by Paul Grover
She could hear the timidity in her voice. Her fake front had evaporated. She felt like a child making a reasonable request of an adult and expecting an angry rebuke.
“Everything is a life and death problem today, Ma’am. The air corridor is congested; we are sending people to orbital locations as the first stage to getting them home.” He turned to a colleague. “Drake, is the tunnel open yet?”
The man gave a thumbs up.
“Wait.” He made a call. A minute passed, followed by another.
The officer returned his attention to Mira. “I have transport inbound.”
He pointed to an area close by and told her to wait.
She stood watching as the local units tried to birth order from chaos. Against the odds they were succeeding.
Amy Flynt was about control.
Mira did not know if it were her voice or her Shadow Sister, the two were so similar.
Amy controlled everything I did. I wasn’t scared… only of her.
The truth hit her suddenly and obviously.
I never loved Amy… I loved no one until I met Tish. That’s why I can’t lose her. I never want to be away from her.
She might not feel the same, Thorn…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the whine of an electric motor. A blue and yellow motorcycle came to a halt next to her.
“Are you the Admiral?” the rider’s voice crackled through the helmet speaker.
Mira did not reply as her eyes traced the sleek, purposeful lines of the Kawasaki E-Ninja.
“Ah yeah, sorry. Nice bike.”
“Whatever, you okay on one of these?”
“Fuck yeah!” Her mood brightened.
Her confidence returned in a flood of adrenaline. She jumped onto the pillion seat.
“Sorry I have no spare helmet. When they told me to pick up an Admiral I expected someone older. I figured they’d shit themselves and wait for air transport.”
“No chance!” Mira replied. The clouds in her mind dispersed, for now.
Mira gripped the grab rail as the bike sped away.
They cleared the stadium and threaded through congested streets. Once they passed a checkpoint the rider opened the throttle, kissing 200 KPH as they hit the route out of the city. The ride was silent and surreal, more so as they dropped into an underpass.
The rider slowed to navigate a damaged area of the tunnel. The roof had partially collapsed, and the floor was cratered. A burned-out truck had been hauled to one side; smoke still rose from its carcass. A work crew were busy repairing the damage to the roof; they waved them through and their speed increased.
A glorious veil smothered Mira’s thoughts, the feeling of the wind ruffling her hair and the coolness of it chilling her bare skin. A thrill ran through her body, almost sexual. She pushed herself onto the seat, trying to hold the illicit tingling at bay, yet also inviting it.
Hormones, she thought, this body is perma-horny.
The tunnel rose and she recognised the dome side entrance to the Mariner Barracks. A guardsman stepped forward, his weapon ready.
The bike stopped. Mira dismounted and thanked the rider. The bike turned in a graceful semi-circle and sped away, sounding two blasts of the siren as a farewell.
Mira showed her tattered ID to the guardsman. He arranged an escort and five minutes later Mira Thorn stepped into the airlock of the Second Chance.
She closed the outer lock and opened the inner door.
Tish was waiting, still in her dress uniform, her hair wild and her face streaked with grime and blood.
They gazed at each other for several seconds. Mira stepped forward; they fell into each other's arms.
Tish shook. She sobbed. “Zoe died.”
Mira thought of Zoe Sinclair and wondered who she would leave behind, who would have to make sense of her loss.
“I couldn’t find you Tish… I was scared. I… I don’t want to live without you.”
Nearly Thorn, nearly…
Tish raised a smile, sniffing she tried to clean Mira up.
“Look at you…” Tish said.
Mira took a long look at her tattered uniform. There was a rent from thigh to knee, both sleeves ragged. The material was black with dust and soot and most of the ornamental buttons had ripped off.
“I had such plans for it too…” Tish whispered, attempting a smile. “I was only fooling with you,” Tish continued. “Tonight I need you to hold me.”
“And you me. I’m sorry about Zoe; she was smart and pretty.”
“She saved me Mira. She didn’t know me but she put herself in harm’s way for me… a nobody from the Frontier.” Tish’s voice wavered as she spoke.
They fell into silence. Mira knew the clock was against them but right now Tish needed her.
Time passed.
“Come on, we have to get to the Orbiter,” Mira whispered and they headed forward.
“We have another problem. Rich has a broken ankle.”
“What? How?”
“He was caught in an explosion. He fell down the steps.”
Mira sighed.
“I guess I’ll be doing the rescue myself.” She shrugged. “Come on, let’s go. Sooner we get this done, the sooner we are out of this shit storm.”
Mira took the pilot’s seat and clipped on her headset. She programmed a three orbit ascent and waited impatiently for departure permission. She never wanted to see Mars again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE Marine detachment marched into the Vice President’s office; behind them trailed a Federal judge and the leader of the Senate. David Conway stood.
“Mr Vice President,” the young Captain said, her voice steady, her manner professional. “We have received official confirmation from Mars. President Schmitt is dead.”
“I feared the worst when I viewed the live feed,” Conway replied with suitable sorrow.
“Are you familiar with the swearing in ceremony, David?” Bernie Scott asked, He stepped in front of the Marines. Scott was a tall, young looking fifty-three-year-old with collar length hair and a ready smile. Today the smile was absent and a steadfast resolve was etched into his unusually pale face. He had not been at the ceremony. Security protocol dictated that neither the leader of the house or his deputy should attend the same event. It was the same reason Conway had remained in his office on Luna. Conway suspected Scott was experiencing the early stages of survivor’s guilt. Initial forecasts estimated two-thirds of the Senate were dead or missing; Scott had not just witnessed the death of his friends and colleagues; the entire structure he served had been destroyed.
“They briefed me when I took office. I confess I took little notice. I never expected it would be necessary.” He gave a tense laugh as he closed the sentence.
“I understand.” Scott explained the process. “You’ll take the Oath of Allegiance in the presence of myself, Chief Justice Boone and Captain Gordon. I have a copy of the Articles of the Federation for your use, the one used to swear in every President. This will be a private ceremony; a public one will be arranged in due course.”
“I understand,” Conway replied. He knew what was to follow, but it paid to play the part.
“From the moment you are sworn in you will be the President, with the powers the office brings. Captain Gordon has the relevant security keys and a full analysis of the situation.”
Conway moved from behind his desk and walked to the centre of the office. Captain Gordon activated a camera drone; it hovered close to Conway and Scott.
Scott gave Conway the Articles. He took them in his left hand and, when prompted, he raised his right.
The ceremony was simple. Conway swore to uphold the values of Earth and The Terran Federation of Planets; to protect them from threats internal and external. When it was completed Conway dismissed the Marines. Justice Boone excused himself and only Bernie Scott remained.
“Congratulations, David. I believe you will be an outstanding President. Are you aware of the situation on Mars?”
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“Bernie, my people have been working hard to make sure I have the facts I need to conclude this matter. I already have measures in place. I trust you have arranged a press briefing?”
“Yes, Mr President.”
“Good, let’s get this show on the road.”
Conway strode from his office and through a corridor toward the media suite. A technical team were removing the Vice President’s crest from the lectern and were replacing it with the President’s. He waited in the wings while the work was completed. There was a whine of feedback as the mic was adjusted and the technicians left the stage.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Simon Spencer, the presidential press secretary greeted him.
“Mr President, normal protocol is for me to announce you. Do you wish to follow tradition? We are in uncharted territory.”
Conway regarded him coolly.
“Simon, we carry on as normal. We do not change our ways on account of Max Von Hagen and his criminal supporters.”
He extended his hand. Spencer shook it. Conway squeezed hard enough to remind the press secretary of who his boss was.
A hush fell over the room as Spencer took the stage.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. The Federation is under attack from a Martian separatist faction. They appear to be well armed and well trained. During an incident at the stadium in Mariner City several members of our government were killed. I can confirm that President Schmitt was amongst them.”
He paused, letting the information sink in. Spencer confirmed everything the press already knew, yet uncertainty hung in the air. Politics abhors a vacuum. Spencer was preparing to fill it. Conway was impressed. The press secretary knew how to play a crowd; if he was loyal, there was a place for him in the administration.
“In a ceremony here on Luna, Vice President Conway was sworn in as the 57th President of Earth and The Terran Federation. The ceremony was witnessed by Judge Boone and presided over by Bernard Scott, leader of the Senate.”
He paused again. Spencer judged the tension in the room, waiting for the right moment…
“Ladies and Gentleman, I give you the President.”
Conway joined him at the lectern and shook his hand. Spencer left the stage and Conway stared long and hard at the faces before him. He gave a tight-lipped smile.
“It is with sadness I take on this great honour. In this hour I swear I will do all in my power to uphold the values of the Federation and protect our citizens from harm.
“The death toll is unknown, but we must prepare for it to exceed our expectations. The Federal Senate has lost many members; they were our colleagues and our friends. The Senate is no longer capable of functioning as a cohesive political unit. So with great sadness I have invoked Article 43 of the Federal Constitution.”
Article 43 was an emergency measure; it brought all arms of the government under control of the executive.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. When it ended the quiet whirring of the air circulation system became the only sound in the room.
“I understand this may be seen to be extreme. However, I have evidence linking members of the Senate and the Federal Navy to the events of today.” He paused to be certain the audience understood his words. “We believe the attempted a coup on Mars was the first step in a plot to turn the Federation into a military dictatorship.”
More surprise. The journalists and commentators were uneasy.
“Now is not the time to detail these connections; I am moving against forces that would destroy us. Our immediate priority is to restore order to Mars. I send this message to the leaders of the insurrection, primarily Max Von Hagen.”
He paused and stared down the lens of every holo-cam.
“EarthGov does not negotiate with terrorists. You have 12 hours to stand down. I will issue an executive order to turn off the air processing plants in Mariner, Columbus and Cydon. The longer you continue to hold out, the more people will die.”
Journalists and UniNet reporters shouted questions, their voices were increasingly frenzied as he ignored them.
“Today we take the first steps in excising the cancer of insurrection for good. To do so we must be ruthless. We must eradicate all those who plot against us. The Federation is at a crossroads; my sole purpose to provide strong and stable leadership during these uncertain times. We will prevail.”
Conway ignored the agitated press, closed the meeting and retreated to the area behind the stage.
“Mr President…” Bernie Scott said. “You cannot turn off the air; you are gambling with lives.”
Conway turned. “I will do whatever it takes to bring this to a close.”
“Mr President, with all due respect I must protest…”
“Protest all you want Bernie; no one is listening. You and the Senate are no longer relevant.”
“Simon,” he called to Spencer. “Follow me, we have work to do.”
“Turning off the air could have serious consequences, Mr President,” Spencer said as he fell in alongside Conway.
“It could, but it will not. Von Hagen will be captured long before people choke. It serves a greater purpose. It sends a message to anyone who stands in our way. It tells Damien Lightfoot and all those who stand with him they have no place to hide. We will do whatever it takes to keep order.”
Spencer appeared unconvinced.
“Simon, the Federation is at the point of break up. Lightfoot is days from secession; his alliance is attracting interest from many disaffected worlds. While I could not care less about a few worlds on the Outer Frontier, I am not prepared to lose worlds in the Core Systems or our primary production facilities. Today we wrote a new rule. One simply does not fuck with this administration.”
Spencer paused in thought and grinned. “I can work to that.”
“Good.”
They picked up their pace as they threaded through the Government building. When they arrived at his office, Conway noted his security detail had increased, the Marines replaced with Detachment 37 operators.
“Simon, I want you to assemble a staff. I need a cabinet of good people. People like us. People who get the job done.”
“Sir, I am the press secretary. I lack the clearance to undertake the task.”
“You are now my Chief of Staff. As of now I will issue my directives through you.”
“It is an honour President Conway, you have…”
Conway thrust a datapad into his hand.
“Before we assemble our team, I need the Navy contained. These officers are to be detained as soon as possible; all vessels are to report to their closest port.”
Spencer glanced at the datapad. His lips moved as he digested the information.
“This will render the fleet inoperable. How will we maintain security?”
“We won’t; the Frontier Company will. Have Galen Royce report to my office.”
Spencer left without another word.
Conway sat, sinking into his synth-leather chair. His plan was working, now he needed Manson to do his job.
Max Von Hagen watched David Conway’s speech on a giant monitor suspended from the ceiling. He and eight of his men had occupied the Office of the Governor. It was as practical as it was symbolic. The office linked into the planet’s command-and-control network, giving Von Hagen full control over state assets.
He picked up a terminal from the desk in front of him and threw it at the giant screen; it bounced off and landed with a soft thud on the carpet beneath.
“Max?” Wilkins said. “I thought it would be cool. You said he would negotiate.”
Von Hagen paced back and forth. He put his hand on his head, cradling it as if it throbbed with every step. He stopped.
“Fuck!” he bellowed. “Fuuuuuck!”
“Max,” Marvin Bates said. “We need to clear our heads, work out how we get out of this.”
Von Hagen whirled. Bates took a step backward.
“He has fucked us over,” Von Hagen yelled, spittle flying from his lips
. The fight went out of him with the admission.
“But we hold every major settlement,” Wilkins said from the far side of the room.
“We have a thousand people holding key locations. We can only hold them until the local forces get their act together. Conway has a private army,” Von Hagen said; it was a mumbled stream of thought. Things were unravelling. The plan had been to hold the planet long enough for Conway to offer a negotiated settlement instead of using force; the conflict would be resolved with neither side losing face. Conway would emerge as a hero and secure his claim to office. In return Martian Dawn would win the Red Planet’s independence.
He silently cursed his own stupidity. Von Hagen should have seen this coming. He made the mistake of trusting a Terran.
Conway had changed the game and Von Hagen had no options, no contingency plan.
“Max!” Bates yelled. “They have turned off the atmospheric processors.”
“How can they? We have full control of the city’s systems,” Wilkins replied, his voice rising in pitch.
“I don’t know, a backdoor maybe. If Conway planned this he would have ensured there was an easy solution…” Bates said.
Von Hagen continued to pace. Each dome had a minimum of two processing plants; they purified air and maintained the levels by converting water to oxygen and hydrogen. With the atmosphere processors shut down Mariner would have around 48 hours of air; with the smoke and pollutants released by the fires, they would be lucky if the air lasted a third of that time.
The sound of laughter interrupted his thoughts.
Karl Manson was walking down the wide, ornate staircase. His weapon lay casually in his arms.
“What’s so funny Manson?”
“You need to be careful who you trust, Max. That Conway is a slippery son of a bitch.” He raised the weapon in a fluid motion and shot Wilkins and Bates with precise, deadly head shots.
Von Hagen reached for his sidearm.
“Don’t do it Max; you can die today or you can consider the long game.”
“You were working for Conway all along?”
Manson laughed the same self-satisfied laugh he had on the day they met in a grubby warehouse.
