Crystals Three Chosen Mates by Suzanne Graham Page A

station.
    “Looks like a public gathering of protestors,” Fisher said, leaning over the service counter to get a better look. “By my count, there are about forty people.”
    Demonstration crowds had been reported with growing frequency in other sectors of First Quadrant during the past two moon cycles, but Crystal hadn’t heard of any in sector one, until now. What surprised her the most was that civilians of the manufacturing and engineering classes intermingled with members of the intelligentsia. They all seemed to share the same goals as small clusters gathered in hushed, but intense, conversations.
    Crystal gave these men and women a lot of credit for their bravery, or perhaps they were merely foolish. Each of them risked capital punishment just by being in this room, as the Council had already sentenced several members of the Open Air Society to death for treason.
    Crystal scanned the room, watching for any signs of trouble, but the crowd was calm. The differences between the classes was obvious by their uniform colors—intelligentsia in beige, manufacturing in black, and engineering in dark brown—but it didn’t seem to interfere with the communication between them. She recognized several of her regular customers among the crowd, including Doctors Zeke and Brentan.
    Fisher nudged her with an elbow in her side and nodded in the direction of the hallway entrance directly across from them. “We’ve got company.”
    Crystal quickly identified the olive uniforms of the Council Guards on the five-man team entering the cafeteria. “Oh shiitake, do you think they’re going to arrest all these people?”
    Fisher shrugged. “They’re kind of outnumbered for that.”
    “This is an unlawful gathering,” the senior officer of the Council Guards shouted at the crowd. “You are ordered to return to your personal pods immediately.”
    The citizens closest to the Guards looked startled by the sudden command, apparently they hadn’t noticed the Guards entering the cafeteria, but none of them moved toward the exit.
    When the mass of people showed no signs of dissipating, the officer raised his right hand in a fist, and more than a dozen teams of Council Guards swarmed the room, far exceeding the number of civilians.
    “Lay on the floor and put your hands on your head!” the Guards yelled as they shoved people down to the ground.
    Crystal’s hand tensed at her side where she kept her laser gun when in her field uniform, but as a Food Preparation Specialist, she was unarmed. She threw a quick glance at Fisher. “What the hellitude?”
    Fisher’s stance showed he was ready to jump into the action, but whose side would he take?
    She searched his face for a clue, but before she could come to a conclusion, voices from the crowd screamed in pain and the distinct odor of burning flesh reached her nose.
    “Holy shiitake,” she cursed. “They’re firing on unarmed civilians.” Crystal’s stomach heaved as she watched Doctor Zeke take a laser shot to the chest and stumble backwards over a chair to lay unmoving on the floor.
    The Guards tightened their circle around the crowd, shoving tables and chairs out of the way as they forced the people to lie on top of each other on the ground. The men and women cried out in pain and fear, unaccustomed to any sort of violence on Profortuna.
    Fisher turned toward the door leading from the kitchen to the cafeteria.
    “Are you going out there?” she asked with disbelief. He was as unarmed as she was.
    He glanced back at her. “Are you really going to stand here and do nothing?”
    “You willing to choose sides?”
    “The Guard is attacking helpless civilians. Whose side do you think I’m going to take?” he asked, disgust thick in his tone.
    “There’s nothing you or I can do. There are only two of us versus more than sixty Guards.” Crystal’s gut twisted as she watched men and women hauled to their feet and dragged from the cafeteria. Doctor Brentan had lost his glasses,