by R J Johnson
Here, Meade could take an hour-long shower without anyone even noticing – which is exactly what he did. By the end of it, he figured he must have rubbed all thirty-eight years’ worth of Martian dust off him. It certainly felt like it.
He emerged from the shower pink and raw, feeling as clean as a newborn baby. He looked at himself in the mirror trying to appreciate the body he had left after years of living on Mars. He was in good shape, his muscles weren’t as tight as they once were when he was beating people up in the Zero-G fights on Mars, but he was still muscular and in good shape for his age.
He put a towel on, eying the massive bed across from him. It looked inviting, but he had homework to do.
Returning to the bedroom, he grabbed the armbar and placed it back on his forearm, activating his connection to the wireless. Scanning the news items, he scoffed at the videos of reporters blandly explaining how a power surge could destroy a penthouse suite.
“Some power surge,” Meade muttered. “Didn’t even make us evacuate the hotel.”
In fact, there hadn’t been much evidence of any problems when he entered the lobby of the hotel. Meade was learning that Venusian authorities were nothing, if not efficient and discrete.
He turned his attention back to the documents given to him by Gabriella, the mysterious National Directive woman in the alleyway.
After going through more of the documents, Meade decided there wasn’t much left for him to discover. He hadn’t found anything that leapt out to him as useful, so he decided to compare the list the professor had given him with the information Palmetto had slipped him.
The targets in front of him read like a who’s who of Coalition and Consortium political elite. He had already crossed the Coalition’s Secretary of State off the list, so he thought it fair to keep things balanced by going after a Consortium elite next.
At the top of the professor’s Consortium hit list? The Ambassador to Mars, a little-known bureaucrat who didn’t have all that much power on the Red Planet - so far as Meade knew anyway. Once the Coalition had settled there, they had locked up things and any real settlements begun by the Consortium was an invite to war. The hyperpower only had representatives there as a diplomatic courtesy.
He looked at the documents, contemplating what he was considering.
He’d killed Mercer because he discovered the man had an unnatural predilection for children. He knew another reason like that might now present itself for next time.
Meade set his armbar to collate the documents Gabriella gave him and had the algorithms looks for any possible connections. He might get lucky and the computer could spot a pattern that lead him to something he hadn’t thought of.
In the meantime, he needed rest, even though he knew it wouldn’t come easy.
It never did on the nights he killed someone.
Chapter Forty-Five
Get To Work
Following a night of fitful sleep, Meade awoke to his armbar chiming insistently. Someone was trying to get ahold of him, and they weren’t going away.
He woke, and out of habit, felt for Emeline’s body. She wasn’t there of course, and it took him a moment to remember why that was.
Then chime from the armbar somehow felt like it was growing insistent.
Bleary-eyed, he stumbled out of bed and opened the armbar.
“What? What is it?” he groused. He didn’t care who was on the other end. They were going to pay for waking him up.
“Not a morning person Mr. Meade?” the professor’s smug tone filled the air.
He winced. The professor’s voice, already thin and reedy, was particularly grating today.
“I’m not at my best ‘til I’ve had my coffee,” he said, squinting into the display. “What do you want?”
“I warned you that being reckless would have consequences,” the professor said, his tone nasal. “There’s talk of the Coalition and Consortium postponing the conference thanks to your little ‘power surge.’ They’re becoming concerned about security. If the renewal ceremony is delayed, that would be very bad for Ms. Hunan.”
Meade finally got pissed. Nothing woke him up faster than threats against his loved ones.
“Oh, what the hell do you even care? Your clone got in to help suppress the news. You and I have a deal and I intend on keeping my end of the bargain.”
The professor snorted. “I don’t think you are as capable as you think.”
“Hey, one target is down,” Meade retorted. “I’ll take care of the rest as we agreed.”
The professor wagged a finger at him through the display. “Know this, if you fail to accomplish the mission, I will hold you and Ms. Hunan personally responsible.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “You act like I haven’t had someone threaten my life before. Here’s a piece of news for ya. I know that you need me to finish these missions and threatening me ain’t gonna make me be any smarter or more clever about ‘em.”
He rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair as he built up more steam yelling at the professor.
“I’ve got a killer hangover and shit to do. So, unless you feel like pressing that button of yours and ending all your carefully laid plans without even giving me a chance, then mister, quit wasting our time.”
Meade finished his speech, looking defiantly at the professor through the display. He was sick and tired of being pushed around by this egomaniac.
“Well professor?” he challenged. “You gonna let me get back to work, or are you gonna sit there issuing idle threats?”
The professor stared him down, his expression one of intense fury. But he knew Meade was right. Shangri-La needed the Martian PI.
“All right Mr. Meade,” the professor said slowly. “I’ll let you get back to your work. After all, this is the ‘Hero of Rosetta’ I’m talking to.”
Meade rolled his eyes and then cut the connection. He hated that nickname. The media forced it on him long ago when the incident first occurred and he had hoped the moniker would have faded by now.
As much as he hated the notoriety, the professor’s dig reminded him that his nickname did carry some cache with people. After all, being the Hero of Rosetta already helped him avoid execution by the professor’s wife. Maybe hiding and staying in the shadows was the wrong move.
He began pacing and working the plan out in his head. The only thing that might prevent it from working was Emeline herself. He couldn’t see her being too crazy about it.
The best way to find out, was to ask.
He pinged Emeline on the wireless and she appeared on the screen, looking sleepy.
“Hey honey,” she said, yawning. “You find something?”
“An idea,” he said.
“That can’t be good.”
“It’s something I’ve been rolling over in my head the last few minutes.”
“Okay…” she said, plopping down on the bed. She adjusted the screen. “What do you have?”
“This whole conference is about bringing the Coalition and Consortium together for the treaty celebration, right?” Meade mused. “What if we were able to delay the professor’s plans by having the Martian Independence Movement show up and throw a monkey wrench or two into the whole thing?”
She cocked her head. “I don’t see how that might help. Neither power recognizes the MiMs as anything legit.”
“That’s the point,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if they actually recognize the MiMs as legit or not. Make ‘em have to entertain the idea. Vote on it. Make it official.”
“Meanwhile, you have the opportunity to get close to all the diplomats otherwise who have been moved into higher security thanks to last night’s little ‘power surge,” she said, following his train of thought.
“That’s the idea,” Meade replied, feeling more confident about his plan. “The only thing, the professor gave us audience credentials, which keeps me off the floor. I might be able to talk my way past the diplomats, but there ain’t no way security will let me i
n without the right papers.”
“Palmetto,” she replied almost instantly. “You’re thinking he can get you in.”
He blew out his breath through his teeth. “It’s not ideal…”
“…but he’s the only one with a legit connection to the negotiation table,” she finished.
She angled her head at him and smiled. “Look at you, thinking this plan through. Gotta say, that’s a nice change of pace.”
“I’m trying to grow as a person,” he joked. His face turned serious. “You think Palmetto will go for it?”
She snorted. “Palmetto has been begging to help us all along. He gave us the information on the professor and the diplomatic credentials we needed to visit the Consortium’s Ambassador to Mars. He knows he needs your favors more than you need his right now.”
He considered this. She was right. All he had to do was make a phone call.
“You might have to get used to addressing me as Ambassador Meade,” he said with a wry grin.
She snorted. “Never in a million years.”
“Now that’s not nice,” he teased her. “This is a big promotion.”
“Sure,” she said. “Then you’d better get into some better-looking clothes. I’ll send a concierge down with some threads that will help you fit in.”
“Thanks,” he said. He paused and looked at her in the display wistfully. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” she said, sounding wistful. “But, I’m only two doors down you know.”
“I know,” he said. “But any distance is too much.”
“You’re too much,” she replied. But Meade spotted the hint of a smile on her face. She loved flirting with him.
“If you’re gonna be an Ambassador, you’d better get in the shower and shave that beard off. You won’t be able to fit in with that five-o’clock shadow of yours” she said. “I’m going to go look at a construction company that’s listed as a supplier to the professor. Someone is providing the material to build that dreadnaught. Maybe I can find some clues over there.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Be careful out there.”
“Please, this is a milk run,” she said smiling. “You’re the one who’s about to jump into a pit of vipers.”
Meade chuckled. She was right. What did he have to worry about?
“See ya soon.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Dress to Impress
Meade did what he could to polish himself up as much as possible. If he was going to fit in with the hoity-toity elite of the Coalition and Consortium, then he needed to look the part.
He took scissors to the beard that had covered his face over the last few months and clipped away at it, tiny hairs falling in the sink until his face was cleanshaven for the first time in months.
Rubbing his chin, he examined his reflection, briefly wondering if he would ever get used to the cold breeze on his face again.
A soft knock at the door interrupted the self-examination. Meade ran his fingers through his hair one final time before moving to the door.
He opened it to see the concierge holding out a thick package folded over his arm. “The lady in Suite 2230 sent this package over for you.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled. He tossed some credits toward the man knowing he wouldn’t have left otherwise.
“Thank you sir,” the man bowed. He closed the door and took the package over to the bed to see what kind of monkey suit Emeline had ordered for him.
He opened the package and groaned out loud. She couldn’t be serious.
The golden robes were bright, gaudy and completely ridiculous. Meade took them out of the package, shaking them out to get a better look at his new outfit. He couldn’t believe she was making him do this.
Ambassadors, when working in the service of their country, usually wore ornate robes to diplomatic engagements and all appointments with heads of state and representatives of it. He had hoped Emeline had forgotten that little bit of trivia, but it appeared she had not.
These weren’t uncomfortable so far as robes went, he figured. The intricate designs laid out in gold print certainly made him something to look at. There’s no doubt he’d be turning heads while walking around the convention floor.
He opened his armbar and paused his finger over the comm button not wanting to make the call. But he had no choice, Palmetto was his only way in.
The display chimed for several moments as he waited for his longtime nemesis to answer. When Palmetto’s face appeared on the viewscreen, he was surprised to feel relief coursing through his body.
“Mr. Meade,” Palmetto said. He was sitting at his desk, his fingers folded in a V.
“Palmetto,” he said, returning the greeting. “I assume you know why I’m calling?”
“I’m hoping it’s to thank me for the information my assistant provided you last night.”
“That was appreciated,” he admitted. “But I’m actually calling for a favor.”
“Another one so soon?” Palmetto leaned back, smirking at him through the viewscreen. “I’m surprised at you Mr. Meade. It’s unlike you to come begging to me, twice in a row.”
He ignored it. “You’re here for the conference, aren’t you?”
“My ship arrived a few hours ago,” Palmetto replied. “I sent my… assistant ahead as a scout and to see if she could be of any assistance to you.”
“She’s National Directive,” he replied. “They don’t come cheap.”
“Good security rarely does,” Palmetto said. “The favor Mr. Meade?”
He swallowed and fixed his stare on the man who had always caused him and his family problems. “I need you to bring me on the UN Floor and introduce me as a representative for the Martian Independence Movement.”
Palmetto raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”
“I never said it would be an easy favor.”
The ambassador leaned forward, an ugly look in his eye. “If I did such a thing, the Coalition would strip me of my Ambassadorship and my political enemies back on the red planet would ruin me for even suggesting it in the first place. Is that your favor? Have me commit political hari kari in front of the entire system? It’s one thing to ask me to add you on to my team as some kind of lackey, but to declare you as a full-fledged representative of Mars?”
He leaned back and picked a piece of imaginary fluff off his robes. “You ask too much of me Mr. Meade.”
“Stop being so dramatic,” Meade replied, rolling his eyes. “I think people would see you as the next great peacemaker. Especially if you frame my appearance at the treaty signing as the Consortium and Coalition living up to the Treaty of ’44. Some might be pissed, but I’m betting a significant amount of people on both sides will be interested in what I have to say. Besides, all you’re doing is introducing me and getting me on the floor. I’m the one who’s got to do all the talking.”
Palmetto considered this and squinted at him through the display.
“The treaty renewal is gathering together the greatest political minds from across the system since the Last War and you want to jump in feet first?” Palmetto scoffed. “With no plan?”
“It’s also a great opportunity for you to introduce yourself as someone more than the administrator to a half-dead planet,” Meade shot back. “You and I both know you’ve always believed yourself to be destined for something more than running Mars. This could be your chance.”
“And if I don’t help you?” Palmetto asked.
“Then you’ll have lost nothing, and your comfy office will be waiting for you back at home,” he replied with a shrug. “But I know you Palmetto. I know you can’t resist a challenge like I can’t resist a mystery. The professor has his finger in a lot of pies that don’t taste right to me. I’m betting if you and I work together, we can knock an extremely dangerous player out of the game.”
Palmetto considered this for a moment.
“All right Mr. Meade,” he said. “I agree to your terms. But I warn y
ou, your life is forfeit should I even catch a whiff of you trying to betray me.”
Meade grunted in exasperation. “Palmetto, the last thing I need right now is another person trying to kill me. Now, how about that pass?”
“Ten minutes, Sky Bright hotel. My assistant will meet you in the lobby with what you require.”
And with that Palmetto’s image winked off his display. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was keeping in. He hadn’t been certain the former Warlord would go for his ploy.
In the meantime, he thought, looking at the golden robes lying on his bed, he’d better get dressed.
After all, he wouldn’t want to show up to his first high-level diplomatic meeting looking like some Martian runabout.
Chapter Forty-Seven
If You Build It
Emeline looked down on the massive superstructure that stretched on for several kilometers, incredulous at its size. The professor’s shipyard was located on the east side of the floating Venusian city and extended far down into the stormy depths of the planet’s atmosphere.
It was here that the massive generational ships were being built with the help of Coalition and Consortium workers. The joint construction program had been an effort by both sides to encourage peace by working together on a project dedicated to the preservation of humanity.
The generational ships were the first of their kind. Each one was designed to carry 30,000 volunteers and were going to be sent into deep space where they would spend the next forty years or so traveling to several candidate planets outside the solar system.
Emeline walked to the edge of the shipyard’s observation platform expecting to be impressed, but there was nothing that could have prepared her for the sense of wonder she felt when she saw the massive ship below her.
“Impressive isn’t it?” a voice said behind her.
She whirled around, upset that she had been taken by surprise.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, raising his hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
