Final Assault by Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch

skepticism and doubt. He didn’t say anything, though, as President Franklin spoke. Instead he watched Britt, who stared at the screens intently.
    They were in his new office on the second floor of Britt’s lab. The office was small and had clearly been cleaned out just for him. Dozens of screens covered the small walls, and he had access to even more screens through his desk. He had never been in a place so wired in his life. There were several systems here, each with a different level of security hardwired in. He could have several different conversations, at several different security clearances, all at the same time.
    Britt had assured him that the systems were easy to use. He hoped so. He didn’t have the time to catch himself up on the newest technologies. If it got too complicated, he’d go to his own media room at home.
    The room smelled faintly of dust and fresh plastic. There were boxes outside the door—apparently from the room’s previous occupant—and some of the details hadn’t been finished before Cross arrived. His lamps hadn’t been plugged in. Someone had not finished assembling his chair and he had nearly fallen off the loose seat onto the floor. But those were minor irritations.
    He had spent the afternoon getting ready to coordinate the largest information feed in the history of the project.
    And then he had tuned all of his screens to Franklin’s speech. After a few moments of that, though, he had shut off most of them. He liked Franklin; the man was a bit too charming and too political, but he was a good president. But more than one of him repeated on various screens was completely overwhelming.
    As the speech started, Britt had joined Cross. He liked being this close to her. If he hadn’t gotten this assignment, they would have been watching the speech in separate parts of the city.
    When the speech ended and the maps appeared on the screens, she touched his desktop and muted the sound. She knew the systems here better than Cross did.
    “What’d you think?” Her reaction was obvious. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. She had been inspired.
    Cross wasn’t sure he wanted to ruin that reaction. Britt had been getting increasingly morose the longer this had gone on.
    “I thought it was an effective speech,” Cross said. “I think it’ll accomplish most of Franklin’s goals.”
    Britt must have caught the skepticism in his tone. “Are they different from ours?”
    Cross let out a small sigh. They had had these kinds of conversations before. A large part of his archaeology training had included a study of history, and a large part of the study of history had included analysis of political systems.
    Politicians in times of crisis had several jobs, but their main job was to rally the civilians behind the cause, to make certain the troops remained loyal, and to stem unrest at home. Franklin’s speech did all three of those things.
    “Leo?” Britt put her fingers on his arm. They were warm and dry, and felt good against his skin. “What’s bothering you?”
    “Some things he said.”
    The brightness in her eyes dimmed slightly, just as he was afraid it would.
    “Not,” he said quickly, “because he’s wrong or anything. I think we have a good shot at fighting back. I think this speech will go a long way toward settling the unrest and I think we’ll be able to keep people looking toward the skies. I think all of that’s good.” “Me, too,” Britt said. “So what else is going on?”
    Cross put his hand over her fingers. “When a politician gives a speech you have to listen to the words he chooses and the details he leaves out. He’s going to try to grab your emotions—”
    “Franklin did that.”
    “Yes, and he needed to,” Cross said. “This was probably the best speech of his career. But he also gave out what seemed to be a large amount of information.”
    “You mean it wasn’t?”
    He wasn’t going to be able to get out of this conversation. Cross