At ten in the morning, the high-gain satellite dish mounted atop Keith Mercer’s Class-IV command carrier began to rotate with a low, high-pressure whine.
Its gold-plated curved mesh locked onto the sky-high map points of Federal Geostationary Relay Four, hovering twenty-two thousand miles above the continent.
Inside the carrier’s comms suite, Kira Jansen stood with both hands resting on the master signal console. Her face was lit up by the green glow of twelve parallel tracking data streams, her headphones crackling with high-hum military carrier waves.
“Handshake confirmed,” Kira announced, her voice ringing with grim, triumphant certainty. “Mercer’s emergency override protocols have successfully bypassed the civilian firewalls. Every public news screen, every transit hub end-post, every commoner radio guild, and every military command hum from Capital Metro to the Southern Archipelago is slaved to our feed.”
Beside the conference table, Keith Mercer sat strapped to his chair. He stared blankly into the camera mounted on the wall.
The Judge was pale, his eyes hollow, his voice stripped of all high-born arrogance. Across his lap lay the printed transcripts of his own financial ledgers, authenticated by Toby Mallow’s red-wax careful seal.
Arthur Vance stood behind the camera, his arms folded across his chest, his tactical monocle clicked down to monitor the live carrier signal:
