Prologue, Part II

"Did some time in the lock up--but less than you claim."


You've been down on your luck before. You suppose you should be used to it by now--and, admittedly, you've gotten out of worse situations. But after three days in this rancid Persephone jail cell, the available options are limited.

It wasn't much, the charge against you, but it was enough to land you here until you or someone you know can cough up the credits to pay off the fine. Two more days, and the local cops won't wait any longer. They'll sell you to the first one willing to pay off your tab, and that means indentured servitude--a day for every credit owed. You do the math in your head. Two thousand credits... Well, that added up to a very long time. And you sure as the sun rises didn't have the kind of coin to bail yourself out.

Outside, the chants of the crowds were still loud enough to be heard in your jail cell, although you could no longer make out the words. You didn't need to. Half were about freedom, and the other half unity. The occasional punctuations of gunfire, however, could belong to either side. The protests had already raged for days, with no end in sight. The lawmen here could not even pretend to cope. It was all they could do to arrest troublemakers--or people standing near likely troublemakers--on sight.

You saw them come through by the dozen, each already rushed through a perfunctory trial, convicted of disturbing the peace, and dumped in a jail cell until they could pay their fine. Each day, dozens of the people arrested before you walked out in handcuffs, led by a contingent of Alliances federals, who were buying indentured labor in bulk. Two more days, and that would be you.

And from the other side to the wall, from the street outside your cell, you hear the unmistakable sound of repeater blasts and the screams of a crowd...