by RJ Johnson
Shane's eyes went wide at the mention of O'Donnell being investigated by the Coalition. The boys in blue rarely messed with the Warlords unless they had a good reason to. Not paying taxes owed on fifty thousand credits would undoubtedly bring the auditors from The Coalition down on their heads quick.
"Fuck you Meade." Shane croaked out.
"Not lately Aaron." Meade turned and walked away from the busted and broken man.
Meade knew he needed to lay low. His plans for retreating for a nice drink at Last Ditch would have to be put on hold until he was sure he wasn't being followed by any remaining Green Men. Emeline wouldn't appreciate him bringing trouble to her bar. He had promised her as much a few years ago, and Meade kept his promises. Rule number ten.
As he got back on his hacked Aerocycle, he started it up and looked up to see himself surrounded by Coalition forces, all of whom were pointing weapons and sounding very angry with him.
"Lie down on the ground! Get your hands up!" The Alpha in charge screamed at Meade.
Meade raised his hands. "Peace boys, just taking out some garbage, a private matter between me and Mr. Shane over there."
"Get down on the ground, I will not repeat myself!" The Alpha barked again.
Smiling, he raised his hands, got off the Aerocycle and got down on his knees, folding his hands behind his head. Being arrested might actually be a lucky break for him. O'Donnell would know in a few moments that Meade had killed several of his men and ironically, the one place Meade would be safest was in a Coalition holding cell. The Warlords didn't fear much, but they wouldn't mess with Meade while he was under Coalition lock and key.
Meade was quickly cuffed and escorted to the back of a Coalition Aerocycle unit. These were larger and able to accommodate prisoners. As the Aerocycle took off, Meade found himself enjoying the ride for a moment. Nothing like nearly dying to make you appreciate the little things in life.
Chapter Two
The Coalition's Federal building was enormous. It stretched from the very bottom of the Martian canyon and reached thousands of feet all the way to the top. There, hundreds of thousands of federal workers lived and worked in a common mission to help Humanity reach out to the stars.
Meade arrived at the United Nations building and stepped off of the back of the police Aerocycle. Surprisingly, he was quickly uncuffed and shoved towards the entrance.
"Thanks for the ride fellas." Meade said sarcastically. The Alpha indicated he should enter the building.
"Not a man of many words are you friend?" Meade quizzed the Alpha, who stood there impassively.
"My orders were only to escort you to the Federal building where you are to meet with the Ambassador."
"Palmetto? What the hell does he want?"
"My orders don't go that far. All I know is I'm supposed to ensure you go inside. If you would sir...?" The Alpha became politer as they neared the massive doors of the Coalition's Federal building on Mars.
Jim Meade looked up at the protective dome that lined Plymouth City, and beyond that, the dark red of the Martian soil. He hadn’t been this close to the surface in awhile and so it was good to see the Lid was still there and functioning. Most of the time, Meade stayed closer to the bottom of the canyon far from the clear lid that shielded the colony from cosmic radiation and gave Plymouth the ability to terraform their small piece of Martian land to Earth like conditions. Pressure, temperature, humidity, everything was controlled from a central office deep within the Federal Building. This was the Nerve Center of Plymouth City, and the imposing building was designed to make everyone remember it.
He always forgot how clean the air smelled up here. It made him nauseous.
The Alpha opened the massive door and stopped at the threshold.
"You're not coming along?" Meade questioned.
"Only high level Alphas are allowed inside. How you managed an invitation..." The Alpha's polite veneer disappeared for a second as he examined Meade with a smirk, "I'll never know. Give your name to the receptionist and she will take care of everything from there."
The Alpha hated him, Meade could see that much, but it was only cause he was a Runabout, nothing more. Anyone not taking sides with the Coalition was usually suspected of secretly working for The Consortium. While peace was supposedly the word of the day between Coalition and Consortium citizens, those who hadn't taken a side were often suspected of harboring treasonous thoughts. As a Runabout, Meade had faced plenty of prejudice in his past and it rarely bothered him, but, every so often the reminder of being a man without a flag stung. But, like most else in his life, he let the implied insult roll off his back and moved confidently through the door and towards the attractive receptionist sitting opposite.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist took in Meade’s outfit in dismay, looking worried as if the red dust that coated Meade’s duster might ruin her plush office carpet. Her pursed lips barely concealed the disgust she felt for Meade. He was obviously lost and would surely ruin her day.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m expected.”
“Are you now?” She turned back to her viewscreen, only half-paying attention to him now.
“I have a meeting with the Ambassador.” Meade said, leaning down and plopping his arms on her desk red dust flying all over her. She coughed and rolled her eyes.
“You? With the Ambassador?” She looked at his outfit again and disdainfully laughed. “Somehow I doubt…”
“Just ‘cause I’m a Runabout babe, doesn’t mean I don’t have contacts.” Meade leaned forward staring directly in her eyes. “Check the list, ma’am. You’ll find the name Jim Meade on there, sure enough.”
The receptionist rolled her eyes and typed quickly, her polished nails clicking loudly on the computer dashboard. When the information returned a moment later confirming his appointment, Meade was sure the young woman hadn’t been so surprised in her life. He looked down at his outfit and thought perhaps she had a point to treat him as she did.
The checkered shirt and canvas pants he was wearing hadn't been brand new for almost three years now. His long duster overcoat that he loved so much also testified to years of adventurous living in The Deep. When he had originally bought the duster ten years ago, it had been a rich dark brown long leather coat that reached to his ankles. Over the years, the red Martian dust slowly tinged the jacket turning it a dark rusted red, not unlike the color of nearly dried blood, which helped to cover more than a few stains of actual blood. The jacket was woven inside with genetically altered silkworm material that was tougher than steel and lighter than silk, and the Faraday cage, while increasing the jacket's weight, had helped him avoid getting zapped by an unfriendly ArmBar more than once. Glancing at his reflection in the floor to ceiling mirrors the Coalition loved to use in their architecture, he had to admit; after his chase with the Green Men, perhaps he was looking a tad worse for the wear than usual.
“Why, yes, Mr. Meade. I apologize." The receptionist's tone masked the obvious surprise in her voice, which despite her apology, didn't sound all that apologetic. "You are cleared for the Ambassador’s office.” She reached into her desk and pulled out a pass. Holding it against the computer for a moment, the interface beeped and she extended the pass out to him. “This will get you to his office.”
“Thank ya, sweetheart,” Meade tipped his hat in deference to her. “Next time, less judging the book by its cover right?”
Ignoring his chastising, receptionist turned her eyes back to her monitor. Meade shrugged and moved towards the elevator.
The door to the elevator opened and Meade stood aside letting the people arriving out. He stepped in and held the pass against the sleek black interface, the screen lighting up with his face and the Ambassador's face and the route the elevator was to take.
The whole building was creepy as far as Meade was concerned. It was too clean, with all sorts of natural light and reminders of The Coalition's expansion on Earth. Flags with the Coalition's symbol, a series of a stars in a sid
eways figure eight (the infinite symbol), on a blue and red striped background, peppered the hallways. Technically he was a citizen of The Coalition and subject to all its laws, and protections that offered, however, Meade had found that Martian law was usually decided by those with sharper wits and a faster ArmBar. After a few moments, his ride was over and the elevator doors opened into an unbelievable foyer.
Meade walked up to the Ambassador's receptionist and informed her of his appointment. A few moments later, the Ambassador himself exited his office and spotted Meade immediately. A tall man, with high cheekbones, watery blue eyes and a full head of thick curly black hair, Michael Palmetto had once been the Warlord of E-Block, one of the powerful men who inspired fear among the people living within his district.
It had only been a few years ago when Meade had been stuck deep, owing the wrong kind of people too much money. It was only through Palmetto's help that Meade had survived. In return, Meade had helped Palmetto ascend to the highest office a man could aspire to on Mars. Ambassador to the Office of the Directorate for The Coalition on Mars. It was a position that Palmetto had leveraged over the last few years into a very lucrative position for himself and his allies.
They had left things unfinished, and Meade knew that Palmetto knew he owed him, so why was he calling for another favor? There was little Meade wanted or needed from the Coalition, and he wasn't exactly looking to do Palmetto any more favors. The man was a sociopath and Meade had only barely survived his last encounter with the man. Whatever Palmetto wanted, Meade had already decided to say no.
“James Meade!” Michael Palmetto called out, extending his hand courteously, “It’s been…”
“Not long enough since I last saw you.” Meade replied curtly, "I figure I have you to thank for the welcoming party.”
"From the reports I received, it sounded more like a rescue party." Palmetto shot back, the smile masking his feelings for Meade.
"Oh, I don't know if The Green Men really deserve rescue from the Coalition. I was just doing my part."
"You always do, don't you Mr. Meade?" Palmetto's smile disappeared as he indicated that Meade should sit down. Meade ignored him and moved towards Palmetto's bar.
"I'm just wondering why you bothered to bring me around here in the first place. We had ourselves an understanding last we left things. You don't bother me, and I don't bother you."
“If you didn’t want to come Jim, you didn’t have to.”
“First off, my friends call me Jim." Meade opened the nicest bottle Palmetto had in his bar and poured himself a generous libation. He drank and smacked his lips before continuing. "And second, bullshit. Your goons were more than a little insistent on bringing me along, I didn't have much choice in the matter.”
“Sit down Mr. Meade,” the director turned to his receptionist who had been watching incredulously as Meade had berated her boss, the most powerful man living on Mars. “Ms. Cooper, would you be kind enough to call up the Red Files on the Consortium and send them to my desk?”
“The Red files sir?” The receptionist’s eyes darted to Meade and the message was clear - those files were not supposed to be shown to a Runabout like Meade.
“All of them.” The director’s tone was sharp dismissing her to do what he had asked. The doors to his office closed behind her as she retreated to get the files her boss had requested.
"She's pretty." Meade observed as she left the office.
"You have no idea." Palmetto replied, his oily voice and sly smile grating on Meade.
"What is it you want Palmetto?"
"Didn't you get my message?"
"I have a filter that throws away all the mail I get from assholes."
Palmetto ignored the dig and moved to the edge of his office, staring out at the vast chasm that lay below his windows. The view outside his office stretched for miles, Meade could even make out the Rover’s Memorial from where they stood.
“That the Rover Memorial?” Meade asked, staring out at the vast Martian wastelands.
“On a clear day you can even see Olympic Mons.” Palmetto said pointing towards the north. He turned, and pointed down into the chasm below them. “But this, this view right here is why I do what I do.”
He pointed into the canyon which contained most of New Plymouth. Meade looked down into the traffic and moving figures that represented the approximately seven and a half million human beings that called Mars home.
“She is beautiful isn’t she?” Palmetto paused and for a moment, looked almost sad. Meade decided he had had enough.
“I’ve seen the sites Palmetto, what I'd like is for you to explain what I'm doing here.”
The Ambassador turned and sat back down at his desk, and stared at him as if examining Meade for the first time. Meade looked back at him. No weakness. Rule twenty-five.
“What do you know of Rosetta?”
“Consortium owned and operated.” Meade shrugged. “First real expansion into deep space mining, not counting the colonies being set up on Jupiter's moons by the Coalition. Anyone not in a deep freeze knows they're kicking our ass. It's getting to the point for some folk to where it's hardly worth getting out of bed to make a living. What's that got to do with me?”
The receptionist walked in and placed a small thumb drive on the Director's desk. He nodded and she exited the room quickly. Palmetto placed the memory stick into his ArmBar and opened the files a large photo of an asteroid appearing between the two.
“There has been an incident the Coalition has requested me to look into.” Palmetto's cold watery eyes fixed themselves on Meade. “I've chosen you to complete the assignment.”
“Why me?”
Palmetto swiped his finger as an older tall thin man wearing a small boxy hat. The man wore the insignia of the Consortium five silver interlocking circles with a sixth joining all five in the middle.
“Consortium?” Meade quizzed. Palmetto nodded and clicked through the slides in the presentation describing Sinjakama.
“That is Dr. Sanjay Sinjakama. He was the lead engineer on Rosetta.”
“Was?”
“Killed on Rosetta two days ago. Take a seat Mr. Meade.”
Meade shook his head. “I’ll stand.”
The corner of Palmetto's mouth moved downward his disapproval at being rebuked for a third time by Meade as he called up additional documents for Meade to examine up on his screen.
“Two days ago, Dr. Sanjay Sinjakama's body was discovered at the bottom of the mining pit on Rosetta.”
“Suicide?” Jason asked, crouching down as he studied the screen. “I’ve known many a mole who went into the ‘Belt and came back with the Mumbles. Lock someone up long enough in any tin can and you’re liable to go crazy after a spell. I've known some tough men who fell victim to it.”
“That’s doubtful,” the director replied gravely. “Sinjakama was working directly for Koschei. No mining for Sinjakama, besides, we would have known.”
“You spying on Sinjakama?” Meade asked wryly. “I thought Consortium folk were untouchable by the Coalition, part of the whole playing nice thing the two sides decided after the Last War.”
"As it happens, we weren't monitoring Sinjakama, not directly anyway. We collected cold intelligence, messages sent and received by Rosetta. As you know, most communications have to be routed through the Martian relay before going back to Earth. Over the last six months, we've been monitoring some disturbing transmissions and reports from Rosetta."
"Like?"
"Nothing too obvious you understand." Palmetto said reluctantly, "Mostly mining quotas, resupply requests, after action reports of problems in their Downtown."
"Downtown?" Meade asked.
Palmetto swiped through the information displayed on the screen until it showed Rosetta cut in half. "Downtown is a section of Rosetta where most of the miners and other members of the underclass live and work."
"The slums you mean." Meade corrected.
"People are free to make a living howe
ver they choose Mr. Meade." Palmetto said in a cold voice, "It's not the Consortium's fault those moles choose to pursue a hard life. No one makes any promises of comfort aboard Rosetta, or Mars for that matter." His eyes twinkled maliciously as he looked directly into Meade's soul, "Your parents certainly were aware of the risks immigrating to Mars."
Meade swallowed an angry rebuke, as white hot rage coursed through his veins. Palmetto was looking to provoke him and he couldn't allow it. Instead, Meade swallowed his pride and looked over the data on Rosetta.