-fifth at the earliest. That leaves more than ten days. I’m sure you can hold out.”

The mayor walked over to the television and turned it on. After watching idly for a few minutes, the local Sabine City station suddenly broke in with a special report. The feverish excitement on the host’s face stood in sharp contrast to the cold darkness on the mayor’s.

For people in the media, reporting a major event could mean having their names preserved in history.

History survives in recordings and in individual frames preserved from film. That was why reporters became so feverish and delighted, sometimes even wishing the news were more explosive than it already was.

Through the broadcast, the mayor and the rest of Sabine City’s upper ranks learned what had happened.

That evening, at the mayor’s request, the police chief organized a group of officers to speak with the leaders of the demonstrations. Perhaps the strain of continuous high-intensity work made some of the officers a little excessive in their choice of words.

That was the official explanation. In reality, police officers had never been particularly civil, and most had never tried very hard to be.

A confrontation broke out almost immediately. The situation then spun completely out of control. A group of workers surrounded the three officers sent to negotiate, and someone even raised a gun.

At that moment, the police abruptly announced that they were going on strike too, supposedly for their own protection. They were done. Anyone who wanted the job could do it.

The three officers’ decision to save themselves by declaring a strike immediately inspired most of the rest. They too escaped work they could no longer manage and joined the marching strikers.

The brief calm that followed gave way to celebration. Even the profession that embodied the rulers’ power and control had gone on strike. To the crowd, this was further proof that their cause was just, their methods were right, and their future was bright.

After turning off the television, the mayor shook his head. He walked to the window and looked past the armed security guards in the yard toward the faint glow over downtown. He knew it would be a sleepless night.

Perhaps emboldened by the police strike, the demonstrations that had ended during the day began again. After dinner, people poured into the streets of their own accord. They carried police caps and uniforms on sticks.

Police badges had been threaded together on a cord and dragged across the ground beneath trampling feet.

The blackness of night seemed to draw out the lowest desires buried in people’s hearts. The streets became more dangerous by the hour. When several young men broke from the crowd, smashed the windows of roadside shops, and carried off whatever they could grab, the nature of the march changed.

More and more stores were looted. Countless goods were stolen. The people doing it still spoke as though they occupied the moral high ground. They claimed the looting was simply the price the shop owners deserved to pay for exploiting them.

Just look at it. The city had fallen into an ocean of the people’s liberated will.

The next day, the mayor delivered a televised address. He no longer dared appear in public. He understood perfectly well that with tempers running so high, one reckless act by one desperate man could bring everything crashing down.

He warned the citizens and urged those who had vandalized stores and stolen merchandise to take what they had taken to the police station and turn themselves in. He also called on the leaders and organizers of the protest marches to do what they could to calm the striking crowds.

Instead, his words were taken as a sign of weakness. That afternoon, the radical faction within the strike movement announced that it had occupied the Sabine City Police Department.

They splashed paint across what had once been a reasonably handsome building, leaving the place in a complete mess. Someone even climbed onto the roof and took a shit there…

That same day, Sabine City Hall issued a public notice stating that, in light of the current threat to public safety, it would suspend the distribution of food vouchers and relief vouchers and close every station where those vouchers could be redeemed.

City Hall also warned those who had committed crimes during what had begun as a strike to surrender themselves to the police or the courts as soon as possible in hopes of receiving leniency. The courts had to be mentioned because the police stations had largely ceased functioning. Even if people went to one, there was very little anyone there could do.

The “incompetence” of Sabine City Hall and the mayor was interpreted as weakness by those already sliding into frenzy, though others had begun to worry.

The disorder continued over the next several days, but the crowds in the streets thinned.

Aside from the looters, who could still fill their stomachs with whatever they stole, most ordinary residents had begun to go hungry.

“Hunger won’t solve any of this…”

William stood on the upper floor of a building, looking through the window at a column of smoke rising from the downtown district in the distance. Not long ago, the city had been so quiet.

Perhaps the jobless had made it look a little bleak, but at least it had been safe.

In only a few days, conditions had deteriorated at frightening speed.

Behind him, in an opulently decorated room, well-dressed women and gentlemen stood or sat in small groups. The surrounding tables were covered with exquisite food and an assortment of expensive liquor.

A band along one wall played soft music for the guests.

The man speaking was the organizer of the gathering, a wealthy local businessman. His face was stern, but his eyes burned with anger.

“Our mayor is too weak. I believe we should strike back and crush these hired thugs head-on.” He paused and raised one finger. “Take note, gentlemen. I called them hired thugs.”

“What they are doing is more dangerous and more destructive than anything ordinary hired thugs would attempt. I believe every person in this room has suffered losses to one degree or another, yet so far, our city has produced no effective solution. The mayor does nothing but issue appeals.”

A thin, mocking smile appeared at the corner of the gentleman’s mouth, the kind that made people instinctively uncomfortable. “No one is going to help us. We have only ourselves!”

“I have consulted a lawyer. When those hired thugs break down the doors of our stores, storm inside, and seize our property, we are within our legal rights even if we shoot them dead!”

His voice rose higher and higher. “That is a sacred right granted to us by the Federation Charter!”

The public was unhappy with the mayor, and the city’s capitalists were no more satisfied with him. They were the group least willing to see society descend into turmoil, because the moment it did, their businesses went down with it.

The wealthy businessman claimed he had arranged the gathering to protect private property and resist criminal conduct, but in truth, he clearly had certain “ideas” of his own.

William offered no opinion. He merely stood quietly to one side. People paid attention to him, but the center of the gathering was plainly not William. It was the wealthy businessman.

What the man had said was not entirely correct. Under federal law, “home invasion” generally referred to trespassing upon private property not open for business, meaning a person’s residence. Under those circumstances, the law protected the occupant’s right to respond with force.

But whether commercial premises fell within the same legal concept, and whether an intruder could be shot dead without hesitation, still involved certain technical and moral complications. More importantly, the moment the wealthy businessman explained the purpose of the gathering, his argument ceased to hold together.

If they deliberately stationed gunmen inside their stores for the purpose of killing anyone who came to seize their property, no jury would look kindly upon them. The jurors would consider it premeditated murder.

The gunmen themselves might conceivably be acquitted, but the man who proposed the scheme could very well be convicted of murder. That was why his speech drew so little enthusiasm. There were not many fools in the room.

He spoke for a while longer. Seeing that the atmosphere remained reasonably favorable, he finally moved on to the real subject of the gathering. “When it comes to the problems our city has faced lately, there is one man with a rather different view. I wonder whether any of you are acquainted with State Representative Edward?”

Several people nodded. Edward was a member of the State House of Representatives. He had sponsored a number of proposals concerning urban reform and frequently made a point of going among ordinary citizens and listening to them.

What he took the greatest pride in was his proficiency at blacksmithing and logging. He claimed to have learned those skills from blacksmiths and lumbermen so that he could experience the hardships of labor for himself.

People at the bottom loved that sort of thing. He had earned a certain degree of public recognition.

But his carefully prepared performances did not carry much weight in upper-class circles. And while being a member of the State House of Representatives was certainly impressive, frankly speaking, it only went so far.

As the wealthy businessman was speaking, someone knocked on the door. The man who entered was none other than State Representative Edward.

The businessman offered a brief explanation. “Over the past few days, State Representative Edward and I have exchanged many ideas and opinions. I believe he is a man who takes a genuine interest in our lives and cares deeply about our interests.”

“Recent events have also made me realize that we need someone willing to speak for us!”

At last, everyone understood the purpose of the gathering. It was, in fact, a political event. Some of those present were quite interested. They agreed that the businessman had a point. Up to now, nothing had changed.

Besides, investing in politicians had always been a tradition. Politicians took money from capitalists and used it to expand their influence. In return, once they acquired power, they were expected to use that power to benefit the capitalists who had supported them.

The most common benefit was lower taxes. There were also favorable local policies. Those were precisely the things capitalists valued.

Others found the whole affair tedious. William, for instance, knew more of what was happening behind the scenes. State Representative Edward and his potential supporters had already offended the mayor and the people behind him.

Whether or not they belonged to the same party, or even to the same faction within that party, the affair was bound to plant a few small grudges between them.

That was understandable.

A political party had limited resources. Even major parties such as the Federation Progressive Party and the Federation Conservative Party could concentrate those resources on only a handful of people. Once again, everyone simply forgot about the Socialist Party.

Everyone else had to fight for themselves. Of the countless politicians struggling at the bottom, one or two might carve out a path through the bloodshed and earn a chance to become one of that favored handful.

The current mayor of Sabine City had fought his own way into office. That was why he had attracted the attention of certain people and become one of their potential candidates.

Competition at the bottom was always brutal, whether for ordinary citizens, small businessmen, or these so-called lower-tier politicians.

Tens of millions of little circles gathered in countless rooms, together forming the many faces of society.

Among all the bad news, there was one piece of good news. The water company and its employees had reached an agreement. After two days without service, the company could now guarantee two hours of limited water supply every morning and another two hours every afternoon.

They had managed to reach an agreement because, after two days on strike, the water company’s employees discovered that they too were suffering from the consequences.

It was true that everyone else had no water to drink, but not a single extra drop came out of the faucets in their own homes either. After several rounds of heated negotiations, the two sides had finally arrived at a compromise.

Broadly speaking, the workers would work two fewer hours each week, receive a three-and-a-half-percent increase in monthly pay based on their hourly wages, and gain three additional days of paid leave each year. That was as far as either side could go.

The workers were perfectly content to enjoy their legally protected strike vacation. They were in no hurry to return to work. They still had to lend their strength to the other striking groups.

Perhaps because he noticed William standing alone, State Representative Edward, having just concluded one conversation, approached him with a glass of wine in hand.

William was currently one of the most closely watched businessmen in Sabine City. In an age when the tide was running against business, most firms could forget about making money. Merely staying open without taking a loss was already an achievement worth boasting about.

Yet William’s company was not merely avoiding losses. It made a substantial profit every week.

Even more baffling was the public response. Ordinary people generally held negative views of capitalists, but when it came to William, many of them were grateful to him and to the businesses he operated.

Even the mayor occasionally needed William’s influence to promote certain matters. On top of that, they were planning to cooperate with the television station and the telephone company to introduce live auction broadcasts and telephone bidding.

If those plans truly went into operation, anyone would be able to sense that a terrifying monster was being born.

Outside estimates of William’s company were already approaching the threshold required for a public listing. If the auction they planned to hold in the state capital maintained the same pattern of continued success as the previous ones, even more companies and private investors would put money into William.

Receiving William’s assistance was nearly equivalent to attracting the attention, and perhaps even the support, of the people behind him.

“You didn’t bring a lady with you?” Edward asked as he came to William’s side. He did not underestimate William merely because of his youth.

William turned and inclined his head in greeting. “I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment. You know how it is for men like us. There never seems to be enough time, much less enough to spend on romance.”

He gently swirled the glass in his hand, stirring the liquor inside. “Perhaps I’ll give it some thought after I turn thirty.”

It was an ordinary enough opening. Edward touched his glass against William’s. “Where do you think the real problem lies?”

It was a broad question. William thought for a moment. “Communication.”

If labor and management could calm down and sit together to talk, rather than expressing their demands through something as radical as a general strike, perhaps matters would never have deteriorated this far.

But every problem had two sides. Perhaps they had tried talking before and failed. That might be why strikes had become their customary method, because only then were capitalists willing to listen to what workers had to say.

This general strike, however, far surpassed anything that had come before it, whether in scale, influence, or destructive force.

State Representative Edward pointed at William with the hand holding his glass. “Exactly right. Communication. Up to this point, we have seen no effective channel through which the two sides can communicate. Appeals and speeches do nothing to change the actual situation.”

He was implying that the mayor’s actions were meaningless. On the surface, at least, that certainly appeared to be true.

A smile spread across his face. “I’m not like Langdon and the others, those politicians from the academic and elite factions. They have no idea what the people truly want.”

“But I…” He took a step back, gesturing as he spoke. His body language was unusually expressive, which made his words seem more compelling. “I attended an ordinary elementary school, an ordinary high school, and an ordinary university. I know what those people want because I came from among them.”

That statement did not hold up either. The real “people” he was talking about could not afford to attend a university. Anyone who could was at least middle class. At the very least.

Then he changed direction. “I’m fairly well acquainted with the president of the local labor union. Over the next few days, I intend to speak with him about a plan for resolving the conflict between us. If there is anything you need, perhaps I can raise it during the negotiations.”

That was how he drew people in. He was offering to negotiate face-to-face with the president of the local labor union over the general strike. Many people in the room were desperate to see the strike end and work resume immediately. State Representative Edward had identified their need with remarkable precision, and the leverage he offered was exactly what the room wanted.

That particular chip, however, was of little use with William. He did not employ many workers. What he had was a large group of business partners.

Besides, he had never forced them to work hard. Work if they wanted to, or do not. That was his attitude. Personal interest did more to inspire enthusiasm than any amount of supervision. Money worked better than a whip.

William shook his head. “I appreciate your thinking of me, but I haven’t run into those problems yet.”

Edward was somewhat disappointed, but only somewhat. He had never expected a single casual gathering to win the support of everyone present. If he could truly accomplish that, he would already be the President.

Some things cannot stay hidden.

Ferraler came to visit not long after William returned home.

By now, certain people knew that Ferraler and William were on good terms. The mayor, for instance.

There was nothing unusual about it. Everyone had their own social circle and their own friends, and the mayor understood perfectly well what Ferraler hoped to accomplish. It was no different from what the mayor himself had once done.

As long as the relationship did not harm his interests, he would not interfere. In fact, there were times when their connection made certain things easier for the mayor.

Like now.

Ferraler declined William’s offer of coffee or anything else and came straight to the point. “Why did Edward call all of you together?”

Only someone with a close relationship could ask a question like that outright. Even if Ferraler had managed to ask it without such familiarity, William would not have answered. Their relationship had reached the point where Ferraler could be this direct.

William had the maid make him a cup of coffee. He had been drinking and needed something to clear his head. In truth, he would have preferred plain tea, but this world had no such thing.

After a moment’s thought, he said casually, “He intends to promote his own ideas. He has already drawn a few people to his side. In a few days, they plan to speak with the labor union and see whether the current trouble can be resolved.”

Ferraler’s expression immediately grew grave. There was no question that State Representative Edward’s private initiative was contemptible. This was something City Hall ought to handle, not a member of the State House of Representatives. Edward was not part of Sabine City’s governing authority. He was overstepping his jurisdiction.

What displeased Ferraler even more was the possibility that Edward might actually succeed. If he did, he would gain enormous prestige in Sabine City, laying a strong foundation for a future mayoral campaign.

From the present perspective, Edward was the mayor’s rival. If he succeeded, the mayor would look exactly as the rumors described him: a man who had done nothing and had been a complete fool about it.

From the perspective of the future, Edward was also Ferraler’s rival. He had already made his intention to run for mayor of Sabine City perfectly clear. He would be a formidable opponent.

Worse, that opponent had already started moving ahead of schedule.

“This is important…” Ferraler could no longer sit still. Once Edward built momentum, any results produced by the mayor’s work behind the scenes might very well be credited to Edward’s outstanding efforts during this period.

He rose to leave, but William pointed toward the sofa and stopped him. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference. I have a new idea. Perhaps we should discuss it.”

Ferraler studied William for a moment, then sat down again. “I hope it isn’t a long one.”

William burst out laughing. Ferraler rarely complained. This was his line of work, and anyone who had lasted as long as he had was usually past the point of complaining. Yet he had complained now, which made it all the more amusing.

After laughing for a while, William’s voice settled into its usual calm. “I want to take over the power company.”

Ferraler froze for a moment. “That may be difficult. The people behind the power company have connections at the state level…”

Profitable public-utility businesses rarely remained in the hands of anyone without political backing. It had long since become part of the state’s circulation of interests.

Sabine City Power Company was controlled by another corporate group, and that group had extremely close ties to the governor and the leadership of the Progressive Party. Trying to snatch food from their mouths would be extraordinarily difficult.

“But they have clearly chosen the wrong side. At a time like this, choosing the right side matters more than ever…” William paused. He had realized the matter would not be simple, but he had not expected it to be this complicated, reaching all the way to the governor and the Progressive Party leadership.

After a brief silence, he changed his approach. “What if I establish another power company and supply electricity to the city grid at a comparatively low price?”

Ferraler considered it for a while, then nodded. “The people at Midland Power Network only care about money. Show them a little goodwill, and they won’t refuse you.”

Midland Power Network was a publicly traded company. It was not a government agency, but a joint-stock corporation. In addition to Midland Power Network, there were Eastern Power Network, Western Power Network, Southern Power Network, and Northern Power Network. All five grid companies had originally been part of the same organization.

Their predecessor was the Federation Power Network. But when the Antitrust Act was implemented throughout the Federation, the Federation Power Network was divided into five regional grid companies, each controlling the largest and most densely developed transmission network within its own territory.

Yet the power behind those companies had not truly been divided along with the corporation. They still belonged to the same person, or rather, to the same family and the interest group surrounding that person.

Through various forms of cross-shareholding, the trust had been dismembered in the public eye by popular will and justice. In reality, it had merely changed its face, slipped deeper into society, and blended in with the public.

A corporation of that scale did not care who supplied electricity to its grid. It cared only about how much money it could make. And with the influence it possessed, no local administration could easily interfere with its decisions.

A single citywide or even statewide blackout would be enough to make local officials swallow their pride and compromise.

Seeing how composed William looked, Ferraler could not resist discouraging him. “I don’t think much of your plan. The Federation Environmental Agency rarely approves applications for thermal power plants anymore. Even local government pressure won’t make them relent. You should be prepared for that.”

The electricity currently supplied by Sabine City Power Company came from thermal generation. In addition to conventional fuels, the plant also burned municipal waste, a method that had become increasingly popular for dealing with urban garbage.

In major cities especially, the sheer volume of daily waste made landfill disposal impractical. Incineration, by comparison, was much easier.

Anything combustible could be burned to generate electricity. Noncombustible materials such as metal could be sent back into processing plants. Add government subsidies for waste disposal, revenue from electricity sales, and various other forms of financial support, and the power company could still turn a profit.

But the environmental pollution caused by thermal power was also a major problem. The Federation Environmental Agency now approved very few new thermal power projects. Connections did not help.

Every region had a few poor people who, for one reason or another, could resist the influence of money on certain issues. Unless those people could be dealt with, the project would never receive approval.

William shook his head and did not elaborate. Shortly afterward, he let Ferraler leave.

His actual idea had nothing to do with thermal power. He was thinking of hydroelectric generation. He even wanted a share of the waterworks business.

Hart had told him that the lake beside the houses Hart had exchanged for the club’s land might be artificially expanded within the next five to ten years and developed into Sabine City’s new water source.

The current water supply was already approaching full capacity. Once the city’s population increased further, and once the economy recovered and people began concentrating in the city again, an enormous water shortage would inevitably emerge. A new water source would have to be developed.

A stagnant lake could not serve as a municipal water source. To make the water flow, channels would have to be built both into and out of it. If the difference in elevation could be used to construct three or five small or medium-sized hydroelectric stations, while allowing him to absorb the water company into the deal as well, William saw no problem at all.

What if the existing water company refused?

That was impossible. William would act as the “representative” of the dozens of households around the lake and declare that they recognized only William’s company as having the legal right to use the local water resources.

The following morning, the situation in Sabine City suddenly began to change. City Hall announced that it would select fifteen strike delegates from various trades and industries to enter City Hall and sit down face-to-face with the mayor for frank discussions aimed at resolving the present crisis.

The announcement seemed to quiet the chaotic city almost at once, at least compared with the previous few days. That alone showed that no one truly wanted matters to develop this far.

Everyone waited in hope, hoping the crisis could be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

Meanwhile, demonstrations were also taking place in Bupain, the capital of the Federation.

On the evening of November twenty-second, several young men left the approved parade route without registration or explanation. During a confrontation with riot police, a violent clash broke out.

One teenager was shot four times and died at the scene. Another was shot eleven times and later died in the hospital despite emergency treatment.

Several other young people suffered injuries of varying severity.

The riot police at the scene insisted that the young men had left the march route, attempted to smash and loot a store, and tried to light Molotov cocktails and throw them at the officers. Even so, the public could not forgive them.

“Weapons meant to protect the people have become axes in the hands of executioners, taking the lives of innocent citizens!”

In an instant, the entire Federation became like a cauldron set over a fire, filled with boiling oil. A single drop of ice water fell into its center, and the whole thing erupted.

At the same time, Congress once again introduced a motion to begin impeachment proceedings against the President. Congress formally accepted the proceedings and moved them into the voting stage.

After remaining silent for more than half a month, certain voices in the press began to speak. They argued that the root of the present crisis was the President’s obsession with purging political opponents while ignoring citizens’ rights. Some even claimed that he was deliberately allowing the unrest to continue.

Rhetoric about the President’s incompetence flooded the Federation. The country itself became a joke before the entire world.

In the relative calm of the postwar international community, people needed news like this to provide a little diversion.

Naturally, that did not include the people living through it.

On November twenty-first, negotiations between the mayor of Sabine City and the strike delegates produced no progress of any value. The workers’ demands exceeded the bottom line of both the mayor and the capitalist representatives participating in the talks.

They wanted higher wages, shorter working hours, and better benefits.

Had they asked for only one of those things, or made smaller concessions on each demand, there would have been room to negotiate. The workers at the water company, for example, had not asked for much, which gave both sides a basis for reaching an agreement.

But these strike delegates wanted too much. The most ridiculous demand came from one labor representative, who wanted the workweek reduced from sixty hours to fifty, wages raised by five percent, and chunks of meat and fresh fruit provided every day at noon.

The capitalists would sooner let themselves be butchered than agree to terms like that. Naturally, the fifteen labor representatives maintained a common front to a certain extent. Even those who believed there was room to negotiate refused to do so for the sake of preserving the so-called unity of the movement.

The disagreements that had existed from the beginning turned the negotiations into a farce. The labor representatives and the capitalist delegates ended the talks by accusing and cursing one another.

The workers took this as proof that the mayor had never negotiated in good faith. They believed he had sided with the capitalists. Combined with the escalation of the Bupain shooting, the unrest in Sabine City, and throughout the state, intensified once again.

People had begun smashing, looting, and setting fires in broad daylight. Some even shouted, “Come on, shoot me dead!” while breaking the law, using the slogan to vent their rage at the present situation.

There were also people who understood, somewhere inside, that this was wrong. But they said nothing. At a time like this, speaking up was not the cleverest choice.

On November twenty-third, with everything on the verge of truly spinning out of control, the governor delivered a public address. He called on all citizens to leave the streets and return to their homes as soon as possible, to lock their doors and windows, and to protect their lives and property.

At the same time, he urged those involved in vandalism, looting, and arson to surrender voluntarily, and ordered the protest marches, which had already descended into chaos, to end immediately.

Those words, which sounded like something only a dictator would say, had no effect. They clung too fiercely to their precious idea of freedom. Though their stomachs were empty, though every step felt like physical torment, they still raised their banners and chanted their slogans in weak, exhausted voices.

At seven-thirty on the evening of November twenty-fourth, the governor personally signed the first gubernatorial executive order of the year and notified the War Department and the other relevant agencies. Beginning at five-thirty on the morning of November twenty-fifth, the entire state would be placed under military control.

A gubernatorial executive order of this kind could be issued only during an emergency. Put simply, when circumstances had become too serious to wait for approval from the President’s Cabinet and Congress, the governor could temporarily assume supreme authority over both civil and military affairs within the state.

Naturally, once the crisis ended, the governor would be subject to a joint investigation by federal security agencies, including the National Security Council and the Federation Committee on Internal Affairs, and would also have to appear at a congressional hearing.

If they concluded that the governor’s decisions had been justified under the circumstances, the matter would end there. If they believed there had been problems with his conduct or methods, a formal case could be opened against him.

This time, the governor ordered that no one was permitted to appear on the streets outside the designated hours, no one was permitted to approach or charge soldiers on duty, and no further acts of vandalism, looting, or arson would be tolerated in the name of freedom. Anyone who violated the order would face the harshest possible response.

At eight o’clock that evening, the announcement spread rapidly through television stations into every household in the state. Beyond their fear, people were filled with anger.

This was an insult to human rights and freedom, a trampling of both!

This was a desecration of the Federation’s precious spirit of liberty!

That same evening, the mayor announced that a second round of labor negotiations would begin on November twenty-seventh, again under his personal direction.

Also that night, the labor union held an emergency meeting to discuss its response.

The wave of labor strikes had swept across the Federation with astonishing speed, and the labor unions had undeniably played a crucial role in making that happen.

The reason was simple. Workers in one city could not possibly know that workers in another city a thousand miles away were preparing to march and strike. They had no way to pay attention to places that distant. The unions did.

Driven by their common interests, the unions began passing messages and coordinating labor organizations across the country. What might otherwise have remained one of the dozens of small, insignificant strikes that occurred every year suddenly became a nationwide general strike of enormous scale.

Now that the trouble had grown so serious, while some of their demands still remained unresolved, they were no longer certain whether they should continue holding out.

After a night of discussion, they decided they needed to test the authorities’ position before determining how to respond to the present situation.

As for how they would test it, they would send people out and see what happened.

On the morning of November twenty-fifth, Sabine City was already deep in late autumn and approaching winter. At five-thirty, darkness still covered the city. Under standard time, the winter sun rose far more slowly than it did during daylight saving time. Perhaps it was still enjoying the warmth of its bed and refusing to get up.

At that moment, fully armed soldiers entered the city along its main routes.

At that same instant, a group of workers with varying expressions blocked the soldiers’ path. They linked arms, binding themselves tightly together. With heads high and chests out, they sang the famous song “Long Live the Free Federation,” staring fearlessly at the soldiers and refusing to let them advance.

The lead vehicle in the military column slowly came to a stop. A soldier in his thirties stepped out. He had blond hair, blue-gray eyes, and the insignia on his shoulders identified him as an army major.

His immaculate appearance, combined with the uniform, gave him a grave, imposing air.

He rested one hand on the vehicle door and looked at the ordinary people blocking the road. Because he stood behind the headlights, the crowd could see only two glaring beams and a blurred silhouette. They could not make out his face.

The major walked around to the front of the vehicle. He looked over the crowd, then raised his wrist and checked his watch. “It is five minutes to five-thirty. Under the governor’s order, everyone must return home and submit to military control before five-thirty.”

He lowered his arm and stared coldly at the people before him. “You have four minutes left. If you are still within my sight four minutes from now, you will not need to go home.”

Some of the striking workers blocking the soldiers’ path felt their legs begin to weaken. Anyone willing to accept the labor union’s request and come out to test the military at a time like this was already unusually brave.

But faced with those impassive soldiers, the courage that had carried them through vandalism, looting, and arson seemed to be evaporating rapidly.

As their nerve failed, the song they were singing lost some of its grandeur and took on a note of exhaustion and fear. That was not how “Long Live the Free Federation” was meant to be sung.

The major stood calmly in front of the vehicle with both hands behind his back, his blue-gray eyes resting indifferently on the crowd.

After a moment, he said, “Three minutes remaining…”

The singing weakened further. Had they not been linking arms, someone might already have broken away and fled.

Soldiers and police officers both carried guns, but they were fundamentally different. Soldiers inspired a deeper kind of fear.

“Two minutes…”

“One minute.”

When he reached one minute, the major raised his wrist again and fixed his eyes on the watch face. “You have forty-seven seconds. Now forty-three. Forty-two…”

He began counting down. His voice was not loud, yet it smothered every other sound. As the singing died away, the atmosphere grew heavy.

Some people tore their arms free and turned to run toward their homes inside the city. Others believed this was only an attempt to frighten them. They were merely standing there, and the military had no right to attack them.

Watching the crowd steadily shrink, the corner of the major’s mouth lifted in a mocking smile. “Ten…”

“Nine…”

“Never mind. It seems you have no intention of leaving, so I’ll stop counting.” He lowered his wrist and turned toward another soldier standing behind him. “Was my joke not funny?”

In the cold of that late-autumn morning, beads of sweat appeared on the soldier’s temple. He gave several nervous laughs. “Very funny, Major.”

The major looked at him until the soldier began to squirm, then said, “Too theatrical. Double basic training when we return.” With that, he took hold of the vehicle door and climbed back inside. Then he issued an order to the soldiers behind him. “Arrest these rioters. Lethal force is authorized if necessary.”

In an instant, the soldiers charged forward like wolves released from a cage. They turned their most professional military skills against ordinary people with almost no ability to resist.

From inside the vehicle, the major watched as the civilians were beaten bloody, forced hard against the pavement, and held there with no fewer than two rifle barrels pointed at each of their heads. Satisfied, he pulled his lambskin gloves back on.

He knew that what he had done would be reported to his commanding officer at the military base, perhaps even directly to the War Department. He did not care.

He understood perfectly well that, under pressure, the country was about to shed its harmless disguise. For the next ten years, at least ten years, it would become a paradise for hawks and radicals. That was the kind of era every soldier loved most.

The harder and more aggressive he appeared now, the greater his opportunities would be later.

An officer of his rank was already senior enough to know something of the movements among the upper leadership. He hoped his performance would catch their attention. He wanted to lead troops on missions overseas and show the world the strength of Federation soldiers.

He wanted them to understand that the Federation’s isolation had never come from fear. It had simply chosen not to hurt anyone.

In less than a minute, the striking workers who had left the police helpless had been beaten black and blue. Their wrists were bound together with a rope as thick as a man’s forearm, stringing them into a line that was fastened behind an armored vehicle.

If they did not want to be dragged, they had better keep moving at a trot. By then, their whole bodies aching, they had no complaints left and no curses to offer. They could only follow in silence.

At five-thirty, the eastern sky began to pale.

“Things were brought under control much faster than expected!”

Walking along the busiest street in Sabine City, one could finally feel the desolation that followed a period of unrest.

There were few people on the streets. Those who were outside kept their backs bent and their heads down, terrified of attracting the attention of the soldiers on patrol.

In the course of a single morning, public order in the city had been brought under remarkably effective control. By now, there was almost no criminal activity to be seen, at least not anywhere people could casually look.

A few people had tried provoking the soldiers. They had not known what had happened that morning, and in the end, they got exactly the result they wanted.

Some were forced to the ground. Others fled home, only to discover that the soldiers had no intention of letting the matter go. Not only were they pinned down, but their families were forced to the floor as well. In a sense, their wishes had been fulfilled.

Unfortunately, they no longer had the courage to shout stirring slogans like, “Who’s going to shoot me dead?” Someone might actually have granted their request.

The curfew was not in effect at that hour. Every day, from nine to eleven in the morning and from four to six in the afternoon, people were permitted to go outside in an orderly manner.

The orderly part was mandatory. More than three people walking together might be questioned by soldiers. Groups of more than five could generally expect to be lined up facedown on the pavement.

Marches?

Demonstrations?

Those were over. At eight forty-five that morning, every channel operated by Sabine City Television Station had interrupted its programming with a special report.

The motion to begin impeachment proceedings against the President had formally passed the first round of voting and entered a second vote. If it passed again, the President would face the embarrassment of being driven from the Presidential Palace.

He might become only the second President in Federation history to be expelled from the Presidential Palace. Like the last one, he would become a national joke, the kind people would still be laughing about decades or even centuries later.

The report claimed that all the suffering society was currently enduring had, in fact, originated with the mistakes made by the President and his Cabinet in formulating domestic and foreign policy. Their recent mass arrests of political opponents had also spread panic among the public, ultimately triggering the enormous wave of strikes.

The report was almost like a staircase placed in front of the public after they had inflicted irreparable damage on society, giving them an easy way down while dumping the bulk of their crimes onto the President and his Cabinet.

All at once, the people sitting in front of their television sets “understood.”

So that was the truth. The President and his Cabinet were the real culprits. No wonder everyone had felt deceived…

A great many people breathed easier. They had also found an outlet for everything they had done over the past month. It had all been the President’s fault.

That was precisely why a general strike that had originally been nothing exceptional had swept through the entire Federation so quickly. The senior leadership of the government had allowed it to happen. They needed the country united as one.

Simple propaganda and speeches could never truly bring everyone together. But now they had managed it. Whether people genuinely believed the story or merely needed an excuse for what they had done, they had no choice but to stand with the emerging mainstream.

The report successfully shifted public attention away from the strikes and the conflict between labor and capital, drawing it back toward the President’s impeachment. People now hoped the impeachment would succeed, which would only prove even more conclusively that everything had been the President’s fault.

At the same time, governments across the country accelerated negotiations between labor and management. Most regions also began enforcing strict controls. The abrupt reversal in the attitude of local city halls toward the public left some people at a loss.

It was like a mother who had always indulged her child, patiently tolerating every act of mischief, until one day the child went too far and she slapped him hard enough to send him sprawling.

The child would cry from the pain, but the pain would also teach him what respect meant, at least until it faded and he was struck again.

“Where did all the hobos go?”

William noticed that the streets were so clean there was not a single hobo in sight. It hardly felt like the Federation. Hobos had long since become part of the Baler Federation’s social culture. Frankly, when they all disappeared overnight, their absence was strangely unsettling.

The sergeant first class pursed his lips before explaining, “They’ve been gathered in one place and placed under centralized supervision. I mean, they’re still relatively free. There’s simply someone managing them now.”

William nodded in understanding. “I see. You really didn’t need to explain.”

The sergeant first class said no more. His explanation had been meant to keep William from judging the military too harshly or regarding it as excessively cruel and inhumane.

Whenever military control was imposed, hobos were always among the first to suffer.

They would be driven into a designated area and ordered to surrender all their personal property, meaning cardboard boxes and assorted pieces of worthless but potentially useful trash, bottles, cans, and the like.

Inspecting every item for danger required too much manpower. The military had neither the time nor the personnel, so the simplest solution was to confiscate everything. As for whether the hobos objected?

No. They would not object. They would cooperate. No one could remain as defiant as usual with a black gun barrel pointed at them.

Hobos had already become a largely invisible social group. Even if some of them disappeared, few people would notice, and fewer still would cause trouble over it.

The second round of labor negotiations was being held that day. William had nothing else to do, so he decided to come watch the spectacle.

The consignment auction could not currently be held. City Hall would never approve such a request. It would also gather too many people in one place. At a sensitive time like this, any accident could turn into a political incident. For the sake of stability, everything else had to give way.

Since he had nothing better to do, he might as well observe the negotiations. After all, he could be considered a capitalist of some local standing.

When William arrived at the venue, there was no assigned seat bearing his name. He sat at the edge of the hall instead, which was actually a good position.

No one paid attention to a young man sitting in a corner, but William could see most of the people beneath the lights and identify them by the name cards in front of their seats.

From the beginning, the negotiations were thick with hostility. The workers had stopped rioting, but their problems remained unresolved. Their attitude at the negotiating table was not going to improve merely because the streets had quieted.

To bring about a settlement as quickly as possible, the labor unions had also sent several commissioners to mediate between the workers and the capitalists.

They understood the authorities’ position now, so they too intended to restore everything to normal.

Naturally, the labor representatives had relaxed their bottom line slightly since the previous negotiations. They were prepared to accept the capitalists’ demand for a full work schedule, meaning sixty hours a week, with one day off on the weekend and ten hours of work on each of the other six days.

That was already a relatively moderate schedule. In some other places, workers were still required to work twelve hours a day, seventy-two hours a week.

Wages, however, had to rise. Four and a half percent was a figure both labor and management could accept.

There were still many disputes over benefits that could not be resolved.

Even so, it was a promising sign. At least they had settled part of the problem. Perhaps next time, or the time after that, once everyone had gone home and discussed the matter with cooler heads, someone would make another concession.

Was that not what negotiation was, a process of mutual retreat, step by step, until both sides reached terms they could accept?

What surprised William was that something unrelated to either work or workers had also been brought into the negotiations.

After the major issues had been discussed, the mayor was preparing to declare the session concluded, one that had made substantial progress without achieving any specific breakthrough, when a labor union commissioner cleared his throat and drew everyone’s attention.

The commissioner pressed his lips together, his expression solemn. “Mr. Mayor, I have one additional request. This request has nothing to do with management. It concerns you personally.”

“Me?” The mayor lowered his head and looked at the commissioner seated across from him through the narrow space between his glasses and brow. Then he simply removed his glasses and rubbed around his eyes. “In that case, we can discuss it. It should go much faster than your discussions.”

The commissioner understood that the mayor was mocking them for wasting time on minor points. In fact, that had been a strategy. The purpose was to make the capitalists understand that once workers began causing trouble, settling the matter would not be easy.

Once the capitalists understood that, everyday disputes would become easier to handle.

The commissioner offered a polite smile. “My apologies for taking up so much of your time. This request comes from the majority of ordinary workers.”

“That’s what you said when you were rioting too!” someone interjected.

Several capitalists responded with easy laughter steeped in contempt.

The commissioner showed no embarrassment or anger. In a sense, he was not a member of the working class himself. He belonged to a layer built above the workers, and he did not consider himself working class. As a result, neither the remark nor the discourteous laughter particularly bothered him.

Still, a warning had to be given. Then he continued, “At present, many of our workers are unable to work or have lost their jobs. They can barely keep their households running. We also know that City Hall stopped distributing food vouchers some time ago. We hope the distribution and redemption of food vouchers can resume as soon as possible.”

He raised his voice slightly, underscoring the seriousness of the matter. “This concerns whether people will starve to death, and the daily survival of hundreds of thousands of working families!”

At the very beginning of the general strike, the mayor had cited the social instability caused by the walkout, along with attacks on redemption stations, and immediately suspended both the distribution of food vouchers and their exchange for food.

City Hall gave no definite answer as to when the program would resume.

When the general strike first erupted, people had not considered that problem. Later, as the unrest intensified and supermarkets were looted, some people obtained large quantities of supplies, so the issue did not seem particularly serious at first.

Once again, the labor unions had played a part. To some extent, they had filled part of the workers’ food shortage. Workers who had not participated in the vandalism, looting, and arson went to the unions, which bought back their food vouchers through private exchanges. That allowed those people to keep themselves half-fed instead of starving outright.

At a time like this, the food vouchers had become a new form of money, a currency not officially recognized but possessing every essential feature of one. The labor unions were not performing an act of charity. They could even make a profit from the transactions.

Mark’s company was also buying food vouchers, allowing the entire city to maintain a grotesque sort of equilibrium at the most basic level. People could barely hold on, but they would not be able to do so much longer.

A few days earlier, when hunger became unbearable, people could still take to the streets to smash, loot, and burn. Across Sabine City, not a single supermarket or superstore escaped destruction. Every one had been stripped clean, without so much as a scrap of food left behind. At least that had allowed some people to obtain something to eat.

Things were different now. Soldiers had entered the city, and any criminal conduct was met with immediate and severe punishment. No one dared take the risk anymore.

The gunfire heard throughout the city that morning had been enough to frighten people into staying indoors. Once they hid themselves at home, however, they had to confront a problem they could no longer avoid: how were they supposed to fill their stomachs?

That was why the labor union, acting on behalf of the workers, had raised the issue at the meeting. The distribution of food vouchers and the promise that they could be exchanged for food had to resume as soon as possible, or people would not be able to hold out.

After listening to the labor union commissioner’s request, the mayor took a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his glasses.

He was no longer young. In truth, he disliked wearing glasses at serious occasions like this, but time spared no one. Without them, he had difficulty reading certain documents.

Then again, he was not particularly old either. For a politician, he was in his prime.

He had nearly finished reading the documents and had no intention of putting the glasses back on, so naturally he took the opportunity to wipe them before putting them away.

As he polished away smudges and oil that were not actually there, he said without looking up, “The distribution and redemption of food vouchers had always operated steadily. But the general strike disrupted the firms involved. Until the strike has been fully resolved, we will not consider reopening the distribution and redemption system.”

He placed the glasses back in their case and looked up at the labor union commissioner. “Once these negotiations are concluded and everything returns to its proper course, we can discuss food vouchers and food redemption again.”

The seemingly minor issue immediately put the union commissioner and the representatives behind him in a chokehold. Every face showed either calculation or restrained anger.

Ferraler, seated beside the mayor, volunteered an account of what had happened at the redemption stations. Food supplies had been looted, food vouchers had been stolen, and staff members had been injured.

The anger on the other side vanished at once. Those things had been done by striking workers. What right did they have to blame anyone else?

By the time Ferraler finished, the mayor had gathered all his personal belongings from the table. He looked around the room. “Does anyone have anything else?”

After waiting roughly ten seconds, he declared the second round of negotiations concluded. Whether the meeting had succeeded or failed depended entirely on whom one asked.

The labor representatives and union officials quickly left the venue. They took a bus back to union headquarters and began discussing what they had gained from the negotiations and where they would have to make concessions during the next round.

William had watched the entire process. On the way back, he had already understood that the mayor had won.

Sometimes one had to admire politicians. When they devoted all their attention and energy to this particular field, the results could be remarkable.

There was no doubt that after today, the striking workers would split into two camps. The cause would be the suspension of food-voucher distribution and redemption, or rather, the real substance of life beneath all the grand appearances: the need to fill one’s stomach.

Whether or not the redemption stations Ferraler described had truly been attacked, the mayor had at least used those incidents as his justification for suspending the program.

The “orderly” faction within the striking workers had suffered direct harm to its own interests. A rift would inevitably open between them and the “disorderly” faction, and that rift would widen until the two groups separated completely.

Throughout the general strike, the newspapers had reported how many stores were looted each day and the value of the goods lost. That also gave an outlet to the resentment that cowardice had bred in certain people.

Look at them. They had all been on strike. Some had been bold enough to smash stores and steal large quantities of merchandise. Others had been too timid to act, even while watching with envy, jealousy, and bitterness.

Now City Hall had given them both an excuse and a reason to hate. Once they had grounds to condemn the looters, the ugliest part of human nature would drive them to seize the moral high ground the mayor had handed them and accuse those people of destroying the peace and freedom they had once enjoyed.

They might even convince themselves that the vandalism, looting, and arson they had once envied, resented, and even considered joining had been the true cause of the strike’s failure. The radical workers would become the objects of their hostility.

Any movement, no matter how powerful it appeared, had already reached its end once it began splitting from within.

There was no doubt that the unremarkable food voucher had become the final straw that broke Sabine City’s general strike.

To get food back into people’s stomachs as quickly as possible, and to give something nourishing to children already suffering from yellow, watery diarrhea caused by prolonged hunger, the negotiations began advancing at an unprecedented pace.

On December ninth, two weeks after the previous session, everything was settled during the fourth round of labor negotiations. There was little bargaining. In the end, the workers received a wage increase, at least one meal containing beef each week, and a commitment from management to cover part of the medical expenses for injuries sustained at work. With that, the enormous general strike came to an end.

Afterward, the mayor promised the labor representatives and union officials that beginning the following Tuesday, food-voucher distribution would resume, redemption stations would reopen, and assistance would once again be provided to citizens in need.

The curtain had fallen on Sabine City’s general strike, but its influence and consequences were far from over.

The workers’ problems had been settled. Next came the capitalists’ problems.

So many stores had been vandalized and burned during the strike, and so much property had been stolen. Someone would have to answer for it.

“This will not simply be forgotten…” Mark stood among a group of gentlemen, raising his glass as he spoke in a tone of complete certainty. The words were deeply satisfying to everyone who heard them.

The after-party celebrating the end of the strike had been organized by Mark. Everyone knew he was the mayor’s nephew. To some extent, his words represented the mayor’s position as well.

The strike amounted to a minor victory for the working class in the war between labor and capital. But anyone who believed that the capitalists had been completely defeated simply because the workers had obtained some of what they wanted was painfully naive.

The businessmen in the room understood far better how to use the rules to vent their anger and give the workers a thorough beating.

Yes, methods that stayed within the rules. Surely the workers did not believe that smashing, looting, and burning privately owned businesses had been legal.

If it was illegal, then crimes had been committed. Once someone chose to pursue the matter, someone would inevitably have to pay.

The habitual troublemakers would be eliminated in a perfectly lawful manner. Not biologically eliminated, of course. They would simply be thrown out of the plants and sent to prison.

Under ordinary circumstances, dismissing them without a clear reason could produce unpleasant consequences. These men were agitators. Unlike ordinary workers, they would not quietly accept being fired.

They would take the lead in stirring up trouble, and sometimes the losses they caused were greater than the cost of keeping them employed.

This time, however, there was nothing to fear. They would be sent to prison. In addition, the labor representatives at their plants would also be placed on the dismissal list, on the grounds that they had failed to organize the strike and protests in an orderly manner, allowed workers to lose control, and caused damage to the plants.

As for the rest of the workers?

They would not continue making trouble. Their wages had increased, their benefits had improved, and the plants had even agreed to make certain concessions on the increasingly contentious issue of workplace injuries. Why would they keep fighting?

The labor representatives and troublemakers would both be removed from the plants. That was what the capitalists had gained from the strike.

For the years that followed, perhaps several years, perhaps more than a decade, until the next general strike erupted, they would be free to exploit and oppress the workers as much as the rules allowed. The workers, in turn, would endure that lawful exploitation until they could bear it no longer and someone became the first to stand up again.

Tom was an exceedingly ordinary name, so ordinary that people were almost reluctant to saddle their children with something so bland.

But it was a person’s name, and the man who bore it was presently hiding in an alley, sick with fear.

A military truck rolled slowly along the street. The men aboard could not see Tom crouched at the deepest end of the alley. The soldier with both hands resting on the machine gun watched only for figures that might step into the light.

The strike had ended, and military control had eased somewhat, becoming a curfew instead.

For the eleven hours between six in the evening and seven the following morning, no one was permitted on the streets without a legitimate reason.

The military had originally intended to issue passes to those who needed to go out at night, but someone argued that such a measure resembled the oppressive rule practiced by unfree countries under dictatorships and might tarnish the Baler Federation’s reputation as a free nation. The idea and the policy were therefore abandoned.

Instead, anyone stopped on the street had to provide the soldiers at the checkpoint with a Social Insurance number and an explanation for why they were somewhere other than their bedroom during curfew.

That was much freer. No one interfered with the people’s free will. They could appear anywhere they wished, at any time they wished, provided they could explain why.

Such was the sweet taste of liberty. Long live the free Federation!

The military truck’s departure allowed Tom to breathe again. After waiting a while and hearing no patrolmen’s boots striking the pavement, he resumed slipping forward between light and shadow.

His destination this time was Neil’s house.

Neil was his best friend. They had been classmates since the first grade, and until recently, they had worked in the same plant. They had even managed to lose their jobs together.

Calling it unemployment was not entirely accurate. They had not exactly been fired. The plant had simply shut down completely, indefinitely.

At the time, their foreman had proposed taking a group into the raw-materials warehouse, hauling the stock directly to the workshops, using it all up, and dividing the finished goods among themselves to sell and make up for their losses.

On that issue, the two good friends, who had always walked the same road, found themselves divided.

Later, Tom and the other workers broke into the plant’s raw-materials warehouse and hauled the stock into the workshops for production. The finished goods were divided equally among all the workers, who took them home and disposed of them as they pleased. Most of it, according to rumor, had been sold to the Interstellar Trading Company.

Although the Consignment Auction could not operate normally during the general strike, purchasing goods had never been a problem. Of course, the main reason people followed the proper rules while selling their merchandise was that armed security guards protected the purchasing station. Judging by their professional bearing, they were probably the genuine article.

Everyone had assumed there would be no consequences. The plant owner had done nothing to them during the strike. Yet the moment the strike ended, their boss sued every one of them and demanded compensation totaling more than three million dollars.

The police and soldiers had already begun arresting them. A new batch of police officers was now in place, and they carried out their duties far more efficiently than the old ones.

The former officers had assumed they could simply return to work when the strike ended. They had overlooked the fact that they were not the only available choice, and the Veterans Office had recognized the opportunity.

Large numbers of veterans filled the vacant positions at the Sabine City Police Department and all its precincts. As for the officers who had intended to come back once the strike was over, there were no jobs left for them.

Under those circumstances, hoping to escape legal punishment was nearly impossible. After narrowly avoiding arrest once, Tom decided to ask Neil for help. He had heard that Neil was doing well now and even held some sort of manager’s title. Perhaps he could help.

When the damages were divided among everyone involved, the amount was not actually that high. Only ten or twenty thousand dollars apiece.

Only.

After slipping past several patrols without incident, Tom finally reached Neil’s door. He knocked. Before long, he heard movement inside.

Perhaps it was because the city was as quiet as a graveyard, without the slightest trace of background noise, but Tom heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked inside the room.

At the same time, Neil’s wary voice came from within. “There’s no money here, and we don’t want any trouble…”

The crimes committed during the general strike