Chapter 1

The tensions sweeping through the Known Universes belonging to the Federation had brought sharp focus to the issue of the lack of parity between the Ranked Family members who made all the leadership decisions and the unranked—the majority of citizenry—who had no voice at all.

Many times over the years, she’d tried to get some decent vid coverage to address the issue of the lack of representative democracy and had failed or had been relegated to times when everyone was sleeping. Finally, so many people had had enough that she’d been able to catch some attention and garner enough interest to become the subject of several vid interviews much like the one she was just about to do.

Abbie Haws had worked for justice her entire life, and she was smart enough to know the time for real change had never been better. Things didn’t just happen to you; you made them happen. Everything she’d ever achieved in her life came from hard work and grabbing an opportunity and making it her own.

Hoping someone in the gargantuan Governance Council chambers was watching, she smoothed a hand over her hair, making sure it was securely in the knot at the nape of her neck, adjusted the front of her suit jacket, stood tall and put on her serious barrister face right before the cameras honed in.

“We’re here with Abigail Haws, spokesperson for the Movement for Representative Democracy.” The host sent her a flirty smile. “Ms. Haws, please tell us why you’re here today outside the municipal complex.”

“In light of the recent shameful activity on the part of certain Families, it seems to us, to many of the unranked, that the time for this hoarding of power must end.”

“What do you propose, then?”

“We, that is, the Movement for Representative Democracy, say it’s time for the Ranked to share with the rest of us, with the majority of citizens in the Federation Universes, what is rightfully ours. We want the right to have a voice in our own governance.”

“Ms. Haws, the Families have led the ’Verses, they say quite well, for millennia, why call for change now?”

She loved it when they asked her questions like this. Abbie looked up at him, a smile curving her lips. “If not now, when? We are not pets, we are humans with brains and wills and we are not content to let things happen to us any longer. We cannot simply trust that the Families, that the Governance Council, are acting in our best interests. This is lazy and it garners us a situation like the one that’s sent us reeling these last months. Sedition! Treason by Family members resulting in the deaths of hundreds of citizens. For what? We were harmed in a play for power far above our heads.

“You ask, why now? Ask Gretel Mortan why now. Ask House Kerrigan why they’d persecute a woman who has served them, has raised their children and grandchildren with love and care, only to be accused of theft on the eve of her retirement. In our legal system, she has less power than her accuser simply because her accuser is Ranked.”

Abigail Haws paused and looked from the host and straight into the camera.

“The time is now because we are not content to be ignored and unheard any longer. What threat does it pose to actually seek the input of the people you govern? Why does the idea of letting us have a say in our lives scare them so? Ask them why not now.”

“Thank you, Ms. Haws and good luck. I’m Penn Even. Good evening.”

The host turned to Abbie and smiled. “Thanks for doing this on short notice.”

As if she’d be angry that she just got some prime coverage on the vids during the important end of workday hours? “Not a problem. Thank you for comming me and setting this up. We really appreciate it.”

“I think you’re doing a very good thing. Good luck with it and I’ll be in contact soon.”

Abbie smiled at his retreating back. All in all, despite the horrifically long and pretty much totally frustrating workday, things were looking up. Hells, someone over at the Council offices might actually take her comm after this. A girl could hope anyway.

The Council chambers quieted when Roman Lyons rapped the tabletop with his gavel. He slid a hand through his hair at the temple, the only outward sign of his agitation with the assembled group and the lovely but annoying Abigail Haws. Anything else would be weakness and a loss of control.

The room was large, dominated by a very long table where Familial representatives sat in the flesh or monitors bearing their images were placed. Lion’s heads, the sigil of House Lyons and also of the Familial Council, were mosaicked into the table and also patterned in the marble on the floors. The space was soaring, majestic. Roman found comfort there, comfort in the grooved spaces in the table where hands had held it to push a chair back over and over for generations. The shapes the patterns in the stained glass threw on the walls and furniture as the day passed marked the time in a way so familiar that it was part of his life as much as the chair he sat in.

He’d occupied the space at the head of the table for twenty-three years, since the age of seventeen when he’d taken over from his father. The position was an indication of his rank and the Rank of House Lyons. The House, the one that came first and had held the most powerful seat in the Council since it was formed millennia before, when the first settlers had come through from Earth.

Ravena was the Center of their world physically, powerwise and symbolically as well. Many Familial representatives came in person to the meetings of the Governing Council if they could, but none missed a meeting, even if they had to come via vid screen.

Right now, in the wake of the scandal regarding Ranked Family members working with the Imperialists, the pressure to govern effectively and fairly was paramount. On the verge of the first treason trial, things were even more dire. Most of his brethren understood that fact. Others, well—they were drunk with power and their behavior only made his job harder.

“All right then, let’s move to the point of contention and get this over with. I have a full day and enough of my time has been wasted with this tantrum.”

Ash Walker hid a smile behind his steepled fingers. Roman figured he’d had enough, too.

“Roman, as the head of the Ranked Council, it’s your responsibility to deal with this rabble-rouser. She has been on the vids nonstop over the last days and her group on and off for months.” Leong Khym was usually a voice of reason but Roman saw the strain even over the vid link.

“Just have the bitch arrested! Why are we tolerating this nonsense? This is treason.” Saul Kerrigan stood up, red-faced.

“Sit down, Saul. You’re being ridiculous. This group isn’t calling for you to be killed, they’re calling for reforms. That’s not treason and we can’t just have people arrested when they say things we don’t like.” A steady pounding tattooed behind Roman’s eyes. Saul Kerrigan was the reason for this damned problem, and yet it would fall to Roman to fix. “This has been going on for hours. Just make a motion. Do something, because I have had it with all this whining.”

“You’re not a full member of this body, Kerrigan. Associate Houses are not recognized to speak without leave,” Ash said. “And frankly, you’re the root of the problem here. Your behavior with the old woman was the impetus for this.”

Saul fumed but kept quiet. Roman liked Ash Walker even more at that moment.

“I move House Lyons meets with Abigail Haws or some representative of the—” Leong looked down momentarily. “Movement for Representative Democracy to hear their grievances and attempt to appease them.”

The rest of the group agreed and Roman sighed. “Fine, then. I’ll have my assistant make arrangements. Now let’s move on.”

The sky above her pinked toward night as Abbie made her way back to her office from a useless day spent in the Administration of Justice building. Not a single one of her motions made it to the lead administrator’s desk. An utter waste of her time. And yet, sadly, not an unusual occurrence in her life.

Still, the walk in the fresh air at the end of her day made up for it in a small way. Ravena edged toward the cold season so the air had a bite, but not enough to warrant a cloak just yet.

Her mind raced. Abbie had a list of things to do as long as her arm and an ex who thought he was entitled to sleep with her when he got bored or lonely, and sometimes she was lonely enough to consider it. Her father needed to be reined in every few weeks. He tended to like agitating for causes more than patience, preferred to demonstrate rather than negotiate. Now was not time for rushing. Now was time for a fine hand and a patient heart, time for someone with a temperament like hers. Abbie had done the rabble-rousing and now it was time to step slowly and carefully so she could negotiate.

But right then with the sky looking like the inside of a purri fruit, she could be satisfied.

She’d been on the vids that day and the day before, addressing the way domestic workers had been treated by some Families. The latest case was that of Gretel Mortan, a woman who’d served House Kerrigan for forty-five years and who, just shy of her retirement, the Family had accused of theft. Domestics serving a Family for thirty-five standard years or longer were entitled to a pension but theft would render the agreement null. The amount of credits would be nothing to a Family like the Kerrigans but would mean everything to Gretel Mortan. But instead of paying what they owed morally and legally, they’d accused her of stealing from them.

Ridiculous. And anyone looking at it would know so as well. Gretel was nearly eighty years old. She’d pretty much raised the Kerrigans’ children and grandchildren and there had never been a single problem with her until she filed to retire.

When Abbie had received word of the charges from someone in her office and then had spoken with the other members of the Movement for Representative Democracy, it had been decided to take an aggressive approach. The MRD had been working quietly, diligently and civilly for four years and had been rebuffed. Then they’d moved their tactics up a bit, become more vocal. Still nothing. And then came the horrible scandal of the Family betrayal and treason. The unranked finally began to really speak with each other and demand change. The time had never been better to force the hand of the Family Governance Council.

Luckily, one of the people within MRD had a contact with the media and Abbie had been the face of the movement. All she could hope for was that someone would just meet with her, give her the chance to talk to the Families about what was happening.