by R J Johnson
The last few years had been difficult for Meade and his friends, but they were waging an effective guerilla war against the Coalition. Today’s mission against the supply ship was a good example of their tactics working against the hyperpower’s imagined strengths.
Even if they hadn’t managed to bring back the full order, there should be enough to help the people of E-Block survive the next six months.
That gave the MiMs time - one of the most valuable commodities generals had when fighting a war, Meade had learned. The rebels could use the winter break to regroup and solidify their position as they made new allies across the system who might lend support to their cause.
Meade paused as he reached the end of an alleyway fenced off from the main thoroughfare through E-Block. He could hear voices on the other side of the fence.
He opened his armbar, scanning the other side of the metal wall to find out who was standing there on the other side. This time of night, it was most likely a drug dealer selling GAP or flash to some ‘upstanding’ Coalition citizen. Then again, it could be also be a pair of Coalition MPs on the lookout for Meade and his rebel pals.
He paused and watched the infrared images in front of him for a moment. One of the forms knelt in front of the other and he chuckled, shutting the display. He pulled at the metal wall, the sheet swinging up, so he could step through.
Meade touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Ma’am, no need to get up.”
He up at the Coalition mole whose face had turned bright cherry red in embarrassment.
“Have a good night,” he said. He turned and kept moving, lest he interrupt their transaction any longer.
He moved quickly through the streets spotting the sign for Emeline’s bar down the road. That wasn’t as easy as it used to be, thanks to the concertina wire that had turned E-Block into a maze.
The ugly fencing lined the street in an attempt by the Coalition to slow travel and business in E-Block, another tactic to hurting the rebels. Every time he moved the maze to go home, he had to remind him that it was all temporary and that every wall that had been built, was eventually torn down.
He walked into the Last Ditch and waved at Simone, the woman who occasionally took care of Emeline’s bar.
“She upstairs?” he called out to Simone.
“Up there waiting on you,” Simone replied. “Tell her I ain’t staying longer than 11 tonight. I got my kids.”
“You may as well go now,” he said, approaching the register and downloading the night’s receipts to his armbar. “I think we’re taking the rest of the night off.”
“Shiiiit,” Simone said, drawing out the curse. “Whiskey’s the only thing left worth selling in E-Block and you want to take a night off from making that money? Can’t say I understand that.”
“We already had a good night,” he said, tossing one of the ration boxes from the supply ship to her.
She caught it and examined the contents. Her face broke out in a wide smirk.
“Must gone real good tonight,” she said, her voice lowering in a conspiratorial tone.
“Good enough,” he replied with a grin. “Good enough so that Em and I can take the rest of the night off, if you catch my meaning.”
Simone’s peals of laughter echoed through the mostly empty bar. “Goddamn Jim Meade, you don’t have to worry about me hanging around. You go get yourself some of that fine lady.”
He chuckled, “Do us a favor and lock up, will ya?”
He turned and hurried up the stairs where Emeline was presumably waiting. He removed his boots and chucked them down the hall at the door to his apartment.
“Em, I hope you’re ready, because I’m coming in hot!” he called out into the hallway.
He opened the door, unbuckling his belt, to see a woman he didn’t recognize sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.
He withdrew his grandfather’s pistol, aiming it at the intruder, his eyes darting around the room.
“Who are you? Where’s Emeline?”
The fashionably dressed woman clicked her tongue at him and cocked her head.
“Mr. Meade,” she said, amusement in her voice. “There’s no need for that. I’m here at the request of a mutual friend.”
He didn’t crack a smile.
“Lady, I can count on one hand the number of friends I have,” he said. “And none of them are in this room to vouch for ya. So why don’t you tell me who you are and who sent you before you end up with an unnecessary hole in your head?”
“Mr. Meade,” the woman said, standing up from the chair. The black dress she wore was tight and accentuated every curve on her body. “We’re not here to kill or kidnap you or your associates. Our mutual friend wants a moment of your time.”
“We?” he asked glancing around.
“You have me covered with one gun,” she said. “My people have you covered with seven.”
He felt his stomach sink when a half-dozen red dots appeared on his duster jacket. He relaxed, allowing the pistol to dangle from his grip.
The woman watched him, an amused grin coming over her face.
“You’re not Coalition security,” he said, looking at her outfit. He was making a statement, but his tone made it sound like an accusation.
“We’re not here about the supply ship if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Meade cocked his head. Now she had his interest. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
She eyed him for a moment and then moved on, knowing better to press the issue.
“The Ambassador wants to see you,” she said.
“Palmetto?” Meade snorted. “What the hell does he want?”
“We don’t feel like going out tonight,” Emeline said, entering the room aiming a shotgun at the woman’s head. “We have a whole evening planned.”
“She’s not invited,” the woman said, barely glancing over at Emeline. She was remarkably calm for someone with a weapon aimed at her head.
Meade barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Palmetto knows where I am. He can come to me if he wants to meet so badly.”
“I don’t know if you noticed all the large men with even larger guns that have you surrounded,” the woman in black said. “But this is Palmetto coming to you.”
Meade’s eyes narrowed. “What does he want?”
“Five minutes of your time,” she replied. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”
He appraised his situation, calculating his options. “There’s not much of a choice here, is there?”
She chuckled. “It’s the illusion of having a choice that’s so important Mr. Meade.
“You’re afraid that if I had no choice, I’d try something dramatic,” he said dryly.
“Something like that,” she answered.
Whatever this was, Meade didn’t think Palmetto was setting him up for a trap – that wasn’t his style. If this had been about the supply ship, the MPs would have arrested him and Emeline. This felt different, which had his interest.
“All right, five minutes. Let’s see what Palmetto has to say.”
“I’m coming with you,” Emeline said, lowering the shotgun, but Meade waved her off.
“I appreciate it,” he said, glancing back at the woman in black. “But like she said, there’s no plus one on this invite.”
The mysterious woman smirked at Emeline, who glared back at the intruder.
“I’ll be fine,” he told Emeline. He drew her in for a hug. “Count on it.”
She looked at him, a smirk on her face. “If you don’t come back, your escort there will be the first person I kill.”
The woman in black chuckled and he shot Emeline a look. He turned back to the mysterious woman and tugged on the brim of his hat to reset it on his head.
“Well, let’s not keep the man waiting.”
Meade turned and followed the mysterious woman out of the room hoping he wasn’t walking into a trap.
Chapter Eight
Standoff
The sun set several hours ago leaving only the lights of New Plymouth to illuminate their ride. Meade assumed the mysterious woman and her team were taking him to see Palmetto at the Coalition’s headquarters on Mars, so he was surprised when the aerolimo glided past the exit that would have taken them there.
He leaned forward to the woman in black sitting in the front seat.
“We’re not going to the Coalition HQ?”
The Woman in Black ignored his question, staring out the windshield at the flyway in front of them.
Meade became even more intrigued. What was Palmetto up to?
“You got a name?” Meade asked the woman in black. “I think it’s only fair after you shanghaied me in the middle-of-the-night.”
For a moment, he thought she would keep ignoring him, but was surprised when she turned to peer back at him, her eyes sharp.
“You may call me Gabriella,” the woman said after a moment. She back, making it clear she wasn’t interested in conversation.
He leaned back in his seat. He’d met women like Gabriella before and would bet every dollar in his meager bank account that she was a National Directive spy – or former more likely. The National Directive were well-known for their ruthlessness and were generally considered the best fighters and spies in the system.
After a few more minutes, their aerolimo exited the flyway until it came to a stop in front of a large, brightly lit building. Meade’s door opened and he stepped out of the vehicle, looking at the hospital where several Alpha Coalition troops were stationed.
There was something odd about the scene – and then it struck him. There was no one around for blocks – extremely odd for the largest and best-known hospital on Mars.
“Where is everyone?” he asked.
Gabriella considered his question for a moment, and he wondered if she was trying to decide if she should lie to him.
“The Ambassador is currently being treated here, thus, non-essential personnel were evacuated to other locations.”
“What about the other patients?” Meade asked, incredulous. That didn’t sound like something she would lie about.
“Who did you think I was referring to when I said non-essential personnel?” Gabriella asked. She proffered a hand, extending it toward the hospital. “Come along, the ambassador is waiting.”
Meade felt a flash of irritation but swallowed it back down knowing he needed to keep his cool. The ambassador was notorious for trying to knock a person off-balance before meeting with them. These were mind games straight out of Palmetto’s playbook.
They strode through the empty hospital until they arrived outside a hospital room on the third floor. Four guards standing at attention looked up at Gabriella as she withdrew her credentials.
“He’s with me,” she said curtly.
“Everyone gets scanned, no exceptions,” the guard replied, his face inscrutable behind the mask.
“Not him,” Gabriella replied sharply. “You want to try and challenge that, we can see who comes out on top.”
The guard looked as if he was about to accept the woman in black’s challenge, but after a second glance, thought better of it. He stepped aside and allowed Meade and Gabriella to enter the ambassador’s hospital room which was brightly lit and smelled of antiseptic.
Palmetto sitting on the edge of an examination table, his shirt off, while a doctor listened to his heart beat with a stethoscope.
“You look like shit Palmetto,” Meade said, eyeing the man who had made his life a living hell over the last few years.
Palmetto chuckled. “Ahh, Mr. Meade. It’s refreshing to hear some honesty for once.” He turned and waved at the aides who were busy milling about as their boss was treated by the doctor. “Surrounding yourself with ‘yes’ men isn’t as fun as you’d think.”
Palmetto turned to the doctor tending to him and waved a hand. “Thank you, doctor. That’s all for now.”
The doctor didn’t argue. He began packing up his equipment, glancing at the cut on Meade’s forehead. “That looks nasty. You’ll want to get it looked at.”
“I’ve had worse,” Meade said, trying to sound tough in front of Palmetto.
“Cuts like that are prone to infection,” the doctor’s voice was watery but firm in its delivery. The unspoken message was clear: Don’t be a moron. But I’m not here to mother you.
“I’ll make time to see someone when I can,” Meade said in a conciliatory tone, hoping that would assuage the doctor.
The sawbones grunted and then closed his bag after one final look at Palmetto.
“The procedure went well. We can schedule another in three months,” the doctor said. “Next time have your people give the hospital a little more notice. It would go a long way in saving lives.”
“Yes, of course,” Palmetto intoned, clasping his hand on the doctor’s back. “Thank you for your time Dr. Sett.”
The doctor took one last look at Meade’s forehead and then exited the examination room.
Meade turned to look at Palmetto who had finished putting his shirt back on and was inhaling the sterile hospital air with deep breaths.
“DNA therapy is humanity’s greatest invention since sliced bread,” Palmetto said, reaching his hands out, stretching them as far as they could go. “I always feel so… tingly after a procedure.”
Meade felt the disgust well up inside him once again. The man had ordered the evacuation of an entire hospital in order to have a nip and tuck session. Palmetto’s latest exercise of power was one of many reasons why he hated this man so much.
Still, Palmetto had to know his provocations would anger Meade, so he did what he could to stand there silent, refusing to react to the ambassador.
“You’ve been a busy boy Mr. Meade,” Palmetto said, turning to face him.
“I remember my mother saying something about idle hands being the devil’s playthings.”
Palmetto eyed, “Curious. After our last interaction I was under the impression you kept a moral code. Your… rules, yes?”
“They keep me safe and sane when it comes to dealing with the curveballs life throws me,” he said cautiously. What was Palmetto getting at?
“But you make exceptions for your list of rules, don’t you?” Palmetto asked, his face inscrutable in the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. “In fact, you’re willing to go to any lengths for your little rebel friends? Even throw away your code.”
Meade squinted at him, growing impatient.
“Palmetto you have a point, you’d best get to it, I was told you only wanted five minutes.”
The ambassador’s face grew dark, anger gathering in his voice. “I suppose this is on me now, isn’t it? After all, I am the one who called for the parlay.”
“Did you bring me her to kill me, Palmetto?” Meade asked, his voice remaining flat. He wasn’t sur what to expect from the ambassador. He’d never seen Palmetto look this angry before.
“I’m here to discuss terms,” the ambassador said, spitting the last word out as if it were a curse word. “On behalf of the Coalition government on Mars, I wish to discuss the terms of our surrender to the Martian Independence Movement.”
To say that Meade was shocked by the Ambassador’s offer would undersell the absolute reality flip the man’s offer meant to him. He knew their rebellion had been causing plenty of trouble for the Coalition on Mars by stealing shipments and hassling troops. But even on their best days, he knew they couldn’t have done so much damage to the hyperpower that they were ready to surrender.
Palmetto opened his armbar, displaying a contract on the screen.
“Here it is. A complete and total surrender by the Coalition government on Mars. If I’m not mistaken, it’s everything your group has asked for and more.”
He began buttoning up his shirt and continued speaking as if he were talking about something as mundane as the weather.
“The Coalition is prepared to begin negotiations on a variety of issues that come with forming a
n entirely new government, which shouldn’t cause you much trouble. Meanwhile, trade and commerce agreements could be monitored by a third party, but…”
Palmetto continued droning on about the terms, but Meade stopped listening. He was too busy looking at the seal on the contract. It was as legitimate as anything else the hyperpower agreed to. Whatever game the Ambassador was playing, the man was buying in with real currency.
Still, something didn’t smell right to him and Meade decided to go with his gut.
“Come again?” he asked, looking up to meet the man’s eyes.
Palmetto stared at him, and his eyes narrowed. He cursed under his breath.
“You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you?” the ambassador grunted in resignation. “Fine.”
Palmetto drew in a breath and fixed Meade with a stare that left him little doubt the ambassador was serious.
“I hereby wish to officially extend an offer from the Martian Coalition government to discuss terms of the Coalition’s surrender of all its colonies on Mars,” Palmetto said in a clear, strong voice. “This agreement is contingent on your organization agreeing to a third party monitoring the destruction of all weapons of mass destruction currently in the rebellion’s possession. Your people will also be required to sign the Treaty of ’44 which prohibits the further creation or manufacture of weapons of mass destruction.”
Meade continued to look at Palmetto in disbelief, wondering if he was somehow back at home dreaming all this.
“I’m sorry what?”
“You heard me,” Palmetto growled. “If your organization turns over the professor’s research and every active warhead that contain that nanobot virus that was used to dissolve our troops and equipment, the Coalition will withdraw from Martian soil and allow your people to begin running things. I can’t guarantee the Consortium will recognize your government, but when has anyone cared what they thought?”
Meade was thunderstruck. The Ambassador was offering the MiMs everything they had ever wanted. There was only one problem.
“You’ll have to remind me about these so-called WMDs we possess,” Meade finally managed. “’Cause I have no idea what you’re on about.”
