The next morning, Zel hadn’t come back to Korrich’s home. Korrich and Silen were just finishing their preparations for the gathering and felt a strange sense of worry for their guardian.

“Maybe he left,” Silen suggested, not believing it herself as she strapped on what meager jewelry she had.

“A man who is shot seven times to get near another will not leave without very good reason. And a Prophet is never lost that easily,” Korrich said as he zipped up his best jacket. He looked quite presentable, but still kept to his image of pragmatism and simplicity.

It was at this moment that a slightly bedraggled Zel came through the door. “Are you ready?” was all he said to the two slightly startled Korrichs.

“Where have you been?” Silen demanded, her scorn emphasized with her irritation at being surprised.

“Protecting you,” Zel said simply.

“And how is it you been doing that exactly?” Korrich asked, an inquisitive eyebrow raised at Zel.

“You’ll see. All you need to know is you’re safe. Are you ready?” Zel asked.

Korrich and his wife paused. Korrich was curious, but the expressionless face of Zel told him that he’d get no further out of the Prophet.

“Lead on. The people are waiting,” Korrich said as he put on his thin-brimmed hat and walked out the door.

Grich, the capitol city of the planet Grichia, was an array of buildings. One hundred years of erecting new structures in the Grichian manner had remade the city completely. Old buildings had been replaced with the grand and ornate domes and spiral walls the Grichians loved. Other races called it tacky, but it was always a Grichian trait to make everything seem hand-made and spectacular. They despised the pragmatic and industrial-seeming look of Cawns. And the sharp, angular feel of the Mills’ architecture made them feel anxious.

There were many other styles of other races built into the groundwork of the capital city. Thousands of years of conquest had razed and reshaped and razed again the former glories of races as they waxed and waned in power. Only one hundred years after the Grichians took power, there was not a single remnant of the wooded and flowery, natural look of the city’s former owners, the now minor race of Hamans.

It was into this city of age-old strife that Korrich had planned his great gathering. It was completely illegal, as Grichian law prevented other races from even thinking about showing power. Still, Korrich walked down through a widening gap in the people as he made his way toward the podium, set up at its new location toward the center of the street.

“Yes! Stay strong! And stay true to who you are!” Korrich shouted and waved as the happy crowd greeted him with cheers.

Zel began to feel anxious. With all these people, any one of them could be a potential assassin. If they were another race, he could tell, they all had a distinct skin color, and he thoroughly checked them all. The leaders of all the minor races had houses in this city, by law to keep enemies watched closely, and a gathering of assassins could easily be made.

There were none but pale-skinned Cawns in the crowd. Still, being out in the open was risky for such a prominent man. And it was taking forever to just get to the podium.

Zel stayed close to Korrich. “One, maybe two hundred thousand people are here,” Zel said without emotion as they made their way through the crowd.

“What of it, my scarred friend?” Korrich asked, his voice barely audible through the shouts.

Silen was busy giving out hugs and thanks to their race, handing out food coupons to some still wearing their work jumpsuits.

“How did you set up this meeting? I thought demonstrations were illegal,” Zel commented emotionlessly.

“It was easy. All that I have to do is mention the new tax laws that have come out. There’s a law that states that any minor race can meet to inform about a new tax law. They make them so frequently, and the Grichians so desperately need the funding for their buildings, that they always want us minor races to be aware,” Korrich said, and happily greeted a man who’d come from Frontier.

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“So you found a loophole. Clever.” Zel gave a respectful bow to the Frontierman.

“I haven’t lasted this long out of a cell by being blessed with good looks, golden one,” Korrich said with a smile, and continued his greetings.

Zel was pleased. His faith that he’d made a wise choice in coming was reaffirmed once again.

“Keep that cover tight,” Silen said as she broke off from another group of well-wishers. “I don’t want anyone seeing your face, or your sword.” She forcefully retightened the cloth covering all but Zel’s eyes and checked the black suit she’d given him. “If anyone sees—”

Zel softly grabbed her hand before she could point her finger between his eyes. “Please, it’s fine. I know the risk,” he said as he gently lowered her hand.

“Silen, take care not to bother him too much,” Korrich said with a gesture that asked her to join him at his side at the same time that it referred to his hidden gun.

Silen smiled and walked to him, giving Zel an untrusting last glare.

Zel was too busy paying attention to the podium to notice. He hoped things would all go well. If so, his work would be done here and his mission would be complete. The move to the new podium had, in fact, made things much easier.

Korrich reached the podium and went to the simple, wood and plastic stand where the amplifiers were.

“Everything’s in place, lord,” Mandrin said, waiting by the podium, his hands clasped behind his back. Dozens more of Korrich’s men stood guard at the edges of the podium.

“Well done,” Korrich said with a smile as Mandrin took his place on the podium.

Zel and Silen went to Korrich’s side, Zel scanning the whole area with barely a shift of his head. The platform was built at the end of a wide street. Buildings on three sides, all five stories or more tall, surrounded the area as the street ended against the back building’s parking lot. The electrode wholesaler was closed now, the podium blocking its doors.

Korrich motioned for the people to be silent, and soon the sea of faces quieted down, hope in their eyes.

“This meeting was called to announce the matter of the fifth degree tax law made on the twelfth of Green concerning the delegation of users in a charity organization’s database,” Korrich said, and paused. “But of course, we’ll get to that filth later.”

The crowd laughed and applauded this outward showing of legal protest.

“You all know why I am here. You all know of what I speak and of whom the people are that will not give us our base freedoms,” Korrich began.

There was a brief exclamation from several hundred or so people, and they began to stir with fervor at Korrich’s words.

“Now please, my fellow Cawns, hold your words till I have finished. For you must hear it all to know the full story. For centuries, our people have longed for a place of power, a place of peace and rest. And five hundred years ago, it was the Cawns who were rulers of what was then called Cawna,” Korrich said, emphasizing the last sentence not with pride or even joy, but with sadness.

“But my friends, we became a minor race once again,” Korrich continued. “Cawna became Mill, Mill Hama, and now we are Grichia. The name of this world has changed, but the battles have remained steady and vile since history began. In all those times of ruling, the major race imposed its will and dominance into the minors with a cold strictness. And even we Cawns in our time of power imposed near slavery on the minors.”

Zel saw his man. And he was sweating as the speech went on. Zel felt confident; he knew what was going to happen. All he had to do was be ready for it.

“So I now ask you,” Korrich continued. “With all the hardships we have been through at the hands of our Grichian lords, paining our hearts, can we go on like this?” Korrich listed off the crimes like shots to his body. “Will we live with bottom-scraping wages, no defense in the courts, no representation in the Democratic Council, and without the ability to own our homes or properties? To that I say we cannot. We can not and will not go on like this.”

A cheer almost arose, but Korrich quickly quelled it. Mandrin, behind Zel, was busy looking around and sweating, wondering why something hadn’t happened yet.

“This is not a cry to war, my people,” Korrich said, sweating fervor but now a little more subdued. “This is a cry for help. For in ages past, we’ve sung the same song of tyranny and pain. And always it stirs all the minor races to fight for freedom and power. And always the circle begins anew with more bloodshed, until finally we have power and peace, only to be washed away by our own lustful hands as we are overthrown in the same fashion.”

“Mandrin,” Zel whispered to the sweating man as he looked at Zel, startled, “in about one minute, you’ll need to move.”

Mandrin looked around, confused.

“So now, my friends, we must not fight,” Korrich declared. “We must not take up the gun and blade. We must put the weapons of anger down forever. Peace will win freedom for us. Yes, I say peace will win. We must demand justice, but without fighting. We must demand rights, but without bloodshed. And we must demand liberty, but without death.”

“Thirty seconds,” Zel said as Mandrin began to look down at his feet.

He cocked his head at Zel with wide eyes.

“I know you think it impossible,” Korrich pressed on. “But I tell you there is a way. With hope, we can find peace. Don’t fight our Grichian masters. Don’t submit either. A protest of peace all over the world will sing a stronger song than any blast ever could. Our enemies use force; we will use peace. And Grichian and Cawn will walk together.” Korrich put his hands out in thanks as the crowd bellowed with cheers and applause.

Zel’s heart soared as he realized that the people might really be ready for this.

“Mandrin, move,” Zel said as Mandrin caught his breath in surprise, realizing what Zel was saying. Zel moved quickly and pulled the man from the back of the podium toward the front.

“And to continue…” Korrich said as he cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly an explosion shattered the back of the podium.