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ear. “For clot’s sake, Pyt’r. Not the silence business again!”
    The anchor whispered back into his throat mike: “Shut the clot up, Badee. You’re not the one who has to fill an hour with these two scrotes.”
    “Well, think fast, bub. We’ve got fifty minutes to go.”
    “Cut to a commercial, dammit”
    “You gotta be kidding,” Badee said. “Who’d advertise on a piece of drakh like this?”
    “How about a ‘Give Blood’ spot, then?”
    “Oh, maaann. Another house ad. Okay. If we gotta. On the count, then… One… Two…”
    At that moment a porta-ram smashed through the studio doors.
    “On the floor,” Sten shouted.
    “Move’t, or lose’t, mates,” Alex thundered.
    Jynnings, his guests, Badee, and the livie crew gaped for a full two seconds. Sten and Alex strode over the ruined double doors, willyguns at the ready. Behind them, Cind led a contingent of Bhor and Gurkhas.
    “It’s Sten!” Jynnings uttered in absolute awe. “And Kilgour.”
    Sten motioned with his weapon. “I said, Down!” He fired, blowing a largish hole in the news anchor’s desk.
    Much diving for the floor commenced, Jynnings denting his wavy head against the desk. Only the director had the presence of mind to whisper into his mike: “Holy mother… we’ve got our hour! Keep rolling, fools. Keep rolling.”
    Sten advanced, just out of pickup range. To his right, an emergency door creaked open. Sten saw a flash of many uni-forms. Guards. Then the air shattered as Cind put a burst through the doorway. Howls of agony. The uniforms vanished.
    A burly man stepped out of the shadows, swinging a heavy light standard.
    “Ooops, there, lad,” Alex said, catching the light housing with one hand. Giving it a yank. “Y’ve made a wee m’stake.” The grip stumbled forward. Alex dropped the light and hoisted the man off the floor. With one hand. “ ‘Tis noo i’ y’r job description, mon. Y’r lucky Ah’m noo a taleteller. Ah’d put a bug in y’r shop steward’s shell, otherwise.”
    The man’s eyes bugged out. Alex hurled him. A loud crash as the goon hit, and monitors cascaded around him.
    Alex turned back to Sten. “Ah, think w‘ hae their attention noo, wee Sten… I’s showtime, folks.”
    Sten stepped in front of the camera.
    “Gentlebeings,” he said. “Fellow-citizens of the Empire… My name is Sten. The subject of this broadcast. I am addressing you live from K-B-N-S-O…”
    Anders gulped like a fish as he watched Sten address the Empire. The man he sought was speaking from the station’s main broadcasting center—in an orbit only a half-an-E hour from Prime World. His propaganda-centered mind immediately caught the full impact of the blow Sten had just struck. The man was standing virtually in the center of the Emperor’s stronghold. Waving a rude finger at the mightiest military force in history.
    “… The Emperor has branded me and my colleagues a traitor,” Sten was saying. “History will judge if this is true. Just as history will judge the Emperor. And I promise you it will judge him harshly. My fate does not matter. It is your fate you should be thinking of at this moment. And your children’s.
    “I accuse the Emperor of betraying you … His people. You work in near poverty. While he enjoys lavish entertainment. As do his favored cronies. You labor in cold, in heat, in near darkness. While the Emperor’s favored bask in the light of plentiful AM2.
    “The Emperor has betrayed you. Only one of many crimes. I will detail those crimes over the coming days: Star-chamber justice. The imprisonment, torture, and execution of beings whose only sin was to trust their Emperor…”
    Anders recovered and turned to his aide, Captain Lawrence. The woman’s face was a mask of confusion.
    “Scramble the fleet,” the admiral barked. “I want to see a hole in the sky. And I want to see it quick.”
    “But… all the civilians at the station—”
    “Clot the civilians. I want that man dead. Now,