Rosetta (Jim Meade: Martian P.I)

by RJ Johnson

  "What do you need me for?" Meade decided his voice was remarkably restrained considering the many ways he was currently fantasizing to kill Palmetto with.

  “Everyone pays the piper eventually, Mr. Meade.” The director replied, his cold black eyes fixing onto Meade's.

  “You and I are square Palmetto. I don't owe you a goddamn thing. You got the Ambassadorship, you leave me alone, that was the deal.” Meade replied, not looking at the man sitting across from him.

  “You could do a great service for The Coalition. I would be sure to make all debts you owe to various Warlords would be forgiven, on top of which The Coalition..." he paused quickly correcting himself, "I would owe YOU a personal favor.”

  Meade considered this, and he tried to conceal the smile forming on his lips.

  "Let's say I'm considering what you have to say. Who are the players?"

  Palmetto called up a series of three photos on the viewscreen. Meade leaned forward to take a closer look.

  “Koschei’s main security operative is named Omar Rodriguez, former special ops with the National Directive.”

  “A Nat Direct man living in the ‘Belt?” Meade let out a low whistle, “Koschei must be paying him a fortune, considering what a guy like that could make on the Homeworld in a few operations.”

  Operations were just a code word - one the two men in the room understood intimately. The assassination of anyone who had pissed off someone with enough money, no target was out of bounds for a National Directive man.

  “You could say that. We came close to nabbing the guy here on Mars, but he disappeared into the ‘belt working for Koschei before we could put together a case.”

  “So what do you need me for?” Meade asked, leaning away from the screen, staring at Palmetto intensely.

  “His son, Atel Sinjakama, will be arriving on Mars in a little under an hour. He wants someone independent from the Consortium and the Coalition to begin an investigation into his father's death. And, there is no one else on Mars that has your kind of reputation for independence and tenacity for uncovering the truth."

  "Flattery will get you nowhere Palmetto."

  Palmetto smiled, hesitating before continuing, "Without revealing too much, we have, let's call them, friends within the Consortium who were in a position to influence his choice of you. According to those sources, his son doesn't trust Koschei or the Consortium as far as he can throw them and thinks the official story about his father is a lie."

  "And the Coalition agrees?" Meade asked the Ambassador.

  "The Coalition is curious." Palmetto replied diplomatically.

  "Why me?" Meade asked suspiciously. He didn't like what he had heard so far, they wouldn't call him in if it was this easy.

  Palmetto's thin smile spread across his face, "We want nothing more than just a peek into Koschei's operation. You have the reputation of an outsider with no ties to Consortium or Coalition interests.”

  Meade interrupted, “Besides you of course.”

  “Very few know of our association, and even less of the events that transpired, elevating me to my ahh...” he coughed politely, “current position.”

  “So, I'm a spy. Except without any of the backing, support or resources.” Meade shook his head. “Forget it, no dice. Too risky. Besides, you know I haven't ever stepped foot off of Mars in my life. What makes you think I'll start now?”

  The smile disappeared from Palmetto's lips, “I'm afraid I have to disabuse you of the notion that you have a choice in the matter. You WILL help Atel Sinjakama find the truth about his father's killer and report back to me the instant you do.”

  “Oh, well, since you asked so nicely,” Meade started sarcastically, “No.”

  The smile returned to his face as the director began to nod. “Of course, I could always ping O'Donnell and let his Green Men take you the second you step out of the building.”

  “Better men than you have threatened me Palmetto. O'Donnell already has to replace five of his men today because of me. And sure, you yourself could try coming for me, but your people would end up with a few holes in their chests and some bruised egos of their own to attend to after wards. In the meantime, I’ll disappear where you’ll never find me. Keep in mind that a lot of the same people we know like me a lot better than they like you.” Meade stood up, turned on his heel and walked towards the door, “Find some other Runabout for your suicide run. No thanks.”

  Another picture appeared on Palmetto's desktop. It was Emeline Hunan, the owner of Last Ditch and the closest thing he could call a friend.

  “If you choose not to help me, I won't just call in your markers and make your life a living hell, I will also call in all of Emeline's markers and debts. How long do you suppose she'll last with the Warlords without Coalition protection?”

  Meade silently cursed. Palmetto had played his ultimate trump card and he knew he had Meade over a barrel. It wasn't a fair fight. Emeline could handle herself, of that Meade had no doubt, but Meade wouldn't allow her to be dragged into his fight. He'd agree to Palmetto's demands, just as the Warlord knew he would.

  “You played that card pretty quick.” Meade said as he turned to face the Director. He slid down into the seat opposite the man and cocked his head. “You surprise me Palmetto, I thought you had more finesse than that.”

  “Desperate times, Mr. Meade. Desperate times.” Palmetto dismissed Emeline's image off his screen. “Do we have a deal?”

  Meade glared at Palmetto, hate in his eyes as he examined the former Warlord sitting across from him. It didn't matter how well-dressed Palmetto was these days. He would always be a conniving son of a bitch, capable of doing anything to get what he wanted.

  “I don't see as how I have much choice.” Meade licked his lips. “But, as you said, you already knew that. I will check out the case for you, but, only on the condition that you let me run things as I see fit and without interference from The Coalition,” Meade glared at the well-dressed man sitting across from him, “or you.” Meade added.

  Palmetto acted offended, “But of course Mr. Meade. All we ask is for you to debrief us on your return and let us know what you find.”

  Meade moved to the door and opened it. Before he left, he turned back to Palmetto. “I'm confused about one thing, you had to know with the way things are these days, I'd might’ve taken the job if it paid well enough anyway. Why all the blackmail and subterfuge?”

  Palmetto smiled and looked at Meade, his eyes boring directly into his. “The Coalition wants to know exactly what is going on out there.” The Ambassador sat behind his desk and folded his hands neatly in a triangle. "Rosetta is important to the Consortium. And whatever information you're able to gather about that cursed Asteroid, will help the Coalition disable the destructive effects it is having on the price of ORI."

  "Always about the money," Meade said dryly. "I'll keep my ArmBar scanning the whole time. You'll get your information. In return I want triple my normal hazard pay, as well as all of Emeline's and my markers cleared from the debt ledgers. Understood?"

  Palmetto stood and extended his hand with a broad smile across his mouth, "A cheap price for so valuable a service. Thank you Mr. Meade, you'll be doing your nation a great service."

  "Fuck you Palmetto" Meade said gruffly leaving the Ambassador behind without bothering to shake his hand. Meade exited the room and the door slid shut behind him.

  Meade felt a cold sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Palmetto was not the type to set a man like him in motion without an overarching plan. This time however, Meade didn't plan on playing Palmetto's pawn. He would find Sinjakama's murderer, or proof of the accident and leave it at that. Meade only hoped he could survive long enough to spend all that money he was about to make.

  Chapter Three

  Meade stepped into Last Ditch and looked around his favorite haunt. Upstairs was the room he rented from Emeline, and just down the hall from the bar was his office where he had hung out the shingle for his private investigator busi
ness. He loved The Last Ditch, and whenever he walked into the small cramped bar, he felt at home amongst its dark smoky wood, large selection of beer and hard liquors imported from Earth.

  The real gem of Last Ditch was the redwood bar brought to Mars from the Homeworld by one of the original Warlords who had more money than sense. Emeline had re-purposed it (looted being the less polite term for it) after the people he was in charge of revolted and strung him up across the Canyon.

  Meade sat at the bar and removed the black cowboy hat with a braided tail that had become his trademark. He slapped the bar and saluted Emeline who was busy on the other side of the bar pouring drinks for the moles who had recently gotten off the night shift in the ORI mines down the way.

  “Give me a sec, will ya?” Emeline called to Meade from across the bar. Meade looked around in approval; the place was busier than normal. She was doing a far better business than most people were on Mars. Though, Meade supposed, that's what happened in a down economy when you sold liquor.

  Meade settled in at the bar and took off his hat licking his lips in anticipation for the warm amber liquid Emeline brewed in the backroom. Before he could get comfortable, a large man sat down next to him and Meade still on edge from his encounter with the Green Men was startled. He began to reach for his grandfather's gun when a hand stopped him.

  “Easy kid, I just wanted to say hi.” Kansas Grayborn removed his hand from Meade as a smile spread across the large man's face. Meade smiled and removed Kansas' hand from his.

  "Man could get himself killed sneaking up on me like that."

  "You ain't fast enough kid." Kansas replied, a smirk touching his lips.

  Kansas Grayborn was one of the founders of the self-appointed local Martian Militia. To the Coalition, they were a separatist group labeled as terrorists. To Kansas, his Militia was the last great hope for Martian Independence and sometimes police force for when the Coalition MPs were unable or unwilling to bring justice to E-Block. Meade just saw them as a bunch of kooks who were a symptom of the underlying unease that permeated the Martian people lately. Revolution was in the air, and folks like Kansas just fanned the flames. Meade liked it better when folks got along. Everyone made more money that way.

  Kansas was always trying to recruit Meade in his cause to expel the Coalition from Mars, but Meade didn’t like hopeless causes. He was the only hopeless cause he wanted to support. Though, Meade supposed Grayborn's militia had a point. An independent government free from Coalition or Consortium interests would be something to see. Grayborn had inspired a lot of people with his rhetoric about fair trade and an honest day's work for an honest living, though, there wasn't any real movement just yet. Besides, Meade was a runabout and didn't care about the politics involved on Mars. All he wanted was to make enough credits to retire young, and Grayborn didn't offer much in the way of compensation beyond a hole in the head and a burial in the Martian desert by Coalition forces.

  “You're making quite the reputation around here.” Kansas said clasping Meade on his back. “There are five Green Men that ain't gonna be bothering people thanks to you.”

  “I didn't do anything beyond what they deserved, besides,” Meade looked at Grayborn in irritation, “It's not as if I enjoyed killing them. Two of 'em were regulars in a poker game I frequent, and they were terrible players.”

  “Still,” Kansas signaled Emeline who came over and poured the two men drinks, “I know my people are grateful. Some of the Green Men you took out killed a friend's son the other day for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, so you can't tell me you didn't do the good people of New Plymouth a service.”

  “Him or me, Kansas. Always gonna be him if it comes down to that, I don't particularly care what they did before we got to that point.” Meade finished his shot and looked at Kansas Grayborn in his eyes. “What do you want anyway? Haven't I turned you down enough?”

  Kansas Grayborn chuckled and held up his hands in a surrendering motion. “I'm just passing along a thank you. Whether you care or not, you did people a service today, and I know of a few more ways for you to keep helping people. I know you like to hide behind all those 'rules' of yours, to keep yourself from getting hurt. But those rules are also keeping you from living your life. You oughta open yourself up.” Kansas paused as Emeline moved to refill their glasses, before moving off to serve a group of raucous moles who had entered the bar after their day in the mines. “Case in point right there.”

  Meade shook his head, “What are you talking about?”

  Kansas shook his head and smiled. “Nothing I suppose. Only wisdom I'm trying to impart to you is that good men standing by doing nothing is all it takes for evil to triumph, or however that mess goes.” Kansas downed the rest of his drink and rose from his seat, offering his hand to Meade, “Aaron Shane ain't going to be spreading any more evil from his hospital bed around New Plymouth for the next few weeks, and I thank ya for that.”

  Meade smirked and chuckled. He liked Kansas well enough; he just wished he could do without the recruiting spiel every time they saw each other. “Tell 'em they're welcome. I'll be sure that the next time someone picks a fight with me I’ll ask ‘em to make sure they’re the bad guys.”

  Kansas laughed loudly in return, his large barrel chest shaking with his rumbling laugh. “Sounds like a deal to me. Enjoy your drink Jim.”

  Kansas exited Last Ditch and Meade turned back to the bar and his drink. He basked in the cool air flowing around his head, relaxing for what felt like the first time in days. It felt good.

  The feeling didn't last long when Emeline approached him and he remembered Palmetto's threat against his best friend. He sighed as Emeline poured Meade his third shot.

  “Long day at the tables huh?” Emeline asked him.

  Meade downed the shot without acknowledging her. He pointed at the glass and she filled it again.

  “Every day's a long day Em.” Meade leaned back in his chair. “How's tricks?”

  Emeline shrugged and poured Meade his third and final shot for the day. “It's been a strange one. No ORI got tagged out of D-Block today.”

  Meade raised his eyebrow as he sipped the third shot. “Who shut it down?”

  “Who do you think?” She pointed towards a few Coalition regulars brooding over their drinks in the corner of Last Ditch. “Your friends in the Coalition shut everything down claiming the price of ORI was too low to make opening the mine worth it.” She shook her head. “This sort of thing keeps up, it'll be hard for me to rationalize opening my doors too.”

  “Oh, I wouldn't worry if I were you.” Meade said, reassuring his friend, “People always need a place to get a decent glass of whiskey, and so long as you've got your still, you've got business.”

  Emeline shrugged. “I don't know. It's hard enough for the moles to make a decent living. If they hadn't opened Rosetta, we wouldn't be having these kinds of problems.”

  Meade grunted in agreement. “You're the second person to say as much to me today. Roxy over at Lover's Lot said the very same thing.”

  Emeline felt a hot flash of jealousy course through her system. She'd never admit it to Meade, but, the torch she carried for the private investigator got heavy sometimes, especially whenever he mentioned the beautiful redhead he hung out with all day while playing poker. Not that she suspected him of sleeping with her, but still, she had no idea what was going on in that man's mind.

  “Roxanne ought to know. She has a better idea of what those moles make better than they do. God knows her hand is always in their pockets.”

  Meade chuckled, “Something like that anyway.”

  Emeline looked at Meade, usually he wouldn't miss a chance to talk about his favorite redhead, but clearly there was something on his mind. “What's bothering you?”

  “I got a case today.”

  Emeline got excited. The only reason he had hung his shingle out was because of her constant badgering that a man like him needed to settle down and get a real job. If he wasn't going
to join the rest of the moles digging for ORI out of the Martian mines, then he ought to try something he was good at. The life of a Runabout rarely ended happily. She always did what she could to push him into a more stable life.

  “You don't sound happy about the prospect of real money coming into your business.” Emeline said sarcastically.

  “Gonna have to do some traveling."

  Emeline raised her eyebrow at him, "You leaving the planet? I find that hard to believe."

  "Not as if I had much choice in the matter. Palmetto told me to take the case or else.” Meade grimaced.

  “So that's why you're so grumpy today. If I'd have known you had to deal with that unpleasant man, I would've given you top shelf.” Emeline said wryly. “What's the case?”