The pre-summit meetings with other GNC heads—an equal mix of human and Breed world leaders—had been anything but peaceful. But at least the saber-rattling and firefighting had been kept behind closed doors. To their credit, the Council members seemed to understand that letting their personal agendas, political egos, and private mistrust of one another leak out to a wary public would serve no one well. The summit had become as much about putting a shiny, friendly face on human–Breed relations as it was about negotiating true accord between the heads of state who ultimately would be responsible for enforcing that peaceful future for the generations to come.
Lucan could only hope it didn’t all crumble down around him before it even began.
He scrawled his signature onto a GNC security briefing and added it to the stack of assorted other approvals he’d already reviewed and cleared for implementation. As he reached for the remaining sheaf of reports, his tablet chimed with an incoming, top-clearance message. He tapped the receive button on-screen and paused to enter the password required to play the v-mail. It was from one of the GNC’s senior officials, an elderly human statesman named Charles Benson. The man was also among the more moderate-minded on the Council, an ally Lucan felt would be sorely needed as talks to forge stronger relations between man and Breed continued long after the pomp and flash of the over-hyped peace summit had faded into the grit and mundanity of daily reality.
Lucan set down his pen and watched, guessing that the message must be important for Benson to have contacted him privately and under high-security clearance, besides.
“My apologies for disturbing you with this request at home, Chairman Thorne.” The wrinkled face appeared anxious in the recorded video message, thin lips pressing into a flatter line as the old man cleared his throat. “I have a favor to ask of you, if I may. Of the Order, that is. It’s of a personal nature, you see.”
Lucan scowled at the monitor as the hemming went on. “It’s about my nephew. Perhaps you’re aware that Jeremy is to receive a very important award from Reginald Crowe’s foundation on the eve of the summit gathering.”
Lucan’s scowl deepened with mounting suspicion. He knew who Benson’s genius nephew was. Knew that Jeremy Ackmeyer’s work was respected around the world and that the human was regarded as one of the most gifted minds of all time—a recognition that had recently earned the young scientist a sizable cash prize to be presented personally by one of the world’s wealthiest men. “I’m afraid Jeremy is somewhat . . . eccentric,” Benson’s message went on. “My sister’s boy. From the day the child was born, I warned her not to coddle him.” A dismissive wave of a thin, bony hand before the councilman finally got to his point. “I’m embarrassed to say that Jeremy has refused to appear at the summit gala. He’s a fearful boy, an irrational shut-in, if I’m to be perfectly frank with you. He refuses to travel for fear of dying from one cause or another. I suppose I was hoping I might convince you to provide some means of escort for him to Washington—”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Lucan cut the message off with a stab of his finger on the end button and a low, muttered curse.
Since when had the Order become a personal chauffeur and security detail for hermit eggheads?
Politically ill-advised or not, he glared at the tablet, ready to tell Councilman Benson that his paranoid nephew would have to make other arrangements. But as his finger hovered over the record button on the screen, the sound of rising voices outside drew his attention toward the tall, curtained windows of his private study.
Protesters.
Lucan stalked to the window and drew open the long drapes. Apparently the graveyard shift had reported for duty. He counted fifteen human men and women—Christ, even a sign-carrying, shouting little girl—standing on the other side of the towering iron gates at the street. The signs bore the same tired vitriol that had been hurled at the Breed for two decades now: Go Back Where You Came From! Earth Is for Man, Not Monsters! You Can’t Make Peace with Predators!
Since the announcement of the summit, picketers and chanting protests representing both human and Breed dissent were hardly uncommon outside the GNC building near the Capitol or at the Order’s heavily secured D.C. headquarters. Tonight, with a headache from hours spent poring over Council rulings and the now-throbbing ache of his molars as he ground his teeth in outrage over the ridiculous request from someone he’d been counting on for political support down the line, the thought of a mob of hate-spewing rabble-rousers annoyed Lucan more than usual.