Hatch didn't want to think about how this attack was going to negate his chances of leaving soon.

Guess we're all gonna be down here for a while longer.

Then it hit him.

What an absurd thought.

We'll all be goddamned lucky to live much longer.

He looked at the miners, panicking, helpless as they realized what was happening in the sky above. Some scrambled for cover. Others stood out in the open.

As if it mattered ...

Everyone knew how brutal Runners were. But why attack here?

And what would they do once they got here?

The miners had to be thinking about the possibilities of defending themselves and their chances of surviving an attack.

Some miners might hide deep in the winding corridors of the mines-especially if they were suited up in their mining rigs. There were caches of emergency rations placed throughout the mine system.

Maybe the Runners wouldn't take the time to hunt them down.

The Runners might blow up the mine entrances, trapping them underground to die unless they could eventually dig their way out once the Runners left.

They wouldn't stick around long.

Anyone on the surface would probably be lucky if the pirates took them as prisoners.

Force them to join the Runners.

But the most realistic possibility was that they'd all be killed.

The miners' security force-a half-dozen men armed with pulse rifles-had their guns down, looking up and around.

Waiting.

They didn't have to wait long.

The roar of Runner vehicles screaming over the rubble, surrounding the mine area, filled the night air.

Hatch watched the ATV bounce over the rocky terrain and fly over the pits in the ground with ease, their oversized composite tires handling the torturous terrain.

Each ATV had a gunner firing a small pulse cannon mounted on the front. Hatch looked around. The vehicles converged on the mining site from every compass point. The Runners started shooting, mowing the miners down. The security guards started firing back while others began running, looking for an illusory safe place.

Hatch soon understood what was going on here.

A massacre.

And maybe ... a message.

He drew his handguns and started firing. They had always been more for show than anything else, to let everyone know he wasn't only the project manager.

He ran this place.

Did the guns have enough range to hit the Runners' ATVs?

Was his aim any good?

He fired at an approaching ATV, taking aim at the driver. A hole bloomed in his head, and the Runner slumped down in his seat, the ATV careening to the side. It went up in an orange ball of flames.

Hatch wheeled around to see another approaching vehicle. He took aim and fired again.

The first shot went wide. Deep down inside, he knew this whole effort was wasted ... useless.

There were too many of them.

Until two ATVs converged behind Hatch. He spun around and dropped to a crouch, firing both guns as he did.

The two gunners fired back at him at the same time.

No way they'd miss him.

And then ... Hatch's last thought, again ...

Why?

3.

RELEASE.

The doors to the World Council Court flew open.

Outside, total chaos.

Ivan Delgato, flanked by guards, with double-lock handcuffs holding his wrists together and leg cuffs around his ankles, knees, and thighs that made it all but impossible for him to walk, took in the scene.

Everyone here, all to see me, he thought.

Reporters filled the granite steps of the World Council Court leading down to a waiting line of armored vans. Behind the wall of cameras, curious onlookers jockeyed for a good view.

The trial of the decade, his trial, was over.

Delgato knew he didn't stand a chance, not when he'd admitted to being the leader of the Runners.

Loud cheers and catcalls battled as the guards held his arms, standing between two massive stone pillars of the court building.

Got my fans, Delgato thought.

He looked behind him. More heavily armed security guards and police poured out from the building to either side of Delgato.

A goddamned army.

What the hell do they think I'm going to do?

The crowd kept up its yelling. He looked at some of the signs they carried, the scrawled messages ...

FREE DELGATO!.

OPEN THE ROADS!.

Off to one side, a few steps down, a young, attractive reporter faced the holocam, reading from a prompter. She barely glanced at the main attraction as she read her live report.

"In Washington today, the World Council Court handed down a sentence of guilty on all counts in the treason case against Ivan Delgato, the leader of the terrorist faction known as the Road Runners."

A few meters away from her, another reporter ... doing the same thing.

Yeah. I'll be all over the vids tonight.

The reporter looked at Delgato, even seemed to raise his voice so he could hear....

"... Ivan Delgato has been sentenced to life without the possibility of parole at the Cyrus Penal Colony in the Movasi Sector. This may be the last you will see of the leader of the Road Runners."

His guards let him stay on display for the cameras and the crowd, speaking into their headsets, nodding.

Cyrus Penal Colony.

Now doesn't that sound like fun?

The guards began guiding him slowly down the steps. Reporters tried to thrust microphones into his face.

"Do you plan to appeal?"

"Who leads the Runners now that you're gone?"

But the other security guards fanned out to either side, pushing the reporters back.

They didn't want any Road Runners making speeches.

The cheers and jeers rose in volume.

Delgato looked up. The clear blue sky, the sun already hot. Beads of sweat formed on his brow.

He might have been strolling on a beach in the Caribbean.

Wouldn't that be nice?

"Free the Road ... Free the Road," a large group off to one side began to chant. Before long, others joined in, but then they were quickly countered by another chant: "Death to terrorists!"

Can't please everyone.

Then: a marble pillar less than six inches from Delgato's head exploded. Chips of stone and stone dust flew into the air.

The report of a gunshot echoed from the giant stone walls of the courthouse.

The police escorts raised their shields and tightened the line around Delgato. He watched several security officers below wrestling a man to the ground.

If the guy had been a better shot, this show would have had a completely different ending.

The police hurried the guy away, the shooter's feet kicking at the air as they moved him down to the street to one of the waiting armored vans.

They expected trouble, and they got it.

Questions continued to fly as Delgato's guards led him down, pushing through the sea of reporters, his steps small, constricted by the cuffs.

Once at the van, the side door slid open and his guards lifted him off the ground and threw him into the back. Before the van door slammed shut, one of the policemen remaining on the street turned and spit into Delgato's face.

Pretty brave, Delgato thought.

But without cuffs?

Now, Officer ... wouldn't that be interesting?

He smiled and wiped his cheek on the shoulder of his prison jumpsuit.

What they don't know, he thought.

The secret that no one-not here at least-knows about.

The shooter wasn't the only surprise today. Not by a long shot.

Still, as the van pulled away from the curb, Delgato felt ... isolated.

As alone as he had ever been.

Whatever his life had been up until now, today it had been altered fundamentally and forever.

There was no going back, even if he wanted to.

The van started, and Delgato felt it quickly pull away, the sirens of the escorts wailing as the caravan left the courthouse.