"You've held the violence to a minimum thus far," said Burton, "and you're to be commended. But I'm afraid if we can't get these fellas to listen to reason, we're in for some bloodshed."

"There doesn't have to be."

"There already has been. Eight people in the hospital."

"And they may have company, before the days out. But there's not going to be any snooting."

Burton nodded slowly. "No guns. You think your people can control the situation that way?"

"Yes."

"I know someone who disagrees."

"And who would that be?"

"Girdler."

Ness laughed mirthlessly. "Republic's chairman. When did Mr. Girdler make this observation?"

"Not five minutes ago." Burton gestured to one of several phones on his desk. "He didn't come calling, he called… he declined to go wading through the thousand or two folks expressing their discontent out on our sidewalk."

"What was Girdler's complaint, exactly?"

"That we're too soft. That you are too soft."

"Oh really. Excuse me if I bust out crying."

Burton grinned as he withdrew a big black Havana from a plain wooden box on his desk; he lit up the cigar, puffing, enjoying it like a hungry man would a banquet, and said, "He thinks it's insane for your men to go into battle unarmed."

"Maybe I don't particularly crave a battle."

His grin settling into a vaguely sarcastic smile, Burton gestured with his cigar and said, "He wants to bring in the National Guard. He's been talking to Governor Davey."

"Really. I would think that would be your prerogative."

"I would think the same."

"And are you?"

"Going to call in the militia? No. Not as long as things stay under control."

Ness straightened in the chair. "There are people on both sides who would like to see this escalate into a war, you know."

The intercom on Burton's desk buzzed, and his secretary informed him of the arrival of the SWOC representatives.