All these men and women had come here to watch and report on a genocide. They did not judge, they did not condemn, they did not condone, they merely reported.

Yet, Peter didn’t need the blue-skinned woman to read the glee and excitement on their faces. All they cared for was how this would affect their ratings. They had gone through the roof since the war started. This was only another sensational development.

There were a few exceptions, of course. Some who felt guilty. Fewer still who were disgusted by the turn of events, but were compelled by their bosses and by competition to cover the proceedings.

Mrill pointed these out to Peter. They were the ones he would approach.

“Why not just jump on a stage and make your proclamation before all of them?” asked Kesh. “They would love it and broadcast it through all of the Imperium. We’d get much larger exposure that way.”

“Even if you don’t see them,” said Peter, “there are soldiers in the building. They’d be on me in a flash.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Cameras, too. And if there weren’t any...” He looked toward the largest group of journalists. “How many of them would promptly warn the Impies that I’m here, in their midst? Doing something like what you suggest could only work if I was far away, in some safe location. Here, inside one of their largest bases, I would get caught in minutes, if not seconds. One can be bold, but not rash. There is always a method to my madness.”

He gave his friend a wink, and Kesh chuckled as they walked toward an empty meeting room in the back.

“How are we going to go about it?”

“Mrill will give you the names of those most sympathetic to our cause. You will go to them and slip them an invitation to join us here for a special and exclusive announcement that we wish to share with them and them alone. That should avoid the word spreading to those we wish to avoid.” Peter looked at his wristpad. “The others are ready. We need to hurry. Start the meeting as soon as possible. Mrill will stand watch and only let in those invited.”

Kesh frowned as he glanced around. “What about the soldiers? I see a couple coming this way.”

“I’ll make them look elsewhere,” said Mrill blandly.

“What if you miss some?”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll make them forget what they saw.”

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Within ten minutes, journalists started filing into the room.

They all sat around the table, throwing curious glances at the man who stood at the front. Each of them saw something different, though they could not have known.

Once Kesh had closed the door, with Mrill posted outside, Peter turned to look at them.

“What I am about to reveal will shock you. Please, remain calm and do not raise your voices. It is vital that we do not draw too much attention from the others.” He pointed at the door. “You will understand why in a second.”

Everyone stared at him with confused looks.

He reached for his wristpad and turned off the scrambler.

Eyes went wide.

Whispers spread.

“How is this possible?” cried out a female reporter.

“The Scourge of Abrax died on Braxia!” said a male.

Peter raised a hand to stop the barrage of questions that was springing from the assembled journalists.

“Please. For reasons I’m sure you can guess, my time is limited. I picked you all because I know you care not only for numbers but also for human lives. What is happening beyond this building, even as we speak, is an aberration, and you all know it.”

The room went quiet as sadness and anger spread through them.

“The Emperor has claimed me dead, killed by his own hand—no less.” He gestured at himself. “As you can see, it is a lie. Oh, they did shoot me down and left me for dead on that forsaken world, but Nashadan Prime was nowhere near Braxia when it happened. I survived. It took me five years to escape that hellish place, but here I am. And now I will do everything that is in my power to stop the Emperor from making the biggest mistake in his much too-long reign. Will you record and broadcast my message?”

Cameras were already rolling, and he knew it, but it was important for him to obtain the support of these people. He needed them to acknowledge that this was important, and not just for ratings. His message was important. His cause was important.

Ten heads nodded, smiles forming on many lips.

“Then hear this, people of the Imperium. My name is Peter Corenth. You may know me better as the Scourge of Abrax. I have returned to right wrongs and punish the guilty. And there is none more guilty than our Emperor who, even now, cowers behind his throne while claiming to have felled me. A despot who would erase an entire world and its people, its culture, its works of art, its languages... We can not, will not abide by this. This folly ends now.”

As he spoke the last word, he pressed the screen of his wristpad.

“You cannot see it, but even as I speak, explosions are rocking this planet. We have sabotaged those devices Imperial troops would have used to rain destruction upon Qevahr. That will not happen under my watch. That is all.”

He stepped away from the table and started toward the door.

“Mr. Corenth!”

Several voices cried out, but he did not stop.

Kesh opened the door as Peter turned the scrambler back on. They stepped out and hurried toward the exit.

Behind them, the journalists rushed out, torn between wanting to run after him and understanding the need to not betray his presence.

They made it to the door just as explosions went off outside.

Mrill glanced at Peter.

“I thought your bomb was on a timer?”

He smiled as they stepped out. “It is. This is something else. Our rescue party.”

Outside, the sky was ablaze.