The Last Campaign (The Near-Earth Mysteries)

by Martin L Shoemaker

  “No, but talking to the media is. All department heads have to be answerable to the public.”

  “I should have a media liaison.”

  “You will. Eventually. But we’re growing too fast to staff your department now! And we don’t have the budget yet. After the election, if we have a larger majority in the city council, maybe then. But to get there . . . I need you to talk to the press.”

  I sighed. “I can hold a press conference.”

  Alonzo shook his head. “You should. I’ll set one up for this afternoon. But you really need to do some one-on-ones.”

  “Alonzo, I do not have time!”

  “You have a deputy chief now.”

  “So Vile can talk to them.”

  “No, that would look like we’re trying to hide something. She can take over your other duties, just for a few hours so you can do media interviews.”

  “She is too new at this!”

  “We don’t have time to waste. She’ll have to learn. In the meantime, I’ll set up some interview slots for you.”

  “Not today, Alonzo. There is simply no time. No time for a press conference either. There’s too much going on.”

  “All right,” Alonzo said, taking a heavy breath. “We can do the interviews tomorrow. But the press conference has got to be this afternoon. If we don’t do that, they’ll just start making things up.”

  “They will do that anyway.”

  I hurried back to my office, dropping off an order with Zeb along the way. It was going to be a late working lunch for me and Vile, and for the rest of the command squad as they checked in. It was time for me to start delegating responsibilities faster than I had intended. I was glad Anthony had made good hires and I could count on these people. Of course, I had thought that about Flagg too.

  We started with a review of the situation so far. We had a double shift out serving warrants, making arrests, and seizing evidence. My command squad were distracted the whole time by reports in from the field; but for the most part, everything seemed under control.

  Then I started laying out the strategy for the next two days of the investigation, knowing that if Alonzo had his way, I would be too busy to carry it out myself. Vile picked it up quickly, and the rest seemed to know their parts. This was still going to be chaotic, but I felt a little better about it. At 1700, we broke for the press conference. That is, I did. Vile and my squad kept right on planning and coordinating. After the press conference—twenty minutes of variations on What did Mayor Holmes know, and when did he know it?—I came back to check their work. They seemed to be progressing: not everything the way I would do it, but good work regardless. Maybe we were starting to form a team, with a team approach to things.

  I kept on top of them halfway into second shift, when third shift showed up early, doubling up as planned. I dismissed first shift and went back to work.

  But Vile tapped on my office wall. “Ms. Morais. Go home.”

  “I cannot, Vile.”

  “You have your comm. You’ll take work home with you, I know that. But you’re not doing us any good here now.”

  “How would it look if I were not at my post when something big came down?”

  “How will it look if you had a nervous collapse? You’re exhausted. And . . . well . . . you’re not that young anymore, ma’am.” I gasped, and she hurriedly continued, “You told me you wanted to hear straight from me at all times. Was that a lie?” I shook my head. “I haven’t read your file, but I know Mars history. You’re in great shape for your age, but you’re not a young ensign anymore. You need your rest.” Then she grinned. “Especially if you want to look good in front of the cameras tomorrow.”

  I sighed. “Vile, I hope you do not expect me to thank you for being blunt.”

  “No thanks necessary, ma’am. Just doing my job.”

  I grinned, and I left.

  I had had too much of Zeb’s fine food of late, and I was a little tired of it. Not to mention I had been getting too many calories, since Zeb didn’t believe in small portions. So I looked around the Concourse for anything else that was open and appealing, but nothing caught my fancy. A check of my comm told me it was late, but maybe not too late for dinner with Nick.

  So I went back to our apartment; but it looked like dinner was not in the offing, at least not right away. Nick was on his comm in the workroom, engaged in a vigorous conversation. I did not hear the words, and I was far too polite to eavesdrop; but I could hear his tone, heavy with sarcasm, and short, clipped sentences. He was chewing someone out. I had known him long enough to recognize the mood: the person on the other end of the comm line was not completely incompetent, and Nick thought they could be salvaged, if he badgered them into it. And if the badgering drove them away, then to hell with them. He would know that they were not good enough.

  After ten minutes, I realized that it was going to be a long conversation, and there was no sense waiting for Nick. Instead I found my way to the kitchenette, and I looked in the refrigerator for something I could prepare. I would never be the cook that Nick was, but no one would starve on my meals either. I found some spinach and feta and slivered almonds, as well as some leftover chicken from three nights back? Four? I wasn’t sure, but it still looked fresh. I diced a carrot and added that, and I tossed it all with a little bit of oil. It would make a light salad for the two of us. I was not that hungry anyway. If Nick needed more, he could find it after his call was done.

  I dished the salad onto two plates, and I carried them out into the living area. I set mine down on the side table, and I carried Nick’s over to the workroom. The door was open, so I did not knock, I just slid in to set the plate in front of him.

  Nick looked up at me and nodded slightly. But he did not smile; he was still talking, still grilling the person on the other end. “It’s your only choice, Gale,” he said. My eyes widened. He noticed, looked at me, and shook his head. “We can make this work.” He paused. “No! This line is not secure, don’t keep talking. We’ll handle this.” Another pause. “Look, Gale, if you want to be an ass, that’s your business. But you came to me for help. If you don’t think I know what I’m doing, then go to hell.” Another pause. “All right. Let me know.”

  Nick closed his comm line, picked up his plate and fork, and ate a bite of salad. “It’s pretty good,” he said, with a nonchalance I could tell was feigned.

  “That was Gale you were yelling at?”

  Nick straightened up, away from his plate, and looked at me. “Who is asking: my wife or the police chief?”

  “Your . . .” I stopped. It was a complicated question, Nick was right about that. But I answered from the gut. “Your wife. What sort of trouble is he getting you in now?”

  “It’s not trouble for me,” he answered. And then he grinned. “No more than I can handle.”

  “Nick!”

  “I’ll be all right, but he needs my help.”

  “He needs to cooperate with the investigation before things get worse for him,” I said, storming out of the workshop.

  Plate in hand, Nick followed me out. “I don’t think he can cooperate, Rosie.”

  “You mean he does not want to. He is holding out for some leverage. He knows something.”

  Nick sat on the couch and set down his plate. “He knows something, all right, but he’s not worried about leverage. He’s afraid of something. He won’t tell me what, not on an open line.”

  “He would not tell me today in a secure room.”

  Nick took a sip of water. “Did he know it was secure?”

  “No . . .”

  “And were you alone? No, you were with Hogan.”

  “So you already discussed this with him.”

  “I did. He didn’t know who would overhear. And besides . . . Rosie, you’re not me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re the police chief! You have . . . responsibilities that may not be in his best interests. And besides, he knows you don’t like him.”
>
  “You are damn right I do not like him. Do not trust him. And I do not know why you do either.”

  “Rosie, he gave up his career for me.”

  I shook my head. “Five years ago he did one thing right, and that makes up for his entire career of screwups and toadying? That makes up for what he did on the Bradbury? And to Chuks? Ask Connie if she trusts him!”

  Nick sighed. “He’s made mistakes. Who hasn’t? And he’s owned up to them. And he’s a damn good spacer, one of the best on Mars. Mars needs him more than it realizes.”

  “At this moment, we need him to fill in missing pieces in my investigation.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Rosie. Not yet.”

  “Not yet?” I looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Nicolau Aames, what do you know?”

  “Rosie, if there was anything I could tell you, you know I would.”

  “I know nothing of the kind! You would not lie to me, but you do not share everything you know either.”

  “Rosie . . . that’s . . .”

  In all our years, together and apart, rarely had I seen Nick’s temper, and never out of control. He was too obsessive for that.

  But sometimes, near his limit, he would count under his breath. When he started counting now, I worried. Not for my safety, but for us.

  At five, Nick picked up his plate and stormed into the workroom. The door slid shut; but the soundproofing was not perfect, and soon I heard the sounds of Korzus playing loudly beyond the door.

  19. INTERVIEWS

  Nick never came to bed that night. In the morning, I found the couch cushions in disarray, indicating he had slept out there. I had hoped he would calm down. Now I did not know where he was; and as much as I wanted to, I did not have time to find out. I had another busy day ahead, and almost no time to prepare for it.

  I did not have time to worry further. My comm had a message from Anthony, requesting an 0630 meeting. As if I did not have enough to worry about. There was barely time for a shower, but I had no choice if I was going to have media interviews that day. So I dashed under the water, cleaned up, and hit the tube.

  When I got to Anthony’s office, I had the satisfaction of seeing that he did not look any fresher than I did. Neither did Alonzo, nor the couple who sat in the chairs by the window, a man and woman. I did not recognize them, but their expensive clothing marked them as Very Important People.

  “Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” I said.

  “Good morning, Ms. Morais,” Anthony said, but I saw nothing good in his eyes. He turned toward the couple. “This is Leah Thomas and Jan Stehouwer of the Red Planet League.”

  I smiled at them politely. “Nice to meet you,” I said. But they just glared at me, so I turned back to Anthony. “I have a busy day, Mr. Mayor. What is up?”

  “A busy day harassing honest businesspeople,” Thomas said.

  Before I could reply, Anthony interrupted. “Enough of that. The police chief is doing her job.”

  “Her job is to catch criminals,” Stehouwer said.

  “And that is precisely what I am trying to do,” I answered. “Is there something improper with my warrants? Then tell it to the magistrate.” Again, I turned to Anthony. “The warrants are all signed and proper, sir.” I emphasized the last word.

  “I know,” Anthony said. “We’ve reviewed them.”

  “We?” I looked around the room. “Who are we to be reviewing anything?”

  “The warrants are public records,” Thomas said. “And they’re ridiculous. If you had questions, you should’ve come to the individuals involved to discuss things privately.”

  “This is a circus!” Stehouwer continued. “Our members will not stand for this.”

  “Your members—” I started, but Anthony interrupted.

  “Now let’s calm down,” he said. “I’m sure we can make them understand—”

  It was my turn to interrupt. “I do not care if they understand. I do not answer to them. I answer to you, and the magistrate, and the city council.”

  “And the council answers to us,” Stehouwer said.

  “I thought they answered to the people,” I said.

  Thomas’s face grew redder. “And we—”

  Anthony stopped her. “Enough! This is exactly why I didn’t want to have this meeting.”

  I shook my head. “If you did not want to have it, then why did you, Mr. Mayor? Who is running this city, you or them?”

  Alonzo stepped forward. “Please! This isn’t helping.” He turned to Thomas and Stehouwer. “I offered you this chance to talk to the police chief so you can express your concerns, but we have to keep calm. If we start fighting among ourselves, things are only going to get worse. The Libertists can’t afford this sort of infighting.”

  “The Libertists?” I said. “Space the Libertists!”

  Stehouwer rose at that. “I thought you of all people believed in Free Mars.”

  “I believe in doing my job,” I answered. I turned to Anthony. “Mr. Mayor, is this a meeting or a campaign session?”

  Anthony sat with a sigh. “It’s not that simple, ma’am. If the Libertists lose power, everything changes here. I’m out, which means you’re probably out. I wish I could just run the city, but it’s become political now. And there’s nothing we can do about that. For me to do my job—and for you to do yours—we need the Libertists united.”

  “And the Libertists need the Red Planet League,” Stehouwer said, “our money and our voices.”

  Thomas caught her breath, and said in a quieter voice, “Sit down, Jan. Alonzo’s right: this is getting too heated to get anything done.”

  Stehouwer glowered, but he sat. “You want heated, you should have been at the Steering Committee meeting last night. Mr. Mayor, the only thing that kept the members from rebelling is that the Realists would be worse.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Alonzo said.

  “You’d better do more than talk,” Stehouwer replied. “Mr. Mayor, you need to release the members who are being held illegally.”

  Before I could answer, Anthony replied, “It’s not illegal, Jan. Ms. Morais did her job by the book. Arraignment takes time. Bail proceedings take time.” He paused, consulting his subcomp. “Two of those arrested have made bail already, and the rest will as well. Let the process continue.”

  “They made bail,” Thomas said, “but these restrictions! This is ridiculous. Their passports confiscated, and their surface passes as well?”

  “I didn’t set the terms,” Anthony answered, “Magistrate Montgomery did. But they’re the right terms. We need to make sure the accused stay within our jurisdiction.” Then he smiled, but without warmth. “Unless they want to cite the Compact, of course. Claim a different jurisdiction.”

  “They can’t do that!” Stehouwer said. “They have too many holdings here. They can’t give all those up.”

  “They wouldn’t give them up,” Anthony said, and his smile grew larger. “They’d simply be putting them under the jurisdiction of distant nations with . . . significantly higher tax rates. And of course they would still owe taxes and duties here as well.”

  Thomas visibly strove to stay calm, gripping her chair arms. “That would ruin them, Mr. Mayor. You’re making them prisoners here.”

  “Not prisoners,” I said, matching Anthony’s smile. “They are just suspects. They shall have their day in court.”

  The conversation dragged on from there for a while longer, but nothing new was really said. The merchants and financiers of the city were unhappy, and some wanted my head; but Anthony had my back. For now.

  But when Alonzo led Thomas and Stehouwer out and the doors slid shut behind them, I wheeled on Anthony. Before I could say a word, he said, “I’m sorry, Rosie. Alonzo hit me with it. I was as surprised as you.”

  “Sorry? You could have warned me!”

  He shook his head. “They got here only a couple of minutes before you did. I had no idea until then how the meeting was going to go, and so I had no time to warn you.
”

  “That did not mean you had to hang me out to dry!”

  “I backed you up,” Anthony said, glaring at me. “You’re under a lot of pressure—”

  “Pressure! I am hearing that a lot from you and Alonzo now. Pressure.”

  “That’s the reality of this job right now, Rosie. This election’s getting scrutiny like never before. You said yourself that outside interests were involved. Certainly, the journos are. I just . . . I just . . . don’t know if I can hold it together.”

  Muscles clenched in his face; and for the first time, I noticed that Anthony was showing his age. He had come to Mars as a young kid, and he had kept his health and his youth through all the years of exploration and settlement and governing. But now, he was a tired middle-aged man.

  I shook my head. “Maybe you should just walk away. You do not need this.”

  He closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. “I can’t, Rosie. I know it sounds arrogant, but . . . I really think Mars needs me.” He looked at me. “The Libertists are right, but we’re fractious. We’re right on the big picture, but no one can agree on the small. We need . . . Alonzo says we need visible symbols that Martian settlement is here to stay. People who’ve been here for the long haul, like me.”

  I nodded. “And like Nick.”

  “And you,” Anthony insisted. “Rosie, don’t sell yourself short. Yeah, Nick was a founder, but you served here for a long time. On orbit, but that still counts. People still think of you as old Mars.”

  I should not have answered, but I could not stop myself. “Is that why you wanted me for police chief? As a symbol?”

  “Rosie!” His jaw gaped, and then he continued, “No! I wanted you—needed you—because you’re the best person for the job. Not just the best police chief—Nick always says you’re the best spacer in the business.”

  I sighed, and I sat. “This job does not need a spacer. I spend all my time down in the tubes. Visiting your office is the only time I see the surface.”

  “Well . . .” Anthony smiled. “That just means we’re lucky. Our jurisdiction covers the surface around here, too, we just haven’t had any crime there. Well, none until Jacob and Adam. Let’s hope that’s our last case on the surface.”