There were gasps around the room. Grace and Merced looked up from the screen near them. Their eyes were wide, their faces shocked. Adam looked ready to punch Trudeau. Over by Nick and Anthony, Althea broke into tears again.
I crouched slightly, sliding my hand from Trudeau’s shoulder until my forearm crossed his windpipe. Just a little pressure, and I would crush his trachea. “I think you should leave now, Monsieur Trudeau.”
“Get your—”
I squeezed. Just enough to make him gag, not enough to do permanent damage. He said no more.
“I am going to walk you to the door,” I continued. “You will not disturb this grieving family anymore. You will wait a week for whatever you are expecting; or so help me, it will be a week before you can talk again.”
Using my right arm, I nudged him to his feet. We crossed the room, and I shoved him out the door.
As the door slid closed, I turned, and Nick was behind me. He had my back. Always. I didn’t have to say anything. I just touched his shoulder, and he gripped mine.
After that scene, though, the mood in the room changed. An awkward cloud hung over everything. By ones and twos, visitors started slowly making their good-byes and leaving. Nick and Anthony and I were the last to leave. We stood at the door, and Adam saw us out. “If you need anything, Adam,” I said, “just call.”
“Thank you,” he answered. “Now we must be alone. We must reflect and remember. We shall rejoin the world in a week.”
3. CONSEQUENCES
The next day, I got another call from Anthony. “Hello, Anthony. Let me get Nick.”
“No, Rosalia,” Anthony answered. “I’m afraid my business is with you this morning.”
“What?”
“Philippe Trudeau has filed an assault complaint against you.”
“Oh, that! The man was being an ass, and you all saw it.”
“We saw it. There are plenty of witnesses who will testify that what you did was entirely appropriate; but technically, he’s right. You threatened to crush his larynx, and that’s assault. You laid hands on him. That’s battery. And I hate to involve you in politics, but he’s a prominent Saganist. Everyone knows you and Nick are my friends, and this doesn’t look good. Alonzo says if the Saganists think I’m going easy on my friends, it could endanger our coalition. They won’t trust me.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “This has nothing to do with politics.”
“Everything is political at this point, Rosie. The story is already on the smaller news streams, and the others may pick it up. I can make this go away, in time; but for now, I need you to come down to Admin and make a statement.”
I sighed. “Is this the path of least resistance, Anthony?”
“I’m afraid so. Cooperation is the fastest way to get this behind us.”
“All right. Nick and I were going to scout locations for survival school, but that can wait, I guess. I shall be there as soon as I can.”
I found Nick in the bath stall, showering. On the shelf by the door was a small blue box, an e-reader and music player that was Nick’s only tangible legacy from Grandma Ruth. It was an ancient bit of technology, but Nick kept it working. It was playing an old popular street song from our youth in São Paulo, and Nick was singing along. Badly. Nick was an excellent dancer, but singing was never one of his talents.
I paused the music. “Nico,” I said, “I’m afraid I have a change of plans.” I explained Anthony’s call, and Nick grew livid. Someone else might not ever notice. You would have to know him as well as I do to realize that he was angry. We had had a plan. He knows plans have to change—despite his reputation, Nick is anything but hidebound—but to change just for social reasons or bureaucratic idiocy never sat well with him.
“I don’t know what this Trudeau wants that’s so all-fired important,” he said, “but there goes our day.”
“I know. But maybe you can take care of some of the paperwork?” I said hopefully. I did not expect him to like that suggestion. Inspection reports and audits were Nick’s forte, but permits and licenses did not interest him. He saw those as bureaucratic interference in our work, so they usually fell to me.
“I suppose,” he said, “but maybe I should check on Althea and Adam and see if they need anything. They can’t leave their apartment.”
I almost laughed. Thoughtfulness does not come easily to Nick. He’s just not that good at understanding people, unless he knows them very well. He has an instinct for secrets and lies and the steps people take to conceal them, but other motivations can elude him. In this case, though, being thoughtful would get him out of paperwork. “All right,” I agreed, and then I headed out to India Tube and up the Concourse to the Admin Center.
There are very few actual buildings in Maxwell City. Most of it is underground; but the Admin Center has three stories sticking out from the Martian surface, with actual windows to give views of the Coprates quadrangle. Anthony’s office was a whole quarter of the top floor, suitable for entertaining dignitaries and visitors. By Martian standards, it was pure opulence, though it would have been only a large family room back on Earth. Alonzo showed me in and brought me a glass of water. I sat and waited.
Anthony showed up a few minutes later. “Thank you for coming in, Rosalia,” he said as he sat. “Let me get Alonzo to act as a court reporter.”
Anthony glanced at the ceiling—“talking” to his subcutaneous comp, I knew, though a casual observer might not notice. I had never liked the idea of implanting a computer in one’s skull. It gave me shivers. I knew the argument, that it was no different from an old-style pacemaker or an artificial joint. And some people prized having data directly in their minds, fed to audio and optic nerves on demand. But I did not like being that connected. It was too much like changing my mind. My self.
But Anthony found the subcomp convenient. It helped him to manage things and recall data easily. Nick had told me that as a young man Anthony had been opposed to embedded technology, therapy nanos in particular; but by the time subcomps became available to the public, Anthony had had a change of heart. He got his when they were still new and quite expensive. Today they were more common.
Alonzo came back in, sat down, and started recording.
“All right,” Anthony continued, “I’ve taken the liberty of filling in most of the statement form for you already.” He pushed the form to my comp, and I looked it over. He knew my contact information and other administrivia as well as I did. “Alonzo will record your statement and attach it and a transcription to this form. Do you see any inaccuracies in the information?”
“None, Mr. Mayor.”
“All right. Do you solemnly swear that the statement that you’re about to give is true and accurate in your best memory?”
“I do.” A signature box appeared in front of me, and I signed.
“Now that that’s done . . . ,” Anthony said. “Please tell me of your encounter yesterday with Monsieur Philippe Trudeau in the home of Althea Simons.”
I stated the simple facts, careful not to embellish. When I was done, Anthony asked, “And at any time, did you actually intend to crush Monsieur Trudeau’s windpipe?”
“No, I would not have had to. A little pressure there is enough to scare any sane person into cooperating.”
Anthony’s face grew pale, and he signaled Alonzo to pause the recording. When Alonzo signaled back, Anthony said to me, “You’re not helping your case, Rosalia.”
I shrugged. “The truth is the truth.”
“Nick’s rubbing off on you.” Anthony sighed and signaled Alonzo to resume. Then he continued, “So you threatened, but you did not intend to carry out the threat. Why did you see the need to threaten him?”
“Because the family is in mourning. He was being disrespectful, and he refused to leave when asked.”
Again Anthony signaled for a pause. “We have witnesses who say you grabbed him before you asked him to leave.”
“Check with those witnesses. Adam asked him to leave bef
ore I got there.”
“Are you sure?” Anthony asked. I nodded, and he signaled to restart the recording. “Continue,” he said.
“I was in the best position to see him out without disrupting things any further,” I explained.
“And by what authority did you act?”
“My authority as a citizen of Mars. Call it a citizen’s arrest, if you would like.”
Anthony shook his head. “That statute hasn’t been invoked in years.”
“But it is still in the Mars Compact,” I said. All of our “laws” are just regulations under the authority of the Compact. “Citizen’s arrest requires a reasonable explanation in plain language why the person needs to cooperate for the good of the city or the peace thereof, and how they are violating it. It then allows any citizen to apply the least force necessary to restore peace in the area. I had tried lesser force, and it had failed. I then escalated the least amount possible. But I was ready to escalate further, because otherwise Adam—”
“That’s Adam Simons,” Anthony cut in. “For the record.”
“Yes. Adam, or my husband, Nicolau Aames, might have felt the need to step in. They might have acted in a much more aggressive fashion, him being—”
“Him, meaning Trudeau,” Anthony said.
“Yes.”
“So your actions were carefully calculated to restore the peace and ensure his own safety?”
“Yes.”
Anthony signaled Alonzo. “You really plan to sell this, Rosie?” he asked.
“It is the truth,” I answered. “Adam was furious. And Nick was ready to throw the man through the door. Possibly without opening it first.”
“All right. Continue, Alonzo.” Then to me he said, “Do you have anything further to say?”
I grinned. “Not for the record, no.”
“Alonzo, strike that.” Anthony frowned at me. “Do you have anything further to say?”
“No.”
“Very well. End recording.” When Alonzo signaled we were clear, Anthony added, “You couldn’t resist that comment about Nick, Rosie?”
“Trudeau was being an ass. It would have served him right if I had let Nick bounce him out of there.”
Anthony smiled sheepishly. “I would’ve done it myself, but Grace would’ve made an issue of that in the media for sure. And I might’ve lost the Saganists.”
“Is that what this is all about?” I asked. “The election?”
Anthony grimaced. “It’s close, Rosie. And Grace is sniffing around for any scandal to turn the tide—or any way to split off the Saganists. I have to be extra careful in everything that comes out of this office now. I hate it! I just want to get the job done.”
“So is there anything else you need, Anthony?”
“Company for lunch, if you’d like.”
I checked my comp. Nick had left a note saying he was out shopping for supplies for our scouting mission, so I had some time free. “That sounds good.”
“Should I order in, sir?” Alonzo asked.
“No,” Anthony answered. “It’s good for me to be seen out in public. If you could make some reservations for us, that would be fine.”
We lunched at Zeb’s, a Cajun place—or so Zeb claimed. Zeb had a prime location off the first level of the Concourse, the largest retail and entertainment space in Maxwell City. It was directly across the Main Dome from the Admin Center, and popular with city workers, shoppers, and scientists. And with tourists, if they made it this far, but most tourists were happy to stay in the port district.
Zeb was a former Mars explorer, had learned under Chuks himself, but restaurateur was his calling. I did not have enough experience with Cajun food to know how close Zeb’s food came, but I had always liked his fare. I ordered the jambalaya, along with Martian Springs, a local mineral water. The meal was delicious, as usual. The jambalaya was just spicy enough; and it even had real shrimp, one of the few animals we farmed on Mars.
Anthony and I talked, and he danced around the topic of a police force and the police chief position again. I did not take the bait. When Nick said no, I knew he meant no. If Anthony wanted to press Nick, he would have to do it himself. I was not going to get in the middle.
When I got back to our apartment, Nick was still gone. So I sat down and accepted the inevitable: I started filling in license requests and permit applications for our survival school. I could do this myself faster than I could cajole Nick into doing it. We were as close together as we had ever been, but he was still just as stubborn with me as he was with anyone else.
I was working on the last form when Nick returned. He gave me a good excuse to set the form aside. I got up, greeted him with a kiss, and looked into his face. There were subtle traces of worry there. “How’s Althea?” I asked.
Nick walked past me and into the room. “What can I say? She buried her husband yesterday, that’s how she is. She’s contemplating the meaning today, her and Adam.”
“He is not back in his apartment?”
“No.”
I was unsure how that sat with the shiva rituals. I had read that they were not allowed to travel out of their homes except for certain conditions, emergencies and such. That wasn’t Adam’s apartment; but if he had not been there, Althea would have been alone. And so would he. I was no rabbi. It was not my call, but it made sense to me.
“It’s probably good that he’s there,” Nick said. “Somebody’s going to have to help her eat all that food.”
“Oh?”
“I brought over some bauru, some Martian Springs, and some frozen vegetables. I’d wanted to make sure that they had plenty to eat, but I was surprised by how much they had. I don’t remember guests bringing that much food yesterday, but I guess some must’ve slipped by.”
Slipped by Nick? I had never seen that happen. “Well, they cannot shop for food for seven days,” I said. “They probably stocked up before the service.”
“That makes sense,” Nick said. “There’s at least a week’s worth of food there, and I might guess two.”
“It will not go to waste,” I said. “She can store it. But now we need to look at this.” I pulled him over to the couch and to the paperwork. “I have most of this done, but we need to discuss a few things.”
So we filled out the last form, and then we went over all of my earlier work. That lifted my spirits a little. Even on a small task like that, we made a good team. When we were done with the paperwork, we pulled up maps of the quadrangle, and we started plotting out locations for our Martian survival lessons.
4. EXPEDITIONS
While Nick was lax about filling out paperwork, he was a master at pushing it through the system. He would follow each piece relentlessly through the bureaucracy. At every step, he would call and check out how it was going, telling the clerks how to do their jobs. Once upon a time, he had written the protocols for this sort of work; and although his regulations had been mostly superseded, he still knew how the system worked. When he had to, he would hound a clerk until they finished the paperwork just to get rid of him.
So it was only four days later that we had our freshly printed certificate of operations for the business as well as our expanded permits for Martian surface operations. Back on Earth, at least in the free societies, people went where they wanted, when they wanted, and worked at what they wanted. The closer a country got to that ideal, the more comfortable I was. But on Mars, under Initiative jurisdiction and the Mars Compact, conditions were different. Every resource had a cost, and the loss of it could potentially affect the survival of others. Every expedition could lead to a rescue operation if things went wrong, putting other lives at risk in the process. We had seen that just recently with Jacob. It had taken Nick and I three days to find him; and when we had, it had almost resulted in an accident of our own.
Plus there were scientific protocols to be observed, lest we contaminate some new discovery that could only be made on Mars. That was the constant concern of the Saganists. Before an area could
be exploited for commercial purposes, there had to be proper surveys and research. So between the Initiative and the Saganists, only authorized personnel had true freedom of movement outside the city. There were a number of small, independent surveyors and prospectors, but they operated under strict mission rules. The Libertists chafed under these rules, and sometimes bent them—occasionally broke them, leading to flare-ups with the Saganists that Anthony and Alonzo had to tamp down. So Anthony was taking extra care to enforce the protocols.
But with our new certificates, Nick and I had free rein across all of Coprates quadrangle. In exchange, any research team could ask us to conduct experiments while we were out. And our reputation for thoroughness preceded us: it was not ten minutes after the arrival of our certificates before the first email arrived, asking about our plans for future expeditions and where they might go, along with our availability for performing experiments.
When I saw the name on the email, I could not help laughing. Nick looked over and asked, “What is it?”
“It’s from Philippe Trudeau.”
“Really?”
“Well, not him, but one of his assistants.”
“You tell him—”
“Wait! Down, Nico. He starts by informing me that all charges have been dropped. He then asks me if we can do a series of core samples—the ones that Adam promised.”
“That’s simple enough work.”
“You have not heard the rest. He wants to know if we can start today. It looks like about two days of work, and he would really like to have it in three.”
“We don’t need that business,” Nick said. “I see no reason to hurry on his account.”
“There is one more point. Listen: ‘Monsieur Trudeau is willing to pay the rate that he agreed upon with the Simons brothers, plus an additional premium because of the short schedule. And he adds that if this work is done on time, he will find it within his heart to avoid a breach of contract suit against Adam Simons.’”
“That sacano!”
“He wants it fast,” I said, “and Adam cannot do it. This would be a favor for Adam and Althea. The last thing they need right now is a legal battle. And it would help Anthony with the Saganists.”
The Last Campaign (The Near-Earth Mysteries) Page 4